The Cowboy and the Hacker (Farthingdale Valley #5)

18. Zeke

Chapter 18

Zeke

B y the time Zeke shucked his boots and showed Cal how to store them, he was worn to the bone. And happier than he’d been in a long time.

It wasn’t that he’d been miserable working at the guest ranch or in the valley. Or that he’d been unhappy during his time with Betty Lou, either. It was just that?—

Yes, he needed to be honest with himself. The second he’d settled in the saddle on Flint’s back, and took up Dusty’s lead, then looked back to see Cal astride Applejack, it was as if a new light had shot right through him.

Sure, Cal’s smile was only half a smile and there’d been something in his eyes that Zeke wanted to get to the bottom of. And he would as soon as he found the right moment.

But, riding with Cal along the banks of the Yellow Wolf River, with the blue sky overhead and the wildness of the canyon rising on either side, everything felt new. Anything was possible as the fresh breeze drew his cares and tossed them away.

It wasn’t until they’d stopped to water the horses from the river earlier, and while Zeke had studied the water, smelling rain in the air, that he’d realized how alone they were in the wilderness, together alone, with only each other to rely on. He’d felt a new sense of intimacy, a bracing attachment as he watched Cal mount Applejack, and swung himself astride Flint.

In his old life, his before life, he’d lived among other riders, and ring managers, and rodeo clowns, and pickup men. Walked across more sawdust-lined walkways than he cared to remember, shook too many hands to count and, before he’d met Betty Lou, dossed down with any number of waitresses, as he’d always had a thing for a hardworking woman.

Being with Cal was different. To find himself being hard pressed to not look at Cal was a whole new experience.

Men had never drawn him, but Cal did. It was those long legs, and the uncertain but careful way he held the reins, the watchful, determined expression on his thin face, the almost shy way he continually looked to Zeke for direction. Even for approval.

All of this grabbed at Zeke’s heart. It was as if Galen’s proposal to him the season before had become a prophecy of sorts.

Except what kind of man would imagine that Zeke could fall in love with him? What kind of man was Zeke that canyon walls and a sky reaching for rain could make him even think he was thinking?

Well, at least they had two tents. At least he could retreat to his own thoughts in his own tent.

But when he finally called a halt to their little parade, two men, three horses, he soon discovered that Cal had neglected to pack both tents.

Zeke had noticed that yes, Cal had a tendency to forget things sometimes and, upon discovery, would say Um in that fearful, hesitant way, shrinking back, his gaze skittering past Zeke as if he imagined a blow or at the very least very aggressive shouting would soon be forthcoming.

That happened this time, as well. Zeke ran the scenario through his mind, where there was only one tent, and not two, and considered the intimacy that would create, all the while aware that Cal was watching him.

He responded, as he always did, that it didn’t matter and that, in this case, one tent was easier to set up than two.

As with an abused horse, it was always the kinder option to forgive and retrain rather than force. Besides, Cal never needed to be told anything twice. When Zeke showed him something, whether it was how to tighten a saddle or adjust the reins, Cal was quick to learn.

Zeke knew full well that Cal would never again forget to double check what he was packing into a pannier for a rustic ride through a canyon.

The only-one-tent scenario wasn’t the problem. Zeke knew he could control himself in any situation, but his heart was full of feelings and the wide open sky had taken the lid off his soul.

It took him all the way until they’d settled with mugs of coffee, cross-legged side by side, watching the night settle over the canyon, the lights of the stars sifting in and out of gentle rain clouds, before he felt he had a handle on things. On himself.

It was easier in the dark, anyhow, to get into the rhythm of closing down their camp for the night, checking the horses on the tie lines, making sure the fire was fully out, the small burner and can of butane stowed safely away. And even the flutter of his heart could be quelled as he showed Cal how to properly store his cowboy boots, because, as he could plainly see, Cal was nervous as hell.

About being so deep in the wilderness? About him? Zeke didn’t know.

A nervous horse, though, Zeke knew how to handle that. Focus on the horse.

So he focused on lowering his own heartbeat so the horse would have a chance to calm down. Got undressed in the dark and slid into his own sleeping bag, feeling the cool zipper along his arm as he settled on his side, facing Cal in the dark.

“The sleep pads make a difference,” said Cal, his voice shaky. “At least I didn’t forget two of those.”

“It’s easy to overlook something if you’ve never done it before,” said Zeke, keeping his words nighttime low.

“What’s that noise?” asked Cal. “Is the river rising?”

Zeke listened a moment, breathing with low, slow breaths, sensing Cal doing the same in echo.

It wasn’t the river, though there was a rise in sound, as though the rushing water was powering over the rocks with more force. No, it was the tip-tip-tip sound on the roof of the tent.

“That’s rain,” he said. “We should pull the boots in. The saddles and equipment will be fine because we covered those, but the boots?—”

Cal was up, unzipped the tent and, before Zeke could stop him, scrambled out into the rainy night.

It was hard to see, but Cal had only been wearing briefs and a t-shirt. The rain picked up, and by the time he came back into the tent with two pairs of boots clasped to his chest, he was more than a little soaked.

“You need to change before you catch cold,” said Zeke, sitting up in his sleeping bag. “Your shirt, at least.”

But even as he said it, he knew their extra clothes were tucked inside the panniers, and that there was nothing for Cal to change into. Already Zeke could hear Cal’s teeth chattering.

“Lay the boots on their sides, just at our feet,” said Zeke. “And here. Take off your shirt.”

Zeke stripped off his own t-shirt and handed it to Cal, and took Cal’s damp shirt and rolled it and placed it to one side. In the morning, it could be hung from a saddle to dry as they rode along, and in the meantime?—

“Put this on.”

“Um.”

“ Cal .”

As Cal put the t-shirt on and then slid back into his sleeping bag, Zeke could sense his distress. He blamed himself for not thinking about the rain enough to consider the boots. But it was done now. And Cal would be warm at least, if only he’d stop fretting.

“I screwed up,” said Cal, a tad muffled.

“You didn’t,” said Zeke. He settled into his sleeping bag, into the fading warmth of it, the polyester slithering against his bare chest and back and arms like silk. Felt the soft brush of the bear scare against his skin. “I should have planned better about the boots.”

“But I?—”

“Cal, listen to me.” The sharp words echoed in the small tent. “You’ve never done any of this before. You don’t know everything, but I tell you what. You learn fast. You’re smart. T-shirts will dry, and you and I?—”

The words felt heavy in his chest, as if they were the lid on all the feelings in his heart. All the unexpressed, still-new questions he’d been asking himself, the most important of which was Who am I?

“Cal.”

Zeke turned and reached out to curl his fingers around the back of Cal’s neck, encountering the dampness from the rain, the coolness of Cal’s skin. He tightened his fingers, but gently, only to draw Cal’s attention to him.

“You need to sleep. In the morning, we’ll ride into Aungaupi Valley and rescue those mustangs. That’s all that matters now.” When Cal didn’t say anything, he asked, “Understand?”

“Yeah.”

The word was soft. And Zeke didn’t let go.

Instead, beneath the pull of his hand, Cal rolled on his side, facing Zeke. The tension in his hand released as Cal moved close, just about tucking himself beneath Zeke’s arm, the tickle of Cal’s bear scare making him shiver.

That closeness struck Zeke, enveloped his heart. He tucked his hand and shifted his grip to pull Cal even closer until Cal could duck his head beneath Zeke’s chin.

With horses, you waited until the wild ones picked you out of the storm. Zeke still didn’t know the whole story of Cal’s past, but there was a storm inside of him that he carried all the time.

As he felt Cal’s breath against his bare skin, two different men battled inside of him.

One man was focused on Cal and what he needed, on bringing a wild pony in where it was safe.

The other struggled with a silent, singular awareness that felt so new it was dangerous. To hold Cal close because he wanted him?—

There was nothing wrong with that kind of want. But it was wrong to take advantage, and Zeke did not, and would not, do that.

In the meantime, he left his arm around Cal’s shoulders, breathed slowly in and out, and listened to the rain on the tent, and the roar of the river.

When he awoke, he was aware that he’d pulled Cal even closer, an embrace of lovers the morning after. Yet there had been no kisses, and there lingered no exotic languor, only warmth and Cal’s scent.

His body stiffened as he meant to let go, to remove his arm and step into the tasks for the day: packing up, saddling up, and riding the rest of the way to the valley to free the mustangs.

He would have let go. But Cal clasped his hand and tightened it to him, tucking himself more firmly inside of Zeke’s embrace. Trapping Zeke exactly where he wanted to be.

Snuggled close, Cal’s head tucked beneath his chin, the steady pace of his breath leading Zeke’s heart down a path where he wanted to go. Shouldn’t want to go, but he did.

His whole body wanted to open up and tuck Cal even further into his arms. Wanted to whisper against Cal’s sleep-warmed skin and say things that only his soul understood.

“Hey,” he said, almost whispering the word.

“Hey,” said Cal, looking up at him with those big blue eyes, his face thin in the shadows of the tent, as the sun had yet to slice over the edge of the canyon walls.

For a moment, a long hard heartbeat, Zeke let himself be pulled into those eyes. Let himself absorb the warmth of Cal’s body where it spilled out of Cal’s half-zipped sleeping bag and into Zeke’s own.

This was good. All of it soaked into Zeke and he let it, staying there without stopping it, just letting it be.

If only they could stay like this forever, he and Cal, the horses, the canyon and the river, rushing on to its own destination, unhindered by anything, even itself.

His body stirred and tightened, new yearnings beneath his skin, a whisper of the imagined taste of Cal’s mouth and the way he might blink slowly if Zeke kissed him, rolling in the shock of being treated with kindness. A young horse. The first good touch.

“Everything okay?” asked Cal.

His voice was rough, as if he needed water. The horses needed water, too, and feed, maybe salt.

They needed to continue on their journey. Zeke needed to get the morning started or he would be surrendering to the impulse of want and desire and the pull of Cal’s half naked body.

He leaned forward and touched his forehead to Cal’s. Then pulled away, not allowing himself to tremble with denied want.

“Good morning,” he said. “We need to get going. I mean—” He took a breath. “We could mix up some oatmeal over the stove, but if we take care of the horses and then have beef jerky and water on the go, we can get to those mustangs by mid-morning. What do you say?”

“I say let’s go.” Cal cleared his throat. He stirred in Zeke’s arms, as if he meant to slide out of his sleeping bag and into his clothes. But he stayed right where he was.

“You have to know,” Cal said.

“Know what?” asked Zeke.

“This is the best, the very best time I’ve ever had in my whole life.”

A stillness followed those words, as though they were in a church, the words a prayer.

“I agree,” said Zeke, feeling vulnerable and safe at the same time. “I didn’t know how stuck I felt until we started riding out yesterday.”

“Stuck?” asked Cal. He licked his lips. He needed water and Zeke needed to stop this intimate moment before he full-on kissed Cal. “But you can go anywhere. Anywhere.”

“Obligations, you know,” said Zeke. “They might be self-made, but they can hamper a man.”

Outside of the tent, the horses nickered, as if they sensed their human companions were awake and fully able to deliver salt and oats and, perhaps, horse cookies.

“We need to get going,” said Zeke.

“I know,” said Cal. He brushed his forehead against Zeke’s once more and took a deep breath.

They got going. It was painful, but they did it, getting dressed, pulling on boots drug out from the bottom of the tent.

Cal found his slightly damp t-shirt and, struggling with the exchange, he gave Zeke’s t-shirt, body-warm, back to him, while Cal pulled on the damp one.

Zeke opened his mouth to protest the exchange, thinking he could wear the damp t-shirt, but the sight of those bruises, no longer fresh, that peppered Cal’s neck, his waist, stopped him. When he found out—not if, but when —who had made those bruises, he would most certainly be up for some violence.

He closed his eyes. It was so easy to care for Cal, to want to protect him. So easy, even as his eyes tracked Cal’s movements as he pulled on his cowboy boots, and slithered out of the tent, to imagine that he was the kind of man Galen might ask out and, after, to ask for more.