Come Hell or High Water | mxm

2.3

"No work for us today," Sam agreed, dark eyes dancing. He ran fingertips along the waistband of Gord's jeans, settled his hand firmly in the small of his back. "Got some appointments after lunch, but for now it's just a couple hours for play."

"Like the sound of that," Gord said gruffly.

Lips met again, hard and hungry. Gord wrapped his arms around Sam's waist, pressing him up against the wall; Sam pulled Gord closer, hands sliding up under soft flannel.

Quip yelped and nosed between their legs, trying to join in the affection. Gord broke away, laughing.

"Didn't think 'bout that part of it," he said, eyes shining as he smiled down at her hopeful face.

"Troublesome," Sam agreed, watching Gord's happiness with hazy eyes. "We can shut the door?"

They shut the bedroom door. Quip sat outside it and whined worriedly the whole time.

Later, Gord put a leash in his pocket, just in case, and they took Quip for a long walk down the township road, gravel crunching underfoot.

The pale sun had risen nearly to its low autumn zenith a handspan above the southern horizon, melting frost and warming cool air just enough that their breath no longer came out like clouds. An occasional cold gust of wind stirred eddies through the haze of crop dust that hung suspended in the air. On their left, rolling field stood thick with waving golden wheat, while on the right only the detritus of the harvest remained, shorn yellow shafts jutting from hard bare earth. Crimson and ebony amidst the scattered straw, a pair of pumpjacks rose and fell slowly, rhythmically.

"So, what does this mean?" Sam asked, tilting his head towards Quip. She trotted ahead of them along the road, stopping every so often to check that they were still following before she trundled ahead.

Gord tilted the brim of his hat up a little above his broad forehead. "What does Quip mean?"

"Yeah. You said you didn't want to get a dog unless you were sure about where you're gonna be. So does this mean you're staying?"

Gord nodded slowly, watching Quip's tail wave above her back like a flag. "Still not a hundred percent sure."

After a moment, Sam prompted, "But?"

"But for now," Gord said softly, clear green eyes turning to Sam, "I'm exactly where I wanna be."

Quiet settled.

Ahead, sniffing aimlessly through the long, drooping grass in the ditch, the dog startled a bird; it burst free of the rustling underbrush with a rush of dappled brown wings. Quip jerked back with a whine, equally surprised. She recovered quickly, and both men watched as she hared off after the escaping quarry, ears flopping as she worked up to a proper sprint. Wings whirred in the hazy air, carrying the bird away faster than Quip could bound after it; eventually, she ambled to a halt, giving up the chase. Panting, she looked back at them with mournful eyes.

Gord lit a cigarette, cupping his hand against the gusting wind as his lighter flickered. Smoke spiralled up from between his lips when he exhaled.

"They still keepin' an eye on you at work?"

"It's not really keeping an eye on me," Sam protested with a small laugh. "Just reviewing the documents I write before we sign."

"That isn't keepin' an eye on you?" Gord asked dryly.

"It's not a big deal," Sam assured him. "It's just protocol, making sure that what I've agreed to with you is in line with what I've agreed to with your neighbours. It's all pretty standard, anyways. I know you guys talk to each other about your arrangements with Vivid."

Gord grunted a little in what might have been agreement.

"Exactly. So you know as well as I do that I'm not giving you any kind of preferential treatment. Don't worry about it."

"Alright," Gord said, a smile playing on his lips. "I'll stop askin'." One hand tucked in the pocket of his leather jacket, cigarette loose between the callused fingers of the other, he changed the subject. "You had a good Thanksgivin', then?"

"It was quiet, just went out for dim sum with my parents and a couple of their friends." Sam laughed a little. "I'm still readjusting to the holiday thing. My ex's parents were huge into holidays. They used to host a big family gathering every chance they got: Easter, Christmas, Thanksgiving, birthdays, whatever. It'd usually be us, my parents, his brother's family--he was married, two kids--sometimes his brother's in-laws, and his aunt and uncle and cousins and grandparents if they were in town. His mom was a genius with a turkey."

"He's lucky his family's so close," Gord said, eyes trailing out over the nodding grain waiting patiently for the thresher.

"I guess." Sam chuckled, scratched at the back of his neck. "My mom always hated the whole thing, but I loved it. Since most of my family still lives overseas I never had a lot of that, growing up. His family always treated me like I was family, too. Maybe it's weird to say, but that's actually one of the things I miss most, especially this time of year."

Gord nodded slowly, nudging the cigarette in between his lips, green eyes now watching the striated clouds ribboned across the sky.

"Sorry," Sam said, pulling a face. "I know I talk about him too much. It's probably not healthy. How was your Thanksgiving?"

Smoke coiled out from between Gord's lips before he replied. "Guess you could say I did the big family gatherin' thing. Had over Marky and Alice and all the other Keller cousins still livin' here. Was a riot. Half a dozen cousins, plus husbands and wives and they've all got at least three kids. Colton's got five, can you imagine? Total chaos," he said fondly. "More work than I expected, though. Misjudged, a little, how much people were gonna eat. Don't think anyone left hungry, but it was tight."

"Your sister didn't make it?"

"Nah. Davey couldn't take the time off work, and flyin's not cheap, either. Mel's promised they'll be around again for Christmas. Kids loved it last winter."

Gord whistled shrilly between his teeth. Obediently, Quip turned and trotted back to their feet. He leaned down and offered her a treat extracted from his jacket pocket; in return, she blinked up at him with pure love in her eyes as she slobbered all over his hand.

He said, "Okay," and she turned and trotted away again, shaggy tail waving upright behind her. Gord wiped his saliva-slick hand against his jeans. "She's pretty well-trained, least. You got plans for Christmas?"

"Nothing exciting." Sam smiled, kicked at the gravel under his toes so that it rolled away haphazardly. "Maybe I'll put up a tree this year. I didn't bother last year, it was too depressing. We get a week off work, at least, which is nice."

"Well, if there's a time yer not tied up yer welcome to come 'round for a visit," Gord suggested casually. "Mel's been beggin' me to invite you up when they're in. Told her yer prob'ly not ready for that kinda thing, but promised I'd make the offer."

Sam didn't respond right away, watching Quip bury her nose in a badger hole. She got deep down in it, shoulders vanishing after her head, rear paws scrabbling, tail nearly vertical, before she suddenly startled back and danced in a circle, yipping manically.

Finally, Sam said, "Thank you, Gord. I'll think about it, okay?"

"'Course. No pressure at all." Gord tucked the butt of his cigarette into his pocket and found Sam's hand, squeezing it lightly before he let go.

They ate reheated turkey soup for lunch, with lemonade to wash it down. Then Gord had been away from the harvest as long as he could justify, and Sam had appointments to keep.

Quip nudged against Sam's knees as he tied his shoelaces, and he obligingly gave her one more lingering scratch under the chin. Gord hooked fingers through her collar to keep her from running along as Sam made his way across the yard to his car.

While he buckled his seatbelt Sam looked back at them, man and dog framed in the doorway of the tidy house, and found himself deeply unsettled by the realization that he wished he could stay.