1

Ianto dressed quickly, pulled his jacket around his shoulders, and hurried outside.

Cool air struck his cheeks as he crossed the yard, his footsteps light over the dewy ground. He stepped through the barn door to the now familiar scents of horse and hay. By the light of a lantern, Jack was shovelling shit out from under Alice, dropping it into a wheelbarrow.

Ianto stood in the doorway, pulling his jacket tighter around his shoulders, waiting for some instruction.

"You might want to shovel out some of the mess before you start each morning," Jack told him.

A few moments later, when the stall was clean, he pulled a small stool up beside the cow. He reached for a bucket and set it down with a clunk.

Ianto was still standing by the door and feeling rather silly, swallowed when Jack leaned out of the stall and looked at him, his dark fringe falling forward onto his face. "Coming?"

He nodded and then stepped toward him. "Where do you want me?"

He placed his large hand at the small of his back, guiding him to the stool. "Have a seat right there. Alice, be still."

Ianto sat down, now at eye level with the cow's broad side.

Jack knelt down beside him. "You're going to have to spread your knees apart to lean forward."

Ianto tried to suppress his blush as he slowly spread his legs.

"Now grab hold of her teats and squeeze."

Ianto reached forward, but as soon as his fingers wrapped around the warm teats, Alice took an anxious step sideways and knocked Ianto off the stool, onto his behind.

Ianto's head hit the wall and immediately began to throb.

"Alice!" Jack called out. "Be still!"

He set the stool on its legs again.

"You okay?" he asked, as he helped Ianto up and Ianto nodded, trying to hide his shakiness, but also trying not to melt into the warmth of his strong hand.

"She knows you're a stranger," he said. "She'll be better this time. Try again. Show her who is boss."

Ianto nervously reached forward, steadying himself for another fall, his heart thumping away inside his chest.

Why did he have to do this? Couldn't Jack continue with it?

Obviously, Alice preferred him. But when he wrapped his hands around the warm teats, he discovered Jack was right. Alice stood still long enough for him to get a tight grip.

"That's it. Now squeeze the milk out."

Ianto squeezed with all the strength he possessed, but nothing happened. He'd never felt so incompetent in all his life.

"Keep trying," Jack told him. "You have to get a feel for it."

Ianto squeezed and squeezed until his knuckles turned white, but still, no milk. "It's not working. What's wrong?"

Jack stared down at Alice's full udder. "She won't let the milk down. Stand up.

Let me try."

Ianto moved aside and Jack sat down. He wrapped his hands around Alice's teats, and without any effort at all, he drew milk into the pail like a song.

"You have to pull and squeeze at the same time," he said. "See?"

And Ianto did see. He saw a pair of big, sun-bronzed hands, capable and strong, yet gentle at the same time massaging the milk out of Alice's udder.

Coaxing it with a natural rhythm and he wondered ridiculously if Alice was enjoying herself.

When Ianto remembered how Jack had caressed him on their wedding night, he wasn't surprised Alice had kicked her aside.

"Now, you try," Jack suggested.

Ianto squatted down on the stool again, this time making an effort to imitate his husband's style. Nothing happened at first. Then a drip fell. "There! It's working!"

It wasn't long before Ianto, too, was coaxing the milk into the bucket in steady, forceful streams. He was doing it!

"Well done," Jack said.

Ianto glanced up to find him smiling. That smile was so rare, it was captivating. It made his body tingle and his bones turn to jelly.

The milk stopped coming and the barn grew quiet.

Ianto tried clumsily to fix his grip, wishing he could understand the nature of these feelings that kept rising up within him. He didn't understand why he was so desperate to please a man who had treated him so appallingly that first day and seemed determined to resent him forever.

Ianto dropped his hands to his knees to rest them for a minute. Glancing up at Jack, he searched his expression for some sign of warmth or affection. Or desire.

He stared down at Ianto for a long moment in the lamplight, then he looked away as if he had something else pressing to do.

Feeling rejected, Ianto returned his attention to the milking while he wondered if Jack had seen the emotion in his eyes, or felt his desire to mend what was broken between them.

If he had seen or felt it, it was obvious he had preferred to ignore it.

Jack gave Alice a pat on the back. "It shouldn't take you much longer. Just keep going until the milk stops coming."

Then Jack quickly turned away and walked out of the barn.

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A few days later, Ianto leaned over the butter churn, pumping vigorously and massaging his sore back, when he heard the skipper pull into the yard.

He quickly abandoned his work to prepare the fried salt pork with gravy, corn bread and coffee…Jack's usual mid-day meal.

He was slicing the bread when the door swung open.

"How is the work going?" he asked, realizing he asked the same question every time he entered the house for lunch.

He always gave the same answer as he descended the steps and hung his white Stetson on the hook. "Fine. It's coming along."

When he approached the stove and went for the coffee pot, Ianto noticed a rip on his sleeve.

"What happened to your shirt?" he served up his food and set the plate on the table.

He tipped the coffeepot over a cup. "Gem tried to nip me."

He walked toward him to examine the rip. "The horse did this?"

"Yes, but I deserved it. I nearly knocked her tooth out setting the bridle in place. Clumsy, I guess."

The torn fabric hung down to reveal his bare, muscled arm. Ianto folded the sleeve back in place to see if it was a clean tear. "I can fix this while you eat. Why don't you take it off?"

He paused with the coffee pot still in one hand, the battered tin cup in the other.

Their gazes locked on each other's, and Ianto became aware that he still held the torn fabric in place to cover his skin.

"It can wait until tonight," Jack said.

Ianto steeled himself, fighting the oncoming blush. "But what if you hook it on something? I'll have twice the sewing to do. Take it off now and I'll be done before you finish your lunch."

Jack hesitated, then set down his cup and turned away from him. The muscles in his back tensed and relaxed as his arms came up to pull the shirt off over his head.

Ianto stood behind him as the shirt fell into his waiting hands.

It still held heat from his body and moisture from his hard work. Ianto had to fight the urge to press it to his face and smell the outdoors mixed with his rugged, and intoxicating, male scent.

"I'll be quick," he assured him, turning to find his needle and thread. His hands trembled as he dug through his belongings, all too aware of his shirtless presence at the table.

When he finally found what he was looking for, he headed for the door without looking up.

"Where are you going?" Jack asked his mouth full of food.

Ianto paused at the bottom step. "It's too dark in here. I need better light."

He hurried up the stairs with the shirt draped over his arm, wondering how Jack had the power to reduce him to this—to make him melt like butter at the sight of his shirtless male form.

But that smooth muscular chest and broad shoulders, sun-bronzed and covered in a fine sheen of glistening sweat… Good God.

With a huff, he folded onto the chair outside and began to stitch the torn sleeve.

When he was nearly finished, he heard Jack's boots tapping slowly up the steps. He quickened his stitching, wanting to be done before he reached him, and in the panic, pricked his middle finger. "Shit!"

He immediately slipped it into his mouth, sucked hard for a second, then pulled it out with a pop before returning his attention to the task of mending his shirt. Before he could complete it, Jack's shadow fell across his lap.

"Stick yourself?" he asked.

Ianto nodded.

"Don't rush it. I'm not ready to face the haying just yet. I think I ate too much." He sat down on the ground beside him with his back against the wall of the dugout.

All was silent as he stitched his shirt at record speed, refusing to look up, even for the space of a single heartbeat. Yet he knew exactly where and how he was sitting, still distractingly bare-chested. He had one leg bent and a forearm draped across his knee, his white Stetson tipped forward over his eyes. And those hard, rippled muscles at his core…

Ianto was beginning to perspire heavily.

When he tied a knot in the thread, he sat up. "All done?"

"Yes. Good as new." Ianto examined his handiwork, then flapped the shirt in the wind.

They both stood up and Ianto handed the shirt to Jack, while keeping his gaze lowered the entire time.

Jack slipped it back on and cleared his throat. "Back to work, I guess."

Ianto also cleared his throat, nervously. "Yes, back to work."

Jack walked to the skipper, examining where the tear in his sleeve used to be. When he hoisted himself up into the seat and gathered up the reins, he paused, staring straight ahead.

Ianto raised his hand to his forehead, shading his eyes from the blinding glare of the sun, watching and waiting for him to be off.

Instead, he looked at him. "Thank you for mending my shirt, Ianto."

Ianto's lips fell open. He gazed up at his perfectly angled face, his jaw peppered with stubble. For the first time, he felt as if he'd been rewarded.

"You're very welcome."

He thumbed the brim of his hat, and then the skipper ambled forward and out onto the vast prairie.

Ianto returned to the house, skipping once on his way to the door.

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Later that day, with a shiver of disgust, Ianto flicked a firehopper off the tablecloth. Before he could blink twice, another one leaped into its place.

"Getaway!" he cried, swiping it with the back of his hand.

Goose bumps rose on his back and arms like a thousand wriggling spiders.

Rubbing his palms on his thighs, he collected himself and turned back to the hot stove. Earlier that afternoon, he'd collected some wild greens Martha had told him to look for, mixed them with some salt pork, onions, and potatoes, chopped everything up, and made a stew.

He bent forward and removed it from the oven, breathing in the aromatic tendrils of steam. He wondered what Jack would think of it.

Ianto looked up at the open door when he heard the skipper roll in. It seemed a little early for Jack to be returning. He went to see what had brought him home.

As he emerged from the tiny dugout and into the sunny afternoon, a hot and drowsy stillness enveloped him.

It seeped uncomfortably into his skin.

"What are you doing home so early?" he asked, trying to shake away the uneasy feeling.

Jack hopped down from the skipper and landed with a thud.

"There were too many firehoppers." He walked toward him, his brow furrowed.

"I noticed a couple of them, myself."

He removed his hat and stared at the darkening horizon.

"Would you like some supper?" Ianto asked. "It's just about done."

"Not yet."

He stared at the sky for another few minutes, pacing back and forth, then donned his hat and moved past him toward the house where Janet was dozing.

Jack stopped outside the door. Janet stood up, her long ears pressed back. Whimpering, she padded toward Jack, who squatted down to scratch behind her ears. "What's the matter, girl? Do you smell something?"

The dog looked around and began to bark. Ianto walked to the edge of the house to see if there was a skipper approaching on the road, but nothing moved, not even the grass.

Nothing chirped or sang or squawked.

A single nervous breeze lifted Jack's hair off his shoulder and then quickly disappeared as if it had hurried to take shelter.

Feeling anxious, Ianto hugged his arms around himself.

"Darn," Jack grunted, then marched angrily toward the geranium plant Ianto had set outside the front door. "What's going on?"

He removed his hat and used it to slap at the petals, shaking his head the whole time. Only then, did Ianto notice the firehoppers falling from the shivering leaves, flitting about in a panic.

"Do you usually get this many insects?" he asked.

"Never." His tone was laden with concern.

Ianto stood in silence, not knowing what else to do.

Jack replaced his hat again and looked at the dusty window. Firehoppers were beating against it as if trying to gain entry to the house. "I think you better close the front door."

Jack picked up the damaged geranium plant to give to Ianto to take inside. They stared at each other, both of them pale with worry.