Pandemic Page 8

  “Laurie, we don’t have a—”

  “Jesus!” Laurie jumped sky-high and did drop his phone. Wheat had approached so quietly he hadn’t even heard him.

  “Sorry.” He stood there with a shirttail hanging out. Why? Wheat stooped to pick up Laurie’s phone, but then stopped, groaned, and clutched his head. “Oh God, not a smart move.”

  “Are you all right?” Laurie picked up his phone himself.

  Wheat blew out a breath. “Just give me a second.”

  “Here. Have some water.” Laurie handed him a bottle.

  “I really hate this.” Wheat unscrewed the cap, tugged down his mask, and took a cautious swallow. “Really.”

  “I don’t blame you. I was sick as a dog this morning, but it was only the one time, and it was my own fault for drinking too much last night. Having a concussion and tossing your cookies over and over is not a fun thing.”

  “No.” He seemed to catch his breath. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Wheat must have seen where Laurie’s gaze had gone. He murmured, “There wasn’t a towel in the bathroom. I was about to ask if we had any.”

  “Shit. I didn’t think to look for one. I used my sweat jacket to dry off my hands.” He went to the cedar chest where he’d found enough bedding for the two mattresses, and sure enough, under the pillows and blankets were some bath and hand towels. The cedar the chest was made from would keep all the linens fresh-smelling and prevent them from becoming moldy or bug-infested. He selected a hand towel and offered it to his companion, who smiled at him.

  “Thanks, but I don’t need it right now.”

  “Sorry.” Laurie could feel his cheeks heat up, and he dropped it back in the chest for the time being.

  “Don’t worry about it.” The face mask Wheat wore covered the lower half of his face, but his gray eyes—such beautiful gray eyes—gazed at him with calm curiosity. “I’d like to help by making the bed.”

  “Are you sure you feel well enough?”

  He seemed to think about it. Finally he gave a slight tilt to his head. “I do.”

  “All righty, then.” Grateful for the distraction, Laurie handed him a set of sheets. “But if you feel woozy, let me know right away.”

  “Yes, master.” Wheat took the sheets, got down on his hands and knees—once again his trousers pulled tight over that gorgeous ass—and unfolded the bottom sheet.

  Great. The man was perfect in every way except one: he was a sub, just like Laurie, or like Laurie thought maybe he wanted to be. Not that he wanted to get tied up—well, okay, yeah, but only with a necktie—and getting caned or hit with a belt wasn’t high on his list. In fact it wasn’t on his list at all…

  He felt depressed. Here he was, twenty-five years old, it was pretty much the end of the world as he’d known it for those twenty-five years, and it looked like he was never going to experience his fondest fantasy. He hooked up the pump to the second mattress and began blowing it up.

  “I…I’m not a master.” He had to let Wheat know that. “Not that I’m a submissive, either. Exactly. I don’t think. I mean…I’ve never done anything like that, so I don’t really know.” Shut up, Parkinson, he ordered himself. Just fucking shut up.

  “Like what?” Wheat didn’t sound mocking, just curious.

  “Getting sp-spanked or…or tied up. With a necktie.” Oh God, could he shove his fat foot any deeper into his mouth?

  “I like spanking my partners.”

  “You do? But you said—” He blushed when his voice broke, something it hadn’t even done when he’d entered puberty.

  “I like tying them up with one of the silk ties I have in my closet at home.”

  The thought of Wheat tying Laurie’s hands to the headboard, of Wheat’s hands on his body, his palm coming down on Laurie’s ass…He swallowed. “Would you…would you tell me something?”

  “Sure.” Was Wheat really as hopeful as he sounded?

  “Uh…” No, Laurie couldn’t ask if Wheat was a Dom, if he might consider Laurie a lover—Wheat was the son of one of the town’s wealthiest families, while Laurie was just a hairdresser-wannabe whose pop was a tin knocker. And in spite of wanting to be tied up and spanked, his sex life was really vanilla. He wimped out and instead asked, “Whose idea was it to name you Morrison, your mother’s or your father’s?”

  “Oh, it was Father’s idea.”

  Laurie couldn’t tell if Wheat was disappointed by his question. His back remained to Laurie, and he began to fit the sheet around the edges of the full-sized mattress.

  “Morrison was my mother’s father’s name. Father thought it would be a good way of sucking up to the old coot.”

  “You didn’t like him?”

  “No, that was Father’s word for him.” Wheat sat back on his heels, but he didn’t turn to face Laurie. “I loved my grandfather.” He seemed fascinated by the material he held, and Laurie wondered what was going through his mind. “He was actually a pretty nice man. He set up a trust fund for me for college.”

  “That was very generous of him.” Laurie put the mattress pump back on the shelf and went to the chest for another sheet set and a couple of pillows

  “You’d think. He agreed with my father that I should go to Brown.” Wheat sighed. “I don’t know who was more surprised by that, since they didn’t usually get along.”

  “But Brown!” Laurie was impressed. He’d never known anyone who went to an Ivy League school. “My sister Jo wanted to go there, but even though she had the grades, we just couldn’t afford it.”

  “But what about a scholarship?”

  “I don’t know.” Laurie shrugged, even though Wheat wasn’t looking at him and couldn’t see. “She never talked about.”

  “I’m sorry she couldn’t go. My problem is I don’t have an Ivy League IQ.” Wheat sounded tired.

  Because of his injury or because his family had talked him to death over the necessity of going to Brown?

  “I failed my freshman year, and the next three universities I attended asked me to leave.” Wheat still wasn’t looking at him. “I wound up going to Buchanan.”

  “I don’t think I’ve heard of that university.”

  “I can’t say I’m surprised. It’s out-of-state, and it’s a party college. I made excellent grades in Drinking 101 and Advanced Seduction.”

  Laurie dropped the sheets and pillows on the second mattress and stood there, trying to see if Wheat was serious.

  Wheat glanced up at him, then jerked his gaze away. “I don’t know why I said that. It isn’t even true. Buchanan has—had—” He shook his head.

  “Yeah, it’s gonna be hard to keep track of the here and now.”

  “It is. Buchanan had an excellent program in enology and viticulture, and I managed to get good grades in plant biology, chemistry, and soil science.” There was pride in Wheat’s voice.

  Laurie studied him thoughtfully. “You actually aced those courses, didn’t you?”

  “Not that I’d admit it to anyone, but…” He blushed. “I did.”

  “Good for you.” Laurie smiled when Wheat relaxed and his eyes crinkled, indicating he was smiling back at him behind the face mask.

  “I would have liked to be a vintner when I grew up.”

  He continued to stare at Wheat. “Uh…okay?”

  “I wanted to grow grapes.” These damn masks. From his tone of voice, it sounded as if Wheat’s smile had grown broad.

  “Oh!” He smiled in return, even though Wheat couldn’t see it.

  “I actually had grapevines growing outside the formal gardens at home, and this was going to be my first harvest from these vines. I’d planned to press the grapes later this summer, or possibly in the fall, but of course that isn’t likely now.”

  “That sounds like a great idea.”

  “Yes, well, neither my father nor my grandfather thought so.”

  “I can understand your situation. I wanted to be a hairdresser, and my mom and her friends and even
my sisters liked how I did their hair, but I knew my pop wouldn’t have approved, so I never bothered to do anything about it.”

  “What do—did—you do?”

  “I was a tin knocker.” He could see Wheat’s confusion. “I installed sheet metal for HVAC systems.” He wasn’t really surprised at how easy it was to put that in the past.

  “I’m sorry. HVAC?”

  “Heating, ventilation, and air conditioning. The last job I worked on was for the Laurel Hill Mall.”

  “Well, I don’t think we’ll need to do that during a—whatever this is. So I’ll grow grapes and make wine, and you can cut our hair.” He looked around. “What else does this bunker have?”

  “I didn’t do much exploring—I wanted to get back to you.” Oh crap, should he have admitted that?

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.” Wheat didn’t seem to mind. Or maybe he just hadn’t picked up on Laurie’s interest. That could be a strong possibility, since there was such a gap between their circumstances—Wheat being so wealthy and Laurie just about scraping by, even though his parents were middle class.

  “We may be the only people left in Laurel Hill—maybe even in America—who aren’t sick. We’ve got to stick together.”

  “We do.”

  “Anyway, there’s this one big room and the bathroom in the corner.”

  “Having a bathroom is a good thing.”

  “It would be a pain to have to pee in a hole.” At least the composting toilet would cut down on the odor.

  Wheat snorted a laugh and took a pillow. “Have you ever?”

  “Oh, yeah. Pop took us camping every summer. Even my sisters had to rough it.”

  “You mentioned your sisters. How many do you have?”

  “Four. Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy.”

  “And you’re Laurie.” He tilted his head. “Who named you all that?”

  “Who do you think? My mother.”

  “Our parents have a lot to answer for.”

  “They do.”

  “I miss them.” Wheat paused in putting the pillow into the pillowcase. “They weren’t perfect, but they were my parents.”

  Laurie reached out and cupped the side of Wheat’s neck. “As soon as you feel better, we’ll go look for them.”

  Wheat raised his hand and pressed it against Laurie’s. “Thank you. But what about your parents?”

  “Oh, they’re fine.” Probably. He hoped. “They’re on their way to Mom’s sister, who lives in Indiana. They…uh…they couldn’t wait for me.”

  “I’m sorry. That had to be rough when you found out.”

  “Thanks. But they didn’t have a choice. It was a mandatory evacuation.”

  Wheat looked surprised.

  “Didn’t you know?”

  “I didn’t. We returned home from the gala for the children’s hospital, Father gave the staff a month’s pay and told them to go be with their families, and informed Mother and me we were going to the mountain cottage.”

  “Wait, you have a mountain cottage?”

  “Yes. I guess you might say that was my parents’ idea of roughing it. It only has three bathrooms.” His expression became desolate. “It was my father’s decision. I didn’t think—He was talking on the phone at the gala, just before security came out to make the announcement that the evening was coming to an early conclusion. Father must have known an evacuation was going to be ordered and wanted to get on the road before the traffic jams started.”

  “Maybe.” Laurie could see how that bothered Wheat. “Or maybe he knew it was inevitable.”

  “You’re right, I suppose. How did you learn your family had gone?”

  “Mom tried to call me. She had to leave a message because I’d turned my phone off after work.” His shoulders slumped. “I got fired again, and I went out and got drunk.” He didn’t want to admit to that—it was bad enough to be a disappointment to his family, but disappointing Wheat—Right now Wheat thought he was all that and a bag of chips, and he wanted to keep it that way. But…If they were the last people here in Laurel Hill, then it was only fair Wheat know what a miserable person Laurie could be.

  “Oh, Laurie.” Wheat rose to his feet and came to him. “You’re a good man who’s human.” He reached out as if to rub Laurie’s shoulder, then snatched back his hand. “I wish we could touch each other, but if there’s a possibility I’ve got this damned sickness, the last thing I want to do is infect you.”

  Laurie liked that Wheat was concerned about him, but how necessary was that? “Y’know, I don’t think it really matters. I’ve been hauling you all over God’s creation, and you’ve been draped all over me. At this point, if we’re gonna get each other sick, it’s pretty much a done deal.”

  “You think?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ve been wondering what you look like under that mask.”

  “Should we take them off?” Laurie held his breath and crossed his fingers. He really wanted to see what Wheat looked like.

  “Yes. On the count of three?”

  Laurie nodded.

  “Okay, one, two. Three.”

  Laurie reached up and pulled off his mask as Wheat did the same thing. My God, the man is even more gorgeous when he isn’t throwing up! Abruptly he realized he’d said the words aloud, and he felt heat rush up to his hairline. “Uh…I hope you’re not disappointed?”

  “Are you kidding?” Wheat smiled, and for the first time, Laurie got to see Wheat’s actual smile. “You’re so good-looking.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yes. I couldn’t ask to spend an apocalypse with anyone better. Not only can you take care of us, but you’re extremely easy on the eyes.”

  Laurie continued staring into Wheat’s gray eyes, lost in their depths, until his stomach suddenly rumbled. “I’m sorry, I should have asked. Are you hungry?”

  Wheat seemed to think about it for a second. “I haven’t eaten since last night.”

  “You must be starved.”

  “I could use a bite.”

  “Let making the bed go for now. I’ll have dinner ready for you in a jiffy.” Laurie pretended to shoot his cuffs, then reached for a box of peanut butter protein bars and opened it. “Ta-dah!”

  Wheat didn’t bother trying to stop his laughter, which made Laurie feel good. “All right,” Wheat said as he put a couple of water bottles on the table. “Thanks.” Abruptly, he began to sway. “I didn’t realize I needed to sit. I actually do feel a little light-headed.”

  Laurie pushed Wheat gently into a chair and offered him a protein bar. It might raise Wheat’s blood sugar and give him some energy. “It’s peanut butter. I hope you’re not allergic to it, but if you are, we have chocolate coconut, salted caramel, or double chocolate crunch. Or it looks like we’ve got tuna.” He held up a can.

  “Peanut butter is fine. But…do we have a can opener?”

  Laurie stared at the can and wasn’t sure if he wanted to swear or cry. This sucked so badly. The can had to be one of the few brands that didn’t have a pop-top lid. “Fat lot of good I am.”

  Wheat reached out and rested a hand on Laurie’s arm. “Don’t worry about it. If I know McIntyre, he made sure there was a manual can opener in that box.”

  A flash of heat shimmered through Laurie. It felt so good he’d be willing to forget the can opener for the rest of their lives if Wheat would do it again.

  “Once we get settled here, we can go back for it.”

  “I should have…I didn’t even think to check the lids when I tossed them in your suitcase.”

  “It’s okay, you’re human,” he reminded Laurie again. “Now sit down and join me in our gourmet dinner.”

  Laurie dropped down into the other chair, unwrapped the bar, and bit off a piece. He set the bar aside, and while he chewed, he removed the radio from its box and turned it on. He was relieved to find the battery had at least a minimal charge.

  “That’s the oddest-looking radio I’ve ever seen. Where did it come from?”

>   “The pharmacist I met earlier today gave me the bottomless bag.” Laurie made air quotes when he said bottomless bag. “I thought it felt heavy. He must have included this in it.”

  “That makes sense. Are we going to listen to WLUV?” That was Laurel Hill’s easy listening station. “I love Althea McAvoy.” She was the station’s highest-regarded radio personality with her drive-time show.

  “My sister Jo loves her, too, but no. It’s a dual band radio. We might as well see if we can get any news.”

  “I don’t see a power cord, so I’m assuming this is battery-powered?”

  “It is, and we’ll have to be careful using it. I haven’t found a store of batteries here.”

  “Batteries?” Wheat flushed a little. “I have…uh…four AA batteries, if you need them.” He cleared his throat and avoided Laurie’s eyes. “I…uh…may have brought along a toy or two.”

  Laurie swallowed wrong and choked. Did Wheat mean a sex toy? That might be fun. He did a little throat clearing of his own. “No, according to the box, this takes a 1400mA battery. Although solar powered batteries would have been better,” he mused. He fiddled with the dial, and while it took a bit of time, he finally got more than crackling and white noise.

  “—Prescott. I repeat, this is Prescott.”

  Wheat’s brow furrowed. “Who is he?”

  Laurie shrugged. “I have no idea. I was expecting to hear Revere.”

  “Who’s Revere?”

  “According to the people I met in the drugstore, she’s the one who broke the news about the pandemic. No one knows her real name or where she—Wait a second, we need to hear this.”

  “Revere’s gone,” Prescott was saying, “as you’ve probably surmised, since you’re hearing my voice.”

  It all fell into place. Laurie hadn’t been that great in school, but he’d loved history and been good at it. Samuel Prescott was one of the men who’d ridden with Paul Revere the night of April 18th, 1775, warning the colonists of the danger approaching.

  “Whoever this Prescott is, I have a feeling he’s using this particular alias to conceal his identity and probably protect his family.”