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  “Our landlord raised the rent again. I’ve got a job, but my wages aren’t enough to pay the rent and cover food and firewood as well. Mama’s got a garden out back, but the vegetables won’t ripen for a couple of months. And Mama needs good food. She’s gonna have that baby in about four months. As for my sisters—there’s so much they need, too.”

  “Are the horses in the stable?”

  “No.” The kid stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled sharply. Two horses appeared from the corner of the paddock that was concealed by the stable.

  The older mare was beautiful. She had a rich golden coat with a white mane and tail and splashes of white up her legs.

  “This is Bella Dama—Beautiful Lady,” George said. “She’s a good horse, but she needs kindness and an easy hand on the reins. Her mouth was nearly ruined before Papa bought her.”

  “She is a beauty.” Steve walked to the fence and carefully held out his hand so the mare could learn his scent. “How much do you want for her?”

  George blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “I want to buy her.”

  “She won’t make a good army horse. I’ve heard about how the army trains its horses, making them lie down and then shooting over them. When the nervous ones jump up, they get shot.”

  “No. I’ll be mustering out soon.” He’d had more than enough of war and the army. “I plan to head west.”

  “West.” George sighed wistfully. “I wish we could…” He shook his head. “Let me get her tack.”

  He went into the stable and came out almost immediately, a bridle in one hand, a saddle blanket draped over a shoulder, and the saddle under his arm. He was followed by a calico cat that looked like she was about to litter any second. She sprawled on her side, and a younger cat joined her, this one cream-colored with dark points.

  “Unusual color for a cat.”

  “I know. This is La Gata’s sixth litter since we’ve lived here. I think the same tom has got to her every time, because all her kittens are the same color as this one here. We call him Diablo.”

  “Interesting.” Steve leaned down and scratched the calico cat’s ears. She purred and butted his hand. “She’s very friendly.”

  “She’s a sweetheart.” He opened the paddock gate and indicated Steve should join him. “If…if we have to leave here, it’s going to hurt to have to leave her behind.”

  “Hmm.”

  Instead of saddling Bella, George handed Steve the bridle and waited, and Steve realized George wanted to see how he worked with the mare.

  Once he had the bit in Bella’s mouth and the bridle buckled, Steve took the blanket from George and smoothed it over Bella’s back. Then he took the saddle. He felt George’s gaze on him as he swung the saddle in place and tightened the girth. All the while he spoke softly to the mare. With a final pat to her flank, he gathered up the reins and stepped into the saddle.

  He kept in mind George’s words and made sure his hands were gentle but firm on the reins as he put the mare through her paces.

  Twenty minutes later, he patted her neck and gave a satisfied nod. “She’s a good animal.”

  “You handle her well.”

  “Thank you. I was raised on a horse farm in Kentucky.” He gave a wry grin. “My people were abolitionists,” he added in hopes it would explain why he’d stayed in the Union army rather than joining the Confederacy. “The price?”

  George worried his lower lip, then came to a decision. “Two hundred dollars. From what I was given to understand, that was how much General Lee paid for Traveller,” he added defensively.

  “Hmm.” His gaze was drawn to the buckskin mare. “I’d like to try Salida. I did hear you say you needed to sell both horses.”

  “Yes.” The kid’s shoulders slumped, and he looked away. “I’ll show you what she can do.” He swung up onto her back without bothering to put a saddle and bridle on her, tapped her sides with his heels, and set her dancing across the paddock.

  Steve’s jaw dropped. “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.” He had never seen anything like it in all his travels both before and during the war. “I’ll give you five hundred dollars for both mares.” He didn’t need two horses, but the kid could use the money—the upkeep of horses wasn’t cheap—and he had someone in mind for the younger mare. Sharps might be only fifteen now, but war tended to age a body. And Steve wasn’t that much older than him. In a few years…

  George got Salida to stop simply by shifting his weight and resting a hand lightly on her neck. He took a breath. “All right,” he agreed. “Unsaddle Bella. We’ll leave them in the paddock, go back to the cottage, and get the bills of sale written up.”

  “George!” Bart Hall poked his head out the side door. “Father Ed is here. Frank’s with him.”

  George waved to let him know he’d heard him and turned to Steve, his face drawn. “I reckon we’ll be bringing Papa into the house now.”

  Yeah, Steve reckoned they would.

  He removed the palomino mare’s saddle and bridle, propped them on the paddock fence for the time being, and left the paddock to climb into the wagon.

  George dashed around to the front of the house while Steve brought the wagon around. He wasn’t certain if there would be enough men to transfer the coffin into the house, but Tom had lost some weight in recent months, and he was pretty sure the five of them could handle it.

  Chapter 31

  Bart watched as George and Captain Marriott left the house. It broke his heart to see his friend look so sad. Not only had he lost his pa, but he had to sell his horses.

  He knew the damned landlord’s demands given by the man who did his dirty work for him were stretching George’s nerves to the breaking point. Bart had a feeling there was more to it than that, something George wasn’t telling him.

  He ran a hand through his hair. As sad as this situation was, maybe the high point would be George finally telling him what was going on.

  “Bart.” His mother’s voice jolted him out of his reverie.

  “Yeah, Ma?”

  “Get the furniture in the parlor moved out of the way. Father Ed is going to need room to place the bier.”

  “Yes, Ma.” Bart knew there wasn’t much space in the room, although it was larger than their apartment in the tenement. He sighed and got busy.

  * * * *

  Thirty minutes later, Father Ed turned up not only with the bier, but with Frank as well.

  “I’ll just go see Mrs. Pettigrew before we get the bier set up,” the priest said.

  “She’s lying down, Father Ed. Ma’s in the kitchen, though, if you want to talk to her.”

  “Good idea.” He gripped Bart’s shoulder and left the room.

  “Frank.” Bart held out his hand. “Thanks for being here.”

  “I wouldn’t be anywhere else when one of the other musketeers was in need.” Frank shook his hand.

  “Georgie will appreciate it.” A thought occurred to Bart. After they’d been apart for a bit, he and Frank shook. Frank and George would shake as well. But Bart and George always hugged. He wasn’t truly bothered by that—he liked the feel of Georgie in his arms—but he wasn’t sure how George would take it when he realized how physical they tended to get. Too much to think about on this day. He forced himself to smile at Frank. “I thought sure you’d be at work this time of day.”

  “Father sent word to Mr. Vaughan.” Vaughan, Stone, and Christy was the law firm where Frank clerked in the afternoons, while he still continued his schooling in the mornings. “How’s Georgie holding up?”

  “About as you’d expect. He’s outside with Captain Marriott.”

  “Who?”

  “He was Georgie’s Pa’s friend. He brought the body home.”

  Frank nodded, but there was concern in his eyes. “What’s our boy gonna do, Bart?”

  “Whatever he has to. And we’ll be right there with him.”

  Frank’s smile was grim. “Damn right we will.”

  “Cussing, Frank? And
you a preacher’s son?”

  “Yeah, I reckon.”

  Father Ed came into the room. “Bart, would you fetch George and the man who brought Captain Pettigrew home?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Franklin, help me get the bier set up.”

  Bart headed for the kitchen door while Frank and his father got that done. He opened the door and stuck his head out. “George,” he called. “Father Ed is here.”

  * * * *

  The captain brought the wagon around to the front of the cottage. There were only five of them to carry the coffin into the house, but they managed it better than he’d expected.

  Mrs. Olivia came out of the bedroom. Charlie was in her arms, her head on her mama’s shoulder and her thumb in her mouth, while Noelle clutched Mrs. Olivia’s skirts. They stood to the side as he and George, Father Ed and Frank, and Captain Marriott set the coffin on the bier.

  Mrs. Olivia put Charlie down and slowly approached the coffin. “Tom.”

  “You don’t want to open that, Mrs. Pettigrew.” Captain Marriott gave a brief nod to the little girls.

  Oh God, how bad had the Captain been shot up?

  Mrs. Olivia looked at the Captain for a second, before she let out a shuddering breath. She stroked the pine wood, then leaned forward and rested her cheek on it. “If it weren’t for the children, I’d follow you, Tom,” she murmured softly. A quick glance around assured Bart he was the only one who was close enough to hear her sorrowful words.

  It must be hard loving someone so much. Then again…he thought what he would do if anything happened to George.

  His Ma lingered in the doorway to the kitchen. “If you gentlemen will come into the kitchen? I have some coffee and sandwiches ready for you.”

  “I need to rub down Bella and Salida,” George said.

  “I’ll help you.” Bart sent a look toward Frank, hoping he’d get the message that Bart would take care of George.

  To his relief, Frank nodded, and Bart followed George out of the house.

  “I don’t need to be minded,” George growled as he crossed to the stable. “I’m not a baby.”

  And Bart was really glad about that, not that he’d say anything, not even in jest. “Who’s minding you?”

  George glared at him over his shoulder. “Then why are you trailing after me? You don’t know how to groom a horse.”

  “I can do it. I’ve watched you and Frank do it plenty of times.”

  George snorted, and Bart bit back a grin.

  George took a couple of leads, went out to the paddock, and opened the gate. “If you’re going to hang around underfoot, you may as well make yourself useful. Get Bella’s tack and bring it to the stable.” He snapped the leads on both mares’ halters and led them into the stable.

  Bart had seen George handle saddles and bridles, so he knew what to do. He grabbed the saddle, then grunted at its unexpected weight. George made it seem so easy. Bart balanced the saddle on his hip with another grunt, grabbed the bridle and saddle blanket, and walked into the stable.

  George was bent over Bella’s front hoof and seemed intent on cleaning it. Bart took his burdens into the tack room, picked up a curry comb and a brush, and came back out. He patted Salida’s neck, pushed her black mane out of the way, and began to run the comb over her hide.

  “Bart?”

  “Yeah, Georgie?”

  “The other day…”

  “Yeah?” Bart continued the rhythmic brushing and observed him over Salida’s neck.

  “You…uh…” George released Bella’s hoof and straightened. His cheeks were red, and Bart could see his Adam’s apple bob.

  Bart stopped what he was doing and went to George. “What is it?”

  George walked around to Bella’s other side. He didn’t pick up her hoof, but he didn’t meet Bart’s eyes either. “You kissed me. Well, you kissed my hair.”

  Fuck. “Look, Georgie, I shouldn’t have done that, and I’m sorry. It…it didn’t mean anything.”

  “Oh.”

  “Are we still friends?”

  “Yeah. It was just…”

  “Just what?” Bart’s mouth was dry, and his gut was in knots. Had that one stupid move cost him this friendship?

  George drew in a deep breath, and now he did meet Bart’s eyes. “I was hoping it did mean something.”

  “George?”

  “I like when you hold me. I liked when you kissed me. I just wish you’d kissed me proper.” He encouraged Bella to rest her hoof on his thigh.

  Bart dropped the comb and moved so fast he startled Bella and George.

  “What…?”

  Bart caught George’s arms and pulled him straight. “George, I…Fuck it.” He pulled George close and kissed him.

  He’d dreamed of this, of feeling George’s lips under his, wondered if they were as soft as they looked, wondered if he’d accept Bart’s mouth on his.

  And God, it felt so good. He could stay here like this all day…

  George’s hand came between them, jolting him out of the fog of yearning that enveloped him, and he took a step back. Or he tried to. George had a grip on his belt and wouldn’t let him move.

  “Georgie?”

  “They won’t be expecting us back inside for a while.”

  “Uh…yeah?”

  George flexed his fingers, and Bart got so hard he was afraid his prick would pop the buttons off his fly. “I’ve heard it’s an experience making love in the hayloft.”

  “And you want to?”

  “I do. That is, if you do.”

  “You bet your boots I do!” Bart felt ten feet tall. He grabbed George’s hand and pulled him along behind to the ladder that led to the loft.

  * * * *

  They spread out enough hay to make a comfortable bed, even though they didn’t intend to do much beyond stroke each other’s pricks. The feel of George’s hand exploring his length beneath his britches, learning what caused it to twitch and grow harder, made Bart want to do more.

  And George’s prick…Bart had managed to get a brief look at it when they’d jumped into the Sound River one hot August day a few years back. It had been a pretty prick, but George had done some growing since then, and holy Moses but he was a nice handful now. Bart thought he was going to unman himself. He flipped George onto his back.

  “Hummingbird, can I…can I see you?”

  “Here I am.” George spread out his arms, almost in an invitation, and smiled up at him. “You called me hummingbird.”

  “You move quick like one.” Bart bit his lip. “I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have?”

  “I like it. I didn’t know how much I would.” George ran his fingers through Bart’s hair, and Bart shivered. Nothing had ever felt so good.

  Bart dipped his head and pressed a kiss to the hinge of George’s jaw, then rested a hand on the bulge that marred the smoothness of his britches. “Let me see your prick.”

  “Yes.” It was Georgie’s turn to shiver. “Please, will you do it?”

  “You’ll let me?”

  “Bart, don’t be an idiot. Of course I will.”

  Bart unbuttoned the front of George’s britches, his hands shaking as he felt the warm, hard, velvety flesh. He couldn’t resist toying with George’s foreskin. The sounds George made were like nothing he’d ever heard. He ran his fingertips up and down George’s prick, and abruptly he found himself bending forward and tracing the path his fingers had taken with his tongue.

  “Bart!”

  “No?”

  “My God, are you crazy? I didn’t know we could do this.”

  “We can do whatever you like…whatever we want. There’s more we can do. Will you let me?” Bart waited for George’s permission.

  George hit his shoulder. “Of course I will! What are you waiting for?”

  Bart grinned and wrapped his lips around Georgie’s prick, humming in satisfaction when George squeaked. Bart sucked while he rubbed his tongue along the underside of the luscious morsel in his m
outh.

  “Wait!” George punched his shoulder. Well, it wasn’t much of a punch since due to the angle, George was unable to put any real force behind it. Still, Bart pulled back.

  “What is it? You don’t like this?”

  “I love it. But how did you know about doing this? How do you know there’s more we can do?” He narrowed his eyes. “Who told you? Who taught you?”

  “No one, hummingbird. I swear.” Bart was tickled that his Georgie was jealous. “I’ve heard the men at work talk, and I figured if a woman could do it to them, I could do it to a man—to you.”

  “Oh. Okay. Go on. No, wait a minute. I get to do this to you then, don’t I?”

  Bart groaned and shuddered as he felt the wet warmth spill over his abdomen.

  “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

  “No. Dammit, Georgie, you made me come.”

  “How?”

  “The thought that you’d want to do this to me…”

  “Yeah?” George lay there with a smug expression on his face. “But of course I would.”

  Bart caught his breath, knelt between George’s legs, and nuzzled the hair that grew around George’s prick while he took the hard length in his hand and began long strokes.

  It didn’t take much to make George come, and it was Bart’s turn to look smug.

  George leaned up on an elbow and smiled down at him, one of those sweet smiles of his that had been missing since they’d learned of his pa’s death.

  “I needed something to remind me I’m alive. Thank you, Bart.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  George cupped his cheek, ran his thumb over Bart’s cheekbone, and murmured some words in Spanish.

  “What did you say?”

  “My soul, my life, my heart.”