CHAPTER 13 - AUGUST

_ BEAUTY IN NATURE _

One word I'd use to describe Scotland. Breathtaking.

Absolutely breathtaking. And what's better is I have a hunky local to show me around. God , I can't get over how beautiful and majestic it is here. This is a place I may have convinced Eddy Schuster to visit. He and Leland would've been good buddies, sitting at the pub with a pint, sharing tales of the good old days. I can see it now. Time moves slower here, the air is clean, and the locals are friendly. If I didn't have roots back home I'd move here in a heartbeat.

The small rental cottage on Shaw Farms that I'll call home the next couple nights is charming, warm, and has ridiculous views of the rich landscape. This is the place I'd wanna vacation. London has it's rich history, too, but I'm not a concrete kinda guy; I belong where there is dirt and pastures for miles, where you can kick back in the bed of your truck and view the endless skies of stars and planets above.

This country boy can't survive in the city.

The drive here took just over eight hours, which isn't too terrible. Let's face it, anything over ten hours is considered long for me. Patrick slept a good part of the way, although – in his defense, he had quite the workout last night. I for one slept like a rock the second my head hit the pillow. It's the best kind of sore I've longed for. Our car ride conversations flowed easily and the laughter was next level. I discovered Patrick isn't grumpy all the time, especially when his best friend Lili's name is mentioned. He doesn't seem the type who would pick a random person to sketch a back piece for him. And with the meaning behind it, she has to know what he's gone through. Would he ever open up to me on that level, I wonder?

Patrick's Uncle Leland is a simple man, and his Aunt Fiona, well, that sweet woman is now my best friend; she said she has many tales to tell me about her nephew. I'm always up for hearing a good story. Heck, if Patrick were at the ranch, momma would be right there filling him in on all my embarrassing childhood moments and whipping out the photo albums. The vision plays out so clear in my head, it's mildly jarring.

Now that I'm here I have all this stored up energy from the drive. I'm itching to get outside and walk around.

[August] "Alright, Scotsman." I give a clap of my hands and try to pump him up. "Let's go explore the farm. You can show me your favorite spots."

Patrick is sprawled out on the couch, one arm thrown over his eyes as he groans.

[Patrick] "I dinnae ken how ye have the energy to be this excited after that drive. Bloody Christ, mate. I need a kip."

I chuckle, grab my boots and pull them on.

[August] "Ahh, It wasn't that bad." I say, nudging his leg with my foot. "And besides, I'm in Scotland! Your homeland! I want to see everything through a local's eyes – your eyes. The castles, the pubs, the food, I want it all."

His stubborn side is showing off now as he huffs a breath.

[Patrick] "Yer acting like a tourist."

[August] "Uh, news flash, Scotsman – I am a tourist, thank you very much."

He peeks out from under his arm, his blue eyes narrowing on me.

[Patrick exasperated] "Yer going to wear me out before we even get goin'."

[August] "Oh, please, you'll be fine. Besides, I need you to translate all the Scottish slang I won't understand. You all talk so damn fast it all blends together." I act desperate and hope he takes the bait. "Please? For me? [tease] I'll make it worth your while later."

He grumbles a slew of said Scottish slang I can't even begin to decipher and pushes himself upright.

[Patrick sigh] "Fine, fine. But if I collapse halfway through this farm tour, it's yer fault. Ye'll have'ta carry me back."

[August] "Deal." I say as I grab my jacket. "Come on, let's go check out the cows."

[Patrick] " Coos … they're called hairy coos here. Not COWS , cowboy."

Patrick mutters something about tourists and their relentless enthusiasm but follows me out the door without further protest.

The fresh air hits us as soon as we step outside. It's warm and damp, with just a hint of more rain in the air, I can smell it. The landscape is everything I imagined and more – endless green fields, distant hills, and the occasional baa of a sheep in the distance or a whiney of a horse in the stables.

As we head back toward the main house, I see Uncle Leland leaning against the fence near the barn. Observing the man it gives me an idea of what Patrick might look like in twenty-five or thirty years. He has the same coppery hair as Patrick, though it's streaked with gray, and there's a similar way in which these two act – it's gotta be the stubbornness they have.

Earlier while enjoying the weirdly delicious Irn-Bru float, I reminded Fiona I am the ranch owner from Wyoming who called interested in exploring the farm, check out the fun activities they offer for all ages, and get a feel for the highland cows. Leland offered to show me around right then and there, until his wife yelled at him, saying we should get settled first and we can start in the morning. I can't wait that long. I'm bordering on skipping I'm so damn excited, and this rancher doesn't ever skip.

[Leland] "What'r ye lads up to?" Leland asks, turning our way as we stop near him.

[August] "Patrick has so kindly offered to show me around the place." I smirk while Patrick crosses his arms and rolls his eyes at me.

[Leland] "I'll join ye. We changed a few things since Patrick's last been here." He claps Patrick on the shoulder. "I'm surprised to see you've dragged my nephew back to his roots. Good lad."

[Patrick grumbles] "More like he dragged me. He's been pestering me about it since we arrived."

[August] "Not going to deny it." I tease.

Leland's chuckle tells me he's used to hearing his nephew act like this.

[Leland] "Aye, well, there's plenty to see. Follow me."

He walks us around the farm, pointing out the various animals and explaining the workings of the place, and newer upgrades that were made. It's a working farm, much like Schuster Ranch, but with a distinctly Scottish flavor, and more variety of livestock. The fields are dotted with sheep and cattle, and the grounds closest to the barns have pigs, goats, a few turkeys, and horses. Plus there is an abundance of free-range chickens running about. But it's the Highland cows that really catch my eye – massive creatures with shaggy coats and long, curved horns. The gentle giants of Scotland.

[Leland] "Beautiful, aren't they?" Leland asks, noticing my stare. "These are the pride of the farm."

[August] "They're incredible." I say, admiring the closest one, a massive cow with a reddish-brown coat and soulful eyes, and I notice she has a limp. "What's her name?"

[Leland] "That's Wilma" He replies. "She's a gentle old lass, but I see her foot is bothering her. I was just about to have someone take a look at it."

[August] "Mind if I help?" I ask, eager to get up close to one of these majestic creatures. "I know my way around cattle."

[Leland] "Not at all." Leland says, clearly pleased.

We make our way to Wilma, I give her a petting on her face then crouch down by her back hoof.

[August] "Alright, let's see what we're dealing with." Glancing at it I can make out the noticeable infection. "It's definitely infected. She needs antibiotics but is also in need of a hoof trimming. I'd be happy to help if you have the tools."

[Leland] "Aye, if it's no trouble. Our hoof trimmer has done hurt himself falling off a horse." Leland jokes about his fall.

[August] "No trouble at all. Let's get her over to the barn for the hoof trimming. We can administer the antibiotics while she's strapped in."

We lead Wilma to the barn and strap her into the metal harness hoof machine. She huffs and tries to shift, but is unable to put up a fight. I pull the lever to bring her back foot up.

[Patrick] "Usually, she's a right terror about this." Patrick utters, shaking his head in disbelief. "Must be yer touch."

[August] "Just lucky, I guess." I say, setting to work with the hoof nippers. "Hold still, girl. We'll have you feeling better in no time."

Leland watches with keen interest as I carefully trim the infected hoof, shaving out the affected area with hoof knives.

[Leland] "Ye've got a steady hand, August. Ever think about moving to Scotland?" Leland asks. "Always looking for good help around here."

I chuckle and recount how many times I've asked myself if I would give up my life at the ranch to have a place like this. But I couldn't do that to my family. They need me.

[August] "If anything ever changes you'll be the first one I call."

Once the infection is cleaned out and the hoof is properly trimmed and shaped, I step back and assess my work. "She should be good to go for that foot. The infection wasn't too severe, so no need for a hoof block. Give me a few minutes and I'll have the rest of her all straightened up."

It doesn't take long before we release Wilma back into the pasture, watching as she trots off to join her friend Betty, looking much more comfortable in her fresh feet.

The sun is beginning to make its descent along the hillside, emitting a warm glow over the fields. We decided to resume exploring the farm tomorrow as neither of us has eaten anything of value all day given the travelling we did. It's been a good day, one of those days where everything just feels right, no rushing, no fuss. Just being.

[Leland] "Thanks, August." Leland declares, clapping me on the shoulder. "That's a weight off my mind. Ye've done a fine job."

[August] "I'm more than happy to help with whatever you need for the next couple of days I'm here."

There is a sense of satisfaction in me at being able to help that I can't deny. It's not so different from working with the cattle back home, and if anything, these cows won't give too much of an attitude. I'm digging these gentle beasts. Definitely want a small herd on the ranch.

[Patrick] "Dinnae be telling him that. He'll have ye too busy to spend time with me." Patrick protests with a half-smile, his arms crossed over his chest. "You're a natural on a farm, but as ye said in London; yer all mine, cowboy." He says with a hint of mischief in his voice.

[August] "No way I'd forget that." I grin and wink at him.

He pulls me into his hard body and whispers gruffly.

[Patrick] "Ye better not." And brushes his lips on mine, right there in front of his uncle.

I'm not opposed to a little PDA and deepen our kiss. I allow myself to just feel us in this moment, get lost in this sense where time seems to stand still and all our worries fade away.

When we pull back we're both grinning ear-to-ear as we glance at our audience of one. Leland is smiling right along with us, no hesitation whatsoever.

[Leland] "Right then. Ready fer dinner? Auntie made us a nice stew."

[Patrick] "Aye. I could eat." Patrick turns back and eyes me. "What do ye say, August?"

As his uncle starts his way up to the house, I

[August] "Yeah. Let's eat."

As we

We stand there for a long moment, just holding each other, the day's events settling around us. The sun is low in the sky, the air is cool, and for the first time in a long while, everything feels perfectly at peace.

No matter where we are—Wyoming, Scotland, or anywhere else—this is where I belong. Right here, with Patrick.

Later in the evening, we're laying in bed, bellies full of stew and cookies, sorry, their called biscuits here. We've exhausted our bodies over the past few days and use tonight to just relax and talk.

Patrick's head rests on my chest as I gently run my fingers through his coppery tendrils of hair at the nape of his neck. Our conversations go on about everything and nothing, laughing about the ridiculous moments in times of our past, and teasing each other like we always do. One topic that's been on my mind since feeling his scars under the tattoos and now the jagged one on his forehead, is how they came to be. There are way too many to be self-inflicted, and not once have I witnessed him try to harm himself. Someone had to've done this to him.

And the thought has my heart aching for him.

I continue playing with his hair, enjoying the feel of it sliding through my fingers. It's then that my fingers brush the edge of his beanie, the soft knit fabric an almost permanent fixture on his head. The question I've been holding back slips out, consequences be damned.

[August] "Why do you wear your beanie all the time?"

There's a moment of silence, and I can feel him stiffen slightly in my arms. When he finally speaks, his voice is devoid of the playful warmth from earlier.

[Patrick] "It's to hide one of my worst scars."

My heart clenches at the sudden shift in his tone. I keep my voice soft, not wanting to push him too hard or anger him.

[August] "Do you want to tell me about it?"

He lets out a heavy sigh, the weight of it pressing down on both of us. He won't look at me, any I know why.

[Patrick] "It was a long time ago." he starts, his words slow and deliberate as his hand still on my forearm, his grip tightening the slightest. "You… you had a great relationship with your father, correct?"

I nod, even though he can't see me.

[August] "Yeah, I did. He was my hero."

Patrick is silent for a long moment before he continues.

[Patrick] "Well, I dinnae. My father… he was'ne a good man – he still is'ne. He's a drunkard and abusive. The scars that cover my body… they came from his hands. Sometimes his belt, sometimes a nearby object, but his favorite toys were glass bottles." His grip on my arm tightens further as he tries not to choke on his voice. "My maw has scars far worse than mine – [whisper] so many years or torment."

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I feel a rush of emotions swell up inside me – anger, sadness, a deep, protective urge. I didn't grow up with parents like that, thankfully, but my best friend Wade sure did, and he still struggles with it twenty-five years later.

My hand moves instinctively to his forehead, tracing the jagged three-and-a-half-inch scar beginning at his hairline and trailing down near his right eyebrow.

Patrick continues, his voice detached, as if he's telling someone else's story.

[Patrick] "My peers at school… they used to pick on me. They'd ask if I was trying to be like Harry Potter when they knew damn well I had it before the books. But they dinnae care, anything to get a laugh." He scoffs, a bitter sound that breaks my heart. "I tried everything to cover it up, but nothing worked. Then Gran… she found me a couple of beanies, and I've worn them ever since."

I swallow hard, my throat tight with emotion.

[August] "You're so fucking strong. Everything you've been through… it's incredible. You're courageous, powerful… you're a warrior, Patrick, you know that? You are . I'm so proud of you for enduring all of that and for living every – fucking – day after."

His breath catches, and I can feel the wetness of his tears against my chest as his body begins to tremble. I blink back my own tears, holding him tighter, as if that could somehow take away the pain he's carried for so long.

[Patrick] "Thank you." He whispers, his voice barely audible. "Thank you, August."

We lay there for a while, both of us shedding silent tears, sharing the pain and the comfort in equal measure. I kiss the top of his head over the beanie, right where his scar begins, a shudder running through him.

After a while, I pull back just enough and he shifts so I can look into his eyes. I brush my thumb over his tear-soaked cheek.

[August] "Patrick. Would you ever consider… not wearing your beanie? Maybe just around me? I just… I enjoy your hair. It's part of you. I enjoy all of you."

Patrick's eyes still glisten with unshed tears as a tentative smile tugs at his lips.

[Patrick] "Maybe someday." He whispers, and it sounds fragile but hopeful.

I lean in as he shifts his body forward, our lips meeting tenderly, the kiss expressing everything words can't begin to reach. When we finally pull apart, my whisper hides my heartache for him.

[August] "Thank you for exposing a hidden part of you. Your words, this moment, it stays here. It goes no further than us. I promise."

Without speaking, Patrick covers me with his body, wraps his arms around me, lays his head in the crook of my neck, and weeps.

In this small cottage, in this quiet moment, I realize just how much I've come to love this man – every scar, every tear, every piece of his soul. And I know, with every fiber of my being, I'll be here for him, even if I'm a continent away.

_ THE NEXT DAY _

It doesn't matter what time I go to bed; I have always been an early riser. If I'm not at least up with the sun then I must be dying.

Waking up and watching the sun rise on the patio with a hot cup of coffee is the perfect way to begin the day. Only, that cup of coffee has now turned into damn near half a pot, and Patrick still isn't up. Doesn't he know I wanna get outside? Maybe I'll leave him a note saying I'm at the barn. I'd love to take a horse out and ride in the pasture or spend the day working with the cows. Then Fiona gave me the idea of having a picnic and taking him up on a spot in the pasture where the sunset is the best destination to view it.

But I want to make sure he is okay after the conversation we had last night. Patrick did remove his beanie, but it wasn't just for me, it was for himself. I held him through the pain, kissed every scar, wiped away his tears, and when we did finally fall asleep, his dreams turned to terrors. He had to get this out, to fight the internal battle waring within his mind. Patrick won't be all hunk-dory in a day – it might take years – or it may never truly leave him. The choice is his. I should know, I'm going through my own battle myself.

One thing I've come to learn about Patrick is the way he diverts certain topics while in conversation. His body language and expression will give me enough of a hint at where his head is at this morning.

A half hour later Patrick stumbles from the bedroom dressed in nothing but his boxer briefs. No beanie. His coppery hair is wild and sticking up on one side as he rubs away the sleep from his eyes. He makes a beeline straight to the coffee maker and pours himself a cup not even noticing me. I stand at the open patio door and watch him fix his coffee with just a splash of milk. I notice him tapping his thumb and middle finger in a repetitive beat then he relaxes as takes his first sip of coffee.

[Patrick] "What are ye doing?" He asks as I take in how relaxed he is… it's a good sign. Let's see how far that will go today.

[August] "Standing here admiring the local wildlife." I peer at him over the coffee cup in my hand. Damn , I love that confused glower of his.

[Patrick] "There isn't any animals –" I cut him off by slurping my coffee loudly, all while he's staring at me with amusing eyes while trying to maintain his scowl. "Scottish wildlife – Scotsman." He rolls his eyes and grumbles. "Yer such a knobhead."

I chuckle and set my mug on the table before making my way into the kitchen. When I get to him, I settle my hands on either side of him, pinning him against the counter.

[August] "Mornin', stud." I grin and don't make it too obvious I'm studying him.

[Patrick] "Morning." He sips his coffee, playing off how close I am to him.

[Patrick] "Ye say ye love to ride? So, that's what I want. Ride me, cowboy." There is challenge in his stare, and this is one challenge I will never turn down.

[August] "In that case, I better saddle up." I feel him harden in an instant as I stare into his eyes, a smirk toying at the edge of his lips.

[Patrick] "I want ye naked, August." He pauses and eyes me with a hungry glare. "Only, a proper cowboy cannae ride without his hat."

[August] "You got that right." I kiss him, the taste nothing short of intoxicating battle with our lips and tongues. God damn. I can't get over how right this feels between us. He pulls back and slaps his hands on both my ass cheeks, gripping them hard, and grinding our cocks together.

[Patrick growly] "Let us see how long ye can stay on the Scottish bull before he bucks ya off."

I reach over and grab my hat off the peg and place it on my head then give him my slyest grin.

[August] "The best ride I've ever had is on a Scotsman."

Patrick takes my hat and sets it on his head, his cheeks pinkening the slightest bit.

[Patrick] "Or maybe… I take ye fer a ride this time, cowboy." His demeanor relaxes, his grip on me tightening the slightest. "I trust ye'll make me feel good."

[August] "No, not good, Scotsman." I pause to growl in his ear. "I'm gonna make you feel incredible ."