Realms of the Raven

Kitty is all better, thank you for asking everyone. The EDJ was having crises so I’m late (again) but here’s this week’s offering.

Blame Laura Baumbach.

(Archives are on the website, if you want to read the offerings of past weeks)

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Small Town Vet
(c) 2008 by Maura Anderson

“A llama?” Sam slowed his truck then turned off the payment onto the private road. He shook his head at the idea of a llama in Bondsville, Wyoming.

Phil Marting had bought the old Miller place last winter, including the few remaining sheep, but no one heard much from him. He kept to himself and was rarely seen in town. Sam was one of the few that seemed to interact with the retired entrepreneur regularly, being called in to treat one or the other of the man’s menagerie of rescued animals.

Today Sam’s service had gotten a call to have him stop by and check Phil’s new llama. A llama? There had to be a story behind this new addition and Sam couldn’t wait to hear it. Maybe it would be even better than the four goats that had mysteriously appeared in Phil’s yard one day, driving his two giant dogs out of their doghouses and taking them over. Phil had come out to find the dogs cowering by the door and a big black doe on top of one of the doghouses. The story still made Sam laugh. Of course they now had their own big pen and their own expensive goat houses. The man was the ultimate softie.

Phil had done a lot of work on the ranch already. The fences had been repaired recently, more than half the posts were new wood and the wires tightly strung. The sprawling big house was bright with new paint and a new roof and several men intent on working on the wrap-around porch.

The huge barn to the right of the house was a completely new addition with bright red sides and a deep burgundy metal roof. A couple of horses lazed about beside it and the big doors were open. Fifty or so shaggy looking sheep were penned up on the other side.

Sam parked the truck and hopped out, grabbing his tall rubber boots from behind the seat. He’d barely reached the doors when a tall, slender man stepped out of a stall and shut it behind him.

“Hey, Sam.”

The man’s voice always made a shiver go down Sam’s spine. The soft, deep bass seemed to caress his nerve endings and carried just the hint of an accent.

His cock began swelling instantly. Down, boy.

As usual, his body ignored his plea and his erection made it painful and difficult to walk toward the other man. He tried to squash his lust and pretend friendly nonchalance.

“Hi, Phil. You’ve got a new freeloader, I hear.”

The other man’s cheeks flushed pink and Sam tried not to laugh. Who’d have guessed that P.J. Marting, poster child of rags-to-riches software success and last year’s tabloid fodder, would be living in small town Wyoming and rescuing barnyard animals instead of orphaned software products?
Hell, the most successful openly gay entrepreneur in the software industry after Ric Weiland abruptly selling his company and retiring out of sight caused a lot of speculation but it had died down in the wake of the latest drunken escapades by a young pop-tart.

Sam didn’t know why he was here, but he respected the man’s privacy and wasn’t going to ask either.

The gorgeous man was as tall as Sam and gave complete lie to all the geek stereotypes. He still wore his black hair in a ponytail and his unusual grey eyes still seemed haunted, even though he’d relaxed a lot around Sam over the last few months.

Phil’s full lips curled into a shy smile. “His family lost their land to the bank and he needed a new home, so I said I’d take him. I read that llamas can live with sheep pretty happily and even guard them from coyotes.”

Trying desperately to ignore his cock and the urge to devour Phil’s mouth, to bite that full lower lip, Sam shook his head. “What do you know about him, Phil?”

“Ummm. Not too much besides what I read. But he was a pet.”

Sam broke out laughing. “Okay, let me take a look at him. I’ll get my boots on. You are an easy mark, Phil.”

He sat down on the stool by the barn door to yank off his cowboy boots, replacing them with the tall, black rubber boots he wore to work. Standing up, he bent over to tuck his jeans down into the rubber to protect them a little.

He froze at the feel of hands on his hips and a thick, hard cock against his ass.

“But are you easy, Sam?”