AN: Unbeta'd.
For the Weary
Calving was his favorite time. He'd work all day and into the evening, thinkin' on the food he didn't have time to eat. The boys at the ranch were all good about keeping coffee going, though, especially at calving. The black graininess of old, cold coffee turning thick like bile in his empty stomach staved off whatever hunger the birthing of calves couldn't keep his mind from.
At the end of the day, long past dark, Ennis drove home to crawl into bed, maybe grabbing some bread or leftovers first. Alma never rolled close those few nights 'cause Ennis hadn't showered in a couple days by then. She wanted distance from that filth.
He'd sleep so deep he didn't dream. Liked those nights, too. Felt like he was livin' a halfway normal life.
Days, he worked until his muscles burned, told himself it was the pain inside workin' its way out. His daddy used to tell him hard work and pain made a man strong. If anything that man'd ever said was true, maybe it was this. Maybe this would make him strong.
And for a while he felt it. Didn't think about much, didn't want much, didn't need much. Didn't hurt much beyond the muscles. For a while, he thought he'd his life the right way.
But calving was just like the bitter coffee-- it didn't hold, couldn't live on it. It was just something to get you through the hard times until you could rest.