Page 14 of Hell and Gone
Everett hesitated. He hadn’t planned on camping on the range. He had basic supplies with him only.
Lawrence waited until he’d dropped out of the saddle. He tossed him a thin bedroll and compressed sleeping bag from a gear pack he’d stowed behind Trigger’s saddle. “You take the princess roll, Army. I can sleep on the ground.”
* * *
Nightin the Crazies was still and cool, the winds dying down as soon as the sun sank below the horizon. A thousand stars winked on, glittering so low in the sky Everett thought he could reach out and bat them down, scramble up Crazy Peak and cup one in his hands. In Afghanistan, they’d been on the roof of the world, so high up the air was thin to breathe, but even there, he’d never felt so close to the sky.
He sat in front of the fire, legs spread wide, stroking his thighs. Soreness wore through him deep in his muscles even three weeks after saddling up for a whole day in Helena. Buck had told him it would take a few months to get used to the saddle, really used to it, to where he could ride for days and not feel it in his bones.
It was all he could do to keep his eyes open, even though he hadn’t eaten yet.
Two skinned rabbits roasted over the fire. Lawrence had told him to build a fire pit while he’d unpacked one of his rifles and headed into the dark woods. Minutes later, there were two shots, and Lawrence came back with dinner. He’d skinned them and gutted them as he walked Everett through setting up the campfire spit he had in his gear pack.
Clearly, Lawrence had camped on the range before. This was not his first night away from the ranch.
Everett got the fire going while Lawrence finished preparing the rabbits. Crouching in front of the flames, Everett’s thighs had screamed, fire racing down his legs from his hips to his shins. His back ached, too, a stiffness that rose from his ass and grabbed his spine. He’d rolled his shoulders, tried to arch and twist free of the soreness.
“Back achin’?” It had been the first words Lawrence had said in over an hour.
“Back, legs…” Everett sat back on the downed tree trunk, stretching out his legs, the soles of his boots pointed at the crackling fire. At least he had a good pair of boots. It was the first thing Buck had told him:turn right ’round, go buy yourself the best pair of ropers that fit your feet. Don’t come back until you do.
Lawrence came up behind him and squatted down. He tried to turn, see what was happening, but Lawrence’s hands were on him before he could spin. Solid, warm hands slipping under his jacket. Even though his shirt, he could feel the warmth of Lawrence’s touch.
His thumbs kneaded into Everett’s lower back, fingers splayed across his hipbones. Digging in, pushing against the tight muscles, rotating around through the knots that had formed. Everett groaned, the sound pushed out of him, and he sagged forward, tipping his chin to his chest.
“Takes a while,” Lawrence said softly, “to get used to it.” His voice floated over Everett’s shoulder, gravely and thick, as his thumbs continued to knead.
Everett’s mind abruptly swapped the comfort of the campfire and the gentle massage with another possibility, another night of hands splayed on his back, a man behind him, fingers gripping the skin over his taut hipbones. Everything shifted, changed in an instant, at least in Everett’s mind.
He went rigid beneath Lawrence’s touch, spine stiffening, head popping up.
Lawrence’s hands came off him, and he stood smoothly, walked away. “That should help.” He wouldn’t meet Everett’s gaze. Instead, he went to the rabbits, turned the spit, and stared into the flames.
“Thanks,” Everett said, after a log shifted and spat sparks into the ink-spilled sky. “I appreciate you not giving me a hard time about me learning the ropes.” It’s not what he’d expected, not from his first impression of Lawrence Jackson.
“You know, none of this is easy. Livin’ out here, workin’ the land. This life. Most mornin’s, we’re crawlin’ out of our bunks before the sun does, ‘n’we shovel down our coffee and our breakfast while we’re workin’ up the horses. We work the herd, cuttin’ and movin’ across rough country, up and down the slopes, in and out of canyons and gulches, under the blazin’ sun and into snow and ice. Work the land until you’re raw, and then do it all again, day in and day out. That ain’t easy, and it ain’t for everyone. It takes a certain kind of man to want to get out here every day, wrestle with Mother Nature and all her moods.” His gaze flicked over the flames to Everett. “Takes time to learn that, and you’re gettin’ along. That ain’t nothing to make fun of, a man makin’ his way.”
He didn’t quite know what to say. “Thanks.”
“’Sides, you’ve got skills of your own. That trackin’ you did back there?” Lawrence shook his head, rubbed one hand over his stubble. “I been out here my whole life. Been huntin’ one thing or another just as long. Lost cattle, stray horses. Game. Scaring bears off from the herd. I’ve tracked just about everythin’ on four legs across this land and back. But what you saw? How you were able to get into the mind of the rider? That was somethin’ else. Was almost like you could see him.”
“Hunting a man and hunting an animal are two very different things.”
“I can see that.” He stared over the flames again, holding Everett’s gaze. “So you may not yet have the cowboyin’ all squared away, but you got a dangerous mind on you, Army. And I won’t make fun of you for either of those things.” His lips pursed. “But I will be makin’ fun of you for that awful hat.”
“My hat?” Everett pulled his ball cap off, the black one emblazoned withStock Detectiveacross the front. “What’s wrong with my hat?”
Lawrence shook his head and looked down, sighing. When he met Everett’s gaze, there was laughter in his eyes. “No cowboy would ever be caught dead in a hat like that. It’s offensive to the eyes.”
“Seems to work just fine.” Everett pulled it back on. Lawrence grumbled.
They sat in silence, only the crackle of the flames, the spitting sparks, and the fat sizzling off the blackening rabbits splintering the night. It lulled Everett, and he’d moved to the dirt, his back to the log, and stroked over his aching legs, his sore thighs.
Lawrence had him eat his rabbit off the spit. He took his own in his hands, pulling apart the meat and eating it with his fingers, sucking the fat and juices off his skin. Everett’s eyes strayed across the fire, watching him, watching his lips move through the smoke. He forced himself to look away.
After, Lawrence checked on the horses, hobbled with a picket line and grazing to their hearts content on the meadow grasses. Everett heard his low voice rumble through the darkness as he sweet-talked them both and fed them treats. That deep timbre, that rich, rolling voice, reached back into the center of his chest and squeezed. He shifted, trying to ignore the heat in his blood.
It had been a long time since he’d let his eyes trace the lines of a man or had felt the prick of desire crawl under his skin.
