Changes Coming Down

By Kaje Harper

For three gay men in love, opening the closet door could be a risky move.

Sheriff Casey Barlow has a slick, media-savvy challenger out to beat him in the upcoming election. Casey's damned good at his job, but he hasn't kissed the right asses, and early polls suggest voters like his opponent's style. Coming out now, let alone revealing his relationship with two men, could sink any hope of keeping his badge.

Scott Edison has a real shot at the NHL. He's playing the best hockey of his life. Whenever he can, he travels home to his gruff sheriff and their laid-back cowboy, but there are no out gay players in the NHL. As a rookie working his ass off to be called up, he can't afford to make waves.

Will Rice always figured he'd live alone, managing Graham and Annmarie Slater's cattle ranch, but a hot, young hockey player and a compact, muscled lawman rearranged his plans. Even though he's older and lanky and ordinary, he's been sharing their lives and their beds. He doesn't need to be out— isn't sure he ever wants the Slaters to know about him. Life's good the way things are.

Then Graham and Annmarie are killed in a hit and run that may not be an accident. As Will grieves, and Casey investigates, the coming changes will shake all their lives.

** this is a re-edit and expansion of the story in the "Hunting Under Covers" anthology; Book 2 will be "Changes Going On"

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kaje Harper
• Release date: Nov 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463142387

Kaje Harper

I get asked about my name a lot. It's not something exotic, though. “Kaje” is pronounced just like “cage” – it’s an old nickname, and my pronouns are she/her/hers.I was born in Montreal but I've lived for 30 years in Minnesota, where the two seasons are Snow-removal and Road-repair, where the mosquito is the state bird, and where winter can be breathtakingly beautiful. Minnesota’s a kind, quiet (if sometimes chilly) place and it’s home.I’ve been writing far longer than I care to admit (*whispers – forty years*), mostly for my own entertainment, usually M/M romance (with added mystery, fantasy, historical, SciFi...) I also have a few Young Adult stories (some released under the pen name Kira Harp.)My husband finally convinced me that after all the years of writing for fun, I really should submit something, somewhere. My first professionally published book, Life Lessons, came out from MLR Press in May 2011. I have a weakness for closeted cops with honest hearts, and teachers who speak their minds, and I had fun writing four novels and three freebie short stories in that series. I was delighted and encouraged by the reception Mac and Tony received.I now have a good-sized backlist in ebooks and print, both free and professionally published, including Amazon bestseller "The Rebuilding Year" and Rainbow Award Best Mystery-Thriller "Tracefinder: Contact." A complete list with links can be found on my website "Books" page at https://kajeharper.wordpress.com/books/.I'm always pleased to have readers find me online at:Website: https://kajeharper.wordpress.com/Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/KajeHarperGoodreads Author page: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4769304.Kaje_Harper

Book preview

Chapter 1

Sheriff Casey Barlow stared down at the lifeless bodies of Graham and Annmarie Slater, trapped in the cab of their overturned pickup, and his first thought was of Will. Jesus, this’ll hit him hard.

The lights from his patrol car up on the road cast a surreal, flickering glow on the scene. Fresh blood looked black, pale skin became a kaleidoscope of red and blue. He could reach in there, check for pulses and confirm the deaths, but he was certain it was unnecessary. They’d clearly rolled more than once down the boulder-strewn slope. He’d seen vehicles flipped by IEDs that were less mangled than this truck. Ironic that Graham Slater had made it through two tours in ’Nam, back in the sixties, and then died violently five miles from home.

He pulled out his phone and dialed his dispatcher. Hey, Alanis, that guy was right. He did hear a crash. I need Jordan’s tow and the flatbed, and the ambulance service, and hell, the fire department rescue squad with the big cutters. But tell them no hurry. There’s no one alive in there.

Her usual bright tones sobered. Who is it?

I’ll let you know after the notification.

As long as you’re not going to be notifying me… The tightness in her voice came from having an eighteen-year-old with a fast car and not a lot of sense.

No one you know well, he assured her. He gave her the GPS coordinates for this particular bend in the road and hung up. Then for a minute, he battled with his conscience. Regulations said he shouldn’t tell anyone until the Slaters’ grandson in Iowa was notified, but this hit too damned close to home. The first responders would know, and he didn’t want Will to find out from social media. He touched the top of his contact list.

Casey, hey. Scott’s tone was clearly an attempt at low and sexy. Why are you over there on the phone and not here, getting into my bed?

I got a call. A car crash. Fatal.

Oh, God. Who? When Casey needed a moment and a breath to answer, Scott’s tone rose. Not Will, oh please, not…

Stop. It’s not Will, but it is the Slaters. Both of them. So listen up.

"Yessir. Oh, shit, Graham and Annmarie?"

Casey sighed. Yeah. I want you to go out to the ranch and see Will. Tell him about the Slaters and—

"You want me to tell Will?"

I’d rather tell him myself, but by the time I get clear of this it’ll be hours from now, and someone else may let the news out. I want one of us there with him when he hears it.

They were like his parents. He’ll be hurting. And… what about the ranch?

Yeah. What about it? Will was the foreman on the Slaters’ large ranch. These days, he basically ran the thing, but he didn’t own one inch of it. Their only relative was the grandson, who was a city boy. Landon Slater spent his rare visits wrinkling his nose at the smell of manure and complaining about the noise the ranch hands made in the mornings. He’d surely sell the place as soon as he could.

Casey said, That’s a worry for tomorrow. Tonight, you go to Will and tell him the folks he loved like a second mom and dad are dead. And then you hold him, if he’ll let you.

Scott’s voice was small and thin. You’d be better at this. Much better.

But I can’t be there, so he needs you. With an effort, he kept the frustration he was feeling out of his voice. He wanted to be there for Will. Scott was ten years younger than either him or Will, and this was asking a lot of their beloved Scotty, but Casey knew he’d step up to it. Drive carefully. Please. That was his nightmare, to one day come on a scene like this and find one of his men in that mass of twisted metal. Get him somewhere private and just say it. You can’t break it easy. There is no easy for this.

That was a lesson learned hard, over in the Sandbox. A bullet, or a bomb, and a friend was gone and there was no easy letdown. Dead was dead. You just had to say it and then live with it.

Okay. I’ll do the best as I can. But Casey, please, try to come out to the ranch as soon as you get free?

Of course. The wail of an approaching siren threatened to drown him out, but he had time to say. Tell Will I’ll be there the minute I’m done tonight. Then he tapped the phone off and scrambled back up the embankment to meet the EMTs.

It took an hour, five guys, and some heavy-duty equipment to free the bodies from the wreckage. The newest of the firehouse guys was off in the bushes, heaving. Casey helped a paramedic get Annmarie’s body wrapped and secured to go up the embankment, while Gordon was being loaded into the ambulance above.

Helluva thing, the EMT said. And I’ve seen a few.

Yeah.

Behind Casey, another voice said, Wow. That’s a shame.

Casey spun around. Todd.

Casey. Todd Kensington gave him a cool glance.

What are you doing here?

Learning more about the job. Todd gave Casey a toothy smile. The flashing lights colored his teeth purple. Casey frowned. How much nerve did it take to say that to the guy you were hoping to beat out for sheriff in the upcoming election? Of course, Todd never lacked that kind of confidence.

Right now, you’re a civilian, and you need to stay up on the road.

Come on, Casey. Don’t be like that. You know I have the election sewn up. Surely you want to ease the transition here.

The election’s four days away. Maybe the people of this county will see how little actual experience you have, and vote for me.

Maybe. Todd could afford that breezy tone. He was right in saying he seemed to have the vote locked up.

Casey wasn’t sure how that’d happened. He’d been the sheriff for four years now, and he thought he’d done well. He’d pulled dangerous drivers off the road, arrested a variety of vandals and drunk fighters and tweakers, and a few burglars. He’d located more than one meth lab and jailed the bastards, even if he’d twice had to call the State boys in to help clean up. He’d kept Fourth of July parades safe. He’d put one abusive husband away, although not three others he’d really like to see behind bars. His department was small, just him and a dozen deputies, but he ran it clean and everyone who called for help got it.

Admittedly, he wasn’t a people person. He’d overheard himself being called cold and short-tempered. And okay, he probably shouldn’t have done… several things. Shouldn’t have yelled at Mrs. Turnbull for letting her ill-tempered spaniel run loose and bite the neighbor’s gardener. Shouldn’t have lost it when the mayor tried to walk his DUI son out of jail. Shouldn’t have turned a fire hose on someone for a ghoulish comment when the Fraziers’ place burned.

Shouldn’t have laughed when Scotty tried to tell him that campaigns nowadays were run on Facebook and Twitter and Instagram, even in these small towns.

Todd was a people person. Most Likely to Succeed in their high school yearbook, where Casey frowned from the back of the group pictures, slogging along and waiting for the day he could join up and leave home. Todd went to college, and then law school and the prosecutor’s office. Casey went overseas as a Marine MP. Now they were both back, and Todd was still Mr. Popular, and Casey was still hiding behind his work. Which Todd was going to take away from him with that damned smile.

Either way, I have four days and you’re slowing this down, he growled.

Todd raised his hands, gave a humorously pained glance to the EMT, then backed off.

Casey refused to watch where he went. The best thing to do with a guy who was a pain in the ass was to ignore him until he either went away or escalated to where you could make a legitimate move. Not that he could afford to make any move against Todd.

The EMT said, He ain’t seen what you and me have seen.

It was unexpected reassurance. Casey had to wince though, when the guy followed that with, He’s gonna be a pretty crappy sheriff compared to what you’ve been.

What could he say to that? He settled for, Thanks.

Once the bodies were gone in the ambulance, siren silent and lights off, they turned to the problem of getting the truck up the slope and onto the flatbed. As they struggled with the winch and the sagging, scraping bits of metal, he was aware of Todd standing off next to his brand-new Ford pickup. The Kensington for Sheriff and American flag bumper stickers seemed to mock Casey. His own personal vehicle was an old, undecorated Toyota Tundra. Scott said the tweets praising Todd’s patriotic buying habits were probably campaign sock-puppets, but that every bit counted.

Casey forced his attention back to the job at hand, before he ended up with crushed fingers. When they had the distorted pickup on the flatbed, Casey walked around it, frowning to himself.

Jordan, the best local mechanic, joined him. Hell of a mess.

Yeah. He reached up to touch what had been a back fender. It was dented, warped, scraped, and oddly colored.

Looks like the old guy must’ve backed into something real hard. Jordan scraped a nail over the smear of green on the gray paint. Looks automotive. Maybe he hit his John Deere. Old Slater had to’ve been seventy. Maybe he was drivin’ careless.

Maybe. It was too dark to see much. Casey said, Take it to your shop and lock the mess in one of the bays. I’ll want to look at it in the morning.

What’s to look at?

If I knew that, I wouldn’t have to wait till morning. He hesitated, but Jordan was the nearest thing to an accident investigator he had. Does this look, um, odd to you? This accident? The amount of damage? Because the more time he spent here, the less sense it made. I can’t see Graham Slater barreling down this road at eighty miles an hour. If anything, he was a slow driver. To flip the truck all the way over the rail and not just roll it but crush it the way it is? There was a lot of force.

Jordan shrugged. I’ve seen a lot of weird shit. A car in an accident and one side’s crushed and the other is picture perfect. Or a rollover where all we had to fix was one side-view mirror.

Still. He glanced around. Something was setting off his spider senses, and he’d learned the hard way not to ignore that feeling.

I’ll come back and have a look in the morning if you want, Jordan offered. Check the road for marks up here, after I look at the truck.

Yeah. That’d be good.

I’m gonna miss doing this. When Mr. Stuck-up is sheriff, I bet he won’t be listening to the opinion of any high school dropout mechanic. You’ve been great.

Casey thought about taking offense at the "when part of that. In the end, he just said, Thanks." Again. He’d be so glad when the election was over.

***

Scott Edison shoved his phone in his jeans pocket and ran his hand over his hair. Not that he could do much with the short cut he wore during the hockey season, but it was habit. Shit. Fuck. Motherfucking hell with a side order of son-of-a-bitch.

He’d gotten into town an hour ago, looking forward to reconnecting with his guys. Hot, intense Casey and sweet, mellow Will. After a month with nothing but long-distance calls and his imagination, he was finally back in Kansas, with three days carved out of his schedule to remind them all how good they were together. He wondered every day how he got so lucky.

But this apparently wasn’t his lucky day. Instead of losing himself in Casey’s strong hands, and then both of them heading out to see Will after evening chores, he was going to spend his rare free time breaking Will’s heart.

And way to go, making this all about yourself.

Snorting in self-disgust, he pushed off the bed and stood. He was half-naked, his shirt open to frame his chest, a calculated display of some of the toned muscle he knew Casey liked. Now he buttoned it with unsteady fingers.

The Slaters were dead. He’d been lucky enough at twenty-three to not lose anyone he loved yet. It was so unfair that Will, who’d lost his real family early in some painful not-to-be-discussed way, now had to face the deaths of the new family he’d adopted as his own.

Merde. Câlis. Tabarnac. The colorful swearwords of his French-speaking teammates didn’t help any either. He dug clean socks out of a drawer, found his sneakers under the bed, and headed out.

It was cold for the beginning of November, and before he’d even started the car, he was regretting grabbing his lightest leather jacket. Habit, because he knew Will liked the way he looked in it, but that would hardly matter tonight. He cranked the heater and practiced phrases as he drove.

I have something to tell you…

Casey called me and wanted me to… asked if I would…

We should go inside and…

Goddamn it.

The drive out to the ranch took about twenty minutes. Long enough for him to decide that he wasn’t ever going to find the right words. Also long enough to decide that the first thing out of his mouth needed to be Casey’s okay. Because he’d bet that Will also had nightmares where someone showed up unexpectedly, looking stunned, and said, I have bad news about Casey… Just like he’d clutched for a moment when Casey had said someone was dead and then stopped. For an instant he’d pictured life without Will, and it’d been like a punch to the heart.

The news he was delivering was awful, but at least it wasn’t that news.

The road past the gates of the Tri-Cross ranch was rough. With the ease of long practice, he pulled left around the washout by the big oak and slowed near the hill, watching for the potholes that got filled every spring and hollowed out again in the freeze and thaw of winter. The bounce of the suspension was familiar. How many times had he done this drive in the last couple years? Lots, but never enough.

There were still lights on in the barn and the bunkhouse. The Slaters’ big house was dark and quiet.

It would stay that way now.

Scott pulled into the parking area and turned the engine off. For a minute he sat there. He could hear a couple of the hands in the barn, joking back and forth as they tossed down hay bales from the loft. The dogs lay in the long grass near the barn door, snoozing in the spill of yellow light. They’d barely glanced his way before returning to their nap, familiar with the sound of his Camaro. Off in the quiet night, he could hear the fluttering hum of the wind generator, the soft whicker of horses, the creak of some hinge in need of oiling. All the sounds of Will’s home.

He gave it one more minute. And one more. The last moments in time when all would be well on the Tri-Cross. Then the barn door swung wider. Someone glanced out and yelled back into the barn, Hey, Will, Scott’s here. Now time had to move forward. He unfolded his tall body from behind the wheel of the sports car and got out.

Will appeared in the barn doorway. He paused for an instant, silhouetted against the light. Despite everything, Scott felt a rush of want for that lean, wiry, perfect piece of cowboy. It’d been far too long. But he suppressed the thought as Will hurried toward him, his expression anxious.

Casey’s fine, he said, before Will could even ask.

Then what are you doing here so early?

Casey asked me to come. To tell you… He swallowed, but there was really no good way. Graham and Annmarie were killed a little while ago in a car crash.

Will froze, standing so still Scott wasn’t sure he was even breathing. Then he slowly swallowed, licked his lips, and said, That’s not possible.

I’m so sorry.

No, you don’t understand. They’ll be back in a couple of hours. They’re out to dinner. It’s their anniversary. They should be back soon.

Will. Scott’s chest ached in sympathy.

We’re just finishing chores. Annmarie will want to see Thunder’s hoof before I turn him out for the night. They’ll be here soon. Will turned, peering down the driveway as if he could make the old couple’s truck appear by the force of his stare.

I’m so sorry, Scott repeated. He really wanted to reach out and touch Will, but not here, where at any moment one of the men might appear. Casey will come as soon as he can.

Will shook his head. No.

What can I do? Tell me what to do.

Will pulled out his phone, fumbling, dialing with shaking fingers. Casey? Scott just pulled up at the ranch spouting this crazy piece of nonsense… He froze, listening. No. Oh God, no. Then after a pause, How? Was it… fast?

Scott stood there feeling useless, as Will pressed the phone to his ear. All Scott could make out was the bass rumble of Casey’s voice. Then Will held the phone out to him. He wants to talk to you. He walked off, away from the barn, and leaned on the paddock fence staring into the darkness.

Scott kept his eyes on Will’s back as he answered, Yeah, Case?

How’s Will? How are you?

I’m good, he’s… shaken.

No shit. Listen, you did good. You’re there and you told him, straight out.

He didn’t believe me. He called you. Scott hadn’t realized how much that had hurt until he said it. He worked his ass off to be an equal partner to the two older men, and now when something important happened, Will had immediately turned to Casey for confirmation. Like Scott didn’t know what he was talking about.

I’m a cop, and I’m the one who was on the scene. He needed to hear it again. If I’d phoned him, likely he wouldn’t have wanted to believe me at first either. Now hang up and take care of him.

When will you get here?

A couple of hours yet. You guys hang tough.

Right.

Scott tapped off the phone and walked toward Will, making enough noise that Will would hear him coming. Will didn’t move as Scott came up beside him. Scott offered back the phone. Casey says two hours yet.

Will didn’t look at him. Okay.

When Will didn’t reach for the phone, Scott slipped it into Will’s jacket pocket, taking the chance to give Will’s arm a squeeze. We’ll both wait.

There was a long silence. Scott shivered as the late fall breeze found its way down his collar, chilling his back. A cloud crossed the moon, darkening the barnyard to shadows. Behind them, there was a yelp of laughter, and something thumped lightly.

How do I tell them? Will’s voice came disembodied in the sudden darkness. Graham and Annmarie were special to everyone. And this is their home too, all those hands. How do I tell them they’re gone, that it’s all gone?

The ranch is still here.

Not for long. Without Graham and Annmarie, it’ll be sold. They were the heart of it, the ones keeping it alive as a working ranch. When that guy came around last month, talking about buying it up, it was Annmarie who said no one was going to mess up her ranch with tacky subdivisions or fracking, no matter how much money they might make. Now… I can’t believe she’s dead. And Graham. He laughed, you know, when she said it. He told her it was her land. He loved her so damned much. Will’s breath caught on a sob.

At least they were together, Scott offered desperately.

Ah, hell. Will scrubbed his palms over his face hard, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

The moon suddenly reappeared, its silver light shining on Will’s blond hair and casting deep shadows under his high cheekbones. Scott thought he looked oddly fragile in that wan light, breakable, as he’d never seen Will before. He was caught by a sudden rush of pity and love. How can I help?

Will lowered his hands and shook his head. You can’t. No one can now.

I meant help you.

Me? Will blinked at him as if that made no sense. I’m fine. I have to tell the hands.

Couldn’t that wait for Casey?

No. I should do it. He turned to the barn, hesitated, and pulled out his phone again and called. Casey. Sorry. I just, I needed to hear it again… You’re sure about this? Graham and Annmarie? No possibility? … No, that’s okay. Thanks. He slid the phone back in his pocket. Come on.

Scott’s legs were longer but he had to hustle to keep up as Will strode toward the barn. Will didn’t pause at the door, just headed inside. Scott stayed one step behind him.

There were three men in the aisle, finishing breaking apart hay bales into flakes for the horses. Scott knew them all, although not well. They glanced up and one said, We’re about done with feeding. Joe’s got the manure scraper fixed… His voice trailed off. What’s wrong?

Will’s voice was strong and clear. No easy way to say this, guys. The sheriff just told me that Graham and Annmarie had an accident with their truck, ran it off the road down the embankment off County Road Three.

Holy shit. How bad?

They’re dead. Will cleared his throat. Both of them. Died instantly. The sheriff said it was fast. His tone cracked, then steadied. For now, we’re going to keep this place running. Chores like usual. Move the Angus heifers to the west pasture just like we planned tomorrow. We’ll keep Annmarie’s ranch running smooth for her, until someone says otherwise. Got it?

There were shocked murmurs of agreement. One man said, What’ll happen to this place, d’you think?

Tonight, I’m not thinking. Two good people are dead, and I’m going to honor their memory as best I can and wait till tomorrow for anything else.

We should have a wake, Joe said. Break out the booze and toast them proper.

Will shook his head, but not in disagreement. Whatever. After chores. As long as you can get up to work in the morning. But I can’t, I can’t. Um.

Sure. We get it. You knew them a hell of a lot better than we did.

A tall guy Scott thought was called Don said, What happened? There’s no way Graham was drunk, and there’s no ice. Did he fall asleep? Heart attack?

I don’t know. Finish up here. I’ll be in my trailer, if you need me. The sheriff’s coming out in a couple of hours. If you’re not too drunk, you can ask him then.

Will whirled and strode out, brushing past Scott as if he wasn’t there. Scott was left staring back at the startled ranch hands. He said, I’ll go keep an eye on him. If there was any comment, he didn’t hear it as he hurried after Will.

Will’s door was closed when he got to it, but it wasn’t locked and Scott didn’t knock, just let himself in. Will’s place was a single-wide trailer, compact and cluttered. The lights were out, but Scott had been here enough to make his way back to the kitchen in the dark. Moonlight through the window silhouetted Will sitting at the small kitchen table.

Scott paused in the doorway. He had no experience, nothing to tell him what to do now. It was still early evening, and someone might come to the door at any time. They weren’t out of the closet, not him, nor Will or Casey. Usually they were very careful on the ranch to keep things casual, even behind closed doors, until the men were all safely off in bed. But if ever a guy needed arms around him, Will surely did now. Scott took two steps and sank to his knees beside Will’s chair. The angle was awkward but he was below the window level. Carefully, moving slowly to give Will time to say no, he wrapped his arms around Will’s body.

The groan that came from Will’s throat wasn’t rejection. Will crossed his arms over Scott’s on his chest, pulling the hug tighter. He turned and leaned sideways, pressing his face to Scott’s hair. Scott could feel the damp of Will’s cheek against his scalp.

There were no good words. No words at all. Scott simply knelt there, keeping a tight hold, as Will shuddered and held his breath until it escaped again in small gasps. His lean frame shook, wire-taut in Scott’s hug. The light through the windows dimmed and brightened, as clouds chased each other across the moon. The clock above the stove ticked, intrusively annoying in a way Scott had never noticed before. He stayed there, knees aching, arms cramping, until finally Will took a long, shaky breath and gently disengaged. I need the guitar, and I need you. Can you stay?

Of course. He clutched at the edge of the table to stand, grunting as his legs prickled.

Sorry. Will stood too, bumping his hip lightly as he turned. Thanks.

Love you. He said it softly.

You too. Come on. The couch will be better.

Yeah. Scott followed him into the narrow den and dropped onto one end of the plaid couch. Will flicked on a lamp. Scott watched him move through the familiar routine of drawing the curtains securely and making sure to lock the front door. But tonight, when that was done, Will went to the closet and got out his guitar.

Scott pulled his feet up on the couch and hugged his knees. He’d known the Slaters and liked them, but he couldn’t imagine how Will must feel right now. There were so few people in the world Will trusted, beyond him and Casey. He’d said once that being taken in by Graham and Annmarie had saved his life, and something in his eyes suggested he’d meant that literally. Scott suddenly missed his own parents, now living in Florida. God, he was so lucky. He could pick up the phone and they’d be there. All Will could do now was remember, and reach for his music.

The soft resonance of a string as Will lifted his instrument echoed through the quiet