Calvin’s Cowboy by Drew Hunt Page B

do some of my own banking, too. Who’re you with?”
    “Chase, the same as you.”
    For a second Calvin wondered how Brock knew where he banked, then realized the name was on the check he’d given him. This set Calvin thinking. He figured Brock was probably overdrawn and the check would merely go to pay off the bank.
    As they walked, a number of people either stopped Brock to talk, or just nodded in his direction. Calvin felt himself standing just that bit taller being next to such a popular and well-thought of man. And it doesn’t hurt that he’s a fuckin’ hunk, Calvin told himself.
    Standing in line, awaiting their turn at the one open cashier window, Calvin verbalized his earlier thoughts. “Would it help if I withdrew the cash and gave you that instead of you depositing the check I gave you?”
    Brock thought for a second. “Yeah. That would help. Thanks.” He lifted his head and treated Calvin to a small smile.
    Calvin wanted to lean over and kiss the cowboy until his smile widened into the beautiful shit-eating grin Calvin knew it could be.
    “No problem. It makes no difference to me either way.”
    “I’m still grateful, though.” Brock’s smile widened a little, but not as much as Calvin wanted.
    A woman entered the bank, joined the line behind Brock and immediately started in at him. “You said you would come out and fix my leak.”
    “Good morning, Mrs. Patterson.” Brock took off his Stetson. “I gave you a price, but you said you would rather get someone else.” Brock’s voice was quiet; obviously he didn’t want to conduct business in such a public setting.
    Mrs. Patterson evidently didn’t have such qualms. More loudly she said, “I wasn’t paying that! Daylight robbery is what it was.”
    The line moved forward.
    “Ma’am,” Brock said, running the brim of his hat through his fingers, “I quoted you the going rate, a bit less actually, because you’re a previous customer.”
    “And the gutters you cleared for me last year are all blocked up again.”
    Calvin bit his tongue. This had nothing to do with him. Fortunately he’d reached the head of the line and the teller’s window had just become free.
    Transacting his business as quickly as he could, mindful of the bitch still haranguing Brock, Calvin moved back to the line, a wad of bills in hand.
    Interrupting the woman in mid flow, Calvin said, “Here you are, Mr. Brockwell, the full amount like we agreed.”
    Calvin would have left things there, but the woman sniffed with evident derision. That was it. Calvin wheeled on her. “Brock charges a fair price for a fair day’s labor. I for one am more than happy to pay for good work.”
    “Well!” she expostulated.
    Calvin moved to one side. “The teller is free now. I’m sure you won’t want to keep her waiting.”
    Mrs. Patterson sniffed again, and—nose in the air—walked past them.
    A young guy behind them snickered. “Jeez, guy, I’d hate to get on the wrong side of you in an argument.”
    “All part of a day’s work for a New Yorker,” Calvin admitted, but couldn’t help smiling.
    “Old lady Patterson is a real tightwad.” Raising his voice so it would carry, the man continued, “If she stuck a lump of coal up her ass, within a week she’d shit out a diamond.”
    Calvin and Brock laughed over that one—and the resultant stare of disapproval from Mrs. Paterson—all the way to the dry cleaners.
    * * * *
    Brock insisted on carrying the dry cleaning back to the truck.
    “I can manage a few shirts and a pair of pants,” Calvin bristled as they walked down Main Street.
    “I know you can,” Brock bumped shoulders with him. “But I just wanted to do this. It’s nothing compared with what you’ve done for me today, for the past couple days.”
    “Well, if it soothes your macho pride to carry for me, then I’ll live with it.” It was Calvin’s turn to bump Brock’s shoulder. “But don’t make a habit of it.”
    “I’ll try my hardest not