Chapter Three

Will heard the man come inside once again but he stubbornly remained wrapped in the blanket and stared into the fire. Two could play the ‘I’m-going-to-be-rude-to-you-for-no-good-reason-game’.

He heard the clanging of pots and when the scent of frying bacon reached his nose minutes later, Will’s mouth began to water. Even Beaux began to whimper and pant and Will was certain he heard the hound’s stomach growl.

The aroma of eggs soon joined that of the bacon and Will’s stomach tightened painfully. How long had it been since he’d had a real, home-cooked, warm meal? Months, a good six months. Thompson had seemed to believe he could live off of dried, crusty bread, jerked beef and dirty water.

Will mentally branded Beaux a traitor when the hound abandoned his post beside him and joined the man out beside the table. Will heard the sounds of eating but he was not going to do the man the honor of turning and glancing toward that kitchen. It wasn’t in his nature to hold grudges or be so stubbornly evasive but he was too mentally exhausted to deal with the other man who clearly had no problem being a jackass to someone he didn’t even know.

After several long moments of listening to both owner and Beaux enjoy their meal, Will heard the man stand and then head straight back out the door, slamming it behind him.

Will hated the tension. He had never been a man who liked tension. He liked to be open, honest and just have fun but clearly this man wasn’t that type of man. Will pushed himself to his feet, wondering why the other man had saved his life if he obviously hated him so.

Shoving those thoughts from his mind, Will let his shaking legs carry him to the table and he was surprised to see an untouched plate full of scrambled eggs, bacon and biscuits. His gaze went to the single window beside the door and he saw the man striding into the barn with Beaux on his heels.

Why hadn’t the man simply invited him to come eat if he’d made him a plate?

More confused than he’d been before, Will sat down in the rickety chair and quickly began to gobble up the meal that the man had prepared. His hollow stomach was happy to finally have a true meal filling it. He ate half before his stomach let him know it couldn’t hold another bite.

Will raked the scraps into a bucket that already had scraps filling it and went back to the couch. He could see out the window that the snow was still falling quite heavily on top of the three feet that had already come down.

It seemed he was going to be stuck here awhile.

***

Will spent most of the day sleeping and as far as he could tell he spent it alone as well. The man came back in after dark and went about preparing supper.

When Will heard him sitting down to eat, he decided that he’d had enough of avoiding one another. Will was a person who liked people; he liked to interact with people and he enjoyed conversation. If he was going to be forced to stay in this cabin then the man was going to have to talk to him.

Will stood up and let the blanket fall to the sofa. His legs felt much stronger now than they had that morning and he was proud that he didn’t shake as he walked to the table.

The man had a plate sitting across from him that Will knew he’d made for him, “Thank you,” Will whispered, his voice hoarse from lack of use.

The man barely spared him a glance and merely grunted in response. Will sighed and sat down, “What is your name?”

“Turner,” the man grunted before shoving a large bite of potatoes in his mouth.

Will grinned with triumph, happy to have even a small victory, “Nice to meet you, Turner. I’m Will.”

“I know,” Turner grumbled, his dark hair falling across his face and disgust lacing his voice.

Will stopped attempting conversation then and picked up his fork. He picked at his food, though his stomach was now tied in knots. Turner acted as if he knew him; knew what he was. Was that where the blind hatred came from?

Will only managed to get down a small portion of food before deciding the tension at the table was too thick and going back to the sofa.

Silence reigned for the next several hours as Will remained on the sofa and Turner sat in the armchair, mending a pair of trousers and several shirts. Then Turner stood, built up the fire, turned down the lights and climbed into his bed.

Will wasn’t tired, he’d slept most of the day, but clearly he had no choice in whether or not it was time for bed. The ruggedly handsome, severely anti-social jackass of the house had spoken. With a sigh Will curled up once again on the sofa, watched Beaux curl up beside the fire and then tried desperately to fall asleep.

***

Turner tossed and turned in his bed. Knowing that Will, the only man to light a fire in him in three years, was laying only feet away on that sofa was more than he could stand.

He wanted Will. He had been too long without easing the urges that needed eased. But, dammit, Turner had only ever had one man and he wouldn’t disgrace Peter’s memory by laying with a whore, and that’s all Will was.

Turner flopped onto his side and stared at the wall. A nagging doubt pricked at the back of his mind. If Will was a whore, employed by Thompson Caudill then what had he been doing up on this mountain, without proper clothes, in the middle of the worst blizzard they’d seen in a decade?

It was no secret how possessive and protective Thompson Caudill was over his ‘money makers’ and Will had certainly been that. No man in his right mind would admit to the public that he liked laying with men, that could very well end with him dead, but lots of men would rather stick their cock in a man’s warm ass than into a woman and Thompson had taken advantage of that.

Turner had seen the men coming out of Will’s room one night. It had been one after the other and Turner had grown sickened and left quickly. Will could have been a rather rich man under Thompson’s roof. He would have had room and board, clothes, protection and not a single worry in the world other than pleasing the men that came at night--so why run away?

It was times like these that Turner missed Peter the most. Peter had been the complete opposite of him. Where Turner was antisocial at best, Peter had been warm and welcoming. Turner came off as cold and indifferent, Peter had been the most accommodating person Turner had ever met. Peter would know what to say and do when it came to Will--then again if Peter was still alive then it would make these thoughts that Turner had about Will very inappropriate.

Turner pictured Will in his mind, the way he had looked when he’d been dealing poker at the saloon. Thick sandy blond hair that fell just past his ears, a bright, happy smile that had been infectious and lit up the man’s entire face, putting dimples in his firm, lightly freckled cheeks and a sparkle in his bright green eyes. He was built rather small, just how Turner liked. He stood at only five foot nine or so and was thin but not skinny, instead he was lean and it was clear he had spent a lot of time in a saddle.

Turner’s mind went to the Will that was lying on his sofa now. His hair was a bit longer and it was matted and dirty. His cheeks were pale, his green eyes no longer sparkling and surrounded by dark circles. He seemed to have lost weight as well and no longer looked lean and healthy but thin and frail.

God dammit! Was it just his own blind lust wanting to see something that wasn’t there or was it possible that there was more to Will working in that brothel than Thompson Caudill had told anyone?

Suddenly a moan split the silent night air. Turner leapt to his feet as if he’d been shot and looked toward the sofa where Will was shifting and appeared to be struggling in his sleep.

Turner contemplated waking the man and Beaux whimpered and looked at Turner as if waiting for an order on what to do.

Then, just as quickly as Will had begun to moan and writhe, he fell silent and seem to once again be sleeping peacefully. Turner gazed the way the man’s blonde, tangled hair fell across his brow. He looked so damn innocent lying there on that sofa… it was easy to almost forget where he’d spent the last six months.

Turner growled under his breath and slid back into his bed, pulling his covers up to his chin to ward off the chill. He knew damn well he wasn’t going to get any sleep but if he didn’t force himself to stay in this bed, he was going to do something that he might end up regretting to that man on the sofa.

A/N: Hope you like this new chapter. This chapter is going to be my main focus until I get it completed :) It will be longer than i'd originally planned but may not be as long as my last few stories.