Hammer and Tongs

By BA Tortuga

Virgil is in trouble when he flees to the badlands of New Mexico, and he's pretty sure the desert is going to kill him before the posse does. He's running from his past, from a forbidden love. What he finds is half Native-American blacksmith Asa, who happens to be the stuff of dreams.

Asa isn't about to let the skinny man he finds in the desert die. And when Virgil recovers, Asa thinks maybe he's found a soul mate, just like his friends Tak and Loko have found in each other. Through everyday life and a series of ever more erotic lessons, Asa thinks he can teach Virgil that love shouldn't have boundaries. Can Virgil accept the plans that Asa, with the help of his friends, have for his future?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Turtlehat Creatives
• Release date: Jul 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9781942831969

Book preview

1

The mules were getting downright lazy, as hot as it was, not even bothering to brush the flies away from their ears. Asa flicked the reins at them, not wanting to move them too fast but needing to get back to the smithy before dark.

Folks down in Mesilla thought he was downright crazy, living as far out in the badlands as he did. He smiled a little, thinking on how he liked being that crazy, half-Injun feller. Meant he didn't have to socialize, didn't have to put up with none of the whispers and the sideways glances at his long braid, his skin that was the color of well-tanned leather.

He could just stare those gossiping fools down and take their money. Hell, the devil himself knew they had their share of blacksmiths around between Mesilla and El Paso, but folks far and wide came to him for wheel rims and nails and horseshoes and andirons and all other manner of shit because he was the best at what he did. His work held up, and he never tried to cheat the iron of the charcoal.

He squinted out from under his hat, his mouth pursing up when he saw three buzzards circling just over the rise. He hoped to hell if something was dead, it wasn't right on the trail.

Dot and Sam, they didn't like dead critters, not at all. Made 'em all... tetchy. God knew a fractious mule was worse than a whole town full of self-righteous church-goers hunting the red man. The wagon topped the tiny hill, lurching up out of the depressions of hundreds of wheels.

The mules stopped dead, the back wheels still down in the ruts. Their ears flicked back and forth as Asa peered over them. Huh, Not dead. Neither the man nor the horse. 'Course, both of them were down, which just wasn't good.

Hopping down from the wagon, Asa set the brake and wandered over, steps talking, crunching on the creosote. He nudged the man with the toe of his boot, then turned to the horse. That could at least be worth some work. If he got the little mare up, Asa could tie her to the back of the wagon, give her a little water. That was all he needed, it looked like. Someone had been unprepared for the badlands.

Don't... hurt my horse.

Well, shit. Asa was startled into actually talking out loud, which seemed odd these days. Guess now I got to take you, too.

He sighed, rolled his eyes. The horse first -- water and get her moving. Asa lead the mules over, enough that the wagon cast its shade over the man, kept the sun off. Then he went for the poor nag, who looked like her rider had pulled her down when the man fell off.

He clicked at the horse, tugging at the bridle. Come on, now. On your feet. Ain't no good comes from a horse being down like you.

The horse's eyes rolled, so far they was all white for a little too long and Asa knew, like he knew his own name, that she was too far gone, then that dying cowboy groaned. Come on, Strawberry. Need you to come on.

He'd be damned if that damn horse didn't try to roll up.

Asa pushed and pulled, and the horse got to her feet, swaying. That's a hell of a try. Now, come on and lean. He got the sweet girl leaning on the wagon so he could get some water in his hat.

It took three hatfuls before the horse slowed down and wandered a step or two away from the wagon to lip at the ground, trying vainly to find grass. It was skinny but well-cared for, no whip marks to show.

He got more water measured into his hat, then pulled his bandana from around his neck. He'd try to get some in the man on the ground, then try to cool him off with a wet cloth on his neck and cheeks.

This land wasn't for greenhorns. Hell, he wasn't sure it was for anyone that hadn't been born to it. Asa grinned. His momma had been born to it, a woman of the Diné, and so had he. He guessed his Pa ought to be grateful for that, because the damned fool was still alive, white or not.

He knelt next to the man, easing the clamped-down hat off the man's head.

Bloodshot eyes stared at him, the blue swimming in the red like clear water.

You need to have a sip of water, mister. Not too much.

The man blinked, staring at him like he wasn't sure Asa was real.

Asa sighed, looking at the sky before cupping a little water in his hand and pushing it to the feller's mouth.

The cracked lips scraped against his skin, and Christ, but the man was burning alive. Asa let the water trickle past them, then gave the man another sip. I got your horse up, but I need to get you up in the wagon. Can you try to help?

He got a nod, and he'd be damned if the bag of bones didn't shift, get himself moving. Good man. Asa caught the feller under the arms when he sagged, then got him up in the footwell of the driver's seat. Wasn't no room in the back of the wagon.

Damn it all to hell.

Why me? Why on earth would you leave me some greenhorn and a horse that is all knocked into a cocked hat? he muttered as he lashed the mount behind them and got the mules moving. It weren't bad as all that, but he reckoned those that went before him expected a little bitchin' from their left-behind son. Gave everyone something to do in the heat of the day.

Couldn't do much else.

He got his blanket out of the back and made a makeshift shade for the rider, who moaned a little when he flicked the reins at the mules and got them moving. Time to get home, damn it. No one wanted to be out in Apache country after dark.

Even someone who was half Apache.

His dogs met him, well before he could see the cabin and the smithy, the lean mutts nipping at the mules, daring the evil beasts to kick. Asa scratched ears, murmuring nonsense to them and the mules, who he unhitched, wiped down, and gave a little water and feed. He tended the stranger's horse next, putting her in the smallest stall to try to keep her standing. A little more water and a tiny bit of feed and Asa went to check on his other patient, still in the wagon.

The man was out, breath coming in tiny, hitching gasps, blistered skin breaking under Asa's hands, leaving his fingers slick and sour smelling. Oh Lord, there was no way this feller would survive to the break of day.

Asa pulled the blanket down and wrapped it around the feller, lifting as gently as he could. He'd put the man in his bed, where he'd get the coolest air from the coming night, and get some spring water on the joints: knees, elbows, and wrists. He'd make up some of his momma's heat remedy, as well.

He'd do his dead-level best to not have to dig a grave in the desert sand.

Easing the man down in the bed, he let the blanket stay beneath the too-thin body, protecting his regular bedding. Then he dipped some water, going to settle in for the long haul with his new houseguest.

The good Lord had himself a wicked sense of humor, or so his Pa said.

Asa just hoped he got the gist of whatever this joke was before something even worse happened.

The Rangers were coming for him, driving him out of El Paso, his Strawberry running like the hounds of hell themselves were after them.

Virgil kept his head down, leaning as close to Strawberry's neck as he could, the zing of the bullets whizzing about them. Maybe his daddy had been right. Maybe he was cursed.

It sure felt like it, the way trouble dogged his steps. The heat beat down on them, horse and man together, making him feel like they were ember bright on the horizon. He burned, down to his bones, the sound of Evan's pained cries chasing him.

The little yellow belly had ratted him out to his daddy, the Colonel, left him running from the hangman's noose. Weren't like they was doing nothing wrong, but the Colonel surely thought so, had blamed a missing bag of Mexican silver on him, and off they'd run, heading for the Badlands.

He ran until he couldn't see a cloud of dust on the trail anymore, then he kept running. He nodded off somewhere in the high desert, and that was when Strawberry went down.

He crawled through the sand, the ground burning him, driving into his hands, his face, digging into his collar. He had to find some water for Strawberry. Had to. He wouldn't let the horse die for him.

Still, he couldn't make it farther than a few feet. He lay in the sand and scrub with the bugs crawling on him and decided that was where he was gonna die. There were worse places to die, he thought. Mexico, maybe, or tied down over an anthill. He closed his eyes, silently apologizing to his horse. He hadn't meant to hurt anyone. Hell, he never did.

There was just something broke about him, about his soul.

Virgil reached out, grabbing a handful of sand, trying to pull himself another inch or two. The ghost riders were coming, tearing through the desert, coming for him. He knew it like he knew his own name. They were going to get him, tear at him with their teeth.

Please. Please. He wasn't sure what he was begging who for, but Lord help him, he'd beg. He wasn't ready to die.

A shadow fell over him, blocking out the sun, making him moan. It was real. A real man.

Don't hurt my horse. Strawberry was a good mount.

Well, shit, the man said. Guess I got to take you now.

He could go to Hell, but Strawberry couldn't. God loved dogs and horses and...

He licked his lips, tasting nothing but rough salt and sand.

Somewhere he smelled water. Oh, God. It smelled so good it hurt, deep in his belly.

When something cool hit his lips, he hissed, the sensation almost too much to bear. He opened his mouth and took it, though, swallowing convulsively when a little trickled down his throat.

Not too fast.

All he wanted on earth as to bury himself in the water, drown in it.

Okay, now, you think you can help me? Hands fell on