The pickup truck proceeded on down the narrow, dusty road for approximately another eighth of a mile before it slowed down and stopped completely in front of a smaller-sized, somewhat weather beaten residence that was a white two-story with black shutters.  Brian took one last look at the rapidly-disappearing, grander white farmhouse behind them before he confronted what would be his new digs for the next three months.  The difference was startling.

While the Taylor house has been surrounded by a white clapboard fence and was impeccably landscaped, this house had clearly passed its glory stage a long time ago.  He could imagine the home had been quite attractive at one point - it was enclosed with a metal, wrought-iron fence that was now rusting in spots, and the paint covering the delicate filigree work at the corners of the narrow front porch was intricate but fading in spots, no doubt due to battling the unrelenting rays of the morning sun that had beaten down upon it daily for over a century.  As he peered through the tall, rather spindly shade trees out front, he could detect a screened door with a small rip in it and a storm cellar protruding from the left side of the home, its wooden doors peeling with remnants of green paint.  The once grand residence, now looking neglected and forlorn, obviously begged for some much-needed tender loving care. 

As he hopped over the back of the truck bed and jumped down to stand next to the vehicle, he heard his aunt say softly almost in embarrassment, "It's not much.  But it's paid for and it's ours." 

The sarcastic statement about having to live in a dump for the summer that Brian was about to utter died on his lips; the almost guilty tone in his aunt's voice made him bite back what would have been his scathing reply.  Instead, he found himself simply saying, "It looks old."

"It was built in 1845," his Uncle Will told him defensively as he reached up to retrieve Brian's suitcase from the back of the truck.  "It may not look like much, but it's sturdy and has stood the test of time.  It'll be here a hell of a lot longer than most other houses will." He didn't tell Brian that before their son Dale had died three years ago the home had been a virtual showplace; fresh, crisp white paint, spotless, shiny wrought iron fencing, coal black shutters and spotless windows that shone brilliantly like small prisms of rainbows in the morning sun.  Now the only vestiges of their once wonderful home were the myriad colors of blooming perennials that Sarah has so meticulously planted on all sides of the house and along the fence.  His wife spent far too many hours outside in their flower and vegetable beds now, pulling up weeds and planting seeds that would eventually yield a bounty of food later for cooking and canning, but he understood more than anyone why she did it. 

It certainly helped keep their budget more controllable and saved them a lot of money on grocery expenses, but Will knew the real reason why she constantly subjected herself to such backbreaking work; it wasn't for the cost savings, although their funds were always tight now.  It wasn't because she preferred the taste of pesticide-free food or liked being out in the fresh, country air.  No, she did it to forget her grief - just as he spent so much time in the barn or at the stables doing the exact same thing.  Sarah was always reprimanding him about the stables being the last place he should go to try and assuage his grief. She always worried that the beloved spot where Dale had always escaped to when he was troubled, sad, or bothered about something would merely serve to accentuate his own loss rather than alleviate it. But she was wrong; it actually helped to make him feel closer to their son.  He could stand there inside the musty, rustic structure and almost feel their son's presence still lingering there.  Yes, escaping to where his son had stood so many times before was painful at times.  Yes, his son's favorite place still haunted him with all the ‘could-have-beens' that invariably rushed through his mind.  But it was also a refuge for him, a sanctuary, the one place where he could still feel the unbridled, carefree spirit of his larger-than-life son, the son he missed terribly but painfully realized that he wouldn't see again until they were both dead and gone onto another place and time...

"Will?"   

He blinked as he realized his wife was addressing him; he turned his head to observe Sarah standing a few feet away with their nephew, both with perplexed looks on their faces.  His hand curled around the smooth leather straps of the suitcase he was still holding as he gruffly remarked, "It's getting late; let's get inside." 

Sarah studied him for a moment, knowing her husband was holding back something but instinctively realizing that now was not a good time to mention it as she gently took Brian by the elbow and led him toward the side gate.  "This way, Brian," she told him with a slight smile.

Brian followed her to a side door entrance, scowling at his closer inspection of the peeling paint and tired-looking exterior.  A black-and-white, cement horse statue in mid-stride about 2 feet tall seemed to stand sentry by the back door, its nostrils flaring at full gallop as its mane seemed to fly in the wind.  He wasn't surprised to note that one of its ears was missing a tip; somehow he expected it.  As they walked up to the side door, he cast a cursory glance around the property itself.  There was a huge, graying, weathered barn standing approximately 100 feet away from the house.  Two other smaller buildings of unknown use stood on either side of it.  He couldn't tell for sure what their purpose was because he couldn't see inside, but from the distinctive animal smells his nose was picking up, he had the ominous feeling that their residence was being shared by other, four-footed creatures who dwelled in the out buildings. 

"Come on," he heard his uncle sternly say by his side.  Brian huffed out a resigned breath as he turned around and walked through the side door while his uncle held it open for him; his aunt followed right behind him as Will waited to enter last. 

They came out into a small, narrow laundry room; to the left of the open doorway was the kitchen.  Brian noticed an ancient-looking, white, cast-iron stove that appeared to be from the Art Deco period of the 30's perched in the far corner; a brass pot rack hung overhead above it from the open-beamed ceiling.  An old, white refrigerator sat on the opposite wall, making a rather loud humming sound.  Two white, porcelain sinks were situated on the other wall with a window directly above them, facing out onto the road.  Golden yellow and white eyelet curtains were hanging on either side of the window, matching the cloth napkins folded neatly on a small, white laminate dinette table.  A clock nestled in the belly of a rooster was hanging over the doorway leading into a small hall that went toward the front of the house.  For a moment, he thought he was in a Twilight Zone episode and had been transported back in time to the Walton's kitchen.  He expected John Boy to come walking in at any moment...

He stood there, unsure what to do as he heard his aunt softly tell his uncle, "Will...Show Brian to his room."  He noticed his uncle hesitating for some reason as Sarah repeated, "Will...Please." 

Sarah watched as Will finally nodded and Brian followed him down the hallway, knowing why her husband was hesitating.  She knew what he was about to do wouldn't be easy; but it was time to move on and it had to be done.  She bit her lip anxiously before turning to open the kitchen pantry door and retrieve a bag of onions stashed there. 

Brian surveyed the living room to his left as he and his uncle passed it on the way to a set of stairs; the room was furnished with a couple of  cream-and-maroon recliners and a large, cream and navy colored plaid couch in between them.  An old-fashioned floor lamp stood next to the couch that faced a wood-burning fireplace with a brick mantle.  He noticed a large painting of a horse attached to a sulky hanging over the fireplace, thinking the jockey in the work of art looked familiar but not knowing why. 

"Up here," Will told his nephew curtly from his place on the first step as Brian turned his gaze to the other side of the hallway; he was surprised that the room, which apparently was a sort of study, had a large pool table situated in the middle of it.  Somehow his aunt and uncle didn't seem like the frivolous, spendthrift types, and the pool table looked totally incongruous among the shelves of books and Victorian-looking furniture spread around the room.  At least now, though, he might have something else to occupy his time besides the two intriguing-looking neighbors he had encountered a short time ago.  For once the idea of spending a summer in Hicksville with an aunt and uncle he didn't even know was beginning to have some perks to it...

He climbed the stairs behind his uncle to a landing, following him to the right as Will advised with a nod of his head, "Bathroom."  Brian peeked inside as they walked by and grimaced at the small, all-white bathroom with a combination bathtub/shower located at the far wall; the shower curtain was partially pulled back, but he could see a horse pattern interwoven on it.  What was it with all the damn horses?  He hadn't seen any at all as they had come in.  Apparently, though, they were a fascination for his aunt and uncle, but why, though?  He hurried to catch up with his uncle as the man stood at the far end of the hall and impatiently turned to face him.

"Well? Don't be dawdling - times a'wastin," he told him sternly, his arms crossed over his chest.  He had purposely turned away from the closed door he was standing next to, finding it extremely difficult to open it.  He and Sarah had talked at length about this and he still felt a sense of dread looming over him at the thought of entering that room again.  But he also knew it was the only other bedroom they had, and as much as he hated to admit it Sarah was right - it wasn't doing anyone any good staying empty all this time.

Brian walked up to him, noticing for once that his uncle seemed uncomfortable about something, even anxious.  The man just stood there by the door, not moving.  "Is this the bedroom?" he asked him. 

Will nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.  He hadn't been in this room in so long, not since...He took a deep breath and slowly curled his hand over the old-fashioned, crystal door knob, feeling the smooth coolness under his touch as he turned the knob to open it.  Slowly he pushed it inward, noticing the musky smell first, followed by the thin coat of fine dust blanketing the oak dresser and the fat spindles of the matching bed.  The entire room was just as they had left it, except that Sarah had changed the sheets and made up the bed right after Dale had died; why she had felt the need to perform that rather absurd gesture he didn't know.  What difference had it made?  But once the bed had been freshly made and a dusting had been done, the lights had been turned out, the door had been closed and nothing had been touched ever since.  It was exactly as they had left it.  Some of his son's most important horse trophies still stood proudly on a wide bookshelf above the bed; Dale had won so many by the time he had died that they had wound up placing some of them in the barn, up in the loft.

His favorite cowboy hat, well-worn and loved, still hung over one of the rear bedposts, right where he always hung it when not in use.  An antique, iron horseshoe - the symbolic icon of good luck - still hung over his desk on the far wall next to his closet.  And the large, black-and-white portrait of three of their former horses - animals that had been sold after Dale's death to a neighbor horseman - still stared back at him from the side wall to the left of the tall window overlooking the barn.  It was as if his son would be rushing in any minute, all breathless from yet another practice run with his favorite horse.  Only as he looked around the eerily quiet room, Will knew in his heart that that was all a cruel illusion.  He knew Dale would never walk back into this room again, and it filled him even now with tremendous grief and loss. 

Brian stood there just inside the room, observing the myriad of emotions filtering across his uncle's face.  It was really the first time he had ever seen any crack in the man's impenetrable shell since they had met, and he wondered what had caused it.  He glanced around the room, feeling like he was in some sort of shrine.  There were more horses - statues displayed on a night stand - but also a photo hanging next to several variously-sized trophies.  He walked deeper into the room, approaching the photos to take a better look as Will stood there still as a statue.  He immediately recognized his aunt and uncle in the photo; it was startling in the difference, however.  In the photo, his aunt and uncle had their arms around a boy between them who appeared to be in his late teens and they were smiling - it was a genuine, radiant smile full of happiness and love.  They did not appear to be that much older than they were now, but the expressions on their faces were so dramatically different from the weary-looking, sullen expression his uncle was wearing now and the drawn, sorrowful look on his aunt's face that he had seen earlier that he was astounded that they were the same two people.  What had happened between then and now to produce such a change?  He stared at the boy in between them, noticing a distinct resemblance.  He wondered for a moment why the boy looked so familiar, and then it hit him; it was the same boy he had seen in the portrait over the mantle downstairs. 

He turned around to find his uncle staring over at him with an indecipherable look on his face.  "Who's that in the photo with you?" he asked Will, nodding his head toward the picture. 

His uncle pursed his lips tightly together for a couple of seconds before he told him curtly, "None of your business."  He stood there for a moment longer before he walked over to the bed and placed the suitcase down on its side.  "Get unpacked and cleaned up," he told him abruptly.  "Dinner's at six.  Don't be late." 

Brian huffed out an irritated breath at his uncle's rudeness as the man turned around and strode quickly out of the room without saying another word.  "Well, thanks for the warm welcome," Brian muttered under his breath as he stood there for a moment, his eyes flashing in anger.  He couldn't see the tears that welled up in his uncle's eyes as he hurried to escape before Brian noticed them.

"How quaint," Brian grumbled as he pulled the vinyl shower curtain to the side and stepped over the lip of the tub to get in, making a face of disgust at the rubberized bath mat lying on the bottom of the tub.  There was a hand-held shower head attached to the side wall to use for showers, and a built-in soap shelf directly underneath the small, frosted-glass window.  A metal towel rack hung at the back of the tub with a couple of thin, well-used, cotton towels - white with a couple of horses on them, of course; what else? 

Looking at the green-colored, antiseptic-smelling bar of soap on the shelf, he was thankful for his more expensive milled soap that he had thought to bring with him, along with his quality after-shave and cologne.  Even if he might be forced to live in a hick town, he still didn't have to smell like he lived in one; he had to retain his dignity, even though it was hard to feel ‘dignified' when you were standing in a porcelain bathtub.  Shaking his head in repulsion, he began to shampoo his hair, thankful at least that the farmhouse has decent water pressure.

Several minutes later, he could feel the results of not eating much earlier settling in his stomach as he finished getting dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans and a short-sleeved, black tee shirt.  Brushing his hair into place, he felt somewhat cleaner and void of all the dust and manure the truck had reeked of and appeared a little more presentable now.  Slipping on a pair of leather loafers, he walked down the hallway and descended the steps.  An enticing aroma greeted his nose as he padded down the short hallway separating the kitchen from the living room and entered to find his uncle already seated at the oval-shaped table situated near the corner of the room.  His aunt smiled at him from her place at the stove, a large platter in her hands. 

"Brian," she greeted him.  "We were just getting ready to eat.  Have a seat," she instructed. 

Feeling just a bit out of place among people he still didn't know very well, he nonetheless surrendered to his growling stomach and walked over to the table to eye his uncle, who returned his gaze with an unreadable expression of his own.

"You're late," the man told him as he glanced up at the rooster clock.  "I told you dinner was at six.  That is rude and disrespectful.  Next time make sure you're here when we tell you to be."

"Will..."  Sarah walked over and sat the platter of chicken down in the middle of the table; she pulled the two rooster-shaped oven mitts off her hands and placed them down on a small telephone table nearby.  "Brian didn't know any better; it's no big deal," she soothed.  She smiled reassuringly at Brian as she pulled out a chair at the opposite end of her husband and urged him, "Sit down and we can get started."

Brian exhaled out an angry breath to try and calm himself as he finally did as she asked, pouring his long body into a wooden Hitchcock chair with a fruit pattern on the back, a maroon chair pad tied to the seat for cushioning. 

Will stood up and pulled out his wife's chair for her to sit before he, too, sat back down and eyed their guest with barely-disguised repugnance.  No doubt his nephew was accustomed to being waited on hand and foot; well, that wasn't going to happen in his household.

"Will, would you please say grace?" Sarah asked her husband as she placed her napkin in her lap and folded her hands.

"Not yet, Sarah," he told her sternly as he kept his gaze on his nephew across the table.  "We need to go over the rules of the house first."

"Will, the food will get cold..." Sarah protested.

"I don't care," he told her adamantly.  "There're some things he needs to understand before we go any further."

Brian rolled his eyes.  "I thought I was avoiding prison, not being sent to one."

His uncle's eyes flashed with indignation.  "Watch your mouth, boy; we can send you back there if you want.  Is that what you prefer?" 

Brian growled, "I am NOT a boy!  And I told you not to call me that!"

Will snorted as his voice rose in anger; he knew this had been a mistake.  "Then quit acting like one!"

Sarah bit her lip nervously.  She had been hoping for a pleasant evening of dinner and conversation, not an inquisition.  She tried again to reason with her husband.  "Will, please...It's Brian's first night here and he's trying to get adjusted to his new surroundings."

"That's all the more reason why we need to straighten some things out now," Will countered as he stared Brian down.  "You need to understand some things.  Rule No. 1:  You are to be in bed each evening no later than 10:00 p.m."

Brian's mouth fell open in astonishment.  "Ten p.m.? "  He let out an incredulous laugh.  "You're giving me a fucking curfew?" 

"Watch your language, Brian!" Will snapped at him.  "We do not permit profanity in this household.  You can call that Rule No. 2."

"Ten p.m.?" Brian repeated.  "Why do I have to go to bed when you say so?  I haven't gone to bed at 10 p.m. since I was in middle school."  Brian never HAD allowed anyone to dictate when he did or did not go to bed.  His mother and father had tried but he had simply waited until they had checked up on him to make sure he was ‘asleep,' and then he had promptly turned the television or computer back on and did his own thing; some nights he even slipped out of bed altogether and went into town as he got older to the clubs or the bars.  Even back in middle school he seldom got to bed before midnight; he was one of those people who thrived on just a few hours' sleep; he still did.  The thought of having a set time as to when to go to bed, then, especially at his age, was totally ludicrous.

"I don't care WHAT you did or didn't do," his uncle told him flatly.  "While you're living in my household you will either do what I say or you can go back to Pittsburgh and wait whatever punishment that judge prescribes for you there.  I really don't care; it's your call."   He crossed his arms defiantly at his nephew and stared over at him unflinchingly, leaving no doubt that he meant exactly what he was saying.

Brian let out an angry breath as he glared over at his uncle; his aunt eyed him sympathetically but chose to remain silent, no doubt acquiescing to the ‘man of the household.'  To Brian he wasn't much of a man, though - he seemed more like a big bully, just like his own father was.  But the man unfortunately had a point; he had him over a fucking barrel because the last thing he wanted was to wind up having to go to jail for ten years.  He decided reluctantly that this jail was preferable to the other alternative as he finally grumbled, "Okay.  Whatever." 

"That's not all," Will told him.

Sarah opened her mouth to speak, only to have her husband grab her wrist gently but firmly and say, "Sarah, let me speak my piece."  Sarah sighed as she nodded, licking her lips anxiously, hoping her husband and her nephew would eventually come to a meeting of the minds.  From the looks on both men's faces, however, it was doubtful that would happen.

"Rule No. 3:  You are to be awake no later than 6 a.m. each morning so you have time to eat breakfast before doing your chores."

Brian thought that surely he hadn't heard the man right.  The proper words failed him temporarily as he finally uttered, "Six a.m.?  Chores?  What the fu...What are you talking about?  Is this a labor camp?"

"No, Brian, it's a farm; a working farm!" Will growled as he held his butter knife tightly clenched in his hand.  "That means that everyone in this household has to contribute to its operation, including you!  Did you think this was a resort out here?  That you could just go swimming in the local pond and work on your glorious tan all summer?  Well, if you did, Boy, you're in for a rude awakening!  We work hard out here to survive.  And you will be expected to do the same while you are living here, just like the rest of us do!  Do you understand?"

Brian fumed at his uncle from across the table, his arms crossed tightly over his chest and his eyes dark with fury as he remained mute and unyielding.

His uncle, however, could be just as stubborn.  "I said...Do...You...Understand?" 

Sarah's attention darted between her husband and her nephew, wondering which one would come out on top in this battle of wills.  Though not actually connected by blood, both were apparently cut from the same stubborn, strong-willed cloth.  She could tell that Brian was highly agitated by this unexpected curtailment of his freedom; not surprising, she supposed, considering how much freedom he must have enjoyed back home.  But then again, perhaps that was why had had gotten into so much trouble.  As her grandmother had always liked to say, Idle hands were the devil's workshop, and the devil must have been working overtime with this young man.

Brian seethed inside, feeling like a trapped animal.  He desperately wanted to just tell the man to fuck off and get the hell of there, but what did he know about this part of the country?  The thought of stealing some money from him and even that monstrosity of a truck he owned to escape crossed his mind, but he knew if he did and he wound up getting caught he would be in even MORE trouble.   He had heard enough horror stories about being some prisoner's whore in jail to realize that would not be a pleasant experience.  And the thought of being incarcerated for ten years, being told when to get up, when to take a piss, when to shower, and when to go to bed filled him with repulsion, even though his current situation wasn't that much different.  Clearly, though, he was going to have to find a way to pretend to satisfy his tyrant uncle's stipulations while discovering how to, ahem, enjoy himself along the way; that was his only option.  Which led him briefly to think of his encounter with his neighbors earlier....

He came back to the present several seconds later, feeling the heated stare of his uncle whose question he still hadn't answered.  He lifted his gaze to observe him waiting with barely veiled impatience for his response.  He glanced over at his aunt, who nodded slightly in encouragement before he inhaled a deep breath and let it out, assuming an almost defeated, submissive stance as he nodded, knowing it was merely a way to deceive his uncle into thinking he had a false sense of control over him.  "Okay.  Yeah.  I understand," he bit out distastefully.  "But I want to get one thing straight with you.  My name is Brian.  B-R-I-A-N.  Not Boy. Do YOU understand THAT?" 

Sarah eyed her husband in concern as she hastily interjected, "That's only fair, Will.  He has a point.  Respect goes both ways."

"Respect has to be earned," he corrected her before sighing in resignation.  "Very well... Brian.  I will call you by your first name if you hold up your end of the bargain - agreed?"

Brian stared over at him for a few seconds before he nodded - just before his stomach let forth with a response of its own. 

Sara laughed, a nervous but relieved laugh.  "Well, then.  Sounds like someone's hungry," she replied with a smile, glad that the impasse has apparently been broken.  "How about some of my famous fried chicken?"   She started to reach for the platter in the middle of the table, only to be stopped by her husband's hand gripping her wrist again.

"Not before grace," Will reminded her sternly as she nodded. 

Brian watched as they bowed their heads and his uncle began to intone, "Lord, for this bounty we are about to receive may we be truly grateful."  He paused for a moment before he added, "And please help provide us with the tools to guide our nephew onto the right path.  Amen." 

Brian sighed softly in annoyance as his aunt passed him the chicken; he took a piece of breast meat and passed it onto his uncle silently, the ritual repeated until all of the food on the table had been distributed to each party. 

The silence tense and uncomfortable for several interminable minutes, Sarah decided to try and lighten the mood by saying, "That was nice of Jennifer to call and invite us over for a meal.  She's such a sweet lady." 

Brian's ears perked up at the mention of their neighbors; that was the one possibly pleasant part to this whole ordeal - the two boys he had encountered earlier in the day - one dark-haired and brooding like thunder, the other blond and pale like the sun.  How they could be brothers was hard to fathom, but they did share one thing in common - they were going to find out what it was like to be plowed; deep and hard, very, very hard..He smirked at the thought as Sarah continued, "If it's okay with you, I thought I'd call her this evening and see if she'd like to meet for supper tomorrow.  I could make my blackberry cobbler and take it with us.  What do you think, Will?" 

Her husband took a bite of his half-runner beans and swallowed them before he shrugged.  "I suppose that would work.  I have to go into town tomorrow and pick up some more chicken feed.  And I need to set up some irrigation out in the back field.  So supper would be better than lunch."   He peered over at Brian with a smirk, noticing the rebellious teen wasn't shy about voicing his opinion or eating when the food was good.  "Good thing you're eating," he observed dryly.  "You'll need your strength for your chores."

Brian glanced up as he swirled his fork around a small helping of macaroni and cheese and wondered just what he meant by that statement.  He had to admit - the fried chicken was excellent; crispy on the outside, not too greasy, moist on the inside.  And the beans were seasoned with some sort of seasoning to make them quite tasty, and the macaroni and cheese appeared to be made with real cheese, not with some boxed shit, so at least his aunt knew how to cook.  "What kind of chores?" he couldn't help asking, wondering what in the world anyone did out in the middle of nowhere.

His uncle merely smiled at him and said, "You'll see soon enough.  But better not dress in fancy duds tomorrow, unless you want them to get all greasy and smelly."  He appeared to be enjoying the look of dismay on Brian's face as he quickly glanced over at his wife before adding, "Now finish up your supper and get off to bed; we've got a big day tomorrow."

Brian glared over at him sullenly before he stabbed a few elbows of macaroni, uncaring all of a sudden how many carbs he was ingesting; something told him that he would be working any extra calories off tomorrow in no time.

Early the next morning - Windswept Farm

Justin glanced up from his twin bed where he was sitting cross-legged and hastily flipped his sketchpad face down on the mattress as his brother appeared in the doorway, hoping his face didn't give away what he had been doing.  "Hey."

"Hey," Jared responded in kind as he walked in and sat down on the edge of the bed; he glanced down at the sketchpad next to his brother's legs as he said, "Drawing again, Squirt?   Were you BORN with a paintbrush in your hand?"

Justin snorted.  "Using that same old line again, Sport?" he teased him in kind.  Their nicknames came easier to the two of them than using their actual names.  Jared always liked to kid his younger brother about how much smaller and slenderer he was than him; that, plus the fact that he was forever trailing along with him on most of his adventures.  And while Justin was almost on the petite side - slender and fair-skinned - he was more large-framed and muscular, even though he didn't appear to have an ounce of fat on his body.  He WAS the perfect composition, though, to be a hell of a baseball player in high school, as well as the captain of the track team.  He certainly had the natural ability to excel in whatever endeavor he usually put his mind to, except in regards to two things:  artistic talent and mastering their sulky in the various horse races that their family had participated in and emerged victorious in.  For that it required someone with a gentle touch and a smaller stature - two characteristics that fit his younger brother perfectly and whose attributes seemed to match his nickname for him.  They had long ago forgotten when exactly the two nicknames had emerged, but now it seemed more natural to use them than their birth names. 

Jared grinned back at his brother as he nodded his head, indicating the sketchpad.  "What were you drawing?" he asked curiously, noticing Justin's face turning red.  "Let me see."  He reached to grab it, but Justin was faster as he snatched it up and held it tightly face down against his chest.

"Just doing some doodling," he mumbled.  "Nothing special."

Jared licked his lips skeptically.  "Then why can't I see it?  Hand it over."

Justin scooted back a little in the bed toward the headboard.  "It's personal," he told him stiffly.  "You don't let me see everything YOU do."

Jared snorted.  "That's different.  I prefer to watch my porn and jack off in private."  He eyed his brother's guilty face as he asked, "What could be so personal about a sketch?"  Before Justin had a chance to respond, he quickly reached out and pulled it out of his hands. 

"Give that back!" Justin shouted as his brother turned it over and smirked. 

"Aha!" he said in triumph, his eyes twinkling in amusement.  "I knew it!  You're fantasizing about that Kinney guy already!"

Justin's face flushed an ever darker shade of red as he glared at his brother.  He reached to take the sketchbook back, but Jared was too quick for him as he deftly dodged away just far enough to evade him as he stared at the drawing Justin had so meticulously made last night.  It was a sketch of Brian standing up at the back of the truck, staring down at them with a sort of arrogant sort of grin on his face, his leather-jacketed body straight and tall silhouetting his trim body.  His dark hair was slightly tousled from the wind and it shone under the spotlight of the sun while his hands gripped the back of the truck bed.  It was a remarkable likeness of the guy, Jared had to admit, as he grinned over at his guilty-looking younger brother.  "Dream on, Squirt!" he told him.  "He is so out of your league!"

Justin huffed as he crossed his arms over his chest.  "And I suppose you think he's just perfect for you."

Jared's smile turned even wider as he nodded back at him.  "Damn straight I do!  Oh...wrong choice of words," he joked.  As much as he loved his brother, he was presently enjoying the look of disgust on his brother's face.  While he had perfected an indecipherable look of nonchalance a long time ago - finding that it helped to get him out of a lot of jams in the past - his brother was like an open book when it came to figuring out how he felt.  His emotions were always so easily read just by looking at his body language and his face.  And right now he could tell quite easily that he had hit the nail on the head.  He felt a slight rush of sympathy for his tender-hearted, idealistic brother who always wore his heart on his sleeve and tried to see the good in people; to most other acquaintances and to his family, his younger brother could never seem to do any wrong in their eyes.  He actually felt a little envious of that trait in Justin, but he would never let HIM know that.  Perhaps that was why he always had to feel like he was one step ahead of him.

"He was looking at ME, Squirt," he told him gently.  "He is so above your level.  You need to go find you a little tame pony somewhere, not a stallion like he is."  In fact, he hadn't seen anyone who could compare with the body he had seen on this particular guy.  He really didn't know anything at all about him yet except for the bits and pieces his parents had mentioned, but he was sure going to enjoy finding out.  He could already tell just by the look the other guy was giving him that he was of the right ‘persuasion.'  And soon he would be able to test that theory out in practice. 

Justin huffed out an angry breath.  "I'm not one of our horses, Jared," he told his brother defensively.  "And he was checking us both out, so don't be so sure of that...Sport."

Jared had the gall to laugh as he handed the sketchpad back to his brother.  "Face it, little brother; this is the only way you're ever going to get up close and personal with that guy."  He paused for a few seconds before he added, "I bet he's got a great cock," finding glee in the icy stare he was receiving. 

"I'm sure you'll find out," Justin muttered as Jared let forth with another laugh at his expense, making him even madder. 

Jared reached over to ruffle his hair affectionately as Justin shrunk back from him in resentment, suddenly feeling like a five-year-old kid.  "I'm sure you're right," he told him with a twinkle in his eye.  "In fact, I'll have my first chance to check that out tonight." 

Justin frowned, his initial anger forgotten.  "What do you mean?"

Jared smiled.  "I heard Mom talking to Sarah Walker a little while ago; guess who's coming over for dinner tonight?"

"Shit," Justin mumbled, his eyes wide with both excitement as well as anxiety as he realized instantly who Jared was referring to.  While he found that he was having a hard time getting the Kinney boy out of his mind, at the same time the thought of being so close to him at dinner filled him with nervous fear.  And while he firmly felt he was correct - that this Brian was definitely looking them both over - he also knew that typically once they laid eyes on Jared and got to know him a little better, he was left flat in the dust when it came to potential boyfriends.  Not that he had had that many - actually, he had never had a ‘true' boyfriend; merely occasional, clandestine ‘dates' where he and the other guy went over to the swimming hole or rode a couple of their horses up into the gently rolling, heavily wooded slopes around the farm.  And while he had occasionally participated in some healthy rounds of mutual blowjobs or hand jobs with another guy behind the bleachers at school, the truth was that he had never had sex with another guy, not the full-scale, in-your-ass sort of sex.  Not that he didn't think about it - constantly.  In fact, just last night the subject of his latest desire had been featured prominently in his wet dream - the boy that had popped up out of nowhere.  And he had never come so hard in his life before as a result; he had had to bite down on his hand last night so no one else in the house would hear his groan of climax.  But seriously, when it came to this other boy what chance did he possibly have against his older, wiser, and more street-wise brother? 

Jared's lips turned up in one corner in a knowing smile. "That's right, little brother," he confirmed with a mischievous gleam in his eye.  "The subject of your gay fantasies is coming over for dinner tonight.  Hope he'll let you down easy."

Justin's eyes flashed as Jared rose from the bed, cocky and so sure of himself.  "Fuck you," he growled as Jared laughed at him again.  "We'll just see about that." 

"Dream on, Squirt, dream on," Jared countered.  "Now get up - Mom sent me up to fetch you for breakfast; you have to finish up the painting this morning before it gets too hot."

Justin's mouth hung open.  "Me?  What about YOU?"

"Oh, don't get your knickers in a knot," Jared told him.  "Dad and I need to go into town to get some feed for the horses.  We're going to go look at another car to restore, too.  It's a beauty, or it will be; a 1937 Ford.  I can see it solid black with flames on either side - just like one of those old American Graffiti jalopies."

Justin rolled his eyes at his brother's enthusiasm.  If you saw one old hotrod, you've seen them all.  At least with his art, his subject matter was only limited by what he could think up or see.  And right now one ‘thing' in particular was especially intriguing.  The thought of seeing that ‘thing' up close and personal tonight, however, was extremely intimidating to him, but also very exciting; hell, out here the most exciting thing was the local county fair.  This particular event tonight, though, far surpassed that.  Just the idea of this Brian guy sitting at the same table with him made his heart race and his palms get clammy.  If he looked and sounded that sexy from several feet away...Shit, what would he do if he actually tried to make conversation with him?  Would they even have anything in common?  Would he even look at him with Jared putting the moves on him?  The whole idea was so mind-boggling...

"Come back to Earth, little brother!  Come in!"

Justin blinked his eyes and looked over at his brother sheepishly.  "Yeah?" 

Jared snorted.  "I said...Do you need anything while Dad and I are in town?  Growth hormone?  Suntan lotion?"  He snickered as he said, "I know you don't need any condoms."

Justin's face turned red as he said, "Fuck you, Jared!  Just go and leave me alone!"

"See ya," he told his brother as he turned and walked away, his laughter mocking Justin as he sat there indignant.  Maybe he didn't need condoms; not yet, anyway.  That didn't mean that he didn't have every intention of using one - someday.  Something told him two things, though, about Brian Kinney:  one - HE was the one who ‘needed' condoms, and probably lots of them; and two - the man would never be a bottom for him or anyone else.  He groaned in embarrassment over just the thought of him...And that gorgeous other boy....

"Aargh!" he muttered in disgust.   Why did life have to be so difficult?  Sighing heavily, he placed his sketchpad down carefully on the bed.  Taking one last look at the subject of his angst, he grudgingly rose from the bed to go eat his breakfast. 

Same time...

Brian glanced at himself in the dresser mirror, dreading what ‘chores' his uncle had in store for him today.  When he had come up to his bedroom last night, he had sat on the edge of the bed for a while, peering out through the tall window that looked out onto the barn and other outbuildings, hypnotized by how inky black it was out here.  Except for the full moon filtering in from high above, and the myriad of stars blinking back at him, there wasn't a light anywhere to be found, at least not any nearby.  As he walked over to stand by the window, however, he could make out a few lights coming from what appeared to be the Taylor farm up the road.  He was too far away to make out any actual people inside, but he couldn't help wondering which room or rooms held the two boys that he had seen earlier in the day. 

That was definitely going to be the highlight of his day today.  At least if he could get through whatever drudgery his Uncle Will had in store for him today, he had something to look forward to later.  He had spent several minutes last night, sitting on the window ledge taking a much-needed smoke, wondering just which boy he would fuck first.  He had no doubt he would fuck both of them in short order.  He even wondered if he could take turns with both of them at the same time, but he finally decided that might be just a little too kinky for two country boys.  But he had no doubt that maybe even by the time the next night was over, he might very well have a taste of both of them.  And what tasty sorts they appeared to be!  He smiled.  It was almost like a smorgasbord of delectable ass and cock - one tall, dark, and lean, one blond, fair and slender.  It was like having the best of both worlds.  The only question was - which one would be the lucky one to go first?  The one with the muscular body or the one with the wondrously curved bubble butt?  Whichever one gets the honor, he thought to himself, they'll be damn lucky to have me.

He smirked at his reflection in the mirror before he turned and headed out of the bathroom and down the hallway toward the stairs.  He could smell the food his aunt no doubt was preparing for breakfast as he reached the downstairs and turned toward the kitchen, glancing up at the clock as he entered to see that it was precisely 6:00 a.m. on the nose.

His uncle glanced up from the newspaper he was perusing as he arrived, noting his nephew was wearing a form-fitting pair of well-worn blue jeans, a long-sleeved, V-neck, dark blue pullover tee shirt and a pair of leather loafers.  He snorted softly at Brian's shoes, knowing they wouldn't last more than five minutes in the same condition where he was heading.

"What?" Brian asked him as he walked up and sat down in his customary chair from last night. 

Will never lifted his gaze from the page he had returned to reading as he told him, "I hope you don't mind getting manure all over those shoes, Brian.  They're awfully fancy to do chores with." 

Brian's nose crinkled in disgust.  Did his uncle say manure?  He thought he had already smelled enough horse shit yesterday in the truck.  He looked up as his aunt walked over and placed a glass of orange juice down next to him, along with a plate of fried eggs, bacon, and a homemade biscuit.  "Well, maybe you need to change what I'll be doing today, then." 

Sarah eyes rose at her nephew's sarcastic tone of voice, knowing instinctively that sort of response would not go over very well with Will.  It didn't take long to find out that she was right. 

"Well, maybe YOU need to go upstairs and change your shoes," he told him brusquely.  "Because chores are chores; they need to be done and they are not subject to change or your whims.  Now either go find another pair of shoes or be prepared to ruin the ones you have on now.  Your choice." 

Sarah walked over and sat down between them with a sigh, not even waiting this time for Will to help pull the chair out.  "Will, his breakfast is getting cold; can't it at least wait until he's eaten first?"

Will huffed out an exasperated breath as he picked up his ivory-colored stoneware mug and took a sip of his coffee.  "Fine," he finally uttered to Sarah's relief.  With one last swallow, he pushed himself back from the table.  "It can wait until you're done eating; but I expect you in the barn in 30 minutes - no excuses."  With that, he carried his plate and mug silently over to the sink to rinse it off before walking briskly over to the adjacent laundry room.  A few seconds later Brian and his aunt heard the creaking of the screen door as Will pushed it open and slammed it shut behind him.

Sarah let out a sigh as she turned to eye her nephew with sympathy.  "He can be pretty gruff at times," she explained with a slight smile.  "But he's really not a vindictive or mean person, Brian.  He just has high standards and has had to work hard all his life.  He expects the same from everyone else."

"Maybe," Brian grumbled in admission, finding it somewhat easier to talk to his aunt than his uncle.  "But he still treats me like the shit he's demanding that I work with out there."

To his slight surprise, his normally congenial aunt's eyes flashed in consternation as she scolded him, "Brian, I may not be so ‘colorful' with the English language as you are or come from the big city, but I do not approve of that language in my presence.  And your uncle is a decent man, despite what you might think.  He's...he's had a difficult time over the past few years."  She debated for a moment, wondering just how much detail to go into before she added more softly, "He...We lost a son three years ago; our only son.  Our only child."  She bit her lip, tears stinging her eyes as she explained, "He was our miracle baby.  I had miscarried twice before Dale came along and I was told by the doctor that I couldn't have any more children.  Just when we had learned to accept that, I found out I was pregnant again.  We were overjoyed when I was able to carry him to full term and give birth to a healthy boy."

She was lost in another time as her gaze drifted over toward the window, her mind's eye seeing her son when he was a lot younger.  "He was very mischievous and so full of life; he always loved to go exploring around the farm and just being a fun-loving boy. He had a tender heart; he was always bringing home a stray animal.  That's how we wound up with Solomon; he followed him home one day and he never left."

Brian frowned.  "Solomon?"

Sarah nodded.  "He's our son's beagle.  He's around here somewhere; he likes to go exploring at night and normally comes home early the next day when it's time for breakfast.  He's kind of a free spirit, much like Dale was."  Right on cue, there was a sharp ‘yelp' by the back screen door as Sarah rose with a smile from her chair and walked over to greet him.  "Look at you!" Brian heard her gently scold him.  "What have you been into this time?"

Sarah opened the door to grab onto Solomon's collar and pull him a few feet over to the laundry tub.  "Hang on, Solomon; I need to wipe your paws first."  She grabbed one of their more threadbare towels she always kept hanging over the lip of the tub for just this purpose and began to lift each paw to wipe the water and mud from the dog's feet.  Rubbing the side of his head affectionately afterward, she murmured, "There...that's better," as the dog happily wagged his tail at her.  She rehung the towel over the side of the laundry tub and stood up to walk toward the kitchen, Solomon rushing along ahead of her.

Brian's eyes widened slightly as a tri-color, medium-sized beagle rushed up to him and furiously wagged his tail at him.  The dog began to sniff his leg curiously, excited to see new company.   Not accustomed to being around animals, he tentatively reached his hand over to rub the top of the dog's head, surprised to see how soft the hair felt.  He gave the dog a couple of scratches there before he dropped his hand back to his thigh.  Solomon, satisfied with his cursory examination of their guest, trotted over toward the window and began to sniff his presently empty food bowl as he glanced back at his owner.

Sarah laughed softly.  "I'm coming, you food hog.  Give me a second."  She and Brian exchanged a smile of amusement as she walked over and reached up into the cupboard next to the sink to retrieve a medium-sized bag of dry dog food.  Pouring some into his food dish, Solomon immediately began to crunch down vigorously on his breakfast. 

Replacing the food back into the cupboard, Sarah turned to her nephew.  "He seems to like you," she observed.  "He's normally a little hesitant around people he doesn't know, but he doesn't seem that way with you."  Walking over to sit down next to Brian, she said, "Better be prepared to have a shadow following you around this summer."  Her smile faltered a little as she added, "I think you remind him of Dale.  He worshipped him so much and never let him out of his sight while he was at home.  He loves me and Will, and we're glad we still have a part of our son with us, but I know he still misses him...Just like we do, too." 

Brian's heart lurched a little over the obvious sorrow in his aunt's voice.  Even though he didn't know her well at all, it didn't take much to realize how much she still missed her son.  "How...how did he die?" he found himself asking, unable to resist.

Sarah let out a ragged breath as she averted her gaze away, wondering if she should go into too much detail.  It was one thing to describe her son when he was vibrant and alive; it was another to talk about the way he died.  And she knew how impatient Will was since Dale had died and how late it was getting.  She finally turned her attention back to her nephew and shook her head with an apologetic sort of smile.  "Some other time," she begged off, hoping he would understand.  "Your uncle's waiting for you.  You'd best be getting out to the barn." 

Brian studied her for a moment, still wondering how someone apparently around his own age could have died so young, but realizing that for whatever reason his aunt didn't want to discuss it.  He nodded as he pushed himself back from his chair and took one last swallow of his juice to finish it off.  He started to grab his plate to take it over to the sink, but his aunt took it from him, along with the glass.

"You go ahead," she told him as she swallowed the painful lump in her throat that had arisen over talk of her son.  "I'll take care of this."

Brian nodded as he stood up and proceeded to leave, finding himself being followed closely by a four-legged shadow just like his aunt had guessed he would.  Brian rolled his eyes down at the dog as he muttered, "Great.  I not only get to work with shit, but I get the pleasure of your company, too, huh?"  He shook his head in resignation as the dog wagged his tail in response, finding it not that bad that at least someone seemed to like him as he hurried up the steps to go change his shoes. 

Justin sighed as he hefted the paintbrushes and five-gallon bucket of paint onto the back of the utility vehicle his family used for trips around the farm.  Normally he would just hop onto one of their horses to travel where he needed to go, but with the equipment he needed today to finish painting the fence adjacent to the Walker property it was too much for him to handle with a horse.  Jared and their father had left about thirty minutes ago to go into town and Vic was busy tending to the animals in the stable, leaving him with the tedious job of finishing up what the three of them had started yesterday. 

As he started up the vehicle that resembled an industrial version of a golf cart, he slowly drove toward the far edge of their property, as always observing his surroundings for any scenery or subjects he could use for another sketch.  He always kept a sketchpad handy wherever he went for just that purpose, finding a lot of inspiration in his daily encounters on the farm.  Several times, in fact, he had drawn one or more of their horses as they grazed peacefully in one of the fields or romped playfully among themselves while they rejoiced in being out in the open pasture of the farm.   Whenever they chased each other around like they were playing tag or took off in a full gallop, seemingly for no other reason than they were happy to be alive and free, it always brought a smile to his face. 

Now as he came closer and closer to the Walker farm, his heart began to race a little, knowing that the gorgeous boy he had seen yesterday was somewhere inside the house.  He wondered what he would do if he should run into him?  He hadn't thought about that earlier, not realizing which part of their property his father would send him to in order to finish up the painting.   He couldn't say he was exactly disappointed where it wound up being, however, since the Walker house sat back a hundred yards or so from the fence line, with the barn even closer, although it made him nervous, too.  As the quiet vehicle crept closer and closer to the fence, he could see that the two, tall wooden barn doors were swung wide open and there was a figure inside, sitting on a milking stool with his back to him. 

As he slowed the vehicle down to a stop and turned it off, he could clearly hear someone spewing forth with a string of swear words; that instantly told him that the figure inside the barn wasn't Will Walker.  As far as he knew the man had never uttered so much as a ‘darn' or a ‘shoot' in his life, much less the words being thrown out presently.  That, along with the dark hair and lean frame of the man he was presently observing told him that this wasn't his neighbor but their nephew, the very same boy he had had such an intense dream about last night and couldn't get out of his mind since seeing him for the first time yesterday.  His pulse began to race and his eyes couldn't turn away from the sight as he stared over at the boy whose back was to him.  He listened in rapt fascination to his sexy tone of voice, currently muttering all sorts of profanities.  Silently he climbed up onto the six-foot fence, using one of the split rails for leverage as he sat with his legs dangling over the top and enjoyed the luxury of observing the other boy secretly without his knowledge, finding the courage to do so only because he knew Brian didn't know he was being watched.

It was only after he could make out what the other boy was saying that he realized why he was so angry, and he had to bite back the laugh that threatened to escape his throat. 

"Damn it to hell!" Brian barked out in disgust as he banged the metal pail onto the straw-strewn floor of the barn.  "Fuck!  What is wrong with you?" he asked.  The only response he got was a slow, lazy swing of the cow's black and white head as one huge eye stared down at him.  To Brian it appeared that the cow was silently mocking him for his ineptness.  When his uncle had left him a while ago with the admonishment that when he came back he expected the cow to be milked, Brian had decided this was better than the alternative option of raking out the stalls that he had been given.  Now, however, as he tugged at the cow's teats and nothing happened, he was getting more and more frustrated.  "This is fucking ridiculous!" he shouted out as sighed in disgust.  "I know there's something in there!"

A sound he recognized as a musical sort of cross between a giggle and a laugh caused Brian to quickly twist his head around; instantly the day became a lot more interesting as he observed a boy sitting on the fence straddling the Walker property and the Taylor farm next door.  It was the smaller, blond-haired boy with the delectably curved ass he had observed yesterday.  He noticed the boy flushing in embarrassment as he realized he had been caught watching him.  He quickly rose to his feet, wiping his hands off on his jeans as he called over, "You think this is funny?" 

Justin clamped a hand over his mouth as he realized what he had done; his eyes widened and his heart thumped in his chest as the boy swaggered over toward him, followed by the Walker's dog, Solomon, who had been curled up nearby on the floor.  God, he was even more gorgeous than yesterday!  He was wearing a pair of tight jeans that seemed to have been tailor-made for him, along with a black tee shirt that molded to his chest, revealing his flat abdomen and trim waist.  The sleeves of the tee shirt were pushed up to his elbows, revealing some bronze skin underneath, and he was wearing a pair of black sneakers.  Justin was convinced he was the most exquisite boy he had ever seen, and his entire body tingled in a way he had never experienced before.  He eyed the boy closely as Brian walked up to him, nervous as hell but unable to avert his gaze away from him. 

Brian smirked as he noticed a pink flush creep up on the other boy's cheeks.  He made a mental note that this one would be all too easy to capture if he caused that reaction merely by looking at him.  Perhaps he would be first on his list to fuck, then, rather than the older one.  This was going to be all too easy.  This boy had ‘inexperienced' and ‘virgin' written all over him, and he could tell that he already had him under his spell; not surprising, actually, he thought.  He always had that effect on other boys.  He was almost disappointed at how easy this was going to be, though; the chase was almost as sweet as the conquest to him.  Maybe he wouldn't even have to wait until tonight to have his first taste of the Taylor boys.

"You always go around spying on other people...uh, Justin?" he addressed the other boy by name as he deliberately encroached on the blond's space to throw him off balance, splaying his hands to either side of the petite body and resting them, palms down, on the roughness of the wooden fence rail.  He was inches away from Justin's body and was finding it almost impossible not to touch him.  He could see how incredibly blue the boy's eyes were now - the shade of a calm, mid-spring sky, he decided - and his lips; that full, bottom lip especially was made just for grabbing onto and sucking...And that creamy-colored skin - God, so smooth.  He wondered how it would feel to touch that skin with the pads of his fingers...or his lips...He could feel his cock stirring merely at the thought.

Justin swallowed hard in response to Brian's audacity and his closeness, a movement that did not go unnoticed by his tormentor as the other boy's eyes darkened in telltale reaction.  He couldn't recall ever seeing someone that looked as magnificent as this boy, but at the same time he was still insulted over his insinuation that he had come out here merely to ogle him and that provided him with just enough chutzpah to resist the temptation to reach out and touch him.

Brian listened in surprise as the other boy actually flashed his eyes at him in defiance and told him stiffly, "I wasn't spying on you!  I'm out here to paint our fence!"  Justin was scared as hell inside and his heart was hammering a mile a minute, but he wasn't going to let the other boy know that.  The thought of being looked upon as some scared little faggot kid - or a stalker of some kind - didn't sit too well with him.  And it was the truth - he didn't know Brian would be out here, not that he was complaining especially.

Brian's eyes examined the fence, noting that it was, indeed, one of the few areas that did not appear to be freshly painted, so perhaps this boy was telling the truth.  Nonetheless, he felt a need to bait him anyway, simply because he could.  "I think you just wanted a closer look at me," he told him as Justin blushed an even darker shade of red.  Too easy...He smirked.  "Everyone always does."

Justin huffed in irritation.  Yes, the boy was gorgeous, but he was also apparently very conceited.  He snorted, pretending to be a lot braver than he really was as he replied sarcastically, "I'm sure they do in the big city.  Out here, though, we value skills more than looks, and when it comes to milking cows your rather considerable talents evidently leave a lot to be desired."

Brian had the gall to laugh at his comment as he remarked dryly, "Is that so?  Well, then, I humbly bow to your expertise," he told him as he bowed at the waist.   He slowly backed away from Justin and placed his hands on his hips as he stood facing him.  "Well, come on - let's see how it's done, Farmer Brown," he replied, snickering at the affronted look on Justin's face.   His brows rose in question as Justin remained rooted to his spot before he asked, "What?  Can't get down from there without my help?"

He held his hands out to indicate he would be more than happy to catch his fall, but Justin merely glared at him before promptly jumping down from his position without any assistance.  Brian laughed as the other boy pursed his lips together in aggravation, finding the look quite endearing.  Of course, Brian wasn't about to let HIM know that, however.  He held out his hand toward the barn.  "Well, Maestro, show me the proper technique, then." 

He deliberately waited for Justin to lead, wanting to savor the view as he followed along behind him, openly admiring the way that the other boy's jeans brushed up tightly against his ass and finding himself wanting desperately to plunge his cock where the denim lay draped across those two, perfectly-rounded cheeks. 

Justin's other cheeks were burning as he walked toward the Walker's dairy cow; without even turning around, he had a feeling he knew exactly what Brian was doing, and the thought both excited him as well as scared the shit out of him.  Why did he feel like he was playing with fire all of a sudden?  What exactly did HE know about seduction?  And more importantly, who was doing the seducing here - him or Brian?  He forced himself to focus on the task at hand as he walked up to the bovine and sat down on the small, slate gray wooden stool.  He reached up with his right hand and stroked the animal's udder slowly in a circular pattern as he spoke to her soothingly.  "Ready to give me some milk, Girl?" he cooed softly.  "Hmm?" 

Brian pulled his lighter and his cigarettes out of his pocket to retrieve one and ignite the end, standing there in amusement over the way the other boy was talking so affectionately to a cow.  Placing the Zippo and the remainder of the pack into his pocket, he took a deep drag before he drawled, "What the fuck are you doing feeling up a cow?  It must get pretty desperate out here."  Although I can't imagine why, he couldn't help thinking sarcastically.  If I were around here permanently, though, you'd be feeling up something ELSE...

Justin huffed out an exasperated breath, explaining, "The udder is a muscle, Brian.  You have to do this in order to relax the cow and allow the milk to flow."  He reached for the metal pail sitting nearby to place it underneath the cow's teats.  "That's the way, Checkers," he told the cow with a soft voice.  Feeling confident the animal was relaxed as she would ever be, he stole a glance over at Brian as he instructed him, "You have to take your thumb and your middle finger and squeeze the teat between the base and the udder to trap the milk there."  To demonstrate, he placed his hands over two of the four teats and squeezed firmly at the base as a small amount of milk oozed out of the hole. 

Brian couldn't resist the grin that spread over his face over the earnest lecture he was receiving from the other boy, thinking it looked remarkably like something else he was quite familiar with.  "Oh," he said, elongating the ‘oh' part.  "Why didn't you tell me it's like jerking someone off?  I'm a master at that!"

Justin blushed a deep shade of red and his eyes flashed in aggravation.  "No, it's NOT like jerking off, you moron!  You don't PULL on the teats, you squeeze them!  That's why you weren't getting any milk before!"  He sighed as Brian laughed, making him even more aggravated.  "I can't believe I'm even bothering," he muttered to himself as he turned his back on the older boy and began to squeeze the teats in earnest.  A steady but narrow stream of milk began to squirt out, landing in the bucket with a distinctive ping as it hit the empty, metal bottom.  After a few tries, the milk volume increased as Justin kept up a steady pace, alternating with squirts from both hands as the milk made a regular whoosh, whoosh sound into the bucket.

Brian took another drag on his cigarette as he watched the long-fingered hands of the other boy do their magic; he couldn't help wondering just what sort of ‘magic' those hands could produce on HIM as he said, "You country boys sure know how to use your hands.  How about when you get done you demonstrate on ME?" 

Justin's heart pounded in his ears at the inherent invitation in that sultry voice.  His hands shook slightly as he somehow managed to keep milking the cow and ignore the not-so-subtle invitation, despite the emotions the other boy was generating in him.  Was he deliberately goading him because he realized how inexperienced he was?  Yeah, the guy was hot; VERY hot.   No doubt the most magnificent specimen of male perfection he had ever seen in his young life, in fact.  But there was something almost condescending and haughty in that voice that riled him, like he knew he couldn't resist him.  Besides, he had a sinking feeling that as soon as Jared was done with him, he would be promptly forgotten.  Did he want to be someone's throwaway fuck, someone to be toyed with and just discarded for someone better - like his own brother? 

Justin set his jaw as he glanced over at the cocky-looking expression on Brian's face and smiled, a sweet, disarming smile, one that caused Brian's eyes to widen in surprise in its intensity; he had never seen a smile so glorious in all his life and it made his heart skip a beat. 

"How about I demonstrate my skills on you NOW?" Justin answered seductively as he twisted his both wrists just enough to squirt some milk in Brian's direction. 

Brian jumped back in stunned surprise as the warm substance hit him squarely in the face.  "What the fuck?" he sputtered as he blinked his eyes a few times in an attempt to get the milk out of them.  He finally took the sleeve of his tee shirt and managed to wipe the milk away as he glared over at the laughing face of his tormentor, feeling humiliated that he had been caught - at least figuratively - with his pants down.  He wasn't used to being surprised or taken unaware and it made him angry as hell - but also just a little impressed, too.  "You little shit!" he growled at the other boy as he walked toward him with the intention of grabbing him by the arm and shaking him - maybe even kissing him, too, for his daring.  He was startled, however, when another stream of milk came arching itself expertly over onto his shirt this time, followed by another giggle from his attacker. 

"Now THAT'S funny!" Justin replied, his face breaking out into an even more radiant smile.  "Now you're an official country hick yourself; welcome to Kentucky...City Boy!" 

Brian's mouth hung open at the audacity of this brat; this beautiful, feisty, adorably sexy brat.  He was just a kid, though...wasn't he?  If he was, however, why was he feeling these very grown-up feelings for him?  And despite his drenched, no doubt ridiculous-looking appearance, why was he feeling a sudden need to wipe that smirk off the fucker's face by smashing his lips against his?  His intention must have been broadcast quite clearly, because as he slowly walked toward the other boy with an odd sort of predatory smile on his face Justin ceased his milking and stood up to face him, his own smile fading from his face to be replaced with something akin to fear and shyness.

"Uh...I'd better be going," Justin said as he bit his lip and slowly backed away from Brian.  "You...You saw how I did it; you can finish it up now.  My mom will be wondering where I am."  Actually that was a bold-faced lie.  He knew his mother had mentioned going over to tend to her beehives while he was painting, and they were located on the other side of the house; there was no possible way she could even see him from there, then.  Brian didn't know that, however. 

"I thought you had to finish painting the fence?" Brian reminded him softly as he continued to advance on the other boy, wondering if Justin knew he was backing up against several bales of hay behind him. 

Justin retreated further in synchronization with Brian's advance just like a well-choreographed dance before his ass bumped up against something scratchy and he had to stop, realizing with dread that he had miscalculated and run into a brick wall - or at least a wall made of hay.  His eyes widened as Brian came closer and closer...Suddenly he knew how a field mouse must feel up against one of their barn cats back home.  Brian was now so close he could smell the other boy's intriguing after-shave and feel his breath on his face as he placed his hands on Justin's shoulders and firmly dug into his flesh.   Justin felt like the other boy's touch was burning his skin right through his thin tee shirt as he watched Brian's face come closer and closer.  His eyes instinctively fluttered closed in anticipation of how it would feel to have the other boy's lips on his as he prepared to surrender to the inevitable...

"Brian!  You out there?" 

The words from Brian's Aunt Sarah came filtering abruptly into the barn, having the same effect as cold water being thrown in Justin's face as his startled eyes flew open and he realized what he had been about to do.  Flushing in embarrassment over the fact that he had almost become a willing pawn in this other boy's manipulations, he used the momentary diversion to deftly break from Brian's grasp, breathlessly mumbling, "I have to go - I need to finish painting the fence," before he rushed from the barn, coming head-to-head with Brian's aunt who was searching for him. 

Sarah's face registered surprise at their unexpected visitor.  "Justin!" she greeted him with a perplexed expression; she glanced behind him into the barn, not seeing any sign of Brian.  "I didn't expect to run into you."

"Hello, Mrs. Walker," Justin replied, praying his face wasn't as red and flushed as he thought it was.  His pulse was still racing over his near encounter with the woman's nephew.  He furiously tried to come up with an explanation as to what exactly he was doing over here as he told her, "I...I was working on painting the rest of our fence and noticed Brian needed a little help with milking Checkers."  Justin never did understand why a black-and-white cow was named Checkers, but the large bovine had been called that for as long as he could remember so the name had stuck. 

Sarah relaxed a little bit, feeling that explanation was more than plausible when it came to Justin.  They had lived next to the Taylors for a long time, and she had watched both of the boys grow up literally before her eyes.  She felt very fond of this kind, more tender-hearted boy; as far as his older brother went, though, she was ambivalent about him.  Jared could be helpful at times when he wanted to be and it suited his purposes - after Dale had died, she had to grudgingly admit that the boy had been invaluable in helping to harvest their crop of wheat that year with the combine.  But she always felt that it had been due more to his love of complex machinery rather than some sense of altruism.  Justin, on the other hand, had always been the more sensitive of the two, never hesitating when she asked him to do something and always checking up on her and Will regularly to make sure they didn't need any help.  It would be just like Justin to offer to help Brian with milking their cow, then. 

She smiled at him warmly as she replied, "That was very kind of you, Justin.  Is he in the barn?"

Justin nodded, still shaken up by his encounter with her devastatingly handsome nephew.  "Yeah...I think he's over by the hay bales."

Sarah nodded back at him.  "Thanks.  We'll see you at supper later?" 

Justin swallowed hard, suddenly remembering that the Walkers - and Brian - were coming over for dinner at their house later that evening.  How in the hell was he going to face Brian again with a straight face after what had just almost happened?  He knew, though, that unless he suddenly became deathly ill there was no way he could avoid it.  The only thing he could hope for, then, was that he wound up sitting as far away from the other boy as possible.  There was no way he could look him in the eyes now without imagining all sorts of scenarios between the two of them.  In fact, if he didn't get out of there right now, he could quite possibly wind up being embarrassed by the beginnings of a hard on he was starting to feel that had been created merely by thinking about the other boy.  "Yeah," he hastily told her as he turned around.  "I have to go back to work now.  I'll see you later."

"Thanks again, Justin," Sarah called after him as the boy quickly walked away, wondering why he seemed so flustered but finally chalking it up to the boy being a little on the shy side.  She turned around after a few seconds to go in search of her nephew, hoping he had been working on the chores that her husband had assigned him.

Brian stood just inside the barn, unable to avoid overhearing the conversation that had transpired between his aunt and the youngest Taylor boy.  He smiled as he heard Justin telling her he would be present for dinner later.  You can run for now, Little Boy.  Yeah...run home to your sanctuary.  But as he walked back over to the cow and this time succeeded in producing some milk from her, he knew it wouldn't be long now.  No, not long at all.  Paraphrasing John Denver, he couldn't help thinking with a smile, Thank God I'm a country boy...