Cattle Stop by Kit Oliver

Chapter Two

Cooper leansagainst the kitchen counter, his cellphone pressed to his ear. He pictures the landline ringing in the tiny galley kitchen of the apartment he grew up in, the view of the neighboring building’s cement wall outside the window and the flicker of fluorescent lights. It’d be something if his mother answered the phone for once. Bothered to tear herself away from her computer. Let alone if she’d actually been planning to make it to dinner tonight instead of preferring the allure of yet another work meeting.

“Langdon residence,” he hears as the receiver’s picked up and of course that’s not Mom.

“Stepmother?” he asks.

“Stepson, hello,” Terry says and then louder, “Linda, Cooper’s on the phone!”

Don’t bother, he thinks. “I’m just calling to tell you I’m gonna stay at Drew’s tonight.”

“Never mind, Lin, it’s not Cooper, it’s someone offering a lower monthly car payment if I just give them our social security numbers, address, and bank info!”

“Too bad you barely even drive,” Cooper says.

“Shush, you. How’s Drew?”

“Yeah, good.” From the attic comes a clatter that sounds like lumber falling and then footfalls on the stairs in time with Drew’s cursing. “Less than good, maybe.”

“I hate the fucking attic,” Drew says as he jogs down the last steps. “I’m pretty sure the squirrels are running a rotation to make sure they maximize their daily damage.”

“Medium bad,” Cooper says. “Listen, I’ll text when I know I’m heading down your way, okay? I gotta fight some rodents before I’m done here.”

“The more you tell me about farming, the less I understand. Love you, Coop.”

“You too,” he says and taps his phone to end the call. “Drew?”

“Fucking fuck!” Drew shoves his fingers into his hair. “Was that your mom? Can I move in with her and forget cows exist, let alone this damn house?”

“Is that a hint you want help with chores?” Cooper asks.

“I want to have cut the board to the right length the first damn time.” Drew cups his hand around his mouth and shouts toward the ceiling, “And it’s a hint to the fucking squirrels.”

“Measure once, cut fifteen times. And excellent communication skills. A bit more of that and I’m sure the squirrels’ll be packing their bags.” Cooper laces up his boots and frowns at Whit, who’s zipping his coat neatly up to his chin. “What’re you doing? Isn’t it your day off?”

“You can’t do chores by yourself. You haven’t been here in six months,” Whit says.

Cooper pushes past him out into the chilly wind in the barnyard. “I think I can figure out how to feed a bunch of damn cows.”

“And pigs.”

“Oh, we already have pigs for the season? A shocking notion, feeding a pig. I wouldn’t have thought I’d need supervision since they’re, well, pigs.”

“We?”

“Next you’re going to tell me something else surprising, like we’re expecting calves anytime this spring.”

“We are expecting calves any day now.”

Cooper walks quicker, which is always a losing battle because Whit has a couple of inches on him, and it seems to be all in his legs.

The barn’s the same as always. The watering trough by the fence, the hose coiled and hanging, the pitchforks set against the wall—everything where it’s been since that first summer day Cooper’s grandfather dropped him off, back when Cooper was still in high school and Mom had judged him too rambunctious—Cooper, I’m working, please—and had shipped him upstate to his grandparents. The worst, he’d thought with Grandpa promising he’d be back in a couple hours, waving to Drew’s uncle and reminding him about their weekend’s golf plans. Cooper had stood in the barnyard, skinny and full of his early adolescent awkwardness, with no clue about cows or pigs or chickens.

But Drew had been there to show him the ropes. And Whit to critique him, every damn step of the way.

Whatjoy, Cooper thinks as Whit trails him down the barn’s center aisle. The spigot set into the wall rattles as Cooper turns it, letting out a hiss of air. A far-too-weak stream of water flows from the end of the hose.

“You still haven’t fixed this?” Cooper asks.

“Sorry, I didn’t know there’d be an inspection this afternoon.”

“I told you: clipboards and a checklist.” Cooper sets the end of the hose in the watering trough. “You might be able to find the time, if you didn’t have to stand around waiting for this to fill all damn day.”

“If that’s what you’re planning to do, I’ll let Penny know not to hurry with dinner,” Whit says. “Wedge the hose so it stays and feed out the hay while the water’s filling.”

Cooper throws his hands up. “Oh my God, you just stumbled upon the secret of farming, thank you so much for sharing that with me.”

The hose tips out of the trough and dribbles across Cooper’s thighs. He turns a shoulder to Whit and reaches down to grab it. There’s a bracket in the wall and a dirty mark on the hose where Whit must push it in every morning and evening.

Cooper has to try twice to get it set just right, and he can feel Whit watching him like a burn across the back of his neck.

“Should I tell Penny about dinner?” Whit asks.

“Thanks for giving you a hand, I think you mean. You’re welcome.”

Cooper climbs the ladder to the loft quickly, his jeans sticking to his legs where the denim’s soaked. How lovely it would be to go back down there, yank the hose out, and accidentally-on-purpose drench Whit’s pants too. Though it probably wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying as he imagines, what with the trickle of water the broken spigot lets out.

Or, he could go down there, throw off years of nerves and worry over Whit’s reaction and blurt out, I’m so fucking into you. He snorts a soft laugh to himself. It might be worth it, just to see the look of disgust on Whit’s face. The exasperation he has in spades for Cooper and the horror of the thought that Cooper could be anything more than the irritation of a rock wedged in the sole of his shoe.

Though that soft, hurt spot in Cooper’s chest would ache, the one it’s better to shield with thoughts of poking back at Whit’s ire with him by being a pest in his own right, than having to hear once and for all, out loud and forever imprinted in his memory, that Cooper will never, not ever, be good enough for him. Too impulsive, too distracting, too rash, talks too much—Whit probably keeps a list of what he dislikes about Cooper and adds to it every time Cooper swings by the farm.

Socks, the barn cat, lounges in a weak beam of spring sunlight. His ears prick when he sees Cooper, the end of his tail flicking and his claws flexing. He relaxes when he sniffs Cooper’s fingers, then butts his forehead against his knuckles, trying to get Cooper to rub his neck. Well, at least someone likes Cooper. Drew, Socks, and Sadie—what a crew of best friends. Cooper’ll take it. Spend his time petting Socks’s long fur, rather than have to deal with Whit for another minute, but he takes a look around at the hay bales and—no. Just no.

“Socks,” he whispers, chucking the cat under his chin. “What the fuck is Whit doing to this place?”

But Socks just purrs and Cooper calls down, “Whit?”

“Cooper.”

“You’re feeding the cows these bales?”

“Do you see any others up there?”

“These bales are tiny. How many of them do you have to feed out a day? Ten? Fifteen? What happened to the round baler, or do you just enjoy wallowing in misery and driving yourself nuts doing this?” Cooper grabs the nearest one, hoists it up onto his hip, and then drops it into the aisle. The bale lands a couple feet from Whit, showering him in chaff. “Wow, this actually, literally, hurts my soul to feed an entire herd of cows like this.”

“The baler broke.”

“Ah, must be on the list to fix after you get to the spigot.”

“So we used the old one and only have these smaller bales.”

“Drew really stands for schlepping these damn things all day, every day?”

“Drew’s making cheese.”

“Lucky Drew.”

Cooper tosses two more bales down before he just gives up. He’ll drive the tractor into the barn, set a pallet on the forks, and load it up with bales so he can bring enough down for tonight and tomorrow morning. The rest, he’ll leave to Whit, who can sling bales by hand to his heart’s content once Cooper leaves.

When Cooper jumps down the last rungs of the ladder, Whit’s already pulling the baling twine off the bale, which is just absurd, because then Whit has to carry the flakes to the cows one armful at a time. It’s easier to grab the entire bale by the strings, toss it into the feeder, then cut the twine with a pocket knife. But Whit’s Whit, and he ignores the fact that Cooper’s finished with three bales by the time he’s done with one.

He just does things his own way, Drew had said once, years ago. Not bad, or worse, just different. Cooper had brushed Drew off then and would do it again now, already shoving a handful of baling twine into his pocket and asking, “Pig grain?”

Whit carefully folds the string he’s holding. “Scoop and buckets are outside the cheese room.”

“Scoop and buckets?”

Whit folds yet another length of baling twine in half and then in half again. “You scoop the grain into the buckets, unless they do it differently in Vermont.”

“I was working on a farm in Maine this winter.”

“Sure.”

“Can you not get yourself a damn grain bin? Or is hauling buckets of grain part of your master plan to keep yourself busy while the water fills?”

“The water system’s fine.” Whit tucks the twine into his pocket and straightens his coat. “Why don’t you help Drew with the house? I can handle this.”

Cooper opens his mouth, but Whit wipes his forehead with his sleeve. It pulls the hem of his jacket up, and with it, the bottom of his T-shirt. Cooper snaps his eyes away to where a cow’s chewing a mouthful of hay, because otherwise, he’s going to look at how Whit’s belt and waistband sit against the flat plane of his stomach just so, beneath the jut of his hipbones.

Yeah, helping Drew is a good idea. A better one than being here in the too-quiet barn with Whit already bending down to pick up another bale, his bicep curving against the canvas of his coat.

In the backyard, Drew is bent over a sawhorse and a stack of lumber, his pants coated with a fine layer of sawdust.

“Hey, Drew,” Cooper yells over the whine of the circular saw. “Whit sent me to see what I can help you with. He said I did so well in the barn, he doesn’t need me anymore.”

“Is that what he said? Yeah, you can grab the wrenches and take apart the bed in the guest room,” Drew says. “We gotta get all the furniture cleared out. Sorry I don’t have anywhere better for you to sleep.”

“We gonna snuggle tonight?” Cooper asks.

“Only if I get to be little spoon.”

“Nah, I’ll share the couch with Sadie, in that case.”

“She snores.”

Cooper pokes a finger into the side of Drew’s nose. “So do you.”

The shop’s as cluttered as it ever is, the combination of Whit’s organization and Drew’s whirlwind leaving a neat pegboard on the back wall labeled for each individual tool, yet most of them hanging empty. Cooper sorts through the handfuls of screwdrivers and hammers Drew dumped on the workbench, but wherever the wrenches are, they’re not hiding beneath that pile nor on their appointed peg.

Across the barnyard, a hay bale falls from the loft and lands in the aisle of the barn. A second one follows, puffing up dust, and then boots swing onto the ladder, pants neatly cuffed above them.

Cooper cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “Do you know where the wrenches are?”

Whit carefully picks his way down the last rungs of the ladder. Cooper sighs. Whit can hear him, even if he isn’t bothering to answer.

“The wrenches,” he calls again as he jogs over. He has to blink against the dimness of the barn, his eyes straining after the brightness outside. Socks yawns at him, his pink tongue curling and one paw dangling off the edge of the loft. “They’re not in the shop.”

Whit doesn’t even bother to look over. “They’re in the truck.”

“Which truck?”

“The truck,” Whit says again and bends down to loop his fingers through the baling twine.

“Your truck or the farm truck?”

“The truck.” Whit points with his chin toward the barnyard.

Cooper breathes in slowly through his nose. “Okay.”

“I’m using them,” Whit says.

“It looks more like you’re feeding the cows.”

“I’ve got to get the fences fixed before we start grazing.” Whit has his weight on one leg, the bale on his hip, his shoulders bulging against his coat. Don’t look, Cooper tells himself, and then looks anyway at that swell of muscles. “Don’t take those wrenches.”

“I just need them for a second.”

“Don’t,” Whit calls after him.

“A minute, tops,” Cooper calls back. Four wrenches sit in the cupholder of Whit’s truck. Cooper raises his hand and shouts toward the barn, “Thanks!”

“The two of you,” Penny says when Cooper pushes open the door to the kitchen. “I can hear you and the windows aren’t even open.”

Cooper salutes her with one of the wrenches. “Whit missed me, what can I say?”

Penny sets the heavy cast-iron Dutch oven on top of the stove. “Of course he did.”

Upstairs, the room Cooper normally stays in is chilly, like the heat’s been off all winter and the door left closed. Cooper touches the brown watermark on the wall near the window, and sure enough, the plaster gives.

Well, it’s a good thing he didn’t visit over the winter, then—trying to survive any length of time in Whit’s presence aside.

Cooper kneels and fits a wrench to a bolt in one of the bed’s legs, though he pauses at the stamp of feet up the stairs. He doesn’t need to look over his shoulder to know Whit’s standing in the doorway.

“I’m using those,” Whit says.

“Actually”—Cooper gives the wrench a quarter turn—“I am.”

“The gate in the back field needs to be replaced and I—”

“Took every single wrench on the farm while you were feeding out hay? Isn’t it your day off?”

He can nearly hear Whit cross his arms. “I had to stop back in, so—”

“And you figured you’d work all damn day? Hey, quick question, the gate you’re fixing, isn’t that the one the cows break every single year? Maybe—” Cooper twists the bolt free with a grunt. “Maybe this will be the year you convince them not to use it as a scratching post, tear it down in their itchy glory, and then escape onto the road to the delight of the neighbors and our enduring embarrassment.”

“Can I have those back?”

“M’nearly done.”

“You aren’t.”

“Well then, give me a hand, why don’t you?” Cooper lies down, scooting under the bed so he can reach the far leg. The floor’s cold where his sweatshirt rides up and takes his T-shirt with it, his back bare against the floorboards and now gritty with dust.

“Can’t this wait?” Whit’s feet move closer. He’s got his boots off, Cooper sees when he glances down the length of his own body. Trust Whit to neatly unlace them and leave them by the door downstairs so he doesn’t track mud all over the house before chasing after Cooper.

Cooper shoves his foot at Whit’s ankle. “No, ’cause Drew’s going to try to do this all himself, and he’s got enough on his plate.”

“And here I thought the point of you staying tonight was to spend time with him.”

“I’m pretty sure it was just to annoy you. Drew calls me up special for that. I’ve got a certain touch.”

Whit’s feet shift. He must only be able to see Cooper’s legs from where he’s standing, maybe the bottom of his stomach where his shirt’s hitched up above his belt. Cooper tugs his shirt back down, though it rides up again when he reaches to fit the wrench around the bolt.

He must paint those on, Cooper’d grumbled once about Whit’s abs, shirtless and sweaty, as Whit heaved a sledgehammer overhead again and again. Cooper’s in good shape too. Great shape. He yanks at his shirt once more. He just doesn’t need Whit staring at him, probably appraising all the sit-ups Cooper could be doing to achieve the perfection Whit holds himself to.

Whit steps closer and then kneels next to Cooper’s thigh. Cooper freezes, fumbling at the wrench, but all that happens is that hands wrap around the bottom of the board he’s loosening.

“You’re going to drop that on your face,” Whit says.

“Then won’t all the boys be sad.” Cooper loosens the bolt and spins it free the rest of the way with his fingers. He’s not used to Whit being so close to him. Breathe, he tells himself. What was Whit even going to do, bending down like that—touch him? Hell, if Whit doesn’t always stay as far away from Cooper as he can. Cooper clears his throat. It’s too quiet in here, so he adds, “The ladies, too.”

“Didn’t know you were so equal opportunity.”

“I’m not, but they’re welcome to look.” He scoots forward, crawling out from underneath the bed and forcing Whit to shift aside. Still, their shoulders bump, and Cooper tugs his shirt down his back before scrambling to his knees. Even with the bolts gone, the two of them have to wrestle the board free, the wood held together for so many years that it doesn’t want to budge.

Whit reaches for the wrench in Cooper’s hand. “Can I have that back now?”

Cooper holds it away from Whit, like he used to do to Drew that single year that Cooper was taller. “Yes, taking the first board off of the bed frame was my entire goal for the day.”

“The gate—”

“Oh Lord, someone alert the cows that their favorite farmer is five minutes behind his schedule for the afternoon. There’s going to be a riot. A stampede, if you will.”

Whit’s eyes flick toward the wrench, though he doesn’t grab for it. Cooper taps the wrench against the headboard of the bed and raises his eyebrows. Maybe if he pokes at him enough, Whit really will lunge for it, though won’t that go against that image he so carefully curates? All precise control and thoughtfulness, where he’s got to consider every damn word and action ten times over before he can commit to anything.

Cooper stretches another few inches, waving the wrench in the air. “What were your big plans for your day off?”

“I was with my parents.”

“Ooh, fun.” Cooper draws the words out and wiggles the wrench again. “What’d you get up to?”

“We were in Albany.”

“And what were you doing in Albany?”

“Why do you care?”

“Jesus, never mind.” It’s never worth trying to have a conversation with Whit, ’cause doesn’t it always end up like this, ire flaring hot through Cooper’s chest. A good little reminder that his lingering adolescent crush aside, the two of them would never actually work. He gets his toes under him and shifts his weight to his feet, standing so he’s at least taller than Whit for once, with him still kneeling. “Forget I asked.”

For one blindingly brief moment the summer Cooper’d come out to Drew, and therefore effectively to Penny and Whit, he’d thought there’d be…well, something between himself and Whit. If not the fruition of his daydreams of tanned, brown skin and Whit’s muscled chest to press up against that he’d been nursing, at least a comrade-in-arms, us-against-them, fist-bumping, shared-jokes sort of queer collegiality.

Instead, Whit had just clammed up all the tighter until he’d largely given up speaking in Cooper’s presence at all—and Cooper kissing Whit certainly hadn’t helped. No, Whit hadn’t talked to Cooper for ages after that. And maybe Cooper prefers that to the type of annoyance he and Whit stir in each other these days, like prodding at a sore cut even though he full well knows it’ll only end in a dull ache.

Well, Cooper wasn’t the one who’d started that frosty silence. Whit’d been the one to shove a distance between them as wide as the tractor bucket all those years ago. They could’ve been friends, instead of the most stilted of acquaintances, held together only by a herd of cows and Drew’s good cheer.

Cooper points the wrench toward the door. “You can go. I’ll put these back, cross my heart.”

“You can’t do the rest of this yourself.”

“I think I can take apart a damn bed.”

“No, I just meant—” Whit shakes his head. “Never mind.”

“What?” Cooper calls after him, but Whit’s already gone, the floorboards in the hallway creaking and then the stairs. He can hear Whit’s and Penny’s voices for a good long while before the kitchen door squeaks on its rusty hinges and then shuts again, Whit apparently done complaining about him for the time being. Back to work for the rest of his damn day off.

Cooper sets the wrenches back in Whit’s truck as the sun sinks toward the tree line with the orange glow of early spring. He’s got grime all over his hands from the worn bed frame, and he wipes his fingers on his pants before shutting the door, sure that Whit would notice stains on his truck.

For a moment, Cooper stands there staring at his reflection in the shiny door, the loose fit of his sweatshirt and the smudges of dirt on his knees. Then he grins, and quickly, he pulls the length of baling twine from his pocket, opens the door again, and ties the wrenches up in a neat little bundle. He finishes it off with a bow and sets them in the middle of the driver’s seat. Maybe Whit’ll sit right on them and bruise his ass.

Cooper rounds the house already calling to Drew. “Furniture’s done, and Whit and I had a grand old time, as always—”

But Drew holds up a finger, then points at the phone pressed to his ear.

“Sorry,” Cooper whispers loudly.

“Thanks for letting me know,” Drew says, nodding as if the other person can see him. “Nope, should be just fine, yep, okay, bye.”

“Everything all right?”

Drew tosses his phone down onto the pile of lumber. “The farmers’ market closed.”

“Shit, it did?”

“Oh my God, I’m not going to sell a single ounce of cheese, the squirrels are going to pull down the rest of the house, and knowing my luck, the cows are going to put up a ‘for sale’ ad for themselves and move out to Ohio.”

“Ohio?”

The kitchen window screeches open, and Penny leans against the screen. “Cooper, don’t let him start.”

“And then all the wheels will fall off the farm trucks, and none of the tractors will start, and the damn grass won’t even grow this year.”

“What’s wrong with the tractors?” Cooper asks.

“Nothing’s wrong with the tractors,” Penny calls out the window.

Drew covers his face with his hands. “Where the hell am I going to sell cheese?”

“The squirrels?” Cooper asks.

“Drew’s having a moment.” Penny shuts the window halfway, then calls through it, “One of many. Bring him inside, please.”

She closes the window the rest of the way, and Drew drops his hands. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you seem real fine. Did that market have good sales?”

“It was the busiest one, and the only one we even went to last summer.” Drew picks up his phone and stares like it’ll give him different news if he just watches it long enough. “It’s fine. The guy who runs it retired, but it’s fine, it’s—” He blows out a long breath. “Oh fucking hell, I’m going to have a heart attack.”

“Beer?”

Drew nods and jams his phone into his pocket. “Beer.”

Whit’s already inside, washing his hands at the sink. It pulls his shirt against the muscles in his back, and Cooper spends too long studying the bottles of beer in the fridge. When the faucet shuts off, he finally pulls two out, waving one bottle toward Penny, who nods, and then Whit, who shakes his head.

Cooper grabs a third and shuts the fridge with his elbow. “Drew, is the real problem that you won’t have your line of admiring local ladies lined up to sample cheese this summer? Whit, the farmers’ market closed. That’s the big news.”

Whit dries his hands in a way that does far too much to flex the tendons in his forearms. “I know.”

“Right. Cool.” Cooper holds out a beer to Drew. “Whit already knows.”

“And the real problem is the lack of sales,” Whit adds.

“Whit’s also real clear on the fact that we sell cheese at said markets.”

Whit wedges the towel back on its hook and mutters, “We.”

Drew presses the bottom of his bottle to his forehead and slumps in his chair. “I should’ve figured something like this would happen.”

Penny points a wooden spoon at him. “Drew, there’s no way to have guessed this, okay?”

“Hey.” Cooper pokes him in the chest. “Let’s cheer you up, yeah? Sadie, come over here and give Drew some love. Look on the bright side: it’s more time to work on the house, if you’re not hauling yourself to a market every week.”

“But we still have the pasture gates to finish.” Drew leans down to rub the top of Sadie’s head. Her tail thumps against the floor, and she squirms closer on her stubby legs. “And I gotta do the cheddar tomorrow, that’ll take all day.”

“No problem. I’ll do the gates,” Cooper says.

Whit pulls a long knife out of the knife block as Penny slides a handful of onions toward him. “I’m doing the gates.”

“I’ll do your half of the gates, Drew,” Cooper says.

Drew straightens a little. “You’d stay tomorrow, too?”

Oh, wait, no. That’s not what Cooper meant, because he’s gotta see his folks and then start the drive out to Oregon. But Drew’s looking at him, a hand on Sadie’s head and something too hopeful around his eyes. Cooper scratches the back of his neck and risks a glance toward Whit’s back where he’s carefully slicing the onions.

“Sure,” he says, dropping his arm as Whit turns around, before Whit can catch him fidgeting. Doesn’t matter anyway. If Mom couldn’t make dinner tonight, tomorrow’s probably no different. “Yeah, I can stay a bit longer.”

What about that job?he can nearly hear Whit ask, but he just turns back to his cutting board. Be responsible, grow up, Cooper, act like an adult, would probably follow that question.

Well, Whit can have whatever damn opinion about him that he wants because Drew grins. Really, actually smiles and starts scratching Sadie’s ears. “Cool,” he says.

“Cool,” Cooper echoes.

“Cool, now come help chop,” Penny says.

“I thought it was your night to make dinner,” Cooper says.

“It is, but as established by farm rule thirteen point six, section A, those who work on fences also chop all the veggies. I’ve already taught Whit how to make a mean mixed drink, so I know he’s good for helping. M’keeping my eye on you, Coop.” She tips her beer up, swallowing as she starts rooting through the kitchen cupboards. “Besides, it’s gonna take me all evening to find the cards.”

Whit stops with his knife halfway through an onion. “No.”

“Yes.” Penny takes another drink. “It’s a fine night for a bridge game, I do believe.”

“It’s my day off,” Whit says.

“So sorry, but how often does Cooper visit us?” Penny closes the drawer and opens another one, shifting through the years of detritus within. “Though we’ll go easy on you, Whit. You two don’t have to be partners.”

“Of course, it is more fun when they are,” Drew says.

Penny holds her bottle up in a toast toward him. “Oh, hell yeah, it is.”

I won’t be down until late tomorrow, Cooper texts Terry as Penny drops a bowl of potatoes in front of him. Think Mom’ll be around then?

I’ll try to make sure she’s free. Does this mean the rodents are winning?Terry sends back, and Cooper snorts a soft laugh, tucking his phone in his pocket and trying to ignore the half step away Whit takes as Cooper starts chopping beside him.

Later, the glow of a hockey game on TV fills the living room, shining on the litter of cards and empty bottles. Drew, slumped in the corner of the couch, doesn’t even stir when the stairs creak. Whit, it must be, because Penny’s footsteps were much lighter when she finally hauled herself up to bed. And yep, that’s him, probably coming downstairs for something wholesome and boring before he falls asleep, like a cup of warm milk. Cooper nudges the beer bottle out of Drew’s loose grip.

“Go to bed, you old man,” Cooper says, tucked deep into his sweatshirt and yawning into his own shoulder.

“M’awake.”

“You’re drooling.” Cooper props his foot against Drew’s hip and gently kicks him. “Go. You’re in my bedroom.”

Drew rolls halfway upright, yawning and rubbing at his eyes. “You want to come upstairs?”

Cooper claps his palm to his chest and gasps as dramatically as he knows how. “Andrew. I thought you’d never ask.”

“I’m serious.” Drew stands and yawns again, stretching his arms over his head. “You’re not really sleeping down here, are you?”

“I’m keeping my girl Sadie company. And thanks, man, but you’ve got a double bed. You’re cute, but get a queen mattress, and I’ll think about it.”

“There’s a joke in here about you jumping into bed with anyone who even casually identifies as male.”

“Yes, thank you, but you don’t have to say it out loud.”

“And then not ever calling them again.”

“Good night, so great to be visiting you, sleep well, asshole.”

“Just saying.”

“Look, if it’s embarrassing-your-friend hour, why the hell aren’t you and Penny a thing yet? That’d free up an entire bed for me, thank you very much.”

“Fuck you,” Drew says, his cheeks red. He tugs Cooper’s hood down over his face, and by the time Cooper’s brushed it back, Drew’s jogging up the stairs, the back of his neck flushed.

Ah well, Drew’s too easy. Low-hanging fruit, his lifelong crush on Penny. Cooper yawns, stretching out his back. He should put sheets on the couch, at least. Get a decent blanket if nothing else. It’s weeks until the weather warms, and despite the woodstove in the kitchen, the house is entirely too damn drafty.

“Cooper.”

He looks up at Whit’s voice. “Whit.”

“Drew really is glad you’re here.”

It’s hard to look at Whit straight on. Silhouetted against the light from the kitchen, he looks taller than normal, his shoulders wider. His sweatpants sit low around his narrow hips, and his shirt falls loose around his stomach.

Cooper sets his elbows on his knees and shrugs. “Well, yeah, it’s good to see him.”

“I mean it. It makes a difference to him, you helping out.”

“And you’re here to let me know I’m not actually being helpful?”

“I wasn’t going to.” Whit pulls his sweatpants up an inch, though they just slip back down, revealing the elastic band of his boxers.

Not that Cooper’s looking. He frowns at the mess on the coffee table and scratches his fingers into his hair.

“You can come upstairs,” Whit says.

Cooper jerks his head around. “What?”

“I have that second bed.”

A laugh bubbles out of Cooper’s throat. “You’re not serious.”

Whit takes a step toward the stairs. “Suit yourself.”

“I will, thank you.”

It’s quiet when Whit goes back upstairs. Drew’s sink runs for a couple minutes and then shuts off again. Across the kitchen, Sadie sneezes. A blanket, Cooper thinks again.

He’s got another sweatshirt in his truck. A hat and gloves, too. He hauls himself off the couch and shoves his feet into his boots, not bothering to tie them. Outside is still and silent, frost settling over the ground. The air nips at his cheeks by the time he gets to his truck and roots through his duffle bag, filling his backpack with a change of clothes and his toothbrush.

Back inside, he looks up toward the ceiling at where Whit’s room is. The two of them, sharing a bedroom. Maybe one of those wrenches hit Whit on the head.

Cooper’ll be fine down here. Chilly, uncomfortable, and smelling like farm dog and stale beer, but he’s slept in worse places over the years.

Whit’s room was warm, earlier, he thinks and immediately frowns.

The stairs are as creaky as they ever are as Cooper slowly climbs them. And Whit’s light is still on, a halo shining around his closed door. Gently, Cooper taps his knuckles against the wood.

“I hate that you had a good idea,” Cooper says as he eases it open.

Whit’s cross-legged on his bed. And he’s taken his shirt off. Oh Lord, this is a mistake. The lamplight shades Whit’s skin golden, and the shadows only throw into relief the straight lines of his collarbones and the curves of muscles in his arms.

Cooper squeezes his backpack tight against his chest. Just one night. Cooper can handle the mire of annoyance and attraction for one night. And it’s better that Whit just glances at him and then turns back to the book balanced in his lap, because Cooper can slip into the bathroom and shut the door between them.

The shower has drops of water clinging to the curtain. Viscerally, suddenly, Cooper can picture Whit in there, water sliding over his body, his arms shifting as he rinses his hair, soap suds sliding down to—

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, this is a bad idea. Cooper grabs the sides of the sink and doesn’t look up into his own reflection, just quickly scrubs at his teeth with his toothbrush. His mouth tastes like Whit’s toothpaste, and his skin pricks with the knowledge of where he is.

It’s even worse when Cooper opens the bathroom door. Whit turns a page in his book, his back rounded as he bends over it, and his ribs moving lightly on his breath.

He’s gorgeous. A total jerk. But a really pretty one.

“Uh, thanks.” Cooper plucks at the quilt on his bed. It’s made so painfully neatly that he feels a little bad pulling the covers back.

Though there’s a piece of hay in the middle of the pillow. Oh, nope, that came from him. A second piece wafts gently down, landing next to it. He quickly pulls off his sweatshirt and an entire shower of hay rains onto the bed. Whit’s watching this, he’s suddenly sure.

Cooper fumbles for the knob on the lamp for way too damn long and finally switches off the light.

Whit’s book snaps closed. “Guess I’m done reading for the night.”

“Sorry.”

Cooper’s not, even though now he can’t see to sweep the hay out of his bed. Though at least he can strip down to his boxers and T-shirt in the privacy of the darkness, and if Whit heaves an annoyed sigh, he can focus on the itch of chaff under his cheek as he slips into bed.

It’s just the one night. He’ll be fine.