Author's Note: Thanks for the great response so far. I do apologize for the lack of updates for "Academy," but when I do get it moving forward again, I promise I'll make it worth the wait. Meanwhile, this story took the reins of my creative flow, and sort of wrote itself. Again, thanks for reading! I missed regular posting and the interaction here very much.
"This land is rich with life--streams full of fish and hills filled with game. The soil is dark and fertile--perfect for farming. I don't harbor false illusions, though. It will not be easy. As welcoming as these hills are in the abundance of summer, they will be equally hostile, come winter. Already I've heard wolves howling and pumas screaming in the night. Our home must be sturdy enough to withstand not just wind and weather, but predator or foe."--excerpt from the private journal of Ephraim Barton
Smoky Hills Part 2
Speculations
"Thor--drop that!"
The big wolfhound reluctantly gave up the mummified squirrel carcass he'd found in a corner of the downstairs bedroom, and Heero gave a disgusted huff as he scooped it up with the dustpan and poured it into the trash.
"Aw, Heero--he thinks you are a serious killjoy," Trowa teased from his wheelchair.
"He's a dog, Barton. He relinquished a 'kill' to the pack leader--me. He has no concept of 'joy' or my having 'killed' it."
"Sure he does," Trowa assured him, as the dog trotted over and nuzzled the auburn-haired man's chest. "See? He's transferring his affection to me."
"He's rubbing his squirrely muzzle in your shirt," came a dry response, as Heero shoved back his damp bangs and tackled the next corner full of cobwebs. "If you want to smell like dead rodent, go right ahead."
Trowa "ew-ed" and pushed the dog away. "Way t'go, Yuy. If I puke, you're cleaning it up."
"I'll have to, won't I?" Heero noted irritably. "Since you can't walk."
Trowa looked down at his thickly-bandaged leg, stretched out along a support. "Sorry."
Heero sighed, turning to face him. "I'm not trying to make you feel guilty--"
"But I do! I'm sitting here like a lump, while you do all the work--"
"Work I wouldn't have to do, if you'd let me take you back to Sanc--" Heero stopped in mid-rant, visibly curbing his temper. "I'm sorry," he said evenly. "I'm just a bit overwhelmed."
"I know. This was supposed to be a country home--not a project," sighed the other man. "Hell, the first weekend you busted your ass making the kitchen and bathroom useable, and putting up a mailbox. Since then, you've hardly stopped working. If you really hate it, we could go back to Sanc until my leg heals up and I can do my fair share--"
"No," came a quick, curt reply. "I don't want to go back." Heero's blue eyes turned a bit haunted. "Once we get this place tidied up and replenish our groceries, things will seem less--daunting."
Trowa managed a weak smile. "Daunting. That's a good way to put it. I'd have said 'impossible'."
"It's not impossible." Heero knocked the cobwebs on his broom into the garbage can. "Just messy." He glanced up with a more determined light in his eyes. "The floors are solid. The roof doesn't leak. And the foundation is sound. Despite the neglect, this house is genuinely habitable."
He turned as Thor and the second wolfhound, Balder dashed across the room chasing a mouse they'd scared up from under a pile of dead leaves.
"Well, it will be," he added ruefully. "With a bit more work."
~*~
The end of his first week of extended deliveries found Duo at the local pub with Quatre, after they'd finished work, sipping on a beer and nibbling pretzels from a bowl, while they debated what to do over the weekend.
"--too early for fishing," Duo was pointing out. "Season doesn't open for a couple of weeks."
"But we could scope out the best-looking spots...maybe pack a lunch and make a day of it."
Duo gave a shrug. "I s'pose."
"You could look for mountain lion tracks," Quatre added, not quite looking at Duo when he said it.
It was a sore point between them; or actually between Duo and pretty much everyone in town. No one had believed him about the lion. And although it had happened long before he met Quatre, when he told the blonde the story, even that staunch ally had been skeptical.
"Figments of the imagination don't leave tracks," Duo said sourly.
"Hasn't stopped you from looking before."
"True."
Ever since the embarrassing incident, Duo had made annual treks into the woods to look for evidence to back up his claim. He'd become a pretty avid hiker because of that desire for vindication. And if he took up cross-country skiing just to search the freshly-powdered trails for tracks--well that was his own business and no one else's.
"You know I don't think you lied about the mountain lion," Quatre reminded him, gesturing the bartender for a refill. "I just think maybe you saw a really big bobcat, or maybe a coyote--"
"Drop it," Duo said flatly, downing the rest of his beer and shoving the empty over next to Quatre's. "If you wanna go hiking this weekend, we'll go. Just don't bring up the subject of tracks, or anything else having to do with--that."
Subject closed.
"Okay." Quatre picked up his fresh glass of beer, and glanced up at the wide-screen television, noticing the commercial that was playing. One of the actors in it looked Japanese, which inspired a quick, conversation-saving change of subject. "Hey, have you caught a glimpse of anyone up at the Barton place yet?"
"Nope. Driveway's about a mile long," Duo pointed out. "And winding. You sure as hell can't see the house from the mailbox. They'd have to be out there waiting in order for me to meet 'em." He gave a teasing waggle of his eyebrows. "Maybe they're hermits like the old man was. Recluses. Hiding out because of some horrible disfigurement."
Quatre rolled his eyes. "Y'know, Duo, it's that wild imagination of yours that makes people skeptical of some of the stories you tell."
"Yeah, but I never lie," Duo reminded him. "So no matter how far-fetched it might sound, whatever I tell you is true!"
"Well, it's what you believe is true." Quatre looked around them. "Too bad Mister Hendersen isn't here," he sighed, referring to the local grocer. "Everyone gets to his place sooner or later. I'll bet he's met the new residents."
"Why so curious?" Duo wondered, nibbling just enough off of each pretzel in his handful so that he could play "barrel of monkeys" with them on the countertop.
"God, you are so juvenile," Quatre grumbled, stealing a pretzel and biting it in half. "I just wonder what kind of people would move into such a remote location."
"Like I said, hermits. Or axe murderers." Duo used one of his pretzels to hook another out of the bowl in front of them.
Quatre muttered something under his breath.
Duo looked up with wide eyes. "What? It's not like there isn't a precedent. Everyone knows Old Man Barton was a psycho. An' his father was even worse--running moonshine and chasing off the revenuers. The place just attracts nut cases."
"Then why don't you live there?" Quatre shot back, smirking just enough that Duo knew he was being baited.
"Har har. Very funny. I don't live there 'cause living with you is so much fun."
Someone slid into the seat beside Duo and reached across to snag some pretzels from the bowl. "Talkin' 'bout the guys who moved into the Barton place? I've seen 'em," she said with a smug grin.
"Hilde!" Duo wrapped an arm around the slim brunette, nearly hauling her off her stool and into his lap. "It's been ages! How ya been?"
"Shove off," she said good-naturedly, pushing his arm away. "You saw me yesterday when you filled up the Jeep, moron."
"Yes, but that was only across the counter, gorgeous. There were miles between us." He batted his eyes teasingly.
"How many has he had?" Hilde asked Quatre matter-of-factly.
"Just started his second," came the response. "He's sober as a judge."
"No, I'm not. I'm intoxicated by her beauty," Duo insisted, waving a pretzel in Hilde's direction.
She bit it off in mid-air. "Stop slingin' the bullshit, Maxwell, or I won't tell you about the new hotties in town."
He stopped the banter, exchanging a quick look with Quatre, who gave the girl a hopeful look. "Do tell!"
"Well, the one who came into the store looked kinda foreign. He had dark hair and really deep blue eyes." Her expression turned a bit dreamy. "Didn't say much, 'cause he was just fillin' up the car. But he had a really deep, sexy voice. And great eyes!"
Duo rolled his eyes at her. "So--how 'bout the other one?"
"He stayed in the car. But he looked tall and slim from what I could see--typical of the Bartons. And he had reddish-brown hair that kinda hung over his eyes--which looked green, even from where I was standing--"
"--with your nose pressed against the window, no doubt," Duo added. "I hope you washed the drool off afterwards."
She punched him in the arm, blushing at the same time. "Asshole."
"I'll bet it was Yuy who went inside," Quatre guessed. "The name sounds Japanese, and the description fits."
"Yeah, and how many Japs have blue eyes?" Duo said sarcastically.
"As many as have green," Quatre retorted. "Besides, there are lots of Japanese-Americans around. Maybe he's half. And as Hilde pointed out, the other guy looked like a Barton--" His aquamarine gaze turned her way. "Green eyes, you said--?"
Hilde smiled as the bartender plunked a beer down in front of her, knowing the three friends' routine quite well. "You boys may as well stop right now," she suggested, giving them a coy look. "You know the odds are against you."
Both men knew what odds she meant; the odds of either Yuy or Barton being gay.
"Well, we can dream, can't we?" Quatre said with a shrug.
"That's all it'll be," Hilde cautioned. "I got dibs."
"Oh please," Duo drawled snidely. "As if--!"
"What? You don't think I could snag one of 'em?"
"Not if you roped and tied 'em," Duo countered.
"Wanna make a little wager?" she suggested. "Betcha a week's free coffee and doughnuts that I can get a date with one of them inside of a month."
"I wouldn't make that bet if I were you," Quatre cautioned. "You know how much Duo loves his coffee and doughnuts. He might cheat."
"How?"
Duo snorted wryly. "I'm their mailman, Hilde. All I'd have to do is drop them a note about the psycho bitch at the gas station and it'd be all over for you."
She narrowed her eyes. "You wouldn't dare!"
"Try me," he smirked back.
"He would," Quatre asserted.
"Isn't there some rule about that?" Hilde demanded. "He can't just put a personal note in someone's mailbox--!"
"He can if he pays the postage," shrugged Quatre. He shook his head. "Why don't you two just drop it? If you can get a date with one of the new guys, Hil, more power to you!"
Duo looked away, his expression shifting just slightly.
Hilde caught the look and frowned, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Duo--you never know. Maybe one of them does swing your way."
He just shook his head. "Not in this backwater mudhole of a town," he said flatly. "Face it, Hil--there hasn't been anyone since Solo--an' there's not likely to be." He pushed away from the bar, putting a few dollars on it to cover his drinks and a tip, and tossing his Jeep keys beside them. "Hey, Quat--I'm gonna head home. You take the Jeep an' I'll walk off the beer, okay? We'll figure out what to do for fun tomorrow."
He turned quickly away and walked out before either of the other two could try to change his mind.
He knew it wasn't Hilde's fault. She hadn't meant to remind him how bleak his prospects were. And most of the time joking around about the lack of eligible guys in town was amusing for both of them.
But this time, it got under his skin just a little more than he wanted it to. It didn't help that the week before had marked the anniversary of the orphanage fire--the only real home he'd ever known. He was feeling a little raw around the edges, as well as tired from the extra driving that week.
"Freakin' Barton place--" he mumbled to himself, feeling the chilly night air quickly take away the comfortable buzz he'd been starting to develop after his two beers.
He suddenly wanted nothing more than to go home and get properly wasted where he could safely pass out afterwards. And since there was usually a six-pack in the refrigerator, he figured he could do just that.
Setting a brisk pace, with that goal in mind, he didn't mind the sobering effect of the walk--especially when he heard the rumble of an approaching vehicle, whose poorly-tuned engine he recognized all too well.
"Shit!" he hissed, stuffing his hands in his pockets and walking a little faster, hoping they were headed away from him and wouldn't notice a single, dark-clad figure on the sidewalk.
No such luck.
The truck turned and pulled up alongside Duo, idling along to match his determined walk.
"Hey, Maxwell!" called a familiar, much-despised voice.
He kept walking, not even sparing a glance at the beat-up truck or its occupants.
"Maxwell!" The driver pulled slightly ahead so Duo couldn't avoid seeing Trant Clark hanging out of the passenger window leering at him. "Aw, c'mon honey. It's not safe for a girl like you to be walking alone at night. Want some company?"
"Fuck off, Trant," Duo muttered coldly, keeping his pace steady. He had no intention of stopping to acknowledge his tormentors; but neither would he run from them. He kept his steps measured and firm.
"That's no way to talk, sweet-cheeks. You oughta be nice to me." Trant was leaning further out the window, an open beer in his hand, and a sneer on his lips. "Shouldn't be so picky, Maxwell. Beggars can't be choosers, y'know."
Duo heard Otto's voice chime in from behind the wheel. "He's right, you fag. May as well admit nobody's ever gonna want what you're peddling. Solo didn't, now did he?"
That was the last straw for Duo. Bad enough he was depressed about the orphanage--but having them throw Solo in was too much.
"I swear t' God, Trant. Get your butt-ugly mug outta my face, or I'll pound it into paste!" Duo swore, taking a step towards the vehicle.
In the next instant, Trant was throwing open the door, while Otto slammed on the brakes and shifted into park.
"Gonna kick your ass, Maxwell!"
"You ain't got what it takes!"
Just as Otto hopped out and headed around the back of the truck, all three men heard a car approaching, and froze where they were.
The shape of the lights atop the cruiser were unmistakable, and before Duo even finished swearing under his breath, Trant and Otto were back in their vehicle, pulling away from the curb.
The police car cruised slowly along the road, neither pursuing the truck, nor stopping by Duo. But the driver, Ralph, shook his head as he passed the braided man.
He knew. They all knew how it was between Trant, Otto, and Duo. But it was for damned sure the cops didn't care, seeing as half of them were Trant's distant cousins or former friends of his father, and the rest knew their boss played golf with Otto's dad, who owned the biggest business in town. It didn't mean they wouldn't break up a fight, if one occurred, which it had plenty of times in the past. But Duo was the only one without parents or standing in the town to shield him from his antagonists.
"Fuck," he muttered dispiritedly. "Fuck this town anyway."
TBC...
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