SWAT Ed: Fox & Bull (Nothing Special 8)

“I’m gay, Shannon,” Fox said, cutting to the chase.

“Oh.” Her jaw dropped open. “You are?”

Fox nodded.

Her eyes widened as if she suddenly had a great idea. “Does Bull know that? He’s single… are you single? He’s such a great guy… I mean, like really, really great. The best boss I’ve ever had. I’m telling you, you’ve never—”

Fox put his hand up, and she stopped mid-ramble, having the decency to look embarrassed. “I already know your boss is a great guy.” Fox winked.

“Oh. Well then. I guess I don’t need to say anything else.” She blushed, then spun on her boot heels and began cleaning up the mess in Diablo’s stall. “It’s gonna be pretty cool today. See if you can possibly get a blanket on him, then he can stay outside longer this afternoon.”

Shannon was almost around the corner when Fox called after her. “Hey, Shannon?”

“Yeah?”

“What kinda place is the Rusty Spur, and who would I find in there?”

“Oh. Now that I think about it… that shithole isn’t for a sweet guy like you… or Bull. But it is where a stud could find a real junkyard dog if he fancied that.”

Fox chuckled. “Got it.” Because that’s exactly the kind of motherfucker I’m looking for.

It’d been another grueling week for Bull and his staff as they got the ranch ready for Mother’s Day and Easter. Since their Valentine’s Day carriage rides had gone over like hotcakes, his promotions manager, Marcy, had promptly lined up more for the spring holidays. The entire ranch and the rented carriages all had to be decorated with roses and tulips for the occasion, new carriage harnesses ordered, not to mention how busy they were from the advertisement they had in the county gazette. They were offering all mothers their first horse-riding lesson for free the entire month of May. Bull thought he’d worked himself to the bone in hopes it’d pay off, and Fox had been right there with him, getting in the trenches and doing manual labor with the rest of his staff.

Bull was lying on the sofa end of the sectional with one hand resting behind his head and his legs stretched out in front of him on the coffee table. Dale was on the other end, appearing just as comfortable and working on his third beer since they’d finished dinner.

Fox came into the living room after helping Amelia in the kitchen and sat so close to Bull he was almost in his lap. “What are you guys watching?”

“Ice skating,” Dale said flatly, without bothering to glance in Fox’s direction.

His pop let out a sort of half chuckle, half splutter around his coffee, and an involuntary twitch cracked the edges of Bull’s mouth, especially with Fox glowering as if he wanted to strangle Dale.

“It’s the Quik Trip 500,” Bull explained, knowing that Fox had been asking specifically about the race, not the sport. “It’s one of the few NASCAR races held here in Georgia.”

“How many laps?”

“Seventy-five thousand.”

“Will you shut the fuck up?” Fox cursed, then slung a throw pillow at Dale that struck him against the side of his head.

“It’s three twenty-five,” Bull answered. “Five hundred miles.”

“Do you watch racing, Fox? Or what’s your sport?”

Fox absently stroked Bull’s thigh while he watched television and conversed with his dad. Bull just bet his father would’ve loved to have a lot more in common with Fox—who he swore was going to be his son-in-law and soon. But when his old man got to talking like that, he was quick to shut him down because too much of that rhetoric made Bull hope. Instead, he tuned them out and focused on the race and the man under his arm who he was falling helplessly for.

“All right, you two, why don’t we let the man of the house have some private time. He’s more than earned it this week. By the way, the property looks gorgeous, Dale. It’s about time someone spoiled the mothers in this little town of ours,” Amelia said as she hefted her knitting basket, then waited for Dale and Walker to do as she said.

“Night, fellas.” His dad patted Bull on the shoulder on his way past, already yawning as if Amelia’s suggestion had triggered his sleep.

“Dale!” Amelia snapped. “Go to your own cabin.”

“What? Why? There’s still a hundred and forty laps left. If they want privacy, they can go upstairs.” Dale sank farther in his seat as if he wasn’t going any damn where, but all Amelia had to do was take two steps in his direction with her knitting needle and Dale was out of his seat and hollering good night from the mud porch.

“I wish I knew that was all it took to get rid of him.” Fox blew a kiss at Amelia on her way up the stairs.

“I’m glad you told him the truth.” Bull tugged on a few silver strands of Fox’s hair.