Chapter Eight

Turner glared at Beaux when the hound came to the door of the barn and sat down, studying Turner intently. Growling, Turner kicked some hay in the hounds direction and waved his hand, “Get out of here. Don‘t judge me.”

Beaux let out a snort and simply flopped down and rested his head on his paws. Turner turned away from the dog. He didn’t have the energy to be arguing with a critter.

His body was still tingling and sluggish from the pleasure that had been coursing through it mere moments ago. His mind however was a different story. He had one hell of a mess up there.

Turner had vowed to be different toward Will then what Will had known while in that brothel. He may not know the details, but Turner was smart enough to realize that Will had been forced. He wasn’t sure how Thompson had gotten Will to stay in that brothel and lay with those men but Turner was sure it hadn’t been by giving him a choice.

And Turner had taken the time to give Will pleasure which he was sure Will hadn’t had in a while. Hell pleasuring that man, having his warm cock in his mouth and hearing him whimper and moan with delight had been….. amazing. He’d also taken the time to use oil and ensure that he wouldn’t cause Will pain when he slid himself inside that tight warm ass…

Turner growled and threw Bernice’s oats into her trough with a vengeance. There he went thinking about his ass again! Will was a temptation like Turner had never known and he had been completely powerless to stop himself from taking him this morning. But even so he’d made sure to give Will pleasure in return for the pleasure he was taking.

But it hadn’t been enough. He’d seen that look in Will’s eyes. The man had wanted more.

But that was too bad. Turner wouldn’t--couldn’t--give him more. He would take his pleasure from Will’s body and give Will pleasure in return but that was as far as it would go. There would be no friendship, no tenderness, no curling up together and talking and laughing for long hours. Turner didn’t have that much of himself to give to anyone--not anymore.

***

Will didn’t see Turner any more that day until after dark. He had supper cooked and waiting when Turner came through the door.

“You’ve been gone all day. You must be starving,” Will stated as he sat Turner’s plate on the table.

Turner didn’t meet his gaze as he stomped the snow from his boots and pulled off his coat, “Yeah, I’m pretty hungry,” he agreed, shaking the snow from his hair.

Will sighed. It seemed that not even a good morning rut cured the man of his grouchitis. He watched Turner move around the cabin as he put away his things and washed his hands in the basin beside the bed. Will found himself noticing things he hadn’t noticed before.

He noticed how fluid and smooth Turner’s motions were. How much of a predator he seemed as he moved about his habitat and he wondered what Turner’s story was. His long legs ate up the ground quickly, his body, so large and intimidating was somehow graceful in its movement.

Will shook his head to clear his thoughts when he realized he was now admiring Turner instead of simply watching him. He sat down at the table and picked up his fork, “I wasn’t sure what to make so I just cooked up some beans and corn bread.”

“That works,” Turner grunted as he came to sit at the other side of the table and dug in quickly. Will rolled his eyes and began to eat at well.

“Christmas is coming soon,” Will noted after several long awkward moments of quiet.

“Yep,” Turner replied, without looking up.

“Three days away,” Will continued, determined to have a conversation even if it was one-sided. “I remember Christmas back home. My mother would bake the sweetest cinnamon bread you’ve ever eaten and pa would dress up like Santa and visit the poor families around. He always liked to make sure every kid got at least one toy even if their parents had no money.”

“That’s nice,” Turner mumbled but Will couldn’t tell if the man was truly listening or not. Will didn’t care. Talking about his family, a family that was dead and gone now other than his sister who he hadn’t seen in ten years, made him feel better inside.

“We used to cut our own Christmas tree. Trees aren’t something very many people do out west here but back east everybody had a Christmas tree. My mother sewed pretty angels that hung from the branches and my father even bought her some glass beads to string from it. Christmas was special.”

Will glanced around the cabin, “We could decorate a bit. I’d like to do it. It’s been a long….”

“No,” Turner snapped and for once his gaze lifted and his dark eyes drilled into Will. “No decorating.”

Will frowned, “Why not? I know you’re a grump but surely you ain’t a scrooge too. I could cut a little tree and….”

“I said no,” Turner snapped, shoving away his plate and rising to his feet. “You’ll be gone as soon as the snow melts and I’d rather you left my damn cabin alone until then.”

Will nodded and mock saluted the giant of a man, “Yes sir,” he muttered. Why in the hell was he interested in this jackass of a man? Why did seeing him in a temper cause Will to want to go to the man and allow him to throw him down once again?

“I’ve gotta clean my guns,” Turner mumbled and just like that he left the table and went about gathering up his two rifles, his shot gun and his revolver, a bit of oil and some rags and sitting down in the chair beside the fire.

Will sighed. He had no idea what was going on inside Turner’s head and Turner didn’t seem too eager to let him know. At times the man seemed to truly care and then at other times he was cold and indifferent. He could go from being civil to ranting and raving in the blink of an without any real provocation.

Will wanted to know him. He wanted to know what it was about Christmas that made the man so upset. Will went about gathering up the scraps and he waved Beaux over to eat them from the bucket. He wanted something to do so he grabbed up an empty bucket and headed for the back door.

“Where are you going?” Turner called without looking up from his rifle.

“I don’t have to explain my every move to you, do I?” Will demanded. “After all, once the snow melts I’m leaving anyway.”

Will had been hoping to get a reaction but instead Turner just shrugged and went back to cleaning his gun. Will’s grip on the bucket tightened as he strode out the back door, slamming it behind him. This was driving him insane!

***

Turner gripped his shotgun tighter when Will sat down on the sofa and let out a long breath. Turner had worked hard to ignore the man’s presence as he’d washed up the dinner dishes and wiped down the table. He didn’t want to acknowledge how nice it was to see someone else living in this cabin and sharing in those chores. He didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that he’d damn near tossed down his gun and had his way with Will right on that kitchen table when the man had been bent across it.

“So,” Will spoke up again, “What is it with you and Christmas? Why don’t you like it?”

Turner rubbed furiously at the already gleaming metal of his shotgun barrel, “I never said I had a problem with Christmas.”

Christmas had been Peter’s favorite holiday. He had liked Christmas trees, decorations, candles in the windows and singing carols. Their last Christmas together had been when Peter was at the end stages of the illness that had slowly taken his life. Peter hadn’t been able to breathe well, hadn’t eaten a real meal in weeks, hadn’t even had the strength to lift his head from the pillow.

That was the year that Turner had decorated their entire ranch house from top to bottom. He’d gone overboard just to see a smile on Peter’s face and when he’d carried the ailing man through their home and seen the happiness in his blue eyes, he’d known he’d done a good thing.

The thought of ever having another Christmas without him had been too much for Turner to bear and so he’d ignored the holiday for three years. He had damn near been able to forget it existed--until Will had opened his mouth over dinner.

“It’s not good to hold things in, Turner. You should talk about them.”

Turner raised his brow, “Is that right? Then why don’t we talk about what happened at that brothel and why you spent six months there if you didn’t really want to?”

He saw Will tense and snorted with satisfaction. Two could play that game. Will seemed bored as he flopped onto his back on the sofa and stared at the ceiling.

Turner could fix that.

He sat his gun aside and went to the man. Without giving him warning he snapped open Will’s pants and yanked them down his legs. The other man stared at him with shock and then those green eyes slipped closed when Turner closed his hand around his cock and caressed it to life.

Will called his name and moaned loudly as Turner used both his hand and his mouth to pleasure the man. Will buried his hands in Turner’s hair and Turner knew when his hips began pumping desperately beneath his mouth that Will was close to release.

Just as he had that morning, Turner drank it down; every last drop. Then he flipped Will over, freed his own throbbing cock from his pants and, after coating it with oil, he took Will hard.

Turner shook with the force of his own release and it took several moments before he was strong enough to stand completely on his own and pull up his trousers.

This time Will didn’t look at him so Turner was able to pretend the man didn’t want anything more. He went back to cleaning his guns and Will went back to staring into the fire and neither man said another word the rest of the night.

A/N: Here you go! Hope you all liked the chapter :) I like it. I'm going to be trying to fit a lot of character development into a short story--this story is already probably halfway done so hopefully i'm doing a good job with what i'm trying accomplish in a short amount of time!