Cry Like an Angel

By GA Hauser

When LA filmmaker Angelo Valentino headed out to a lodge to go fishing and watch porn with a few of his buddies, he never anticipated a rainstorm that not only washed out the road, but nearly cost him his life.
Waking up in a strange bed, Angelo is battered and bruised, not to mention, confused.
Callum Grey left his work at the New York Stock Exchange after the big financial meltdown. His grandparents left him a sizable piece of land with a large ranch house...isolated and peaceful.
Just when Callum thought he had his life under control, he finds an unconscious man in his barn.
After what was one of the worst storms in California’s history, complete with devastating mudslides and casualties, Callum finds himself nursing this man back to heath.
Cut off from the outside world from the sinkholes and landslides, Callum and Angelo have no one to keep company with, but each other.
Two straight men, both from high-powered jobs and ready for a change
What neither man anticipated, was what came next.
Love.
In situations which determine life and death, you can either laugh...
Or cry...like an angel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: GA Hauser
• Release date: Mar 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311465092

GA Hauser

About the AuthorAuthor G.A. Hauser is from Fair Lawn, New Jersey, USA. She attended university at The Fashion Institute of Technology in NYC, and has a BA in Fine Art from William Paterson College in Wayne NJ where she graduated Cum Laude. As well as degrees in art, G.A. is a Graduate Gemologist from the Gemological Institute of America (GIA). In 1994 G.A. graduated the Washington State Police academy as a Peace Officer for the Seattle Police Department in Washington where she worked on the patrol division. She was awarded Officer of the Month in February 2000 for her work with recovering stolen vehicles and fingerprint matches to auto-theft and bank robbery suspects. After working for the Seattle Police, G.A. moved to Hertfordshire, England where she began to write full length gay romance novels. Now a full-time writer, G.A. has penned over 200 novels and short stories. Breaking into independent film, G. A. was the executive producer for her first feature film, CAPITAL GAMES which included TV star Shane Keough in its cast. CAPITAL GAMES had its Film Festival Premiere at Philly's Qfest, and its television premiere on OutTV. G.A. is the director and executive producer for her second film NAKED DRAGON, which is an interracial gay police/FBI drama filmed in Los Angeles with the outstanding cinematographer, Pete Borosh. (also the Cinematographer for Capital Games)The cover photographs of G.A.'s novels have been selected from talented and prolific photographers such as Dennis Dean, Dan Skinner, Michael Stokes, Tuta Veloso, Hans Withoos, and CJC Photography, as well as graphic comic artist, Arlen Schumer. Her cover designs have featured actors Chris Salvatore, Jeffery Patrick Olson, Tom Wolfe, and models Brian James Bradley, Bryan Feiss, Jimmy Thomas, Andre Flagger, among many others.Her advertisements have been printed in Attitude Magazine, LA Frontier, and Gay Times.G. A. has won awards from All Romance eBooks for Best Author 2009, Best Novel 2008, Mile High, Best Author 2008, Best Novel 2007, Secrets and Misdemeanors, and Best Author 2007.G.A. was the guest speaker at the SLA conference in San Diego, in 2013, where she discussed women writing gay erotica and has attended numerous writers’ conventions across the country.

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Cry Like an Angel

By

G.A.HAUSER

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © G.A. Hauser, 2016

CRY LIKE AN ANGEL

Copyright © G.A. Hauser, 2016

Cover photographer: Dennis Dean

ISBN Trade paperback: 978-1519-7634-4-0

© The G.A. Hauser Collection LLC

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or business establishments, events or locales is coincidental.

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

WARNING

This book contains material that maybe offensive to some: graphic language, homosexual relations, adult situations. Please store your books carefully where they cannot be accessed by underage readers.

First The G.A. Hauser Collection LLC publication:

April 2016

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About the photographer

Dennis Dean Images

Dennis Dean continues to make his mark as an internationally known photographer. He is credited for his creative abilities, strong composition, and dramatic lighting. Dennis’s work has earned numerous awards and has been featured in several gay magazines and in a plethora of art publications, including G. A. Hauser erotic novels, as well as countless exhibitions, including two in London at the Adonis Art Gallery.

Also, look for his work of eye-catching images with the apparel brand, Ruff Riders www.theruffrider.com.

See more of his work at www.dennisdean.com.

Chapter 1

Callum Grey poured coffee into his mug. The morning was crisp and cool; an orange glow kissed the eastern sky. Sunrise. It was a treat he rarely missed.

Yesterday’s storms had left the area a wreck. High winds, floods, and mudslides. Without power last night he hadn’t gone outside to see if his home or outbuildings were damaged. The radio news coverage this morning made the small town he lived in sound like a bleak apocalyptic landscape. They hadn’t had a tornado or windstorm this severe since he could recall. He was twenty-eight, but in all the time he’d been on this patch of land, he’d been lucky.

The area wasn’t prone to tornados, but that didn’t mean anything in this era of climate change. Callum assumed what they were dealing with was just a severe thunder and windstorm.

He leaned closer to his kitchen window, looking at his property; land he’d inherited from his grandfather when he died.

Callum wasn’t sure he wanted to actually live here, in a tiny town with a population of three-thousand, maybe less. Born in New York City, Callum assumed he’d take a look at the property, and then sell it.

But once he arrived, he fell in love with it.

Seventy acres of fabulous pristine land, fruit trees in his back garden, and a home with five bedrooms and three bathrooms. It was a long way from Manhattan’s siren-wailing streets, the mobs of pedestrians, and the flow of yellow cabs… but—

He fucking loved it.

The only child, and grandchild, left alive on his father’s side, Callum knew he was it. His grandparents had no one to give the inheritance to other than him.

Before he had received the call from the estate attorney, he had no idea what was here.

He couldn’t even recall his parents discussing this land. He lost both of them in the terrorist attack of the World Trade Center.

Before that day, Callum couldn’t remember either his mother or father mentioning this surreal haven of land and wildlife.

So, he left The Big Apple.

The money he was given after his parents’ untimely demise, plus their home sale, and their bank account balance, gave Callum the security of never having to work again.

At the time of the attack on the Twin Towers, Callum was working for The New York Stock Exchange. After the towers fell, and then the market crashed and burned, Callum had lost his desire to be there, in his apartment on the Upper East Side.

Here he was, alone in paradise.

As the sun began to light the horizon, Callum set his coffee mug down on the counter. His boots were near the back door, and a row of hooks by the wall held his jackets. He put on his coat and boots, and headed out, to see how his property had managed the storm.

Stepping back, he looked at his roof first. The heavy terra cotta-tile-cover had withstood the wind. He had no doubt his grandparents had learned, composite or shingles didn’t do well in this area.

Finding the roof sound, he began to inspect his trees, seeing his first casualty. An apple tree had been torn in half, and lay dying, bent over, in what felt to Callum akin to pain or sadness.

Callum blew out a sigh, since anything that was alive and been cut down before its time, upset him.

He continued walking to the outbuildings, seeing they had withstood the wind relatively well, but a few panels from the siding had blown off or were peeled back.

The chicken coop was toppled over, and his hens were scattered, who knew where. As Callum continued walking around his enormous property, he noticed a washout from a heavy flow of water. Enormous branches and rocks were sunken in the massive slide.

His boots stuck in the mud. After the drought had hit last summer, the water had taken most of the topsoil with it.

The rut was at least three yards in width, and crossed his land as far as he could see.

Jesus. Callum was relieved that this rushing cascade of water hadn’t hit his home or outbuildings. But the run off of water that had savaged his land, had done a damn good job. He now had a creek dug into his ground, but, without water running through it. And no doubt, his road had been destroyed with it.

That had him curious to see if he could get out of his driveway.

He changed direction and headed to the front road. The minute he was close enough to see it, he was indeed, a victim of a collapse. A sinkhole and an avalanche had destroyed the surface of the tarmac, leaving a gaping space.

Great. Callum shook his head and stared at the mess in frustration.

Eight hours earlier…

With his windshield wipers on high, Angelo Valentino drove in the torrent. As the rain made visibility impossible, he looked for a place to pull over.

In this unknown landscape, Angelo couldn’t even find an overpass. He tried to see behind him, but had no idea if he was alone or the rain was obscuring vehicle headlights. He couldn’t see another car on the road at the moment.

This is absurd. Angelo slowed down to a crawl and heard branches and debris hitting his car, seeing pieces of fence and roofing fly by. He tried to get reception on his radio, wondering if he was headed into a tornado.

Suddenly the idea of meeting his buddies at a lodge to fish and hike seemed like a very bad idea.

He pulled over, unable to drive safely. He had left his home at five pm, after work on Friday, but now? He should have waited for morning. They had predicted rain, but this?

He hoped he was far enough off the main road to not get hit by a car, but in reality, he simply couldn’t see a foot in front or behind him.

Just to be sure, he turned his hazard lights on and kept looking for a radio station that wasn’t pure static. And he had satellite radio! This is insane.

He shifted on the leather seat to get to his phone. There was no reception. He tapped it, moved apps around, and the frustration began to mount in him.

Something loud slammed the roof of his car, making him jump out of his skin. He looked up and then tried to see through the torrent, but even with his wipers moving quickly, he couldn’t see anything.

Nerves began to hit and he felt like a sitting duck. He had to find some kind of cover if this was indeed a tornado.

He put the car in drive and crept along the tarmac which was nothing more than a floating river of water. His car began to hydroplane on the waves so he stopped once more.

Something huge landed on his windshield, cracking it, giving him a panic attack. He winced and grabbed his chest at the fright. Holy shit! With the windshield demolished, Angelo knew the car was not safe.

How the fuck did I get myself into this? He had an overnight bag with him in the trunk, but where the hell was he supposed to go?

The car rocked in the wind as branches and debris kept hitting his car windows and roof. Suddenly his sedan leaned sideways, and the seatbelt kept Angelo in place, locking up. He gasped and held the steering wheel as the car rolled like a snowball down an avalanche.

While whatever force of nature had a hold of him, carried him like a leaf down a storm drain, Angelo held onto the wheel and closed his eyes, feeling dizzy from the revolving movement of his car, over and over, as if it had fallen off a hill or ravine.

It stopped, upended, and water began to rise around him.

Oh shit! He tried to open the door, but was trapped. He began to hit his elbow against the window to break it, but it wasn’t working.

As a last resort, since the car still had power, Angelo opened the driver’s side window. Water rushed into the car, filling it. He panicked and went for his seatbelt, hanging upside down as water quickly filled the interior.

Angelo held his breath and lunged through the open window. He came up for air in what felt like a mud-filled wave of debris.

As he was carried off by the racing tide, in total darkness except for flashes of lightning, Angelo struggled to grip something, knowing this was potentially fatal. If his head hit a rock or tree, he was done.

~

Callum returned to his kitchen and picked up the older, wall-hanging landline since his cell phone, and the cordless phones didn’t work.

County Services, how may I help you?

Yes, hi. My name is Callum Gray and I live off the highway just west of the town center? He waited for a reply. Anyway, I just wanted to let someone know the road has been washed out and I have no access to get out.

I understand, sir. The storm has damaged several of the main highways in and out of the area. Do you have power?

No, but I have a small generator.

Our crews are out at the moment, assessing the damage. I’ll add your complaint. We have an address associated with the number you called from, she read it for him, is this the correct address?

Yes. Callum looked outside at the sun, which was now rising higher over the hilly horizon. So, I’m sort of stuck?

I don’t recommend trying to navigate over roads that are washed out, sir.

I doubt I could. But, you have no idea or timeline for someone to actually come out and look at the road or restore power?

You’re on our list, sir.

Callum knew living out in the hills was a challenge. Okay. Thanks.

Have a nice day.

Callum rolled his eyes and hung up. He had food and water and a generator for the essentials. At least he wouldn’t starve.

He ate a piece of toast as he stared out of his back window, needing to take care of the damage done to his property.

Dressed in the denim-fleece jacket he only wore when knee deep in dirt, Callum took another look at his broken trees and opened his shed. He removed the chainsaw and a small gas container. Once he filled the power saw, he revved it up to make sure it worked, then shut it off and put on a pair of goggles, then leather gloves.

Carrying the saw, he gave one sad last frown at his apple tree, and cut it where it had broken. The heavy trunk fell to the ground and Callum continued to cut it up in logs, so once it dried, he could burn it in his fireplace.

After the fallen tree had been cut into manageable chunks, he moved on to the next.

~

By late afternoon, Callum had made a stack of the logs and collected the branches onto a pile to burn when the weather cooperated and dried out the soaked limbs.

He perked up to see a hen returning. Callum smiled in surprise and headed to the fifty-year-old barn, one where he kept chicken feed, hay, and other odds and ends. He hoisted up the feedbag and returned to the coop, pouring the feed onto the ground.

Once he did, a few other chickens appeared, pecking at the grain. Callum tried to set the fence back up but it had been twisted in the wind.

He figured the chickens he had left most likely were blown away, or would be devoured by hungry wildlife.

It didn’t matter. He could buy more baby chicks in town, and never managed to use all the eggs. He fussed with the wire fence for a little while and managed to get the posts hammered into the wet ground. He worked on it until he could do no more, since he should rebuild the fence completely. But it would suffice for now.

He took a breath, removed his glove, and wiped his forehead, squinting at the sun as it made its way down the western sky.

After picking up his tools, Callum returned to the barn, hung up the shovel, and set his hammer in a tool box. He heard a low moan and stopped short.

His skin prickled and the hair stood on the back of his neck. Hello?

Callum didn’t believe in ghosts but if his grandfather was still here, he would appreciate his help. Shaking off the odd sensation, Callum looked at the bales of hay he’d accumulated. He had intentions of owning horses one day, but until then, he put out the hay for the deer in winter, so they would come close to his place. He loved watching them.

As he picked up a bale to spread out for the whitetail and mule deer in the area, he noticed his birdfeeders had been snapped off as well.

Callum used wire clippers to open the hay bale and pocketed them, then began pulling the packed hay apart to spread out.

As he did, he spotted more of his chickens returning to their home. Well. Where did you go?

They fluttered by him and began eating the grain he had scattered.

Welcome home! he said, laughing.

The hay tossed out in the field so the deer could eat it if they needed it, Callum brought the wire and clippers back to the barn. He wrapped the wire up and heard another odd noise. Hello? he called.

Callum grew nervous, set the wire down, and walked through his cluttered barn.

When he spotted a human leg, he jumped out of his skin and stopped short. What the fuck? Callum moved cautiously closer.

A man was lying, face down, in his barn.

Oh, my God! Callum rushed to him and could see the man was a mess of mud, cuts, and scratches. Callum didn’t know what to do. Call 911? They’d need a helicopter to get here and him, out.

He crouched by the man and could see he had been through the worst of the storm. Bare from his head to his knees, the poor guy’s clothing had been torn and dragged to his shoes.

Callum crouched near him, touching his neck for a pulse. Okay, buddy. Hang on. He took off his coat and put it over the man’s back, then made a quick inspection for broken bones. But he wasn’t a medic, and had only dealt with his own injuries.

Can you hear me? Callum knelt down beside him.

The man didn’t stir.

Oh, Jesus. Callum wrung his hands and looked towards his house. Fuck! He ran to his back door and picked up the phone.

911, state your emergency.

I… there’s an injured man on my property.

The operator asked Callum, Are you calling from the address attached to this phone number?

Yes, but the road is washed out. Do you guys have a helicopter?

What are his injuries?

I don’t know.

Sir, as you can expect, after a storm like this, our first responders are tied up. Is he critically wounded?

How? I mean, I’m not a medic. I have no idea.

Are you with him?

I had to come into the house to use the phone. My cell phone is out. Callum felt his stomach jump in nerves.

Is he breathing?

Yes. He is.

Conscious and alert?

No. At least he didn’t reply when I spoke to him. What should I do?

If he’s breathing, then you don’t need to administer CPR.

Callum knew that much. Should I move him? What if he’s broken something?

Let me connect you to a nurse who can talk you through a quick check for possible injuries.

Can you be quick? He’s in my barn.

~

I don’t fish or hike.

Angelo, it’s for the beer and the porn. Not the fishing or hiking.

What does that mean?

We catch and release the fish, then hang out at the lodge to get drunk and watch porn.

Catch and release? You stand in ice water with waders on and don’t even eat the fish? And then watch porn?

Dude! It’s a cabin in the woods. We drink and watch shit we can’t watch at home with our wives!

You have to be kidding.

Hank said the lodge has got satellite TV. Come on, Angelo. You need this, and so do we.

You guys are nuts. There’d better be good food.

The best. You do remember Kurt is a top chef, right? So? Bring your appetite.

~

After the phone call, Callum knelt by the man and, as directed, ran his hand over his arms, checking for broken bones. He moved the jacket he had covered him with and touched his neck, his back, and then his legs. No bones were protruding, thank fuck.

Can you hear me? Callum tried to brush the man’s dark hair back from his cheek. I can’t leave you out here. It’s cold. Callum knew help was not on the way. The entire area had been decimated and there was no access to his home.

Trying to heed the concern of the nurse he spoke to, Callum rolled this man over and couldn’t see anything but scratches on his skin, particularly his elbows and knees. He held him under his legs and shoulders and struggled to hoist him up. Holding an unconscious man in his arms, one who was about his own size, Callum closed his eyes and prayed he didn’t drop him. Adjusting his grip, his jacket falling to the barn floor, Callum carried this man into his home, and it was a struggle.

He used his foot, then shoulder, to keep the screen door open, then didn’t know where to put this guy. He had five bedrooms, but only two of them had beds.

He brought him to the guest bedroom and placed the man down on the covered mattress.

As he stood up, strained from the effort, he caught his breath and stared at this man’s mud-filled slacks and shoes. Callum removed the shoes, seeing the thick sludge that had been washed into them, then the man’s soaked socks and trousers. Once he had, he checked the pants for a wallet, phone, keys, something to identify him.

Nope. Empty.

Callum had a look at the slacks and they were a shredded mess. My God. You’re lucky to be alive, buddy.

As he brought the man’s items to his laundry room to let them dry and see if they were salvageable, he spotted a designer label in them. The shoes, once he