Chase paused a moment, straightening up and propping the ax against the old oak stump he was using as a chopping block. He watched as a column of dust made its way toward the house. It was mid-morning, hot already, but he had become used to the heat. He looked down at the back of his hands. They were brown from the sun and when he turned them over he marveled at the callouses on the palms. For the last two weeks he had toiled on the wood pile, cutting logs down to size, splitting them, then chopping them down small enough to fit the stove for winter, then stacking the wood in the wood shed.
It was back breaking work, but his back quickly got strong. It raised blisters on his hands in the first few days, but he gritted his way through the pain until the callouses grew.
He looked at the approaching dust column, knowing it was Ellen. Ross's girl. Or woman, really. Thrice divorced, trying to make him number four, he imagined. Chased sighed and glanced back at the house, at the bare spot where the tractor usually sat. Ross had run out to check on some horses, but he wasn't back yet. It would take him forever, dawdling along on that old tractor. He had to know Ellen was visiting. She did at least once a week for the last month, or so. Chase wasn't sure how they kept their meetings secret, but they did.
Since that night he had watched Ross through the cracked open doorway the two men had not spoken too much. Of course, Ross wasn't the talkative sort, but he had avoided looking at Chase if he could help it. Chase, for his part, had been compelled to find a private place he could go every day, a place he would close his eyes and bring back the stark, vivid memory of Ross on his back in bed, the covers twisted up and pushed to the side, his powerful legs spread, head thrown back, body arching, muffled grunts coming from compressed lips, as his pulsating cock shot load after load onto his chest and belly. Chase had to find a place where he could imagine crawling between those thighs, holding on as Ross let himself go, maybe feeling the hot splash of cum striking his cheek, his lips.
So every night he would go into the barn and do his chores, feeding the horses, the chickens. Then he would go to the old bunk room in back and have his time alone. It wouldn't take long, just a few moments with his jeans down mid-thigh, his already hard cock in his hand. A quick dribble of spit on the head and then he'd go to town, imagining the possibilities as he stood in the middle of the room. He'd shoot his load into hand then go out back to the old pump and wash it off.
Standing there at the chopping block, Chase shook his head. Not for the last time he wondered, what would he taste like? What would he smell like? What would the course leg hairs, thick pubes, feel like under his palms? What would it be like to bury his nose in that bush, the hot, heavy shaft of Ross's cock against his cheek, his wet mouth around a large testicle? He felt a deep dislike of Ellen, born of good old fashioned jealousy. She came for her visits, ostensibly to talk about the various fields Ross leased from her, only to have it devolve into her panting cries floating from his bedroom window, echoing against the barn, making the chickens go silent.
God, to be there, to pull her off him and leap on himself, to impale himself on that massive pole. He would stand there in the bunk room and imagine the rough hands opening him wide, the giant cock piercing him, the body looming over him. He would wrap his legs around Ross's waist, cling to him as he pounded him without mercy. He wanted to be taken, to be owned, to lay at his feet and do his bidding, to go to his hands and knees, arch his back and beg for that painfully large cock. He wanted to feel the pulsating member on his tongue, the hot load filling his mouth, spilling from his lips.
Chase gritted his teeth as he started down that path. He felt his own prick stirring and he took up the ax. There would be time later, he thought, when he could be alone with his thoughts. Now was the time to work out his frustrations. He was chopping wood at a furious rate when Ellen made it to the house. Her brand new Buick was covered in dust, but when she jumped out she looked as fresh as a daisy.
Chase stopped chopping and nodded to her. He didn't get into formalities, just got straight to the point. "Ross isn't here," he said.
"Oh," she replied, not seeming to be disappointed. She sauntered over, looking him up and down. The contrast between the two was stark. Chase was wearing an old pair of work boots and bib overalls loaned to him by Ross. The boots had newspaper stuffed into the toes and the overalls' pant legs were rolled up to fit. The heat being what it was he wasn't wearing a shirt underneath and Ellen looked at his tanned shoulders admiringly. Ellen was wearing a sundress covered in a flower pattern, black leather pumps with a low heel, and stylish horn-rimmed sunglasses with a leopard print. Her sleek, rich auburn hair was pulled back and held by a blue silk scarf. She looked clean, expensive. He looked dirty and poor.
"Well, maybe that's just fine," she said, flirtatiously. "Maybe I don't mind talking to you."
Chase blinked in confusion and then turned to his ax. "Can't talk," he said."Got to chop."
Ellen stood for a moment, bemused, as Chase ignored her and went back to his job at hand. She wandered up to the porch and tried to shoo Spike off his chair. He growled at her and she sighed, shaking her head. If it wasn't Chase it was the old, dumb dog, she thought. She stood there, wondering what to do, watching the younger man chop wood like his life depended on it. He was, in a word, gorgeous. When she'd first seen him she was almost overwhelmed by lust. He was pretty, sullen, and had a body to die for. She wrapped an arm around the porch post and leaned against it languidly. The young Chase was delicious looking, she decided. A nice snack before the main meal that Ross represented.
What the hell was his problem?
He just needs to get laid, she figured, and she'd volunteer if it came up. She smiled a little. Ross and Chase. What a sinfully wonderful thought. She would happily submit to both, if they were game. A sound in the distance suddenly invaded her little fantasy. The tractor. Ross was returning. She bit her lip, feeling that familiar swelling warmth between her thighs. Ross was a terrible lover. He lay there as she rode him, or slammed into her on her command. They rarely kissed. She would take that big cock of his and enjoy it, cumming as much as she wanted to, while he never seemed to cum. Sometimes he would wear her out and she'd go home sitting gingerly behind the wheel, her vagina enflamed from the beating it had received. As far as she knew he got nothing from these trysts and as far as she was concerned it was fine if it was only beneficial to her.
He was machine-like and she was okay with that. She didn't come here for his personality.
When Ross rolled up on the old tractor she waved and smiled. He waved back and stopped the tractor near Chase. When he jumped off he spoke to the young man briefly, something about horses, but Ellen wasn't listening. She was thinking about how fast she could get him in bed, get his big, heavily muscled, sweaty body in bed.
Ross came toward her, his face a pleasant mask.
"Howdy Ms. Ellen," he said politely. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Chase slump off toward the barn. Ross liked to send him on errands or chores away from the house. Proprietary, she guessed.
Inside she didn't waste time. She pulled her dress up over her head and, predictably, she was naked underneath. Her large, remarkably firm breasts waved about as she struggled to free herself. Ross held back a grimace as he unbuttoned his shirt. He worked quickly, not because he was eager for her, but because he was eager to keep her from ripping his buttons out.
Within moments they were in bed. Ross lay on his back, his flaccid member like a dormant boa along one thigh, ready to swell angrily at the slightest provocation. Ellen gulped it into her mouth hungrily and he flinched. As always he closed his eyes and thought of something else, someone else. He avoided thinking of Chase. That was dangerous. Instead, he thought of James, the chaplain's assistant all those years ago.
It was after he had been shot. Alan's wounds had been serious, a bullet through the lung, and he had been sent home on a hospital ship. Ross had suffered a grazing shot that had broken a rib. He had been put in a hospital near Naples, far enough from the fighting to keep the recuperating soldiers safe, but close enough to get back up to the front when the time came.
When he had first gotten there he had endured an ambulance ride of several hours from the field hospital at the front. He had been put to bed and immediately passed out from exhaustion and pain. When he opened his eyes it was to the feeling of a hand holding his. Standing next to his bed was an Army chaplain, a balding man in his fifties. He was holding Ross's hand and talking to the doctor, who stood on the other side of the bed. They were talking about his condition, but Ross couldn't hear a word said, because standing next to the chaplain, near Ross's feet, was the most beautiful young man he had ever seen.
He was in uniform, and in his hands he held a stack of bibles. He had thick, wavy brown hair, clear blue-green eyes, soft, full lips and the most perfect jawline Ross had ever seen. It begged for his hand to trace its shape. Ross realized the soldier was looking at him, too. Their eyes met and Ross felt a shock of something like recognition. It was like they knew what each other was, that they were two lost souls that suddenly realized they had found a kindred spirit. They both looked away in panic. Ross affixed a scowl on his face and pulled away from the chaplain's grasp.
"Ah, he's awake," the chaplain declared with a flat New England accent. He patted Ross's retreating hand. "We've come bearing good news." The chaplain grabbed a bible and placed it on the bedside stand. "It's news from the lord," he said, winking. "That's always good news, right?"
Ross gave a vague nod. He glanced at the assistant, who was studying the books in his hands.
"My name is Chaplain Andrews, and this is my assistant James. We're here to satisfy your spiritual needs."
"Nice to meet you," Ross croaked.
"Nice to meet you," James said. The chaplain frowned at his assistant and then turned to Ross, patting his hand again.
"Please feel free to attend our services," he began and then Ross stopped listening. The doctor had wandered off, the chaplain was extolling the virtues of going to church, talking more at the ceiling than at Ross. Ross looked up at James and for a second time their eyes met. James looked away quickly, his brow furrowed, while Ross stared unabashed at those lips. Since his adventures with the crazy Brit in North Africa he was hungry. Seeing this beautiful man, who surely felt the same thing he felt, all his pain and discomfort fell away, replaced by a sort of euphoric feeling.
But then they were gone to the next bed, and Ross could only watch as the chaplain delivered another bible to another new patient. At one point Ross saw James glance his way then almost jump when he caught the wounded soldier staring. It was the first time Ross contemplated going to church.
With his ribs wrapped he was able to hobble over to the hospital chapel the next Sunday. He got there early and watched as James lit candles, rearranged chairs. James did his job while studiously ignoring the tall, rangy, handsome soldier sitting alone in a pew in the back. When the other soldiers were wheeled in, or staggered in under their own power, James sat at a piano and began playing. To Ross it was beautiful. He watched from afar as the slender fingers glided effortlessly over the keys. Oh to feel their touch.
It took two Sundays, as his rib healed with alarming speed, before Ross approached James in the mess hall. The chaplain's assistant was sitting alone, a worn book in his hand. Ross eased up to the table, holding his tray with both hands. He hooked a heel in a chair and pulled it back loudly. James looked up and his eyes widened.
"Mind if I sit here?"
James shook his head and Ross plopped down, wincing only slightly.
"Getting better?" James asked.
Ross shrugged. "I'll be heading to the front soon, I reckon."
"You had a broken rib. Got shot saving your platoon..." James blushed as Ross looked surprised. "I just remember the doctor telling us about you..." He trailed off and held his book up, taking a bite of food.
"I never see you in here. I mean, I do, but you just get your food and leave."
James looked up at him. "I'm surprised you even remember me."
It was Ross's turn to blush. "I have a great memory for faces. It's James, right?"
"Right," said James. They shook hands, a moment of contact too brief for Ross's liking. James looked expectantly at Ross.
"Oh, uh, I'm Ross."
"Nice to meet you, Ross," James said.
"We already met." Ross grumbled. Things weren't going well. He had tried to channel Albert Durbin, be confident of success, go for what you want, seize the day. Instead he was an uncomfortable hulk. "So where do you normally eat lunch?"
"I have a pretty secret spot. Or not secret, just no one goes there."
"Why aren't you there today?"
James shrugged. "I got lonely, I guess. Wanted to see if...I could still communicate with people. The chaplain isn't that interesting, I'm afraid."
Ross let a smile crack his face a little. "I'd guess not," he said.
James leaned forward a little. "So, you do smile," he said with a grin. "You always look so mean."
Ross let it slide that James had thought enough about him to think he always looked mean.
"Can't help it," Ross said. "My daddy was a bare knuckle fighter. All I learned from him was how to look mean and back it up with deeds."
James's mouth dropped. "A bare knuckle fighter?"
Ross nodded. "A good one, too. He could whoop anyone's ass in Kay County. Got to be that I could, too, before I joined up."
James shook his head. "I got in a fight at school once. Just once. My father was a Lutheran minister. He didn't appreciate his only son fighting."
"I'd guess not," Ross said. He smiled at James and James smiled back, then their eyes met. James looked away quickly, his face closing up.
"I have to go. The chaplain is expecting me." He stood up and gave Ross a nod. "Nice talking to you."
"Any time," Ross replied, meaning it.
The next day Ross went to the chapel, looking for James. He found the chaplain, instead. Ross stood in the doorway uncomfortably, his head gear in hand. The chaplain was rearranging hymnals in the pew and he looked up, raising his eyebrows.
"Why do you darken my doorstep with such I'll ease?"
Ross took a deep breath. "Lookin' for James..."
"He's in his garden, daydreaming I imagine. Or growing magic beans. Or both." The chaplain gestured toward the side door of the chapel. "Out there, down the path and through the old cemetery and you'll find a little stream with a garden plot. You'll find him there, I imagine."
Ross ducked his head and mumbled a thanks, then went through the door. He found James just as the chaplain had figured, in the small garden plot along the stream, humming some song, on his hands and knees plucking weeds. He looked up when he heard Ross.
"Oh, Ross," he said. "You found my secret spot."
"Actually, the chaplain told me where to find you."
"Ha! As if he's ever been here. So...what brings you here?" James went back to weeding and Ross sidled up to stand awkwardly, just outside the garden plot.
"Goin' back to the front tomorrow."
James stopped and looked up at Ross. "Oh," he said simply. "Well, that was bound to happen."
"I-I just wanted to say goodbye."
James raised up onto his knees and put his gloved hands on his hips. He cocked his head, seemed about to speak but then stayed silent. Taking a deep breath he looked at Ross directly, meeting his eyes. This time it was Ross's turn to look away.
"I just wanted to talk to you," Ross said quietly, shuffling back and forth and looking at his feet. "I got somethin' to say."
James stood up, taking his gloves off. He glanced over his shoulder at the chapel, which was beyond view up past the cemetery. "Come on," he said. He reached out and grabbed Ross's hand, pulling him across the stream. A path led through a stand of trees with bark burned by war. They came to a small open space with an old, iron bench painted white. James sat down and Ross sat with him.
"So, talk," James said, his voice quiet.
Ross held himself still for a moment and then he suddenly started talking. "I had to talk to you, to tell you that I think of you all the time, and I know you're a God fearing man, a chaplain's assistant but I also know that if I don't..." He trailed off, blushing. "Goddammit."
James reached out and grabbed one of Ross's big hands. "It's okay," he said, gently. "I don't judge you."
Ross looked up at him and laughed a little. "Well, you better not. I seen the way you look at me, just the same way I look at you."
James pulled back. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Ross squinted at him, his lip curling. "You want me as much as I want you."
James sat back, shaking his head. "That's, that's i-illegal a-and I-I don't want any part of this discussion."
Ross stood up. He towered over the smaller man, his face grim with purpose. "Bullshit," he grumbled. He suddenly whipped his uniform shirt off. His pants followed, over his low quarters, then his underwear. All the while James watched him in shock.
"What are you doing?" James asked weakly.
After a flurry of violent disrobing Ross stood in front of him, his face fierce. In any other circumstances it would be comical, him standing there in nothing but a tie and low quarters. But this wasn't comical. James couldn't help but drink in the sight of him. His chest, covered in hair, the muscles twitching as he breathed heavily. The red scar, still inflamed, on his side. His flat stomach, the hair trailing down to his thick rod, which stood proudly at attention over a set of heavy balls. James's jaw dropped, his hands nearly reached out.
Ross leaned down and took James's head in his hands. He kissed the lips he'd wanted to kiss for so long. James's mouth opened to Ross's probing tongue. He sat still, only his lips, tongue and mouth moving as they kissed. Ross reached down and took the smaller man's hands in his. He pulled them toward himself until they made contact with his throbbing pole. James groaned, and one hand wrapped around the thick shaft while the other cupped the heavy ball sac.
Ross stood up again, looking down at James, who was staring almost in shock at the cock and balls in his hands. James pushed the foreskin back, watching the fat, moist, purple head emerge and spread like some dangerous snake. His nostrils flared as he took in the scent.
"This...I've never..." James shook his head. He licked his lips, which were suddenly dry. He looked up at Ross and his eyes burned. Without thinking, his eyes locked with Ross's, James leaned in and placed his lips on the cock head. His tongue flicked out, tasting the coating of rich precum. Ross bit his lip and James moaned at the taste and scent. It was overload. He opened his mouth, suddenly wanting to engulf the huge cock, to swallow it whole. Ross pushed forward with his hips, watching as his hard cock slid into James's mouth. The blue-green eyes closed slowly, the hand gripping his shaft pulled it in deeper. Ross watched James's jaw open wide, felt the swirling roughness of his eager tongue, then he was stopped short at the back of James's mouth. James pushed away, then pulled back in, trying to get Ross deeper.
Ross held his lover's head gently with one hand, enjoying the soft, wavy hair in his fingers. He watched James's lips stretched to their limit around his shaft, marveled that James could show so much lust and control while trying to swallow his prick whole. Finally Ross had to push him back and pull away. His cock swung about in a tight arch, flinging a string of spit from the tip. Ross pulled James to his feet and pulled his clothes off as quickly as he could. James undid the larger man's tie and slipped it off. While Ross undressed him he ran trembling hands over the imposing body in front of him. The entire time he talked, as if a dam had burst and his feelings were a flood.
"You don't know how much I wanted this. I've never had it, I always knew I wanted it. And then along comes this man...this god damn man with broad shoulders and lying in bed unconscious with a bulge...a bulge like I never saw before. Like a god damn lump of sausage. And all I wanted to do was jump in that bed, pull this sheets back and eat that sausage, taste it, rub it, suck it until it popped in my mouth-"
Ross cut him off with his mouth, diving in deep with his tongue. The taste of his own cock coating the inside of James's mouth made him moan. James was naked by then, clad only in low quarters like Ross. The bigger man pulled him in close, still kissing the pliable, full lips, his big hands sliding down to cradle the two perfect globes of the chaplain assistant's ass.
He broke off the kiss and went to his knees. Still gripping the taut ass of the smaller man, Ross ran his eager tongue up and down the dripping prick, which waved about in front of his face. James gasped, holding onto Ross's broad shoulders for support. He gave a little yelp when Ross suddenly stood up, easily lifting him while simultaneously latching onto his cock with his warm, wet mouth.
Ross's powerful arms shifted under first one leg, then the other, until James's thighs were spread, and he was sitting on Ross's biceps. The big hands spread out across his back, holding him steady, his upper arms were parallel to the ground.
"Oh god," James moaned. His cock was buried in Ross's mouth. He looked down and could see the big man's nose in his pubic bush, could feel his balls pressed against the rough 5 o'clock shadow on his chin. Suddenly Ross lifted him higher, disengaging from his prick. With an easy flip he turned James upside down, holding him by the waist with his hands. James brought the tops of his thighs to Ross's shoulders, not that he needed the help. The power in Ross's arms was startling. He found himself head down, once again facing the giant snake. Instinctively James reached out and grabbed the huge cock, guiding it into his mouth hungrily.
Ross held James up so he could suck his cock for a few moments, but he wanted more, and so he shifted him down, running his tongue over the tightening balls, up and over the taint. He heard James give another little squeal when he lowered him down more then bent his head forward to dive into his perfect ass with his tongue. James was left dangling, his hands on Ross's thighs, his legs spread wide and the big man's face buried in his ass. His cock rubbed against the hairy chest, the blood was rushing to his head, a strong tongue was caressing his anus, and in a few moments he jerked, nearly causing Ross to drop him as he shot his creamy load.
Ross let James down onto the bench gently. He grinned, his face wet from his own slobber. James was panting, is ass cheeks slick with spit, his cock dripping with cum. He looked up at the mountainous man before him, the mighty cock still swaying. He fully expected his world to come crashing down around his ears, the years of denial and guilt, but instead he felt a rush of emotion. He reached out and gripped the hot shaft, tugging. Ross moved forward, going to his knees. He kissed James, who breathed in the scent of their sex. Ross spread the other man's thighs then pushed them to his chest. The iron bench cut into James's back, but he didn't care. He felt like he was fulfilling his destiny.
Ross duck down engulfing James's slowly receding cock again, enjoying the taste of cum that still oozed from the tip. He let it go and ran his tongue down to the tight anus below. James marveled at the magnificently muscled back as Ross knelt down to lick his hole. It was rippling, sweaty, strangely smooth of hair unlike his chest, arms, ass and legs. James felt the tongue enter him and he bit his lip. His cock was hardening again, he groaned as he felt the rough cheeks of his lover sliding in drool against his ass. When Ross came back up he was ready and willing.
Ross let a string of spit drip down to the tip of his impossibly fat cock head. He pushed the tip against James's anus and leaned forward. "Relax," he whispered as he slid in.
James whimpered as the broad head stretched him wide, then the sphincter closed around the shaft and the head was in. Ross pushed in slowly, kissing his lover softly.
"You're so damn beautiful," he whispered. "Is it possible to love you?"
James pulled him close, reveling in the feel of the big hands gripping the backs of his thighs, forcing them wide and into his arm pits. After some time Ross finally hit the hilt, his hips planting against James's ass. He pulled back slightly then shoved back in. His cock stroked James's prostate, sending sensations up the smaller man's body he had never felt before.
James reached down and gripped Ross's slowly gyrating ass, enjoying the rough feeling of hair over firm muscle in his hands.
"Just fuck me," he moaned in Ross's ear. Ross obliged, his movements quickening. He propped himself up against the bench back, letting go of one thigh as he started to move in earnest. James leaned forward and flicked his tongue at a hair covered nipple. Ross groaned encouragement so James bent forward, his lips latching onto the big man's nipple. Ross spread his legs, his hips pounding into James now. James bent up into a ball, reached around behind the muscular ass and felt Ross's heavy balls swing with each thrust. The rough, taut skin of Ross's belly stroked the smaller man's cock as he slammed into him.
Finally, flushed and gasping, James came yet again, his cock spewing his load onto both their bellies. Ross grunted, slamming to the hilt, his body jerking as he filled his lover with cum. After several moments he finally collapsed, barely holding his great weight up off James, who gripped him tight, kissing his neck and whispering to him.
"I think I love you," he whispered over and over. Ross sighed and nodded.
"I reckon," he finally said.
The next day Ross was in the back of a deuce and a half, on his way back to the front. The chaplain came out to bless the column of trucks with new and returning troops and Ross watched them walk by, James trailing his boss sadly. As he walked by Ross's truck their eyes met briefly and then James was gone to the next truck.
They wrote to each other for a time. Letters were regularly censured so their correspondence was friendly, safe. Soon enough he got what amounted to a Dear John letter. It was late in the war by then and James had gone home, on his way to the Pacific. The bombs were dropped on Japan and James was diverted to China. It was to be his last letter. He was going to go into the seminary, he wrote, to follow in his father's footsteps along a road closer to God. His sign off was a simple "I'm sorry."
Ellen stood at the bedroom window, feeling the light breeze on her skin. Ross lay where she had left him, his giant dick still wet from her pussy. She almost hated him after sex. A part of her wanted him to beg her, to rip her clothes off, something. But, instead, she got vague indifference attached to an admittedly wonderful body and cock.
She watched as Chase came out of the barn. He had a suspicious bulge in this baggy overalls, a tent pole that swung around like he wasn't wearing any underwear and was hard as a rock. He was probably listening to her screams as she came, she thought, smirking. Imagining his dick buried in her instead of Ross's.
"You leavin'?" Ross asked.
She looked over her shoulder at him, her face cool.
"Sometimes I wonder about you," she said.
"Yeah...oh. Like, you never having one. An O. What's your problem?"
Ross didn't say anything, he just looked at her. She gave him a hard smile.
"I bet Chase would appreciate me," she said.
"You leave that poor kid alone."
Ellen put her dress back on, her movements quick, angry. "Maybe I will," she said, "maybe I won't."
Ross watched from the window as Ellen sauntered outside. She stopped to talk to Chase, who seemed to ignore her as he got back to chopping wood. With a toss of her head she strode to her car and got in. She spun the tires leaving, kicking up gravel and dust.
Ross got dressed and went outside. Chase paused for a moment and said, "I think you need a new girlfriend."
"I think you're right."
They were silent for a few minutes and then Chase spoke up.
"I'm really sorry."
He was about to go on, but Ross stopped him. "Don't be." He looked at the wood shed. "You're well along."
Chase nodded, quietly proud of his work. "Yes sir."
Ross glanced at him. "You know how to fight?"
Chase shrugged. "Not really."
"Well, tomorrow, after morning chores, I think you'll start learning."
Chase nodded, holding back the mix of fear and excitement he felt at the prospect. "Okay."
Ross looked at him kindly. "Okay. Good work. I gotta go into town. How about you take the afternoon off."
Chase watched as Ross slowly walked back into the house. Chase went up onto the porch, scratching Spike's chin before sitting down next to the dog's chair. A few minutes later Ross came back out, his hair slicked back from a quick shower. He didn't say anything to Chase as he got into the Willys truck but then he slowly rolled the window down.
"There's a frozen dinner, a hot dish, in the freezer. I may be late." He waved and rolled off down the driveway.
Chase looked at Spike, who didn't seem interested in anything but sleeping. "What do you think? Going to find another girlfriend?"
He laughed a little and watched the dust column head away from the house.
To be continued...