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“I’m not interested.”
    “What is it with you? You’d have to be gay not to want to poke that.”
    Warren stayed quiet.
    Tim’s eyes went large. He grabbed Warren’s arm painfully and held him close. “Oh my God, you’re a fag, aren’t you.”
    Again, Warren stayed quiet.
    Tim let go of Warren with a disgusted shove and headed to intercept the girls across the room. Warren turned away, gulped down the remains of his drink, and headed out to the bus.
    The next day Tim didn’t speak to Warren. Nor did he any time that week. It wasn’t long before Warren heard whispers regarding his orientation, many of which were not polite. When Tim had the gall to suggest he could silence the crowd as long as Warren put in a good word with management, Warren started scouring the classifieds for another job. He wasn’t about to have his sexuality used as a tool for blackmail.
    That was the second time Warren’s orientation had caused him anguish. He wasn’t going to let it happen a third. Within two months, Warren had moved to a new job a hundred miles away. His focus was to be good at his job, become socially able, and
never
let anyone in the workplace know his real self.
    Since then, even not knowing his sexuality, more than one person had tried to befriend him to use him in some way. In recent years, it was his position in a company that made him a target. As far as Warren was aware, he treated everyone with equality and respect. It was that single-minded focus and fairness that gained him his admirable reputation and standing with employers.
    BY THE time he finished recounting—and revisiting—the memories, Warren was emotionally drained.
    Carl’s eyebrows were raised, and his mouth was slightly agape. “Jeez, that’s gotta be a bit lonely, i’nt it? I know I complain, but I’m lost without the missus, me babies, and the kids running about—even if they are somebody else’s and a bloody nuisance at times.”
    Warren smiled at Carl’s admission before adding his two-penn’orth. “Work tends to keep me occupied to the point where I’m thankful for the peace when I get home. I guess it’s something I’ve gotten used to. Not that I’m set in my ways, considering I’m in the process of changing my life around, but I... I dunno. I’ve never thought about it in depth.”
    By the time the dregs of Warren’s tea were visible, he had deemed his private life spoken about enough and changed the subject. After that, the men swapped chitchat for a while.
    With man and beast fed, watered, and well rested, Carl unexpectedly gave Warren a hug, told him not to worry about a thing, and returned to the yard. Warren ventured out with Argo again for an amble around the hills. He ruminated on the possibility that the whole village was speculating about his sexuality. A sexuality he’d never advertised, because he had his outlets.
    The prospect of him being out and proud for
all
to see hadn’t featured in his thoughts before, as he knew he’d move on at some time. But in Walmsley Hackett, a place he’d chosen to make a home, wasn’t it time to be free? From what Carl said, it was clear some women wouldn’t mind. But what if word reached his workplace? Could he keep people wondering for a while longer? Until he retired? That thought made him feel old, even if he knew he wasn’t. After all, forty was supposed to be the new twenty.
    Argo suddenly tossed his head, jolting Warren from his thoughts. Riding wasn’t something he did to sort out his head. The time for that was later in the evening, with a cognac in his hands and no possibility of falling in a heap. No, riding was a time to clear the mind of clutter and concentrate on horse and scenery. If one didn’t, one was liable to be dumped in the mud. Riding a live animal could be unpredictable, no matter how trusted the steed.
    After a game of jump-at-every-bird, Argo settled, allowing Warren to enjoy the sun on his face and the breeze at his neck. It was soothing,