Markwildyr.com, Post #186
Photo Courtesy of Pinterest
Photo Courtesy of Pinterest
Once again, the perspicacious among you will note that I skipped from Post 159 to Post 186. That’s what the site tells me the number should be. I didn’t start numbering the posts early on, so that’s likely the reason for the discrepancy.
Well, last post, Gabacho was beginning to feel like a piece of meat two dogs were fighting over. But our intrepid hero can handle himself. Let’s see how he does it.
* * * * *
The next day, I watched Reina make her way across a broad pasture making straight for me and Slick. I’d been riding fences and come to a place that needed repair. Ignoring the approaching rider, I dismounted and started mending a broken strand of wire. In a few minutes, Reina pawed the ground, and Carla slipped from a fancy, silver-trimmed saddle to stand right beside me.
“Hola, Carla. Out for a ride?”
“Out looking for you.”
“I want you to take me to a dance tonight.”
“Tempting as that might be, I can’t,” I said.
“I’m committed to sitting on my ass on a little stool while your brother swipes paint on a canvas.”
“He can wait.” She moved closer… closer than she should have and looked up into my eyes. “Blue,” she murmured. “Blue like the sky.”
“My eyes? Uh yeah, I guess”
Then she took me by surprise by stretching up to give me a kiss.”
I forgot I was dirty and sweaty from a day’s work and enfolded her in my arms. I had to admit, I felt that kiss right down in my stones. I pulled her closer, but she squirmed away.
“Maybe that will change your mind.”
I swallowed hard a couple of times before reluctantly squeezing the next words out of my voice box. “Wish I could, but I’m a man of my word. When Carlos finishes the painting, I’ll go wherever you want.”
She lifted her head and glared at me. “One time offer. Tonight or forget it.”
“Carla, I wish I could. But—”
She didn’t wait for me to finish. Carla mounted Reina, swept me with a haughty glance—lingering a moment on my fly—before galloping across the big pasture, leaving me standing there with a groin a lot fuller than when she arrived.
I wasn’t in a very good mood when I entered Carlos’s studio that evening. I glanced at the canvas on his easel, but it was covered.
Carlos noticed and put a teasing lilt to his voice. “You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.”
I stomped over to the stool. “Let’s get this over with.”
“What put you in a high mettle?”
Geez, both of them—brother and sister—spoke better English than I did. And that dug a little bit too. “You’re interfering with my social life,” I snapped.
“Aha! Carla’s made her move.”
I hadn’t heard anyone say “Aha” since I was in short pants. “Whatever.” I plopped down on the high stool.
“Not that way,” he said, moving over to position my boots the way he wanted. “And the shirt—”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, ripping it off.
He put a hand on my chest. “You have the most interesting pectorals,” he said. “As soon as I saw them half-covered by your vest, I knew I wanted to paint you.” He gave a laugh. “Of course, that brown, curly hair and those blue, blue eyes, and that narrow nose contributed.”
“Come on, stop yapping and get to painting.”
“Wait a minute. What’s that on your cheek?”
I started to feel my cheek, but he brushed my hand away and moved in for a closer look, His finger rubbing me right below my left eye.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“Just a speck of something. It’s gone now.”
Then he took me by surprise. I froze as he came closer. He paused a moment go gaze into my eyes before placing his lips against mine. I don’t think I intended to do it, but my mouth opened, and Carlos invaded me with his tongue. So help me, His kiss grabbed me by the innards too I felt myself stir even before he placed his hand over my groin. A sudden image of old man Salvador galvanized me. I pushed him away.
“What’re you doing?” I asked, brushing my lips with the back of my hand.
“What I’ve wanted to ever since I saw you naked on the banks of the Rio Grande. You’re muy macho, Gabacho. But you already know that. The door is locked, amigo. We can do whatever we want.”
“And you don’t think Carla has a key?”
He frowned before his smile returned, making him as handsome as his sister. “That would be her problem.”
“Carlos, pickup your paint brush, or else I’m leaving.”
“Okay, okay. Another time, no?”
“No,” I said, without any oomph behind it. I couldn’t help but notice he had a semi-erection as he sent about his work. What had he said? You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine. Hell, he’d already seen mine. I was tempted to remind him, but that would just start things all over again. My lips tingled… just as they had after Carla kissed me in the pasture.
Over the next week, Bartolome, the foreman of the Salvador spread started to ride my ass, sometimes with cause, sometimes without. He was a formidable forty-or-so muscular man who’d probably been someone’s dreamboat a few years back. He’d been even handed up until then, so he or Don Guillermo must figure I’m getting too cozy with the kiddos. That made me think my spell here on the ranch was limited. So it was time to make a move or move on… probably both.
Carla had stopped acting frosty was soon as my posing days with her brother drew to a close. Only then did Carlos allow me to see the portrait he’d painted. In fact, Carla and I both saw it at the same time after Carlos invited us to the studio.
I was shocked—pleasantly so—when he unveiled the painting. There I sat. No question about it. Gary Hawthorne—Gabacho— perched there on the stool looking just like the one standing in front of the painting gawking.
“Bueno, Carlos,” Carla said. “You captured him.”
I silently agreed, although the crotch looked a little fuller than it was. I couldn’t help but glance down. Well, maybe not. Both of them caught me in the act and laughed aloud.
“Oh, no, Gabacho,” Carlos said. “I paint ‘em like I see ‘em. Don’t make them look better or look worse.”
My cheeks flamed, and I got out of there in a hurry.
After chow, I lay in my bunk and did some cogitating. I glanced at the vaqueros joshing back and forth among themselves and realized I was comfortable at the ranch. Nonetheless, my time here was about to run out. Had I been away long enough for the dustup north of the Rio Grande to die down? Yeah. Probably.
A minute later, I knocked on Bartolome’s door—he was the only one with a private room in the bunkhouse—and gave notice. I saw in his black eyes that he understood, and he settled up with me—in dollar bills—and approved my taking off without waiting for a replacement. After that, I packed the few belongings I’d brought with me and stowed them behind the saddle on Slick. Once outside of the yard, I pulled up and took out my cell phone. After dialing a number, I waited for an answer. When it came, I said, “Line shack Number 1. One hour.” I hung up, stripped off my shirt, donned my vest, and put Slick in a slow walk to the west.
I figured I’d arrive first, but when the shack came into view, one of the ranch’s Jeeps was already parked beside the door. I dismounted beside the vehicle and stepped through the door.
I didn’t have any doubts about my decision. Hell, I could always find a woman, but when was I gonna find a guy as pretty as a woman and as willing as Carlos Pablo Salvador y Bachicha?
* * * *
I guess you can’t fault Gabacho’s logic, but which of the twins would you have chosen?
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Website and blog: markwildyr.com
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See you later.
New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at 6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.