The preserve was nothing to anyone now. It was finishing out a year’s worth of sporadic, booked-up tours, and then he could close up shop and figure out what the bloody hell he was going to do after that. The only thing Charles or his father had kept in the preserve were the Arapawa goats, and they were the one thing keeping him sane. They lived in a six acre fenced area; a rare breed, his father had been working for years to raise their numbers in the States. There were two dozen now—not nearly enough, but it was progress. Of course, when he sold, he couldn’t keep them. Wherever he was headed, it would be no place for a herd, and that tore him up a bit.
Robert was the one exception, of course. He was a simple pygmy, not the Arapawa, but he was the first real and honest thing Collin had done with himself since he’d laid his father to rest and signed the papers, taking responsibility for the entire preserve. One of his friends had put him in contact with a sweet kid named Chaz who had a runt rejected by its mother. Born too small with three legs and one eye, he was diagnosed with failure to thrive.
Collin spent six weeks with a baby bottle and a slurry of goat formula and somehow managed to raise up the most stubborn, obnoxious, terrifyingly intelligent creature he’d ever laid eyes on.
Digging a hand into the back of Robert’s neck, Collin sighed. “We don’t need a husband, do we? We have each other.”
“Meeehhhhh.”
Collin rolled his eyes as his companion head-butted him again, so he reached for Robert’s bowl and began to compile his food mixture. “You wouldn’t want to trade this mess for some beans on toast, would you, mate? Wouldn’t mind an easy morning here and again.”
Robert would, in fact, love beans on toast, but Collin never gave in. He fed Robert before letting him out to graze, then took his own coffee and an iced bun to the porch to stare out at the fog drifting through the trees.
One more tour. He had one more camping and rafting bullshit tour with six city dwellers to get through, and he could kiss this part of his life goodbye. He could take back control and do something that felt like real work. He wasn’t entirely sure what yet, but he would. Probably. Someday.
Even if today wasn’t quite that day.
Collin arrived two hours ahead of his upcoming party, his truck rumbling to a stop around the back of the station. He saw Michael’s car there which meant the rafts were probably prepped and ready, and all they’d have left was an equipment safety-check and to review the next day’s storm and rapids report before heading out.
With a sigh, Collin hopped out of the truck, going around the back for his equipment bag, then walked in through the side door. Michael was inside at the desk with his feet up on the corner, but instead of his hiking gear, he was in his Park Ranger uniform.
“You can’t be going in that, mate,” Collin said, lifting a brow. “It’s a two day trip.”
Michael gave him a burning look—one Collin had seen on him before. The kind that said, You’re hot when you’re bossy and annoying. And once upon a time, Collin had considered it. When he was a little drunk, a bit lonely, and a lot horny. But as attractive as Michael was, he was not Collin’s type. Hell, no one was Collin’s type these days. He didn’t want to condemn himself to a life of solitude just because Grant was an arsehole and left him during his Tuesday lecture, but it was hard to trust after something like that.
“Half of the six canceled,” Michael said with a shrug. He dropped his feet and leaned forward, his thick fingers digging around in a box of doughnut holes. “I figured you could handle three on your own.”
Collin’s brow furrowed. He reached for the file folder with the consent forms and paperwork, and he took note of who was left. There was Spencer Kawa who had been booked with the two others, and then there were Maxwell Caldwell—bloody hell, he could only imagine how the poor bloke had suffered over the years for a name that rhymed like that—and his boyfriend Trent. Collin judged in private. Trent was such a twatty little name, but this one he hoped for the best. He’d gotten an email a few weeks back from Maxwell who had booked the trip, asking for Collin to suggest a good spot for something romantic. He assumed either proposal or engagement photo shoot. Or maybe the poor bloke was trying to impress and wanted to get laid.
It wasn’t the first time that had happened. In fact, in the short year Collin had been doing the sporadic tours, at least eight percent of them had resulted in a proposal. Ironically enough, it was the same percentage of people who had also said no, but it was usually by a very posh-looking, very blonde, can I hike in these heels, sort of woman.
Not that Collin wanted to judge gender by name, but he had a good feeling it was two men this time, and the small piece of him that still believed in romance wanted to save what little was left in the world for his community which had been denied it in public for so long. It was the one reason he’d scouted out a location—past the shitty painted goat and through a small clearing of trees. His original plan had been for Michael to take the others to look at a bush or a tree or some other innocuous bit of forest that would have impressed the people who hadn’t seen anything green beyond the succulents inside Starbucks, but the cancelations threw a wrench in his plans.
“You want me to take the tour?” Michael asked, interrupting his thoughts. “You look a little green.”
Collin closed the book and shook his head. “I’ve got it. My last ever, anyway.”
Michael looked startled for a second, and it made sense. Tours were a way for Michael to pass the time, but he’d been a park ranger before Collin got there, and he’d be one long after. “Oh shit, I almost forgot about that. What are you doing next?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? What the bloody hell was he doing next? “Well, I’ve still got the goats.”
Michael laughed. “Don’t remind me, Heidi. Oh, and by the way, you owe me fudge.”
Collin grimaced. He had a few projects with his usual supply of goat’s milk. Soaps, lotions, a few sweets, and he bottled some of it for the general store. But it had been a low birthing season with four stillbirths, which cut down on his supply.
“I’ll get it to you soon as I can, mate.” He nodded, then walked past the other man and through the back door which led down to the creek bed.
This was the only part he loved—well, aside from the mechanical, boring as hell tour-guide speech he had to give every time. His brother had scripted the worst parts of the tour, and he’d wanted to change it, but he was bound by expectation that his clients had gotten from their website.
Never again, he reminded himself. Just this once more, and then never again. He dragged his hands through his hair, then set to double and triple-checking their camping supplies. Spring was unpredictable with the flash floods and micro-bursts. More than once, the trails to and from the river had washed out from a spontaneous shower, and the skies weren’t looking promising. They might hold out for the first day, but he was willing to bet rain on the second.
He threw some extra rain gear into his pack, then pulled out his phone to check the weather. There was a nasty one brewing the next day, but it was slow moving and it looked like he’d have just enough time to get the tour done with and the three men off to the busses before it hit. It might mean hunkering down at the station if the group wanted to stop for photos, but he could live with it.