Jack Twist glanced furtively at the man Joe Aguirre had told him would be his mama, daddy and worst nightmare for the duration of the summer. Franklin Hopkins looked over his shoulder as though he could feel the boy's eyes on him and Jack ducked his head.

"Twist! Git yore lazy ass over here. What? You think 'cause yore eighteen yore grown and ain't got to take orders from no one? Lemme tell ya something, boy. A little hair on the balls don't make a man."

Jack got up and walked resentfully to the other side of the camp. "Damn it, Franklin," he said. "You're the tender; I'm the herder. Why I got to help you set up camp?"

"First off, ya can call me Frank. Second, if ya ever cuss at me again, I'll wallop the sass outta yore butt, ya hear me?"

Jack nodded. He believed this ol' boy was as good as his word. Frank was taller even than Jack's six feet with the ropy muscles of a born scrapper. Jack had no wish test him.

"You finish pitchin' this here tent while I string up that meat so's the coyotes cain't git at it," Frank said in his flat Texas twang.

Jack did as he was told, wrestling with the balky tent. It sure seemed to Jack that even inanimate things were conspiring against him lately. By contrast, Frank quickly and deftly fashioned a tripod of tall poles and hung their week's ration of meat out of harm's way.

The muscles in Frank's bare, tanned arms coiled and stretched as he worked, his craggy face turned skyward, eyes squinted, radiating crow's feet. "Gonna be rain before dark. Best eat early tonight. Why'nt ya go open some a them beans and put some fire to 'em?"

Jack started to point out that it wasn't his job to cook, but thought better of it. Cursing to himself when he cut his thumb on the can opener, Jack finally got the beans warming. God damn, but he hated beans, and that seemed to be about all that was in the supply boxes. God damn his daddy for making him take this dumbass job tending dumbass sheep.

"What the hell's the matter with you, boy?" Frank said, breaking Jack's reverie.

Jack saw that dusk had fallen while he gazed into the fire and the beans were bubbling over. Without thinking, he grabbed for one of the cans before putting his glove back on, and realized his mistake instantly. He sprang up waving his burned fingers frantically in a vain effort to cool them.

Frank shook his head. "You ain't all there, are ya?"

"Piss on you," Jack said, hopping up and down, holding his burning hand by the wrist.

Frank cocked his head as if considering a matter of some weight. "Piss on me?" he repeated softly.

"Aw shit," Jack said, settling down. "I didn't mean that. It's just my hand hurts somethin' awful, and hell, mister, I ain't stupid."

"Naw, yore not stupid, Twist, but ya are young, and young means careless. Ya don't know yet in yore bones that yore gonna die someday. That makes me nervous 'cause out here the two a us only got each other to depend on."

Jack dropped his eyes. No one had ever talked to him like that before; just laying out the facts like Jack was an equal. It came to Jack then that he could be Frank's equal. All he had to do was hold up his end of the partnership. After all, it wasn't really Frank's fault that Jack was out here in the ass a nowhere, was it?

"Sorry," Jack said. "I been hatin' life lately."

"I shore know that feelin'," Frank said, reaching into his saddlebag. "And when it comes around I always offer it a drink."

Jack looked at the bottle Frank held out. He'd had beer and a swallow of corn liquor that his daddy said would put hair on his chest, but whiskey had yet to pass his lips. Eagerly, Jack reached out and his fingers brushed Frank's as the bottle was passed. Jack met Frank's eyes and neither looked immediately away.

"Twist," Frank said. "Funny name."

"You could call me Jack."

"Shore enough, Jack," Frank's lips twisted in a smile. "Take a pew."

Jack sat on the ground with his back against the log Frank was leaning on. He passed the bottle back and turned his gaze to the fire. "Reckon I should get up there to the woolies."

"Yore injured," Frank said. "Ya need a little more painkiller first."

Jack grinned. "Reckon I do," he said, already craving another sip of the molten liquid that burned all the way down his throat to smolder pleasantly in his belly. Settling back against the weathered wood, he stretched his legs toward the fire and took another swig.

"Well I will admit that ya take a drink like a man, Jack," Frank said. "You wrap your lips right around that bottleneck like it was yore mama's tit. Didn't cough once neither."

At these words, Jack felt a glow that had nothing to do with the alcohol. Frank's praise made him feel like something other than the fuck-up his father called him. With what he imagined was nonchalance, Jack tipped the bottle and drank again.

"Whoo-ee," Frank said. "Lookit 'im go. Once you git a taste for it, you been got."

"What's so bad about that?"

"You gonna find out some day, if ya keep suckin' it down like that."

Jack handed the whiskey back to Frank, and asked, "How old are you?"

"Thirty three, same as Jesus when they nailed 'im up."

The mild blasphemy startled a laugh out of Jack. "You talk like that in my house and you get the back of my daddy's hand, or the strap," he said. "My mama's real religious, and my daddy, well, he don't allow no disrespect, that's for sure."

Frank nodded. Lots of fathers were lots harder on their sons than they needed to be, trying to make boys too early into men. It was just one of this world's many sorrows.

"Gotta leak the lizard," Frank said, as he rose to his feet.

Jack stared at the toes of his boots as Frank walked a few feet away. He heard the faint rustling patter of piss on grass and reached for the bottle Frank had set on the ground. As Jack turned, his gaze flicked involuntarily to the silhouette at the edge of the circle of light. Frank was just tucking in and buttoning up.

Jack looked down quickly when Frank looked up. Pretending a keen interest in the label of the bottle, Jack didn't raise his head when Frank sat down.

"You get a good enough look, or ya want me to pull it out again?"

"I wasn't lookin'," Jack said instantly.

"Shore was," Frank said. "Settle down; I ain't callin' ya no names." He paused and glanced at his crotch before going on, "It shore is a humdinger though, ain't it?"

"I better get on up that mountain." Jack got to his feet and staggered three steps before he tripped over a rock and went down hard.

"You okay, boy?" Frank called out.

"Damn near busted my ass," Jack groaned as he rose to his hands and knees and began crawling toward the horses.

"What the hell ya doin'," Frank asked. "Ya ain't gonna try and ride up the mountain drunk as a skunk."

"What choice I got?"

"You sleep here tonight and I'll go up."

"Aguirre won't be pissed?"

"He was born pissed," was Frank's opinion. "You stay here, Jack, and don't worry 'bout…"

Thunder swallowed the rest of his words and rolled away down the valley. The gust front hit and a torrential rain began to hammer down. The fire was instantly doused and the two men dove into the relative shelter of the heavy canvas tent.

"I'm soaked to the bone," Frank said, unbuttoning his shirt. "And judgin' by the chatterin' a yore teeth, ya got a chill too. Best git them wet clothes off ya."

Hesitantly, Jack followed Frank's example. He found it hard to keep his eyes from lingering on the flat, lightly furred planes of the man's chest. In little sidelong glances, he charted the topography of Frank's hard contours down to the top of his jeans. When Frank shucked the wet trousers, Jack looked resolutely away.

"You shore are a shy one, Jack Twist," Frank said. "Now git the rest of them clothes off. Ya wanna catch pneumonia?"

Jack shook his head and stripped off his jeans and BVDs. Frank tossed the wet clothes outdoors and threw a blanket at Jack.

"Wrap up good, now," he said, pulling a blanket around his shoulders. "How's that hand?"

"It ain't nothin'," Jack said. "Don't even hurt no more. Course that could be on account a all that whiskey I drank."

"Most likely," Frank said. "This here storm's settlin' in. You ain't goin' up to the sheep tonight. We'll just have to cross that bridge tomorrow."

Jack didn't argue. The rain had slackened, but it was still pelting steadily down, and Frank was right about the chill. Jack was shivering like a fly-plagued pony.

"What are you doin'?" Jack said.

"Easy there, darlin'," Frank said. "I ain't gettin' fresh with ya. I just wanna get warm."

Jack felt like nine kinds of fool for what he'd been thinking, hoping if the truth were known, that Frank had in mind. "Be better if we was to lay down," he said.

"Cain't argue with ya," Frank said, spreading his bedroll on the ground cloth. "If we lay on this and put yore blanket over us, we'll be snug as two bugs in a rug."

Jack lay down, pulled the blanket over him and stared at the stained canvas so hard he was surprised he didn't wear a hole through it. Frank got under the blanket, moved closer and Jack knew for a fact that he would never be the same again. The residual glow of the whiskey was a candle in the sun compared to the heat that flared in Jack's loins when Frank's groin brushed his ass.

Jack's heart was beating so hard it hurt and his brain was paralyzed by two opposing impulses. Part of him knew he should stay as still as possible, but another part wanted to feel that galvanizing jolt of electricity again. He was petrified that Frank would beat the living daylights out of him, but he couldn't seem to help himself.

Jack fidgeted as though seeking a more comfortable position and moved slightly backward. He heard an indrawn breath and then Frank's arm went around him and pulled him close with a sigh. Jack's heartbeat tripled and he all but broke a sweat as Frank molded their bodies together, back to front, like silverware in a drawer.

"Warmer this way," Frank said.

Jack didn't, couldn't answer. He was so dry that his tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth and his face was so hot, he was surprised it didn't light the tent. Frank didn't seem to notice Jack's distress, as he made himself comfortable, handling Jack as if the boy was another head of livestock.

"Cat got yore tongue, or you already asleep?"

Jack didn't answer and Frank chuckled softly.

"Ya scared I'm a gonna do somethin' nasty to ya?"

"No," Jack managed to squeeze out.

"Ya shore?"

Jack sucked in a big breath as Frank's scabbed hand slid down until it rested on Jack's hip.

"Yore still shakin'," Frank said. "Ya feelin' all right?"

"I don't rightly know how I feel," Jack said honestly.

"That right?"

Jack gasped as Frank pressed even closer and something hard and hot branded a stripe across his right buttock. "What … What's happenin', Frank?"

"I don't think ya really need me to tell ya, do ya, Jack?"

"Frank, I don't … I ain't … What're you doin'?"

Frank's big, warm hand left Jack's hip and settled on his chest. "I'm rubbin' some circulation into ya. If you'd rather die a cold, I can stop."

"No. It's all right," Jack said. "You just surprised me."

Frank slowed his vigorous massage, palming Jack's nipples once before moving lower. "This okay with you?" Frank asked softly.

"I don't know. It feels … good, but …"

"But you ain't queer."

"Hell no, I ain't."

"Ya know what? I don't think there are no queers, just a lot a cold, lonely men."

"I'm sure enough cold and lonely," Jack said.

Frank spread his hand across Jack's lower belly, pressing lightly with his fingertips, and a swift little shiver ran down Jack's spine. "I can keep on, or I can stop right here," Frank said. "Yore choice."

"I don't know what to do," Jack said in a small voice.

"Will ya let me show ya?"

"Oh God!" Jack yelped as Frank's fingers grazed his hard on.

"Anybody ever touch ya there before?" Frank asked.

"Couple times," Jack said. "A girl after church once, she let me feel her tits and I let her touch my dick. Made out with a little gal when I was fourteen or so. She grabbed me right through my jeans and I shot off. Ran all the way home, scared to death to look in my pants."

Frank chuckled again. "Reckon you seen the cows and sheep doin' it."

"Well … yeah."

"What we gonna do ain't much different, 'cept we humans add a few extra touches."

"Mister, if you touch my dick I'm gonna go off like a bottle rocket," Jack warned.

"I wouldn't worry 'bout it. Ya got a lot more in ya," Frank said as he stroked Jack's arousal.

"Oh, uh, oh, God, uh, Frank, God, oh, oh, shit!"

Jack's cock jerked and spilled hot, thick fluid over Frank's scarred knuckles. Panting and trembling in Frank's arms, Jack rode out the aftermath of a climax that had little in common with the end results of jerking off. He'd never felt anything like this before.

Frank smiled as the boy's long body relaxed completely, warm and pliable under his hands. "Well, 'pears like neither of us is bein' sent straight t' hell. Ya wanna do somethin' else?"

"Hell, yes," Jack breathed.

Jack heard Frank's sandy chuckle in his ear again and the sound made him feel as though he lay naked and at ease in full sunlight in the prettiest country on the green earth. Made him feel like he did when he was little, rocked in his mama's arms, safe as milk. Frank could have done whatever he liked with Jack in that moment.

What Frank did was to ease Jack onto his belly while gently stroking his backside. Jack's insides turned to shaky pudding when the man's fingers crept into his ass crack and found his lower opening. A thick, callused fingertip prodded Jack's hole and Jack was shocked by the hungry sound that escaped his mouth.

"Ain't gonna have no trouble with you, am I, sweet Jack?" Frank murmured.

Jack had nothing to say to that. He'd always suspected that what his daddy insinuated about him was true. He wasn't no real man, and what he wanted was the most shameful thing on earth. But damn didn't it feel good and right and not at all like something God would burn him for? And that was the moment Jack Twist stopped trusting what he'd been told all his life and began struggling against the narrow path laid out for him.

"Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"Thought ya fell asleep on me."

"Near 'bout."

"I'm gonna grease ya up now, okay?"

Jack nodded drowsily and Frank scooped a dollop of Vaseline out of the jar he was never without in cold weather. Taking his time, the Texan pushed the slippery petroleum product gently into Jack's passage. After a few minutes, Jack began to squirm under the blanket, as Frank delved deeper and found his trigger.

Frank would dearly have loved to see those big blue eyes widen as he stroked the boy's honey bump, but we don't always get everything we want. He was already blessed with an embarrassment of riches in the form of this coltish, malleable young man. Hell, Aguirre could have sent him up here with that crazy old Basque that smelled like a sheepdog.

For a moment, Frank worried that he was going too fast; maybe he just ought to put Twist's hand on his hard dick and let the boy figure out what to do next. Frank had an idea the rascal would take to it like a duck to water, stroking Frank's erection with enthusiasm. Hell, Twist would probably take it in his mouth if Frank pushed his head southward.

Though a hand or blow job would have been the smart thing to go for, Frank wasn't willing to settle for either right now. He'd been watching Twist surreptitiously ever since Aguirre had done his idea of an introduction.

Frank had marked how the boy's guileless eyes had darkened with wounded petulance when Aguirre apologized to the Texan for saddling him with a pissant mama's boy. Twist was not like the other cowboys; he was sensitive, which might as well have been one of the deadly sins. That streak of softness was going to cause Jack Twist all kinds of grief in life, but right now it suited Frank just fine.

"Ya gittin' hard again?" Frank asked

Jack nodded, his breath coming short as Frank rubbed something inside him that made him feel like fireworks were going off in his groin.

"Ready t'go again?"

Jack didn't trust his voice, didn't want to consent aloud to what he suspected was coming. This was a line he couldn't step back over once he crossed it. If he let this man put his dick inside him, he'd have to admit he was queer. Better if he just kept quiet and let it happen.

Frank seemed to understand. After greasing up his arousal, Frank put his arm around Jack's waist and hauled his ass into the air. Jack grunted, fully awake now as Frank's dick nudged his asshole. Stifling the urge to jerk away from the hot hardness, Jack held still as Frank eased the head of his shaft in.

"Lord have mercy," Frank groaned. "Don't squeeze the end a my dick off. Relax, boy."

Jack remembered to breathe. "It hurts, Frank," he said in a strained voice.

"I know it does, sweet Jack, but purty soon it'll feel mighty good. I'm gonna keep goin', okay? It's gonna hurt like fire for a minute, but you can stand it, cain't ya?"

Jack held on, fisting his hands in the blanket, a whine working its way past his gritted teeth as Frank forged steadily ahead. "I cain't … I cain't take no more," he panted.

"That's all of it," Frank said, his voice curiously thicker. "Can ya ease up any? Yeah. Just try t' relax. That feel better?"

Frank caressed Jack's shoulders, back and buttocks before reaching around to take hold of the Jack's wilting hard on. "Come on, boy. Don't go soft on me now. I druther ya got somethin' outta this exercise."

The big, firm hand on Jack's resurrected erection distracted him until the ripping agony in his backside dwindled to a tolerable pressure. The stretched feeling quickly became a pleasing fullness. Clear fluid seeped from the head of Jack's aching length, letting Frank's hand slide easier on the shaft.

"Ya ready, boy?"

"Jesus, just let me come," Jack yelped.

Frank backed out a few inches and edged back in. He repeated the motion, increasing speed and depth at each stroke. He wanted to give Twist a good ride, but damned if he was going to last long. It'd been a good five weeks since that little Mescan gal in Salinas, and he had a full sack, sure enough.

"I ain't gonna last long," Frank panted

Jack bit his lip to keep from crying out at the sheer bliss of it. Frank's hard heat shunted in and out, the blunt head dragging across that sensitive spot with each thrust. Leaning over Jack's back, Frank held on to Jack's shoulder and his other hand shuttled up and down Jack's arousal.

"Goin' off again," Jack gasped as he squirted milky fluid into Frank's palm.

"Sweet, sweet Jack," Frank groaned.

Jack moved restlessly as Frank continued to fondle his spent shaft, smearing it with viscous seed. Frank's arm went around Jack's neck, pulling him closer as he submerged his length to the root. With a long, shuddering exhalation, Frank came deep inside Jack. Wrapping himself around the boy, the Texan rolled them onto their sides.

"God, sonny Jesus and the Spook," Frank sighed in Jack's ear as he squeezed him tight. "How'd a worthless drifter like me git so lucky?"

"Was it good?" Jack asked.

"The best," Frank said easing out of Jack. "You like it okay?"

"Truth is I never felt nothin' like that," Jack said. "I did like it though."

"Good. Sorry I had t' hurt ya, but sometimes things is sweeter if we have to suffer to git 'em, and sometimes the wantin' is sweeter than the havin'. Don't make no sense, but it's true just the same."

"We gonna get in trouble for doin' this?"

"How? We the only ones that know, and who we gonna tell? We're all alone up here, Jack. What we git up to ain't nobody's beeswax but our own."

It was silent for a long moment except for the sound of the wind and rain.

"Frank?"

"Yeah?"

"We gonna do this again?"

"Right now? 'Fraid not. I ain't eighteen no more."

"No," Jack said quickly. "But sometime?"

"My pleasure," Frank answered, his whiskers scratching Jack's neck as he pressed his lips to Jack's cheek. "One thing you gotta understand though."

"I'll try, but I don't think I'll ever understand any a this, if I live to be a hundred."

"Lissen up, Twist," Frank said. "You an' me can have a real good time this summer and nobody the wiser. I'd like that. But you know we cain't never tell nobody."

"Course I know that. Why would I want to tell anybody? They'd think I was queer for sure."

"You ain't queer, Jack. This is just somethin' that happened to us. Just us. Understand?"

"I think so," Jack said sleepily.

"This is important, Jack. Ya cain't never do this with nobody else, ya hear?"

Jack nodded and stopped fighting the overwhelming lassitude of two orgasms. Frank laid his cheek against Jack's back and held him close as he slept. The world was a hard place for soft boys like Jack Twist, and Frank only had this season to shelter him.

The Texan decided that before they parted ways, he would have sweet Jack's vow never to do this with anyone else. It wasn't much in the way of protection for the future, but it was the best a drifter like Frank Hopkins could do.

Frank got Jack's promise and the last he saw of the tall boy was an upright figure in the cab of a rusty white pickup. The older man behind the wheel had a mouth like a cat's asshole and pointedly avoided looking at his son. Frank's heart broke a little, but it was already so full of cracks that he hardly noticed one more.

Frank would have been proud of the way Jack kept his oath all that year, no easy feat for a teenage boy. However, Frank and Jack's dad and pretty much everybody else had convinced Jack that revealing his true nature was next to committing suicide. Resolved to keep his promise to Frank, no matter how hard it got, he drove back to Signal the next spring.

Where Ennis Del Mar was waiting.