Winter Wonderland, page 6
If I got you in the same room as a bed, it wouldn’t be my ass sore in the morning.
Paul’s decidedly empty ass clenched at the memory, but his cock only got fuller. None of the frustrated, empty masturbation sessions that had plagued him lately. Even the ache at knowing he’d be the odd man out at the potluck had faded. In the safety of his fantasies, he let that saucy promise play out. Imagined Kyle pushing him onto his bed. Looming over him as the guy who had told Paul off, not the winking, cheerful innocent who waved at visitors from behind the nurses’ station at the care center. When this imaginary Kyle pushed Paul’s legs back, real-life Paul leaned on the shower wall. When Kyle teased his entrance, Paul’s balls drew up. When Kyle pushed inside, Paul let out a huff of breath and stroked himself faster.
When Kyle kissed him, hard and demanding as he buried himself to the hilt, Paul came all over the wall. He made such a mess he had to get out paper towels and dig splooge out of the grout and the crevices of his hot water handle. He was glad for the chore, because it gave him something to focus on other than the fact that he’d just gotten off to imagining Kyle Parks fucking him.
Paul got off to a Kyle fantasy again on Saturday morning, one so intense he was late for his scheduled visit to his parents. After bailing on them the week before, he’d promised he’d come by for Saturday dinner, and though the overnight snow squall had stopped, the plows hadn’t been down his parents’ road, making it clear he should have left twenty minutes earlier to be on time. This meant as he pulled up to the farmhouse, his father was outside, ostensibly fussing with the sidewalk to make sure it was clear, but mostly being available to watch for Paul and deliver the greeting Paul had known was coming.
“You’re late. Your mother’s been worried sick.”
“Sorry. I texted.” Paul held out his hand. “Here, Dad, let me do that for you.”
Larry waved this offer away. “It’s fine. Tim came by early this morning. Plowed the drive, cleared off the walk.”
Tim was Paul’s brother-in-law, who lived a few miles over and farmed the land Larry no longer could. There was no logic in Paul, who didn’t have a tractor with a snowplow attachment, to drive seven miles out of town on unplowed roads to shovel a ten-foot walk, but his father’s tone made Paul feel guilty all the same.
They went inside together, Paul taking care to not only wipe his boots but line them up the way his mother liked, hanging his coat on the peg that had always been his while Larry called out, “Mother, Pauly’s here.”
Paul’s mother emerged from the kitchen, frowning as she wiped her hands on a dishtowel. “Land sakes, we were worried sick.” Mary kissed Paul’s cheek and patted his arm. “Come eat. The pork chops need to come out of the oven, or they’ll get tough.”
After stopping to wash his hands in the bathroom by the kitchen, Paul took his place as his mother laid out a dish of peas, a bowl of mashed potatoes, pork chops, dinner rolls and gravy. His father tucked a cloth napkin in his lap and poured milk into his glass from a gallon jug. “How’s business? You breaking even yet?”
Paul nodded as he accepted the milk from his father. “Doing fine. Nice and steady.”
“Probably the Christmas rush. You best put plenty by for the long winter months.”
“I will.” Paul poured his mother’s milk as she sat.
“Thank you.” Mary draped her own napkin. “Will you say grace, Dad?”
Larry said a short prayer, during which Paul murmured along but mostly let his mind wander, thinking how it drove Arthur nuts how Paul’s parents called each other Mother and Dad.
Mary passed him the potatoes. “I heard at Circle you were helping with the Winter Wonderland festival. What will you be doing?”
“Still sorting that out. I’m meeting with Arthur and the guys tomorrow to make plans. Some kind of display area, which Kyle Parks is going to stencil. The guys are helping out too.”
Mary pulled a face. “Let’s hope there are no displays like last year.”
The display upsetting her almost a year later was Arthur’s grand proposal to Gabriel, in a Santa suit. Paul didn’t reply, pushing his peas around his plate.
Dinner proceeded along, alternating between inquiries about his life and reports of his parents’ comings and goings. Larry’s hip was giving him trouble, according to Mary, but he insisted it was fine. Mary had started a new afghan she intended to give to the donation basket at church. She also had made great progress on some squares for the quilt her women’s circle was making.
“Sandra and Tim are coming over tomorrow for lunch after church. Dad will probably take the kids up to the hill to go sledding, if his hip is okay.”
“My hip will be fine, Mother.”
Mary gave Paul a look that said she clearly wasn’t convinced of this, but time would tell. “You should come sit with us at church, Paul, and eat lunch after.”
“I’ll do my best,” Paul lied.
He’d let his mother parade eligible women past his nose before he’d spend time voluntarily with his sister and brother-in-law. Anytime they were around, he had to listen to hate speech about somebody, usually gays but not necessarily limited to that demographic. Sandy particularly hated Gabriel and what she called his progressive agenda. “He always has books about black and Hispanic kids. And Asian kids. You want to know how many of those we have in Logan? Zero. And thank God. Probably he’ll have a book about Islam next. Trying to turn our poor innocent children into Jihadis.”
There was no Gabriel-bashing today, thankfully. After dinner he offered to do some odd jobs, but they didn’t have any because Tim had done them all. Or they had some and knew if they got too complicated, Paul would try to come back with Arthur. So he watched some hockey with his dad until Tim came over to do chores. Paul hurried into his coat, making noise about how he couldn’t stay because he had lots to do at home.
When he did get to his house, he pulled a microwave meal out of the freezer, and while it heated, he cracked a beer and dug out the holiday romance DVD set.
A Boyfriend for Christmas sounded like a great thing to be busy with for the evening.
When Corrina stopped by the care center Saturday evening, Kyle leaned over the nurses’ station, looked her dead in the eye, and said, “I want to kiss him.”
“You will, dear. But if you want to kiss him more than once, you’ll do as I say.” When Kyle protested, Corrina, still in her winter gear, aimed a red-gloved finger beneath her no-nonsense expression. “Don’t give me any guff, young man. You may have fantasized about him since you were old enough to know you could, but I have been mothering that boy since he started hanging out with Arthur. I know what it will take to win him.”
It was hard to argue with that, which made Kyle fantastically grumpy. “Why can’t I kiss him? And how long is this moratorium going to last?”
“It’s difficult to say how long exactly. With proper attention, you should be kissing by Thanksgiving for sure.”
Kyle groaned and slumped forward onto the station.
Corrina patted him on the arm. “There, there. It might be earlier. I was giving you worst-case scenario. You have to understand how skittish and contrary Paul can be. The more he can’t have something, the more he wants it. And in addition to his hang-ups he has about your age, he was most unfortunate in his parental lottery.” She looked at him over her half-rim glasses. “Are you still watching the Christmas movies?”
“I figured I had the general gist of them, so no.”
“Can you tell me why he watches them yet?”
Kyle fumbled for a response most likely to get him out of more movies. “The romance?”
Corrina tweaked his nose. “I’ll tell Gabriel to pull you a new set.”
A patient call button rang, and Corrina waved goodbye to him as he went to the intercom system to answer. It was one of those nights, where everyone was agitated and needed special attention. Mr. Haverson, a ninety-two-year-old man with Parkinson’s and severe dementia, kept triggering the alarm on his chair because he was convinced he had to go out and check his cows. He scolded Kyle for making him sit in his chair, called him Bobby and told him it was well past time he got his act together and got a job. Bobby Haverson was his son, dead of a heart attack five years ago.
Kyle didn’t point this out, only patiently told Robert Senior over and over that he was doing his best to do his job, but for that to happen, Mr. Haverson had to stay in his chair. About the time that nonsense settled down, Hettie Lansing started screaming because her roommate was moaning in her sleep. During all of this, nice Mrs. Matherson, who was perfectly lucid but needed care while she recovered from the flu, waited forever for a cup of water because her throat was dry, all because she wasn’t a melting-down mess like the rest of the care center.
The CNAs and the other nurses on staff did their best to help, but there was so much chaos, they all ran themselves ragged. His shift was technically over at three, but it was quarter to four in the morning before he was able to trudge to his car. When Kyle finally got home, he peeled out of his clothes, left them in a heap, and fell asleep as soon as he crawled under his comforter.
He slept without dreaming until he woke because someone was gently but insistently tapping him on the arm. He opened his eyes to see Linda Kay’s face peeking over the edge of his mattress. Smiling sleepily, he fumbled a hand out from the blankets to honk her nose. “Hey, pretty lady.”
She rose enough so her chin could rest on the blankets. She wasn’t smiling. “Mom said I can’t wake you. But there was an accident.”
Kyle sat straight up, holding the comforter to his naked waist. “What happened? Is anyone hurt?”
Linda Kay’s eyes filled with tears. “Dad and Rob threw snow over the fence and wrecked the dragon and the ice princess.”
Kyle allowed himself a moment to drift down from the adrenaline. Once his heart wasn’t slammed against the back of his throat, he wiped away Linda Kay’s tears with his thumb. “Hey, no worries. We can fix it.”
The door to his bedroom opened, and their mother came in. “Oh, Kyle, I’m so sorry. I told her not to come in here.”
Linda Kay tipped her chin up. “Mom, he was awake. I was only watching to see so I could tell him right away.”
Kyle fumbled with his phone until he could depress the home button to reveal the time. Eight thirty. No wonder he felt like marinated hell.
His mom leaned in the doorway. “Kyle, honey, go back to sleep. It’s far too early for you to be awake.”
It was, but thanks to Linda Kay’s accidental intimation someone in the family was hurt, there was no way he’d fall asleep again before ten. He shook his head. “If I’m going to fix the sculptures before I go to Marcus and Frankie’s, I should get started.”
Jane leveled a glare at her daughter. “She can wait until tomorrow, or another time when you can build new ones.”
Intellectually Kyle knew Linda Kay made the sad, kicked-puppy-dog face because she knew it would slay him. That didn’t stop the look from doing exactly what it was meant to do. “It’s okay. If I start now, I can maybe get a nap in.”
He slugged some decaf and stared out the sliding door to assess the damage to his work while his mother hurried to cook him bacon and eggs. His dad and brothers heaped snow from the drive behind the garage, but they’d started piling high because they anticipated they’d need a lot of space. They’d overshot, however, and a huge section had come crashing into the backyard and onto Linda Kay’s snow garden. He’d have to inspect closer to be sure, but he was pretty sure he’d have to rebuild the dragon and the princess both. Which would take him hours. Plus he’d be exhausted afterward.
Jane brought him his plate and wagged her finger. “Do not make yourself too tired to go this afternoon. I know you’re looking forward to it. She can wait. She won’t like it, but she can do it.”
Kyle darted a glance to the couch, where Linda Kay knelt, face pressed to the window. “I can make it work.”
“You spoil her.” Jane sighed and kissed his cheek.
Kyle kissed her back and took his plate to the table.
It turned out he could save most of the dragon and the princess too, but the repairs were delicate and time-consuming, and in the end he spent almost more time fixing them than if he’d started completely fresh.
“You need to finish later,” his mother called out the door. “It’s after one. You’ll want to shower before Paul comes to get you.”
Yes, he very much did. But he hadn’t finished the princess’s face, and Linda Kay stood next to him, breathless as she waited to see if her brother could rehang the moon. “It’ll only take another minute,” he insisted, and picked up his carving knife.
When Paul arrived at the Parks farm, Daryl Parks got off his tractor and came over to shake Paul’s hand. “Good to see you, Paul. How’s business?”
“Going well, thank you.”
“Say, do you guys repair iPods? The one we use in the shed stopped working, and I can’t even find a way to open the thing up.”
“Well, I can repair them, but I’m not certified. And I have to tell you I’m about a one-to-one ratio, fixing vs. breaking it more.”
Daryl chuckled. “That’s a sight better than I’ve managed. Would it be okay to give it to you today, or should I bring it by the shop?”
“I can take it, sir.”
Daryl grinned and slapped Paul on the shoulder. “Come on. Kyle’s in the back. I’m coming along to watch, because he never stopped to take a shower like Jane told him to, and he’ll be fit to be tied now that you’re here.”
Paul wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he followed Daryl Parks.
The farmer gestured to the far side of the yard. “We were clearing snow this morning and accidentally busted the dragon and the princess. Linda Kay sobbed like you wouldn’t believe. Guess this was a very special princess. Jane told her to leave him be, but Kyle wouldn’t hear of letting her wait. That boy’s soft as jelly for his sister.”
Daryl led Paul to the side of the garage, where Kyle crouched diligently over a five-foot sculpture. Linda Kay stood bundled beside him, watching intently—until she saw Paul approaching. Then she poked Kyle in the arm and whispered, loud enough for them to hear in Logan, “Hey. Your boyfriend is here.”
Kyle had been in a kind of work trance, but at this he startled and rose, giving Linda Kay a look that said there would be retribution later. “It can’t be two fifteen already, can it?”
“It’s two twenty, actually,” Daryl said with a grin.
Kyle winced and clutched at his hat. “Oh my God, I haven’t showered or anything.”
“Which is your own fault, because your mother called you at least four times.” Daryl glanced at Paul and indicated the sculptures with his head. “So, what do you think? He’s not bad with a pile of snow, as far as I reckon.”
As understatements went, this one was a whopper. Behind Kyle was a dragon, at least ten feet long and four feet high. Its tail wound around a real rock, which had been painted to look like a gold nugget. Its head rested on a stump—subtly, as the dead tree was clearly for support only—and it breathed snow-fire that arched across a small snow-brick wall. It was so alive it looked ready to leap across the fields. The scales, the eyes, even the fine detail on the flames were stunning.
But the dragon was nothing compared to the snow princess who stood beside him. She was a sculpture, carved out of a single, solid block of snow. Her shoulder-length hair blew in unseen wind. Her snow-cape billowed over a poufy gown with intricate beads and folds. Her crown sat boldly on her head, and in her hand was a star-shaped wand with gold beads in the center. What caught Paul by the edge of the heart, though, was the face. It was a beautiful, wide-smiling face, with a stubby nose, slightly slanted eyes and bit of tongue protruding past the lips.
In short, it was an ice princess with Down syndrome.
Paul realized they were waiting for him to respond, but all he could do was shake his head and keep staring in wonder. “Amazing,” he managed at last. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Kyle used a mittened hand to shield his eyes from the weak afternoon sun as he looked back at the house. “I really do need to shower. Do you think they’ll be mad if we’re a little late? I can be fast.”
Paul would see to it they weren’t. “You go get your shower. Don’t rush.”
Kyle blew him a kiss then pointed the knitwear at his father. “Help her mist them down so they freeze hard tonight. Just a mist.”
Daryl waved his son off, and Paul stayed to watch as Linda Kay, carefully supervised, misted her snow sculptures with the large spray bottle she’d been clutching. Several times she cackled, a noise both wicked and charming at once. At one point, as if seized by sudden joy, she held the spray bottle aloft, tipped her head back and sang loudly and in no key whatsoever, “Valley high, I call yoooooooou.” Then she resumed her spraying, until her father told her she needed to stop or she’d wreck them.
She relinquished her bottle to Daryl, but she tugged on Paul’s arm when he tried to leave. “Take my picture,” she said, beaming. “With the snow princess. Because we’re both pretty cute, right, sexy man?”
“Linda Kay.” Daryl’s tone was a warning.
Linda Kay chuckled again, sticking out her tongue. Laughing, Paul got out his phone and urged her to get closer to her doppelgänger. He took several pictures, one with her standing at attention, one with her mimicking the pose, and one with what Linda Kay called her baby-eyes pose, which Paul assumed was supposed to be bedroom eyes. In each photo, her tongue protruded.
After four more photos, Linda Kay attached herself to Paul’s arm. “Okay, hot stuff. Let’s go get hot chocolate and snuggle, okay?”
