Come Hell or High Water | mxm

2.2

"Round the back, Marky," Gord called, unconcerned.

With an undignified sound, Sam scrambled to his feet. Half dragging a towel with him, he hurried inside to find his clothes. As he tugged jeans onto legs still sticky with heat, he briefly considered sneaking out the front door. Then he reminded himself that his car had been seen; leaving now would change nothing.

On the back porch, Gord had moved into the chair and wrapped his waist with a towel but otherwise had made no effort to disguise the evidence of the afternoon's activities. He was chatting casually with Mark Desjardins as though it were completely normal for him to be sitting outside naked, with sweaty towels all over the deck.

Mark was a big guy, dark t-shirt stretched across a soft belly, an Edmonton Eskimos hat pulled over thick, greying blond hair. When Sam came out again, the warped screen door clattering behind him, Mark favoured him with a grin.

Sam plastered a wide smile on his face as they shook hands. "Hi, Mark. How're you?"

"Just fine, Sam," Mark responded, as though the question weren't inane. They had seen each other earlier that morning. "Thought you were headin' back to Calgary tonight."

Sam laughed a little. "There was kind of a change of plans."

Mark grinned knowingly. "Am I interruptin' somethin' here, or is Kelly just bein' a big ol' perv?"

"Well," Sam started, a flush crawling up his neck. "We weren't exactly in the middle of anything."

"We were celebratin' Sam's divorce gettin' finalized," Gord offered, with a small smirk.

"Beauty," Mark said with a friendly grin. "Put that shit behind ya. You havin' a toast or what? I could use a cold one, it's a fuckin' oven out here."

"Just lemonade. You know I don't drink," Sam said breezily. "Do you two have something to deal with? I can head out if you need Gord."

"Weren't you gonna stay the night?" Gord reminded him cheekily, and Sam felt the blush climb all the way up to his hairline.

Mark laughed deeply. "Nah, don't let me interrupt the celebrations. I just got a couple things to run by Keller, be ten minutes or so. Won't keep you long from yer fun."

Gord pushed himself to his feet, wrapping the towel more tightly around his hips. "Stick around, Sam?" he asked, gently. "We'll keep it quick."

"I suppose." Sam watched them walk inside, feeling like his whole face was on fire.

He took a long slow stroll around the bottom of the garden, the heat in the air making his blush linger. Humming bees dipped toes between fragrant tomato blossoms. The first hints of red painted hard green apples above the tasseled heads of ripe corn.

Pausing in the shade of the windbreak, Sam shut his eyes and breathed deep of the warm, rich air. Beyond the trees, stalks of wheat rustled with the passage of something small and furry. The tiniest hint of a breeze shivered the leaves above.

When Sam had cooled off, he settled into one of the chairs on the porch. Compulsively, he pulled out his phone and checked first the oil price, then his stocks; wishing he hadn't looked, he put it away again. Suddenly unbearably thirsty, he poured himself a glass of lemonade and drank half of it in one long swallow.

A bird called from somewhere high up among glossy emerald leaves. Its bright cry came again, and again, every time unanswered.

Before too long, Gord reemerged around the side of the house, crimson shorts and plain white t-shirt looking incongruous beneath the battered tan cowboy hat. Out front, Mark's truck started with a rumble, puttered slowly away up the drive.

"Well, that was fun," Sam said dryly.

"Sorry," Gord said apologetically, taking the other chair. "Seemed easiest ta play it straight. This gonna be a problem for yer job or somethin'? Marky works for you guys, right?"

"He's a contractor, yes. I haven't--" Sam pulled a face. "Well, I haven't told anyone at work about this."

"Think you should?"

"Yes." Sam let out a small, self-deprecating laugh. "Should've told my boss after the first time, even if it never happened again. You realize everything about this is completely unethical. I'm supposed to represent Vivid when I'm negotiating with you, so sleeping with you is definitely a huge conflict of interest."

"Shit," Gord said, brows drawing down. "Didn't even think. Sorry."

"I knew what I was doing," Sam admitted.

Gord considered that, studying Sam's rueful smile. "If you think we shouldn't be doin' this, we can stop."

Sam shook his head slowly, scratching at his neck below his ear as his gaze trailed over the leafy vegetable patch. He didn't want to tell Gord that right now this was the one part of his life that didn't feel like a rug about to be pulled out from under his feet. "I don't want to stop," he said simply.

Gord's teeth shone white against his beard. "I'd be lyin' if I said I did. But I don't wanna get you in any trouble."

In a tone that suggested he was trying to convince himself as much as Gord, Sam told him, "If I'm transparent about it, I think it should be okay. I'm sure my colleagues know they can trust me to keep work and personal life separate. So, unless the president outright fires me, and I really don't think he will, not for this--I don't think it'll change anything."

"Well, if it does, like, say, if I do get you fired--"

Sam laughed. "Oh, God, please don't say that like it's a real possibility."

"--well, you'd still visit, right?" Gord's smile was rich with hope. "It's the ass end o' nowhere out here, I'd be lonely as hell without yer visits."

Sam smiled back, that ambiguous flutter in his stomach again. "Of course. Where else am I gonna find inspiration for my paintings?"

Gord pretended to look hurt. "That really the only thing you come here for?"

"Well." Sam's smile curved small and a little bit wicked. "I guess I can think of a few other things I like here."

"Maybe you need a little help rememberin'," Gord suggested, lips twitching into a grin.

"Maybe I do," Sam agreed, laughing. "If you're offering."

Shimmering heat fell slowly into the cool violet arms of twilight. Somewhere in the distance, coyotes yipped and wailed, on the hunt.

A breeze rose, finally, the heaving breath of it louder than the hum of swarming mosquitoes. On the wind came roiling clouds, bellies inked with rain, shredded by lightning. The bones of the old house rattled in the storm, rain thrumming on the roof like heartbeats. Thunder shuddered through air torn asunder, but between the walls was warm lamplight, soft laughter, a steady feeling like safety.

The storm passed, and in the morning, goodbye kisses lingered.

"You make sure to let me know if everything's okay," Gord murmured against Sam's hair.

"Trust me, if it's not, you'll know," Sam promised wryly.

"Sure and you know I'd feel like shit if you lost yer job 'cause of me." An embarrassed little smile pulled at Gord's lips.

Sam laughed and kissed him again. "Well, as long as you'd know it was entirely your fault," he said teasingly.

Gord let him go with reluctance, settling his hat more firmly on his head as Sam crossed the yard with his bag over his shoulder. Beyond, the sun rose pale above a world washed clean.