I'm a widower. My wife of six years died six months ago. She left me with two little ones. While giving birth to our second, she had to have a caesarean and that was when they discovered the cancer. It was almost virulent. My little boy was two months old when she died. I was at a loss as to what to do. I had my daughter who had just turned two and a two-month old boy. I moved home to be closer to my mother so she could help out. I loved my kids and they seemed the only thing I was animated about. I sort of lived my life in a daze. I'm a vet and was fortunate that the town's vet was retiring. So I took over his practice and made myself at home. I found myself in Eastern Washington, traveling on the road to the Apple Valley Ranch.
I go out every couple of weeks or so to tend the animals of the rather enterprising horse ranch. It was started by the late owner but kept up faithfully by his son. He was a sweet, kind man named Jimmy to all but me. I called him James. He was maybe twenty-five. His eyes were beautifully blue and eager and open. There wasn't a hint of deception or deceit in him. Probably had more to do with his being born with the cord around his neck and slightly brain-damaged. He was a bit slow and had a hard time learning new things. But he was faithful and constant, hardworking, tireless, and kind and gentle with the horses.
James always came out to the stables while I was there. He wasn't watching over me, he just wanted to be there in case I found anything. There was a foreman for the horses too. He was a grisly old cowboy called Doc. He paid attention too. I was looking over a mare that was about to foal, maybe in a couple of weeks. I looked up and smiled at the two anxious men. This was their first foal since the old man died. I assured them that everything was fine. With that Doc let at a whoop and left the stables. I went over near the tack room to wash up. I was just rinsing my hands when I looked up and saw the calendar. I did a quick calculation in my head and realized it was six months to the day since my wife had died. I also remembered that I hadn't thought about her, really thought about her for a couple of days. I think it was more guilt than anything, but I crumpled to the ground on my knees and cried.
I just sat there, crying because my wife was gone, guilty for not thinking of her, knowing that the pain was going away. James knelt down in front of me. He looked worried. He put his hand on my shoulder; just a simple gesture letting me know that I wasn't alone. My tears let up and I looked up into James' warm, caring face. He asked me why I was so sad. I told him that when I saw the calendar that it had been six months since my wife had died. He smiled at me and told me that he couldn't remember the day anymore when his mama had died. But he remembered crying on the day when he realized that he couldn't remember anymore. It was so good to know that someone cared and offered just a little comfort.
James stood up and asked me to follow him. He led me out of the stable and up a hill towards the main ranch house. Just before the main path to the front door, the path split and James took it. It led to an arbor that we passed through. Inside was a rose garden, surrounded by tall hedges. A path that ran the length of the garden divided the plants. On one side it was completely full with mature roses in large bushes. Being late June, the aroma was almost too much. But they were beautiful, all the various shades and sizes of flowers. James led me up the path. He stopped where the other side stopped off, about halfway through the garden. He turned to me and smiled.
"One side is just common roses, the other are hybrids I try. I do four every year. This year's are just blooming." He walked over to one plant. It had blood red tips that gradually flowed into a butter cream throat. It was beautiful. James stopped in front of it and brought out a pair of pruning shears and snipped off three of the blooms. I watched as he trimmed the thorns off the stems and trimmed up the leaves. He handed them to me when he was done.
"What was your wife's name?"
"Jenny."
"What did she like to do most in the world?"
I smiled at the memory. "She liked to sing the babies to sleep in the rocking chair."
James smiled at me, full of warmth and kindness. "Then these roses shall be called 'Jenny's Lullaby'."
I was shocked. I looked down at the flowers in my hand and stammered. "James, you can't do that. God, it is so generous."
"I have a hard time naming my new roses. You just helped is all."
I knew that arguing would do me no good. His generosity and warmth made me smile. "Thank you James."
He smiled at me and we walked down the hill to the stables so I could get my bag. On the walk, I really looked at him. I had always seen him and knew what he looked like. But now I noticed him ... differently. He was tall, at least six-six. He had really broad shoulders and lean hips. He was obviously well muscled. He had dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. I had registered this before, but it was slightly different. This was new. I hadn't felt like this since college.
On the drive home, I kept thinking about his smile; his gentle kindness and generosity and it made me think things I hadn't thought about in years. I remembered my first roommate in college. Adam and I found each other one night. We were cold and tired and collapsed on the same bed after a party got out of hand and destroyed the other bed. We turned during the night so we were face to face. The moment was perfect and we were kissing. We made love that night and throughout the rest of the year. We weren't being openly together; we were just enjoying the time we had. But by the end of the year, he wanted more. To be truthful, I was afraid. I turned him away out of fear. I always regretted it until I met Jenny. We shared six wonderful years and I loved her more than anything. But now that she was gone, I found myself thinking those thoughts again. Technically, I guess I would be considered bi. I enjoyed the two people I ever slept with a lot. I loved them both. But the moral climate, the fears and prejudices of the world made me turn away the first so I could find the second love of my life. Now that she was gone, with time I knew I would find a third.
A couple of weeks later, I got the call that the mare was having difficulty and was in hard labor. So I got my mom to watch the kids and drove out to the Apple Valley Ranch. I made it out there about 2 AM and Doc met me as I pulled up. I grabbed my bag and found James kneeling in the stall, holding her head and petting her, offering soft, gentle words and a caring touch. I smiled at him as I came in to kneel down and examine her. The cord was wrapped around a front leg. It wasn't overly threatening, but if untreated, would cause the mare to hemorrhage when the foal dropped. I reached up there and moved the cord away, unwrapping the foal and tilting its head for the trip into the world. She wasn't ready to drop just yet, but it would help to do it now. James and I helped that horse through the night. She would stand and pace, then lie down and whinny. He crooned to her the whole time. His love for that animal was palpable. Just before dawn, the water broke. It made us both messy, but it meant it would only be a few more minutes. I reached in to guide the foal, pulling lightly on the muzzle to allow it to fall out gently. The mare was standing and the foal just landed in the hay. I removed the sack over its nose and watched as the mare helped it, cleaning and nuzzling the baby to her. It was a beautiful filly with its sire's coloring. After about twenty minutes, the foal was standing after a couple of clumsy steps. I examined her and mother and baby were doing great.
I looked up at James and he had tears in his eyes. It wasn't pity or fear but the overwhelming emotions of seeing nature in all its glory. I grasped his arm and smiled at him. He looked at me and smiled back. I stood and the two of us moved out of the stall so Doc and another hand could clean them up and muck out the stall. James led me to the tack room and the showers there so I could get cleaned up. It wasn't much, but the water was hot and there was plenty of it. I peeled off my bloody, messy clothes and crawled under the hot spray. I noticed James removing his clothes and I watched him.
He was beautiful. His body was sturdy and very strong. He didn't have any fat on his torso. His muscles were sculpted and defined by tight skin and shiny, thick, dark hair that covered his chest from collarbone to the waistband of his jeans. He toed off his boots and shucked his jeans. He stood in white, loose, cotton boxers and socks. He was absolutely amazing. He didn't arouse me. I was just impressed by such a beautiful body. Then he bent and peeled off his socks before standing and dropping his shorts. I continued looking at his beauty. His legs were thick with muscle, indicative of a lot of lifting and climbing ladders to pick the apples in the orchard. They were covered in corded muscle and dark hair. But he also had a beautiful cock. It was thick and long and accompanied by large, heavy testicles that swung below his shaft. His pubic hair was thick and surrounded his flaccid penis. He walked towards me and stood under the showerhead next to me. He grabbed some soap and vigorously scrubbed his arms, removing the muck. He washed his legs then turned to place the soap back. It was then I saw the scars crisscrossed on his back. They ran in long, parallel streaks and they were of differing depths and length. They also ran in every direction along his shoulder blades and mid-waist. I had seen scarring like this before, on a horse. James had been beaten or whipped, perhaps both.
I reached out and placed my fingers on the meanest looking scar and traced it. James stiffened and stood, turned to look at me with a little panic in his eyes. Compassion filled my eyes and voice with tears. I looked in his eyes and cupped his cheek.
"Oh James, what happened?"
He looked down, as if ashamed. He mumbled a response that I didn't hear. I pulled his face up and looked at him, rubbing my thumb under his eye to catch a tear. "What happened?"
"After my mama died, my daddy would get angry at me. He would come in my room and take his belt to me for being bad."
I cringed at the image of that poor boy having no one to turn to; living with fear and uncertainty. "How old were you when your mama died?"
