“I love golf.” I tasted his lips again.

  “Do you?” His hands rested on my hips. The house was quiet, the ice maker in the fridge the only sound other than the soft whir of a fan overhead.

  “Not really, but I do like a nice nightcap with a handsome man.” He rubbed his nose against mine and then, sadly, took a step back. Probably a wise call since both of us were getting hard.

  “Do you want to return to the sofa or go out back and sit?” He placed my drink in my hand and adjusted himself with a devilish look.

  “Let’s do the sofa. The bugs outside are larger than Ford’s love of goats.”

  “That’s pretty big.” He took my hand. We returned to the couch, sitting down beside each other, the TV set now playing soft ’80s songs. “So, how are things with Dahn?”

  I took a sip, made a yummy sound, and lowered my drink to my thigh. The cold seeped through the worn denim. “Things are okay. He’s seen the error of his ways, I think, and seems to be genuinely sorry. You make a good cocktail.”

  “Thanks. I worked at a bar for a few years during college.” He let his hand rest on my knee. We both placed our heels on his coffee table and let the music of Tracy Chapman singing about a fast car soothe us. “What’s his punishment?”

  “He’s only allowed to show on Monday. No rides, no sleepovers at the barn, and once the shows are over, he has to come home.” I studied the ice cubes in my drink. “I think that’s fair. He’s also volunteered to paint over the pink penis as part of his punishment.”

  “Do you want him to do that?”

  “I think he would learn a valuable lesson.”

  “He’ll probably be the only one doing so. The other boys’ parents were not happy with Easton or me calling them in from work to deal with, and I quote, ‘Boys just being boys,’ after which Keith Sr. warned me to stop picking on white boys and go pay attention to the shit the kids on the rez were doing.”

  My mouth fell open. Ollie rolled his stiff shoulder around. “Yeah, it was not a pleasant scene at all. They gathered their kids and took them home. Will they pay or make the boys clean up the mess? My guess is no followed by no. The town will have to bill them. Court costs, which will be unpaid until I have to go speak to them about paying for the cleanup or face more costs. They’ll pay it then at the last minute, but it will serve as more fodder for their hatred of me, and probably the Bastians since one of the boys let slip that his daddy said everyone at Bastian Acres was a pink dick lover, which was why they chose that paint, the penis, and the statue of your ancestor.”

  “Jesus,” I mumbled, stunned to the core. Then, after a moment, the shock turned into sad resignation. Hate was taught. What a tragic legacy those people were forcing on their kids. “Okay, well, when he’s there painting, I’ll be there as well.”

  “Let me know when he has a free day, and I’ll supervise. Could take a day this week. I took a week of PTO while you and he were here. I know it’s not a fun day exactly, but if he does his part, painting over the penis, that should count as community service served. Then we can go do something enjoyable.”

  I clinked my glass against his. “That sounds perfect.” A few moments passed in that pleasant way time drifts when two people are just happy to share the same space with or without words. There was one thing poking at me mentally though. “I hope you’re not upset that I’m bunking with Dahn.”

  He shook his head after he sipped his drink. “Absolutely not. Do I want you in my bed? Hell yes. Do I understand that you’re torn about sharing my bed when we’re not in a committed relationship in front of your son? Totally.” His gaze grabbed mine. “Just so you know, I’d be happy to call you my boyfriend.”

  “Yeah?” I turned to stare at him, my feet falling to the floor with a thud.

  “Yeah. I think we fit. I know you’re coming out of a bad divorce, so I’m not pushing, but just know that when or if you’re ready, I’m totally down with the boyfriend moniker.”

  I buried my nose into the crook of his shoulder and just breathed him into my soul. “It will be a when for sure,” I murmured into his skin. He gave my knee a little squeeze. This right here was the stuff of dreams. My dreams anyway…

  13

  Chapter Thirteen

  The following week was filled with chaos and memories starting with the fair.

  It was enjoyable for sure. So many animals, so many people, so many shows. Dahn did well in the meat goat show on Monday morning, placing a respectable second in the breeding doe kids class. Every Bastian in the stands, and that was all of them, cheered loudly. Dahn had done quite well for his first year, and the red ribbons were displayed proudly over the top of Petunia’s pen in the goat barn.

  Ollie and I took Dahn to watch the dairy goat show the next day after we went to the fairgrounds to tend to the doeling. Phil did well, grabbing first place for a doeling and a best udder in show for one of his Lamancha does. I’d never seen a goat with such tiny ears, but she sure was cute. That night was the sleepover at the barn, and Dahn was obviously upset to miss it, but he knew why he was not allowed. Still, he was down when we left the fair but cheered up when we pulled up to a crystal clear lake and Ollie pulled three fishing rods from the back of his Jeep.

  “This is the Green Fish Lake. It’s on the very fringes of my peoples’ lands,” he explained to Dahn and me as we made our way through tall weeds to the edge of the lake. The spot was used by people as the shore was tamped down with muddy footprints scattered up and down the shoreline. “There are a lot of good catfish in here that we can have for dinner if we can get them to bite our worms.”

  “Cool,” Dahn exclaimed, eagerly watching Ollie as he threaded a fat nightcrawler on a hook that had a big red bobber attached to it. “I’ve never had a catfish dinner. Is it like fish sticks?”

  Ollie chuckled. “Sort of but not.”

  I stood back, rod in hand, just enjoying the interplay between my lover and my son. Dahn had forgotten his trepidation of Ollie over the past few days and seemed quite interested in this fishing lesson. Ollie showed him how to cast out his line, and after a few fumbled attempts, the worm and the bobber hit the water with a soft splash. Somewhere to the left, the cry of an osprey carried over the calm waters of Green Fish Lake. I then cast out my worm like a pro. Well, not exactly a pro, but I didn’t hook myself, so I considered that a win. Ollie sent his line sailing out smoothly, hitting the water several feet further than we’d cast. Showoff.

  Ollie then set off to find some sticks with a Y at the top to prop up our poles so we could sit back and relax. My line never moved for the four hours we sat there. Not one nibble. Dahn and Ollie, though, were catfish masters, reeling in four huge catfish in total. Dahn caught one, and it was a battle royale to land the big gray fish with the long whiskers. He did it all by himself and was so proud that we had to take pictures to send to our family and his new friends from the goat barn. The Leary boys were in the beef barn. So far, we’d not laid eyes on them or their parents. Something I was glad for because neither Dahn nor I needed that stress right now.

  That night, Ollie showed us how to fillet and cook catfish. He rolled it in egg and cornmeal before lowering the breaded fillets into hot oil while I made some steak fries in the air fryer. Dahn was watching us all the while, asking Ollie questions about the reservation and what we would see when we went there, fishing queries by the dozen, and when he would have to paint the statue.

  I turned from salting the crispy fries. “Do you want to do it tomorrow?” I asked my son and got a firm nod. “Why the rush?” I placed the platter of fries on the table just as Ollie lowered the plate lined with paper towels, golden brown fish still sizzling, beside the fries.

  “I don’t want people to see it anymore,” he quietly confessed.

  “Then we’ll do that tomorrow,” I replied. Ollie grunted in agreement, and we began eating. The fish was delicious. The three of us talked easily, Dahn’s discomfort around Ollie a thing of the past, it seemed. I was glad. A movie and popcorn followed then bed for the boy.

  I lay in bed that night next to my son, the thrashing machine, wondering if I should say to hell with trying to be a man of higher morals and just go sleep with Ollie. I’d certainly get better rest. Dahn was obviously wrestling a Kodiak bear in his dreams. That or he was trying out for the Rockettes. Eventually, he stilled, and I dropped off like a bag of bricks.

  Everyone was a little stilted the next morning as we drove to town, a can of gray paint, a ladder, and a brush in the back of the Jeep. Dahn was fidgety. Understandably. He’d lingered at the goat barn with Phil and two young girls, sisters, who also had goats, until we had to call him away. Now he sat slumped in his seat, chewing on the inside of his cheek, as we pulled along the curb in front of the little clump of grass and flowers commemorating Isiah Bastian. The pink penis had been covered with a cloth by the town council.

  Dahn threw back his shoulders when we handed him the can and the brush. It took all I had to stand my ground at the base of the statue, holding the ladder for my son. I wanted to help but knew this was his job to do and do it he did. It took the better part of the morning. It wasn’t the best paint job—I was sure a professional would have to be hired at the expense of the offenders’ parents—but the offending appendage in flamingo pink was covered. He was sweaty and covered with paint but standing tall when he climbed down to join us on the ground.

  “Job well done,” Ollie and I said and then took the boy to the Calico for a hot dog and tater tot lunch. Dahn was proud of his hard work. Some of the shame he’d been carrying in his gaze lifted now that his penance had been served. The milkshake after his lunch erased the last bits of chagrin weighing him down.

  That night, we went to the ranch for dinner so that my mom and aunt could meet Ollie. They gushed over him and he them, cementing him in their hearts as the best possible man for me. A role that I had also concluded he should play for the near and distant future. Days and nights began to speed by, the week rushing past in bright days spent with family and friends. A long day on the reservation rounded out the week with a large meal at his father’s house. Dahn was obsessed with the white chickens with feathers on their feet and began talking about maybe showing poultry and goats next year.

  Ollie’s sister, Mara, was gorgeous and warm, and his father was kind and full of silly jokes that made the kids laugh. I got to meet his nieces and brother-in-law. We played poker inside the double-wide that Mr. Ahoka called home while the kids raced around outside, kicking a soccer ball. I lost at cards. Nothing new there. But did manage to charm Mara so deeply that she told her brother I was a keeper when we were getting ready to take my exhausted son back to Ollie’s for a bath and bed.

  “No worries, I’m not throwing him back,” Ollie replied as he kissed his sister on the cheek while giving me a saucy wink.

  The sun was just about hidden from view as we made our way out of the tribal lands to the main highway, chatting away about the delicious brown beans and fried hog meat that we’d been served.

  “Dad wanted to serve you some of our traditional foods,” Ollie explained as we rolled along a long stretch of highway with some Tom Petty playing on the stereo. “Just to gauge your reactions, I think.”

  “I thought everything was incredible. Your sister makes a dish of mac and cheese to rival Granny’s,” I said and turned to look in the back seat. “Don’t ever tell your grandmother I said that or she’ll make me sleep with Linc and his night murmurs.”

  Dahn nodded, his weariness evident. “Why don’t you sleep with Ollie?”

  I blinked at the abrupt change of topic. How did we get from Linc’s talking in his sleep to me sleeping with Ollie?

  “Well, we’re not married.” As soon as it fell out of my mouth, I knew how prudish that sounded. Ollie flattened his lips, fully willing to let me handle this one.

  “Uncle Baker and Hanley aren’t married, and they sleep together,” Dahn replied factually.

  Shit. “You’re right. They do.” I wiggled about as much as the seat belt would allow to look back at him. He was filthy but in that good filthy way Granny always talks about. “I didn’t want to make things uncomfortable for anyone.”

  “Oh, that’s dumb. I don’t care that you guys are having sex.” Ollie nearly went off the road, the right-hand tires catching the edge-line rumble strip for a second or two. My eyes flared. “You talked to me about sex and how when two people love each other, they have intercourse. The man puts his penis in the woman’s vagina, or if it’s two men, one of them puts his penis—”

  “Right, I remember that talk well.” It had only been two years ago when he’d come home from school to ask if either Chris or I would get preggers. A word he had picked up from a friend. That day we had the talk. A nice one, lengthy, that covered all the bases of reproduction and consensual sex among adult couples of any gender identity. Chris had not been part of that important talk. As usual, he was off with some football alumni thing, or so he had said. He was probably balls deep in a twink. “I just didn’t want to send any conflicting messages.”

  “Oh, well, why don’t you sleep with him and let me have my own bed? You get all sweaty in the night, and it’s really gross.”

  I almost lost it. This coming from the lad who kicked like a bucking bronco all night long. I looked at Ollie, who was battling not to laugh out loud. “Can I sleep with you tonight since my sweaty body grosses out my son?”

  “Sure. We’ll put a towel down under your sweaty, disgusting form to soak up all the perspiration you ooze over the sheets.”

  I pinched his thigh. That made the man snort loudly in amusement.

  “I do not ooze,” I feebly argued. In all honesty, sometimes a certain part of me oozed, but that was not being discussed here as we cruised along the highway with the windows down.

  “Cool,” Dahn said in the back and fell sound asleep. Like in the space it took to blink. How grand it must be to drop off that quickly.

  I wiggled back to face front, my cheeks warm, and peeked at Ollie smiling widely. “Do I really sweat all that much?”

  “Only when you’re exerting yourself,” he naughtily whispered.

  With a pillow between my teeth, I not only slept in Ollie’s bed that night, but I sweated profusely in it after we exerted ourselves in doggie and missionary position. The man had no complaints about any of my bodily emissions. Just saying.

  ***

  On Saturday we went to a minor league baseball game with my mom and aunt and left with sunburn and high spirits. The home team had won—Go Comets—and so when we cruised into the ranch in the late afternoon to attend a Labor Day picnic, we were ready to feast. Sure, we’d all had some hot dogs and chips at the Chickasaw Bricktown Ballpark, but there was always room for a burger, some potato salad, and peach pie.

  We were exiting my SUV when Bella came bouncing down the stairs, her platinum locks in a thick ponytail as her sunny little dress flowed around her. In her hand, she had a small basket and a hardcover book. She always reminded me of a dandelion blow. Light and airy…dancing on the winds.

  “Hi!” she greeted us with a smile. “Oh, ouch, you all look like you need some aloe on your pink noses.”

  “Where are you off to?” I asked while offering my aunt a hand down from the back seat.

  “I’m going over to Winnie’s house to read her the first chapter of Anne of Green Gables. She loved it as a child and phoned over just a bit ago to ask if I could come visit and read it to her.”

  I threw a fast look at Ollie who also seemed worried. Then I glanced back at Bella ruffling my son’s damp hair.

  “You’re going to the Owens ranch alone?” I enquired just as the screen door opened and Lincoln stepped out, his eyes darting to Bella then us.

  “She’s not going alone. I’m escorting her,” Linc announced with a tone that brooked no interference or confusion. Okay then. Bella’s big bear of an admirer was at her side. “We’ll be back in time for dinner.”

  Bella rolled her pretty green eyes and then made her way to the ranch truck. I had to wonder where her other protector was but didn’t ask. Ford never left her side for long.

  “If you need backup…” I said in a low tone meant only for Linc to hear.

  “Thanks. They don’t want to even breathe the wrong way at her,” Lincoln replied, slammed his favorite hat on his head, and stalked off to open the door for Bella. Once they were off, we made our way inside to find Ford and Baker fiddling about on my laptop in the kitchen.

  “Hey, you didn’t want to go with Bella?” I asked, dropping down into a chair next to Baker. Ollie went over to peck Granny on the cheek and tried to steal a cube of cooked potato from the bowl she was adding mayo to. She slapped playfully at his hand but let him snag a tater. Mom and Aunt Joey sat down as my aunt dug in her huge purse and produced a bottle of aloe vera gel. She and Mom began slathering their arms.

  “I was told that too many Bastians rolling up to the Owens ranch would only result in a showdown like in Tombstone.” Ford tapped the edge of the laptop. “I didn’t know what that meant, so Baker was educating me.”

  “Imagine saying you’re a cowboy and not knowing Tombstone,” Baker muttered as the screen blinked to life.

  After the short little lesson on films starring Val Kilmer, Kurt Russell, and Sam Elliott—what a trio—I wrestled the Dell from them to show off the nearly completed website I’d been working on in my spare time. Not that I’d had much of that this past week, but that was good. Mental health and falling in love were important. Love. Shit. That was such a big word, but it fit the big feelings I had for Ollie Ahoka. Scared to death of those emotions, I recognized them and accepted them into my heart. No point in lying to myself. I had fallen hard.

  “Dodge, are you okay? Did the heat get to you?” Mom asked, trying to rub some aloe vera on Dahn’s nose. He waved it off at first but then learned that a determined grandmother with a bottle of gel for a pink nose was not easily dissuaded.