I'm back. Please review. I should be updating this story within the next two weeks. It's got another two chapters at this point. Thank you for waiting as long as you did, and for still caring!
I can't write Cop!Jake without Boomer, but please note this is not connected to other Boomer stories. He's just an OC who keeps popping up in various 'verses.
Sam found that she liked to work in the library, from time to time. It made her feel as though she had a handle on this ranching thing, even though the clock on the old oaken desk was inching past one in the morning. Sam yawned, and pushed the laptop away, looking away from the computer's glare.
The library's shelves were shrouded in the soft shadows of the lamps, the single lightbulbs creating a soft light that was warm and soothing. Cecil slept on, fully unaware that his caretaker was working on into the night. Sam wondered if perhaps the stock dog was used to this chain of events. He seemed to be missing Grandfather less and less, day by day. Sam could not make the same claim.
She felt like a little girl playing at ranching, sitting at her Grandpa's desk, playing with the folders and papers he'd left there. Sam did not feel like the library was her domain, regardless of the changes Miss Martha had slowly made. Sam took tea, for example, in difference to Baby, and so there was nearly always a sugar bowl where Grandpa's ashtray had once been placed.
Sam used a laptop, and the extension cord had been placed for her use. She had made changes to this room, but it was not her office, no matter what anyone acted like to her face.
Still, the work fell upon her shoulders. Sam figured that if she kept staring off, she would never get this done.
She reached for a handful of grapes, only to find the bowl empty save for some stems, and went back to typing quickly, plugging away on data and information that simply had to be taken care of, before she forgot. In truth, she had spent most of the evening digging up information on LandFire and the WSS, just to make she knew what she was talking about when she was out working the machinery and tending to the crops.
Now, she was behind on things that simply had to be finished. People didn't work without paychecks, after all.
Deena Carter voice floated out of the speakers, and Sam knew that she was going to have to turn in before too long. Her body was slowly changing, and the urge to sleep was strong. Cecil's head popped up, and he bounded from the room, hearing something Sam could not discern amongst the sounds of the night on the high desert.
His nails clicked across the hardwood. Sam steadied her curiosity, knowing full well that she was alone in this expansive, old home. Perhaps the dog had merely heard the wind shifting the brush, or the old house settling. Sam tightened flannel robe over her body, and peered into the darkness, unwilling to disturb the serenity around her by switching on the lights.
Sam left the library, and followed the dog, cutting through the kitchen to the side door. "Cecil." Sam gruffly ordered, "That'll do."
However, Cecil was entirely too overjoyed to pay any attention to her. He was nose to nose with his buddy, Boomer. Boomer's handler stood in the doorway, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it over the peg by the door, as though he lived in the expansive home that waited just beyond the door. He moved so silently that Sam thought she was dreaming until a burst of cold air from the door hit her face, shocking her awake.
"You shouldn't be here." Sam admonished him, pushing her unbound hair back over her shoulder, feeling every tendril brush against her fall themed nightwear. A tendril got caught in the placket of her nightgown, and Sam yanked it free. "What..."
"You're not where you're supposed to be, either." Jake returned, pushing past the dogs to head towards the stairs.
"I'm trying to get Gram used to the idea that I need to live here." Sam said, wandering towards the library, wondering how on earth she was going to shove Jake out the door, when she knew full well she wanted him here, with her. Sam shut the lid of her laptop, flicked off the lamp, and continued, "Which doesn't explain your presence."
"Boomer." Jake called, "Cecil."
The dogs came running as though they lived to serve his stupid face, which they did. He was the leader of that ragtag troop, and nothing Sam did to earn Cecil's loyalty changed that. He listened her just fine. When Jake wasn't around. "I'd planned to crawl into your bed until my feet warmed up."
"I'd have kicked you out eventually." Sam boasted, heading up the stairs before him.
The dogs bounded up the steps, no doubt heading towards the big bed in the guest room Sam had claimed as her own, long ago. It was a room that Grandma had always taken pride in, a very soft and feminine room in a home that had been dominated by utility, done up in soft shades of green that soothed Sam's soul.
Jake touched her elbow, as her hand glided along the bannister, stopping her on the fifth stair. "No, see, Brat. You might have rejected my hand in marriage, but you're a modern woman. You wouldn't raise a word of protest against cohabitation."
"We're not living together!" Sam cried, knowing full well she was doing just as he'd expected her to do, "It's one in the morning, and we are not moving in together. You can stay because it's cold and I'm not one to toss anyone out, but we are not cohabiting!"
"You're right." Jake agreed, breezing along to her bedroom, flipping on the light. Sam breathed a sigh of relief, either at his admission of her correctness, or the sight of her pillows, she wasn't sure.
As Sam headed towards the pile of blankets to pull them down, she decided it didn't much matter. "Of course I am." Her robe fell onto the floor. She would pick it up later. The worn flannel of her nightgown called to the crisp coolness of her cotton sheets.
Jake pulled off his watch, the thick metal hitting the nightstand with a clatter. Sam heard him toe off his boots as she hopped upon the old farmstead bed. Sam buried her face in her pillow, and almost didn't hear him speak as he kicked off wind chilled clothing, "It's too late for this discussion. We'll have a sit-down, over breakfast."
Jake pulled the blankets up over them, flopping against the pillows. He sounded smug. Sam wanted to throttle him.
"Eat lead and die." Sam moaned, rolling over, staring at the dark ceiling, "My boobs hurt." The pressure, even from the bed, on her chest was enough to force her to roll over.
"It's counterproductive to bring up reasons we should live together when you're arguing we shouldn't." Jake decreed, pulling at Sam's knee, gently, to fit around her more easily, his work-toughened palm brushing over her lower stomach, before it rose and settled across her body.
Sam was half-asleep then, and the only thing she really cared about was the soft snore in her ear, and the gentle brush of lips in her riot of hair.
Sam woke to the clatter of the vacuum cleaner on old carpet. Her eyes popped open, shaken by the lack of buzzing in her ear. Her phone was silent, still on the high dresser.
Boomer was lying at the foot of the bed, gazing adoringly at her in a way that should have been creepy. In his off-duty time, the German Shepard was nothing more than a big teddy bear. He might be trained to rip throats out, but his natural inclination was to be a lover of all people. Sam didn't mind that he loved her especially.
Sam nearly tripped over him, as his quick reflexes had him standing at the ready, by the time she fumbled out of her rumpled bed. The clock on the bedside table read 9:42. "Can we kill him?" Sam asked Boomer.
The dog's tail wagged piteously, an apology for denying her her request. He couldn't exactly kill his handler, and Sam didn't have the time to deal with a body. Sam went to her pitiably small collection of clothes at Deer Path, and shrugged on an outfit, yanking and jumping to make her jeans haul up and her shirt slide down.
On her way out the bedroom door, she grabbed a hair tie. By the time she was in the bathroom, her hair was up. She quickly brushed her teeth and used the bathroom, palming her prenatal as she bolted for the stairs, "Miss Martha!" Sam cried, taking the stairs two at a time, "I've overslept!"
The housekeeper met her in the kitchen, bustling with energy, her crisp, sturdy, apron covering a housedress well suited to her labors. "Now, dear, there's no need for fuss." Miss Martha said, steering quite clear of Boomer. The big dog looked at the housekeeper with beseeching eyes.
"Jacob told everyone that you'd been up until one working on the books, dear. There was no problem. He and Quinn have filled your shoes, at least until lunch."
Sam patted his fur, knowing that her rejection of his affections hurt the lovable dog. "Well, I'll head out now. Would you mind fixing me a slice of toast and some juice, please? I'm going to go get my coat."
"Now, just so you know." Miss Martha gave her a knowing look as she headed towards the bread keeper, "I know that Jacob spent the night here last night. He tried to hide it, but I'm not stupid. You two don't need to worry that I'll carry tales. I'm proud of you, and what you two do in your off time won't change my opinion of you."
Sam wasn't quite sure what to say. Miss Martha clearly didn't expect any addition or reply as the toast popped up and she quickly slathered peanut butter over the top, "Now, Jacob. I'm thinking he's right stupid, not marrying you years ago."
Sam laughed, "Don't tell him I told you, but I think he's trying." She wasn't sure what compelled her to speak so honestly, but she found that she couldn't be overly angry by his high-handed stunt with the alarms. Her body felt more rested than it had in days and Bill and Paco had things handled. It was lazy, and she would be embarrassed later, but for now, she tried to see his intent, beyond the highhandedness of his choices.
Miss Martha passed a cool glass of juice. "Make him try his best, but do take pity on him, honey. He's only a man."
Sam took the advice along with the toast that Miss Martha handed her, stuffing it in her mouth, popping her vitamin from her other hand, and swallowing juice in nearly one go.
Sam raced to the pasture, her strides causing Boomer to leap in order to keep up. Sam patted his head. Her whistle for Tempest was obscured twice by the smile on her face.
Quinn sat in the bed of her truck, seemingly uncaring that God knew what coated the bottom of the bed. He looked so at ease, like he was meditating, even as she came to a stop in the yard, after bumping over access roads. Dinner was calling, and even Sam had to admit that her stomach was rumbling for want of a meal. His words broke the silence between them, "I think you should be up with Miss Martha, helping her, not running after cattle."
Sam bristled, "Why, because I'm a girl?" She slammed the truck door, and saw Cecil bounding after Paco. Sam thought his nickname was kind of out of place on the whippet thin man. He had the debonair air of his hometown of Porto, and spoke with a lilt about his days working cattle in Portugal and Spain.
Jake grabbed a few buckets, and stepped back, a clear look of warning on his face. Quinn just continued on, "If you were a girl, Sam, we wouldn't be having this discussion."
Sam blew him off and turned away. "It's not your business."
"Sam." Quinn called out, halting her progress.
Sam turned around, Cecil bounding up next to her. Sam jammed her hat down, the wind picking it up slightly. "I'm not a liability to anyone, I'm in charge, and I have to be there."
"It's not about your capability." Quinn countered, "It's about your priorities."
"How about you grow a uterus, Quinn, and then you can tell her what she should do." Jake cut in, slamming the truck door with some force, "In the meantime, shut the fuck up and get to work."
"You called me, and I quote, because 'Sam needs her sleep.'" Quinn said, hopping over the side of the truck bed to land on his feet, "I..."
"She was up until one cutting paychecks." Jake defended, "Not counting dividing cells in her head."
Sam decided that she wasn't going to lay into Jake for his stunt with her alarms right now. She wanted this to play out, first. It was somewhat uncharacteristic for him to involve himself when she and Quinn were, for lack of a better word, squabbling.
"She should be!" Quinn threw his arms up in the air, "What would I tell Mom, if she got hurt in her condition?"
Jake didn't even bother to roll his eyes. The disdain was thick in his voice. "It's not a disease, Quinn, and she'll do as she sees fit."
"Maybe we should talk about your priorities." Quinn drawled, taunting and slow.
Something inside of Sam bade her to keep still. She wondered if the boys even knew she was still standing there, not two feet away from where they were standing, staring each other down.
"Excuse me?" Jake did not give Quinn anything back but the same sarcastic derision he'd been given himself.
"You're so focused on getting her to say she'll marry her that you won't stand up to her, won't dare contradict her." Quinn exploded, "It's cowardly."
Jake, clearly seething with rage, turned and walked away. Sam knew he was seconds away from throwing Quinn back against the truck bed.
Quinn called after him, "See!"
Jake walked into the house, and the screen door slammed with a finality that jarred Sam into action.
"Excuse me!" Sam's knew her tone could freeze boiling water. "I think sticking your nose where it doesn't belong with the sole intention of causing trouble is the Webster fucking definition of cowardly, Quinn, and furthermore, when we get married, it will be solely because we have made that choice, and you will never have anything to do with it."
Instead of firing back, Quinn doffed his hat, and took a courtly bow, "Ladies, gentlemen, and multicellular beings, my work here is done."
"Wha-?" Sam was utterly baffled by his whimsy.
Quinn approached her gently, and Sam did not know what to do about that stupid grin on his face.
"You said 'when' Sammy-girl." Quinn stage-whispered, "You might want to watch those Freudian slips. Or not, you know, whatever."
"Oh my god." Sam breathed, something like relief flooding her mind and her heart. "You had me going."
"I did." Quinn agreed, "You're crazy if you think anybody wants you around uncooked food."
"Don't tell Jake." Sam pressed, "I don't want to marry him because of Baby, but I do want to marry him. He doesn't see the difference and I'm not sure what that'll mean for us."
"I don't think he can, honey." Quinn threw an arm over her shoulder as they took ungainly steps towards the front door, "After all, babies have to be made out of something, don't they?"
Sam looked up at the face just above hers, and gave an honest response. "DNA?"
Quinn sighed.
Boomer's legs went rigid as he came to a hard stop, his goofy face gone. Sam knew that face, knew that bearing, in both the handler and the dog. Boomer was working. Boomer took one long look at Harry, his breath whooshing out from the slits on the sides of his nose.
Boomer gave Harry a long stare, turned precisely on his heels, and marched resolutely over to Sam, and sat, loaded like a spring, placing his body in on top of of Sam's feet. "Boomy, be nice to our guest."
Boomer looked up at her with a slight tilt of his doggy head. You cannot be serious. I am not pleased.
Sam patted his furry head. "I'm sorry about him, Harry. He's been a little funny, lately."
Funny, the dog huffed, How dare you? He put his weight down on her boots, effectively holding her in place, his find signal clear.
"Good Boomer." Sam praised, cutting off her former colleague, "You came home! Who's a good dog? Who had a long day at work and needs ham?"
Me. I'm fantastic. The dog's tail thumped on the tile in his joy, but he didn't move. Sam couldn't get him to do that, not really. He looked up at her, his message clear. Hamhamhamham. You do love me. Hamham.
Sam laughed and tossed the dog some ham. She'd had it waiting for him. He scarfed it down like he had never seen food before, like he knew he had to get it down before his handler came in the room.
Sadly, they weren't fast enough. Jake came up the stairs into the kitchen just as Boomer's jaw was snapping shut.
He sighed, "Brat, how many times do I have to ask you not to feed the dog?"
Jake gave a hand signal and Boomer popped off of her feet, splaying across the tile between her and Harry.
"He worked all day." Sam patted his head and reached for the kettle. "Harry and I were just going to have some tea because somebody's afraid of the turkeys in the barn. Want some?"
The tray had already been prepared by an eavesdropping Miss Martha, who had stayed in the kitchen, interested and almost wary as a stranger came into their home.
Sam hadn't been expecting Harry to just show up. He'd gone to River Bend, and Gram had directed him here, and Miss Martha had just gushed over her friend from work. He'd just shown up, like it was normal for them to swing by each other's places, like he hadn't driven an hour just to see her. Sam wasn't quite sure what to make of it. She'd been in the barn when he'd came up the road, kicking up dust.
Now she was behind on work because she had to be friendly, and he'd been too scared of poultry to hang out in the barn.
Miss Martha came back into the room from the pantry, having gotten a cake from the cupboards there, and spoke before Jake could. "Miss Sam, I'll bring in the tea to the office or the den. Where would you like me to bring the tray?"
Sam understood the message. Miss Martha had work to be getting on with, and she didn't want Sam underfoot. Miss Martha thought that Sam's mere presence in a kitchen ruined food, Sam knew. The accompanying glance set Sam to moving from Miss Martha's domain.
Sam felt a lot of unease flowing around the room. Jake's stance was somewhat defensive, and Harry was tense. Jake no doubt blamed Harry for the loss of her job. It was silly, but in Jake's mind, it was clear that a less valuable employee, Harry, for example, should have been cut loose from the magazine first.
Miss Martha was outright shooting her a telegram with her eyes. "Uhm. Harry?"
"You have an office?" He said, pushing to his feet, sticking out his hand. "Uhm. Harry Caldwell. You must be Jake."
Jake nodded, slowly. Sam wanted to rip the expression from his face. He didn't need to take the measure of every person he met, didn't need to play cop with every stranger in his home. Instead, she spoke carefully. "Jake, you remember Harry, my coworker from the magazine? He's come up to say hey."
Jake replied, more to her than to Harry, a question hidden in his words. "Must have been a drive."
He wanted to know why Harry was here. Sam did, too. Sam looked away from Jake, having no answer to give him.
"It was nothing." Harry shrugged off the statement.
Sam knew she had to step in before she threw the teapot she'd prepped at Jake's head. This was agonizing. Jake had forgotten his good manners, and once Miss Martha snitched on him to Max to Gram, well, it wasn't going to be pretty.
"Harry, let's go get settled. I'm excited to hear what's going on at the office." She shot a steely glance at Jake, "Feel free to join us when you're able."
To remember your manners, that is. Sam eyes were expressive, but Jake was not cowed. In fact, he simply put his hand on his hip, just below the holster he pretty much always wore and grinned unrepentantly at her.
Sam rolled her eyes, turned on her heel, and followed her friend to the library. When she entered, he was sitting on Cecil's spot on the couch. Harry spoke, "You never told me how intense he was. I thought he was going to throw me through a window."
Sam shut the door quickly, knowing that Jake would hear if they weren't careful. He would so enjoy being called intense. It would be like Christmas for him, and Sam was no about to let him have presents after being so stubborn. "No, things are just a bit up in the air."
Sam didn't want to say that Jake just didn't like people. It was the truth, but it seemed unkind, and Harry was forever making jokes. She wanted to make some excuse about his work schedule, but that seemed somehow to be a cop out. "He's a good man."
"So, swanky digs you've got here." Harry noted, crossing his legs, avoiding, as they always had, any hint of personal relationships.
Sam wasn't sure what to say to that. The ranch wasn't hers, and though she knew it was impressive, it was a home to her. To admit that it was swanky, as Harry put it, seemed to be bragging. "The ranch has been in the Ely family since the 1920s. We haven't changed it much. The house, I mean. When I was growing up, my grandparents lived here. There was so much laughter in this house. So in that sense, you're right. It is a wonderful place to be. I hope it will always be as happy."
"You sound like you could be giving a house tour, Sam." Harry grinned, "Ever considered it? You could have a sideshow brooding cop."
"Be nice." Sam admonished her friend, "Or Miss Martha will walk out on us and I'll end up having to cook for all the hands."
"You'd kill them." Harry snorted, "You can't even make a sandwich, and people left you in charge of this place?"
"She's done well." Jake spoke from the quickly opposite doorway, easily balancing a tea tray in his large grasp. He set it down with a gentle thunk on the side table, because the desk was cluttered with papers. "I'd like to see anyone do better."
"See." Harry said, as Sam moved to the tea tray and began to pour. "That's what I came to ask you about, Samantha."
She looked up from placing sugar in Jake's cup, her fingers warmed by the heat of the pot. She felt Jake's warm gaze upon her, and the moment was so perfect that she was almost transfixed. She lived for tiny moments like this, the tiny moments of daily life between them. They had been rare gifts in the last few years since finishing college.
Jake's grin slowly bloomed. "Sam."
"Oh." She jumped softly, looking away. "You were saying? What do you want in your tea, Harry?"
Jake retreated to his customary chair with his tea and cake, and Sam prayed they would keep this visit short. She knew that Harry and Jake would be like oil and water, and Harry wasn't always nice.
Harry grinned. "Lemon, please. Never thought I'd see the day when you drank tea over coffee."
"I prayed for it." Sam thought, before she could stop herself. She wouldn't admit that out loud, but she had prayed for Baby. Sure, she never expected this now, never wanted the circumstances to be like this, but she had always prayed for the health and the gift of being in the position of needing decaffeinated tea. It was something she would choose a thousand times over, and the gift was in the free choice to do as she wished.
Out loud, she said, "I like tea just fine."
She walked across the room and passed Harry his own mug. "Thanks." His words broke into her thoughts.
She turned back and poured her own mug as Harry spoke. "Women ranchers. I'm doing an article for the magazine. I need to follow a female rancher around for a while and get a look into her life as a modern woman."
"Well, I can introduce you to Trudy." Sam exclaimed, glad to help. "Her ranch is mostly a rescue for horses. She keeps a few head of cattle around for income, but it's all about the horses." She thought for a second, "Or even Gloria Manchester. She'd love you."
"There are a lot of young women who ranch around here, then?" Harry asked carefully, blowing haphazardly on his tea. Sam watched drops splatter on the sofa, and inwardly cringed.
"Gloria's sixty-five if she's a day." Jake disagreed, from his sprawl in his chair, mainly because he made his life by being a disagreeable wretch, "And Trudy, well, she's not much younger."
"My idea for the story is to really understand the juxtaposition between the timeless tradition of ranching and the new generations of women coming to the fore of the profession." Harry explained, "I thought the tension and the chance to advocate for female ranchers would be right up your ally, Sam. You love that FarmHer thing."
"It is." Sam agreed. It did sound pretty cool. Sam only wished she had thought of the idea before she'd lost her job. She could see the layout, forming in her mind, the pictures blooming before her eyes. "I just don't know who you want to meet. Maybe Missy?" She looked at Jake, "Do you think Missy would fit?"
"Maybe." Jake slowly allowed, "She's got all that stuff with 4-H, though. And isn't she having another baby? She's pretty busy when she's pregnant, and Mike..."
Sam huffed. "You have got to stop. They are perfectly personable." Sam gripped her cup carefully.
Jake flicked a glance at Harry. "He needs to be prepared to go away without getting in over there. Missy's got a right to say when things are not a priority for her. She's got enough to do with the ranch and with a baby on the way."
"Missy sure does." Sam agreed, rolling her eyes, knowing he wasn't talking about Missy. "I'm sorry, Harry. I wish I could do more."
"You're ignoring the obvious, Sam." Harry grinned like the Cheshire cat, "Aren't you a rancher? Aren't you female?"
Sam sighed. There was so much going on in her life that she didn't know if she wanted to open the door to Harry. She had secrets right now, secrets that could hurt a lot of people if they came out too soon, or in the wrong way. "Harry, I don't know. I don't make all of the calls, here. We'd need to call a meeting."
That was technically a cop out. Jake knew it. She could have made this call by herself. Sam felt his disbelief from across the room.
"A meeting?" Harry asked, carefully stuffing cake into his mouth, a big blob of frosting falling back on the plate. His mouth was full when he spoke again, "What kind of meeting?"
"A family meeting. I'll need time to get in touch with the boys and Jake's parents." She glanced at Jake, whose face was shuttered and assessing, "Is Grandpa still off grid?"
He nodded, swallowing some tea, and responded. "He would want us to come to a consensus, but you know who he put in charge."
The vote of confidence meant a lot to Sam. She pushed to her feet, Cecil bounding up to her, and Boomer following, crowding her ankles. "I'll go make a few phone calls and see what we can do to help you." Sam hesitated at the doorway, "You should know, though, that the family has always been hesitant to open the doors of Deer Path to the media."
Harry spoke, "If I'm putting you in a bind, I'm sorry. My job's on the line, Sam, and I didn't know what else to do."
Jake softened the man's worry, from where he stood, getting cake, "She's only doing her job and warning you, Harry. Drink your tea."
She started at the top of the phone tree. Luke good-naturedly agreed, and wondered aloud why she was even asking. Kit didn't bother to even ask why before he said to do whatever she wanted to do. Seth's reply was more measured. He hesitated and finally told her to do what she thought best but not to sign any legal documents without him present. Adam and Nate returned her texts and told her respectively to follow what feels right, and to make sure she gets photo credit. Quinn, though, insisted on meeting Harry at dinner tonight.
Miss Martha looked at Sam as she made the phone calls, tut-tuting ominously, and Sam didn't know if she was tutting over her contribution to dinner, or the way Sam tried to weasel out of helping a friend for her own ends.
Sam sighed, and went back into the room, cursing the burning daylight and the fact that Harry had come and interrupted her work. Jake was reading his Modern Farmer and marking up inaccuracies in the articles with the pen from his pocket, and Harry was tapping on his phone. Sam spoke from the doorway, "Harry, instead of a family meeting, you've been invited to family dinner."
"Cool. Is the lady who made the cake cooking for us?" He appeared to have eaten a second slice in her absence. There were crumbs all over his lap and her antique, overstuffed, sofa.
"Yeah." Sam admitted, leaning into the side of Jake's chair, "My grandmother. She'll love you."
And she did. Gram just loved his stories of Stamford. She loved his tales of being a reporter, a young man in the city. She most especially loved the way he stuffed his face with abandon.
Dad seemed utterly confused by the addition to the table. Brynna and Cody were out at Boy Scouts, but Sam knew that if they were here, Dad would be looking to his wife for clarification.
Quinn was furious when Sam finished explaining. "No." He bit out, setting his fork down, "Absolutely not."
He threw his brother a cutting glance. "You're not backing her on this. You can't do that."
"Who says?" Jake challenged, setting down his glass of lemonade.
"Grandpa would have a cow. The old man would drop dead." Quinn exaggerated his words, ever the drama queen, "He would just drop dead in the middle of County Cork and I don't think you want to be guilty of murder, now do you?"
"Why do you think he'd be upset?" Gram asked, drawing quick order to the sparring that would no doubt break out without her calming influence. Luke and Max couldn't make it, so of course Gram had taken charge of moderating the banter.
"Well, there's no one there to help Sam." Quinn spluttered, "No one to help her balance work and company..."
"That's just bull, Quinn, and you know it." Sam asserted, knowing full well that Grandpa trusted her wisdom and her judgement. "There's just no room here or at Three Ponies." Sam repeated herself. "And really, what's the worst that's going to happen?"
"I know there's no room. " Quinn's eyes narrowed. "And I think you know, don't you? You wouldn't want there to be questions later, is all I'm saying."
Sam sucked in a lungful of air, shocked and horrified. Her hand dropped before she could consider the action. Thankfully, the protective gesture was hidden by the table.
Jake tone was like lightening, sharp and jarring. "There is a line, Quinn. Mind it."
Sam knew she needed to help here. Jake looked insulted, wild, at the barest implication of what Quinn was dancing around, teasing about, and it was clear that Quinn did not expect that level of vehemence in his own brother's voice.
Quinn looked nearly cowed, behind his bravado. He looked surprised. Sam knew that he was joking, but the surprised look on his face did nothing to erase what he had implied, ludicrous though it may have been in reality.
"Nobody would ever question-" Sam broke off before she finished the thought aloud. Now was not the time to tell her father that Jake was angry because Quinn had insulted her integrity, but also their baby, in a way that was sure to play on Jake's worries and insecurities. It was low for Quinn, lower than the usual bullshit that left his mouth when he was on a roll. "Never. Jake, be serious."
"You are making a fool of yourself, Quinn." Dad spoke carefully. "I see nothing wrong with anything anyone has planned. The piece might do us all some good."
"You don't get what I'm saying. It's not...not..." He floundered, playing on Gram's old passion for social convention when he couldn't come up with anything logical, "What would people say if a guest was just left to languish while Sam worked 14 hour days?"
"Come on!" Sam all but shouted, "I lived with your sorry behind during college! I lived with you and Jake and that skeeve you called a roommate. I think I can handle a houseguest."
"I, dear heart, am your beloved brother." Quinn pointed with his butter knife, "And that skeeve is my best friend. I don't judge your choice of best friends. God knows I really should."
"It's not as if Harry expects a guest treatment, do you Harry?" Gram attempted, "After all, he has a job to do that is predicated on that fact that this a working ranch he's visiting."
Harry did not reply, wisely staying out of a family discussion by stuffing more roast beef in his face.
Sam insisted, "I won't be a part of this. I can't make him see sense."
"It's not you." Quinn soothed, "I just don't know about somebody being all up in our grills when you've got so much going on. How are you going to manage the ranch with a guest to see to, when you know that he doesn't know a hereford from a hayloft? I'm only thinking of your needs."
"Jake!" Sam hissed, "You need to fix this. You need to fix this, because I am thirty seconds from yelling and throwing my water in his face, and there is a drought on. Think of the water table, and fix this."
Jake sighed, put a gentle, soothing, hand on her arm. Sam couldn't but help and lean into it.
Jake thought for a second. Sam saw it in his face. "Quinn's main objection is the lack of people in the house. He feels company is a liability when you have so much work. He would stay but he can't because of his hours with the firehouse."
Sam glowered. Wasn't that just great? Quinn could point out some imaginary problem but effectively remove himself from taking part in a solution, by virtue of his role in the department.
"So, I'll do what I have to do to make this work and stay while Harry is doing his story because Quinn is an immature child who doesn't know when to step off."
Jake ignored Gram's soft admonishment.
His tone dropped, and Quinn was pinned down with his brother's gaze, "Sam did something nice for you by pretending you have a say, Quinn. You don't. You never have. So I would watch myself and the words that came out of my mouth if I were you."
Jake looked stoic, but she saw the realization of what they've been pushed into behind his eyes, saw the falsity of Quinn's concern, and knows she's been played. She's been played. She played right into Quinn's hand, and is now living in sin with her baby daddy.
If her father only knew. Sam snuck a glance at her father, but he isn't looking her way. Sam is glad, as it gives a moment to hide the hot blush that had stolen across her body. She would rip into Quinn, if only she could do so now.
Quinn looked bemused, "Oh please. You should never take anything I say seriously. I never mean anything I say."
Sam wondered if he had ever meant that he would support her in this. Twisting her arm and turning her life into a game didn't feel like support. It hurt. Her baby was not a joke, her pregnancy was not a source of amusement, and her problems with Jake were not a source of fun. There was a time to grow up, and Quinn had forgotten that fact.
Dad replied before anyone else did, "I'd love to be let in on the joke here, Quinn, because nothing about what you just did was funny. Now Jake's put out because of your tomfoolery and you've embarrassed Sammy in front of a colleague."
"Needs must, Pops." Quinn sighed as Sam stabbed her leftover food with a fork, "It really is for the best. For the record, Potter, don't flatter yourself." Harry looked up quickly, and the message confused him, clearly, "You were merely the means to an end."
Sam settled into evening chores, trying to ignore the reporter dogging her heels. Paco called out just as she was dumping the last of the grain into Razzle's bucket. "Miss Sam, would you mind coming and looking at Dill? His knee is messed up."
Sam knew full well that she was being so openly consulted for the benefit of her pride. The whole ranch was talking. Gram never did learn how to keep things quiet to Miss Martha, and now it was clear that everyone around here felt she needed a little building up. That, or they were trying to garner favor with the person who made their meals, never mind the fact that they could care less who signed their paychecks.
"Sure." Sam set down the bucket on her way out of the barn, and saw Paco standing there with Dilly on a lead. Dill had a look of pain about his face. Sam had been doing a bit of massage with the old guy lately. Fall weather can be hard on a senior horse. She spoke for Harry's benefit, mostly, who was standing there, behind her, like a specter.
"I worried about that slide he took out in the pasture." She ran her hand down his knee, checking for injury. Dilly sidestepped when she pressed on his shoulder, and Sam shushed him, using soothing words, "Who's a good old buddy, Dilly? Just let me have a look." She took all of the information in, the way he's standing, the almost imperceptible swelling. "Can you get him to square up?"
Paco did, easily, with a gentle click, and Sam saw then that the swelling in his shoulder seemed more prominent somehow. Yeah, his knee hurt, sure, but the knee was a common assumption for him, and Sam was reluctant to take the first and most obvious answer. It just didn't seem right, somehow.
"I think it might be his shoulder." Sam allowed, "I don't really see any swelling or injury there, but his shoulder is slightly inflamed." Sam considered her options. "Tomorrow, we can give Dilly his rest, and put somebody up on Red. I think that nobody'll be put out by that."
Sam prayed it had not come out as a question.
Paco rocked back on his heels. "I'll set the old boy up for the night, Miss."
Sam shook her head, reaching for Dilly's halter. "You go on to your poker night, Paco, I've got this." The hands have a poker night from time to time, and Sam would not stand between them and a little tame fun.
Dilly rubbed up on Sam, his gentle way of seeking attention warming her heart. Sam tilts her head back at Harry when Paco looked reluctant. "My friend Harry is really wanting to learn. You'd be doing him a favor."
Paco grinned, "Anything for the press." He walked off, back to finish bringing the horses in for the night, as Sam stood, rubbing Dilly's soft nose.
Sam looked down at where Dilly had moved towards her, and notices that she's covered in horse hair, dust, and dirt.
She smiled at Harry, who had given her space to engage with Dilly and Paco, "You said this job was glamorous. You lied."
Sam did not reply.
Harry grinned, and plugged his nose dramatically. "So." He dropped his fingers when his voice came out nasally, "Can I interview you?"
Sam clicked, coaxing Dilly into a walk that she hopes does not bother him overmuch, "What do you want to know?"
"Why are you doing this?" Harry asks, looking around at the garden she hasn't had the time to tend, the chickens she needs to put up for the night, the lazy cat who escaped the house, and the expansive land beyond the ranch yard behind the larger barn they're heading towards.
Sam considered her words. She doesn't know how to say that she never wanted to do anything else. She always knew she would build a life on a ranch. She hadn't expected it to be this one, or in this way, temporary like this, but she knew it was the start. Sam figured that when Grandpa came back, she'd be almost close to delivery, and then, well, she'd take some time and then ask Dad for a job. "This..."
Sam looks around again at the overgrown garden, the chickens, the barn, the horse by her side, before going on, "This is my soul, Harry. When I look around, I feel right, and I feel good, and I know I'm doing something valuable. I go to bed exhausted, and I wake up with a to-do list as long as my arm, but what I'm doing finally makes a real difference."
Sam had realized a few weeks ago that nothing she'd ever written had actually changed the world. But this, this work, did. The ranch wouldn't fall apart if she wasn't at the helm, but Sam also knew that she was valuable, and the work that they did together was meaningful.
Harry is silent, and they go about chores with the silence heavy between them.
Sam was almost as sorry to see Harry go as she was to see him arrive. She hadn't known it at the time, but him being here had been a buffer between her and reality, between her and the people around her, people who would soon require some answers. Sam didn't know what Harry's story would become, but she was glad to have been a part of it, in the end.
Work didn't end, though. Sam woke up a six the day after Harry hit the road, and saddled up Tempest. She had pastures to check, a few hundred acres to manage, horses to medicate, goats to tend, a bunch of phone calls to make, and at least one bill to pay before the day was done. But as the sun rose across the playa, Sam raced the sun.
The feeling she got as she flew across the playa on a horse she had loved since her mare's birth was what she could never explain to Harry, no matter how hard she tried. She couldn't make him understand the boundaries between agriculture as an industry and the life she led, couldn't help him to see how being able to drive her combine didn't make her a better woman, only a different sort of person, not because of the skill, but because of the role she played as a professional. She couldn't help him to see the traditions, the way things had always been done, and the way those traditions were forever being challenged and refined and changed by the progress of time and the innovation inherent in agriculture, because she didn't have the words.
She didn't have the words to explain, and he didn't have the context to understand her complex relationship to the food, fiber, and fuel system. It was business, sure, but it was also about stewardship.
Sam had been thinking a great deal about the future, lately. She guessed that Harry had picked up on that, because he'd all but grilled her at length as to how the ranch had come to be in her hands. She had no real claim to Deer Path, no real claim on the Ely name. Harry had been a bit confused. He'd assumed her role here was predicated upon her relationship to the boys, and Sam had quickly, if indirectly, debased that notion.
From there, though, a problem had arisen. She did a lot. She was going to need help. And it was on her to find that help. There was no way that, in the next few months, that 16 or even 12 hour work days were going to be possible, psychically, mentally, or emotionally. She knew that Baby would only be small for a time, and she wasn't about to lose that time. Provisions would have to be made.
Sam turned Tempe out, and headed into the house at River Bend, cinnamon wafting through the air as Gram stirred something on the stove. "You're here early."
"I couldn't sleep." Sam allowed, pulling out her customary chair, "I think Jake and I are going to end up arguing today, and I'd like to get it over."
Gram flipped off the stove, and wiped her hands on her apron as she turned around. "Why not decide to have a talk instead?"
"Because." Sam said shortly, "I can't make that stubborn man see sense."
Gram's blurt of laughter was shocked, uncontrolled. "Sam." She chided her granddaughter as she pulled muffins from the oven.
Sam's stomach flipped."I'm actually here because I need to talk to Dad. What kind of mood is he in?"
"What happened?" Gram was instantly suspicious.
"Nothing." Sam promised, her stomach tight and thick as the molasses wafting through the air, clawing at her innards, making her feel disgusting. "I just need advice on hiring a hand."
"You've decided to take someone on?"
Sam had come to this conclusion with much difficulty after the last few days. She had no real choice. She was going to need a bit of support, or she was going to work herself into the ground. She couldn't ask any of the boys, because they were busy enough that they couldn't be counted upon, and Sam was sure they would make changes to help her. Sam didn't want that. She was going to cut her own salary, upon which Grandpa had insisted, and clear it, after doing some research. "I think I'm going to be a bit busier than I expected."
"I knew having Harry here would help you with your writer's block!" Gram exclaimed, all but clutching her apron in the joy of her assumptions, as Sam's stomach swam with the thick scent. "It was just what you needed. Deer Path could easily justify another hand, and it would mean you had a bit of time to work on your book."
"There is no book." Sam's toneless voice never made it through Gram's thick skull.
Sam knew that she had to get out of there before she vomited all over. That smell was gross.
Sam all but turned and ran from the room, "I'll go find Dad!" She found that her voice was bright and cheery, and it was no act. The fresh air cleared her stomach just enough to stave off the awful feeling of vomit in her mouth, and that was cause for celebration.
Sam found Dad firing up his truck. He slid down from the cab, his lanky limbs already bearing evidence of barn work. His warm smile, so unguarded and rare, shook her resolve to do the adult thing, as she had planned when coming here this morning.
This was why she and Jake were going to fight. They already had done. Last night, her Carhartt had been heavy against her back.
Sam blew out a breath. The way she saw it, she had a few options. She had to figure this out. The words were heavy in her mouth, metallic and painful, cutting into the roof of her mouth. "I need to do this on my own."
Jake didn't like that. He didn't like that at all. "Not happening." He was bent over the tractor. Sam had to admit that it was pretty. The tractor, not the man. Lord. That was the last thing she needed. Sam's mind insisted that that was exactly what she needed. Sam pressed her nails into her palm, wishing she was not stuck on memories that had quickly become a fantasy.
Anyway. Tractors. She knew it was a divisive topic within agriculture, but Grandfather's fondness for his Farmall was endearing. It was endearing, but she hated that damn machine. Sam hated the tractor. Its beautiful red paint housed the soul of the very Devil himself. If only it hadn't crapped out tonight, she wouldn't be having this conversation, and she wouldn't be thinking about sex and her life would be so much easier.
Sam lowered her voice to a hiss, "He is my father, and frankly, I didn't need to tell you that I am planning to tell him tomorrow morning."
Sam knew that she wasn't as exclusionary as all that. She wanted Jake to be involved, she just felt that Dad would take this better coming from her, and her alone. She knew that there would be time for a sit down meeting later, because like it not, Dad would want to do that, no matter how old she was, no matter how it seemed. She would consent to it, because honestly, her father's happiness did matter to her. Dad would need time to process. And Jake, well, Jake still was Jake.
Jake dropped the wrench. He looked like he was fighting the urge to say something. He swallowed. "God forbid I should want to be involved."
Sam blew out a breath, realizing that he was likely very hurt by her words. "It isn't that I don't want you there."
"Yeah?" Jake asked, "Could've fooled me." He slammed the hood down.
"Jake." Sam knew she was trying not to let herself become emotional. She was a hotbed of emotion. One second she felt like screaming, the next she wanted nothing more than to get naked, and the second after that, she was holding back tears because Jake had sent her a picture of a bunny. "He's not going to take this well. You know my father, and I don't want you to take anything he says personally. He wouldn't mean it, and I..."
Sam did not want there to be 50 year grudges. If Jake were there, there would be, because the man was an elephant and never let things go. He would take anything Dad said personally, and Sam was determined to avoid that occurrence.
"Christ, Sam." Jake tossed down the rag he'd used to clean his hands, and stepped back, facing her, "What is there for him to say? It's not his business, and if he wants to be unhappy about it I..."
"You'd take it personally and I don't want there to be bad blood between the two of you." Sam knew that her father would be shocked. He would say things he did not mean, and Jake would never forget it.
"And you wouldn't?" Jake's gaze softened, "You're trying to protect me, and I don't want your protection, like you're taking the fall for something, Sam. I'm not going hat in hand to your father, like we've done something awful and wrong that we need absolution for, least of all from him. That isn't what this is here, and if it is for you, than you need to really..."
"Shut up." Sam bit out. "I am happy." Though her assertive tone was not a testament to her joy, a glimmer of unexpected joy had woven itself into the fabric of her days and Sam knew better than to question it, "But being happy does not make me oblivious to the feelings of others. Dad's always had this idea of how things should be done..." Sam had never done things the way he'd hoped she might, so she knew that her choices did weigh on him sometimes, "...and he'll need time to adjust."
"How do you think this is going to look to him, Sam, that I'm not there, with you? How's he going to take that?" Jake pressed her for an answer she had no way to give.
Sam didn't, really hadn't...
When she faltered, he continued, answering his own question, "What he will see, Sam, is shame, and a lack of respect for you."
"Nobody would ever think that." Sam worried her lip, the yellow lamp above their heads buzzing. "Would he?"
"I don't care what he thinks about me right now, but you've been tying yourself in knots for days, Sam, and it's got to end so we can figure our life out." He looked at her, "It's just got to end."
"It will." Sam said, and with those words, her resolve strengthened, even as sleep had evaded her that night.
Jake's smile was hopeful, hesitant, and Sam knew that, for whatever anyone else had to say, they were doing the right thing for the two of them, and at the end of the day, that was really all that mattered.
Back in the present moment, her resolved snapped like a wishbone.
There was no way she could tell her father. He wouldn't disown her, or something, and even if he did, it wouldn't matter. He wouldn't take her pregnancy as a personal affront to his childrearing abilities, for she was well into adulthood. What this news would do, though, was disappoint him, as she hadn't lived up to his ideals, his standards. That wasn't what was holding Sam back. She'd not lived her in life in fear of letting him down.
Her pregnancy was, Sam had realized, was a highlight of her life, and the idea that her father wouldn't see it that way was the only thing that made her hesitate. She would wither and hurt if his support, unfailing as it had always been, was taken from her. She had no illusions. Her father was a stoic man, a hard man, given to principles above all else, but she loved him.
"So. Um." Sam began, feeling very ill at ease. "What...would...what would...?" She didn't know what she planned to say when she began. She only knew that the warmth and the ease between them was a moment she could not let pass by her with silence between them.
Dad prompted her when she was silent for a moment, leaning against his truck. "Sam?"
"If I told you..." Sam looked out over the truck, at the sun rising over the desert, and knew that there would be a moment after this, a new day, and she had to forge ahead.
"If you told me..." Dad pressed.
Sam pushed her tongue, forced words. "What would you say if I told you that I'm...having...having..."
"Having a stroke?" Dad joked flatly, a faint line of concern crinkling on his forehead.
"Having...a..." Sam paused, sweat beading under her jacket, "I can't get this out. I know you're going to be disappointed. But I want you to know that I'm very happy with it, and that I wouldn't change it, that I won't change my mind, that I would very much like your support and your involvement, but I'll understand if...or...or...I'll try to understand..."
"Sam?" Dad interjected, but Sam found herself on a roll and full of words.
"I mean, this is the big, one of the biggest things I'll ever do. I know that. But I'm capable. I mean, I can do this, millions of women do, and it's no different for them, and I mean, I have everybody to help me." Sam changed tracks quickly, "Not that I need help. I probably will. I have no idea what I'm actually doing. I guess you figure it out, right?"
Sam's babble slowed to a stop, and Dad looked more confused when Sam finally met his gaze, "I'm pretty good at translating, Sam, but there wasn't actually a subject in any of that."
Sam blurted the first thing that came into her mind. "Will you help me hire a hand? I'm going to have to, with everything going on, and I know as time progresses, I'm not going to be able to keep up as easily, and you know Jake would just have a coronary if I didn't get a fill-in, and I'd rather hire correctly. Grandpa will expect it."
"That's what you wanted to tell me?" Dad asked for clarification, "That you're planning on needing help on the ranch?"
"Yes, you see-Yes." Sam knew she had to come to her actual point before she lost her nerve. Maybe Jake had been correct, because she found herself wishing that he was here, wishing that she could give Baby some silly, happy, expected announcement. Sam felt a pang of regret that she hadn't allowed herself that moment, because of her own perceptions, her own fears. "Because. Well. I'm..."
"You don't have to explain." Dad held up a hand, "You're in charge of your own operation. Best you get used to not giving out reasons, especially if you haven't quite set upon one."
"Oh, no, it's set..." Sam breathed, "Very set, I hope."
Dad pushed away from the truck, and stuck his rough hands in his pockets, "And what does Jake think of this?"
"It didn't happen when he'd expected it, nor I really, but he's...he's..." Jake was as happy about this pregnancy, this baby, as she had ever seen him. He was incandescent with his happiness, though Sam did not say that. Jake for all his happiness was, like her father, a private man. "...ready for this. I honestly think we've been waiting for this, odd as that might sound."
"I should say." Dad had a smirk, then, when Sam looked at him, really looked, after losing the focus of her own happiness. Sam liked to think that Dad knew, even if he did not know. She hoped that a seed had been planted in his mind.
Sam knew she would not tell him anything more, not now. She wanted Jake there. He wanted to be there. Really, he should be a part of this. Maybe now, now that Dad would know something was up, he would think on things, and maybe not say something he did not mean. And if he did, in the very likely event he did, Jake would understand that she had honored his wishes in telling her father, and maybe he would forgive rashly spoken words.
"You know of anybody looking for work?" Sam finally asked, as the weak rays of the morning sun finally crested over the ranch.
"I'll think on it." Dad put a hand on her shoulder as he passed her, pausing when he was in her space, "I think it's great you want to get back to writing, Sammy. You're a good rancher, but I hate to see you put away something you love out of obligation."
Sam let him walk on, followed a moment later, silently wondering how he would react to the news that it was not a book, but other dreams for the future, that had her cutting back.
Sam was covered in dust when Jake showed up, pristine from a shower and fired up from a day of work. "Did you tell him?"
"No." Sam slid the saddle from Razzle's back. The gelding sidestepped slightly, a breathy huff escaping his lungs. Sam knew he was looking forward to the pasture. They'd covered a lot of ground together.
Jake had stepped around Razzle to groom him, and was smoothing back a bit of his hair when he spoke, "I'm surprised."
Sam took in the sharp set of his shoulders, the way relief coasted through her veins at his tone, the efficient way he was grooming Razzle. Clearly, he did not want to meet her eyes. "Hey."
Jake looked up quickly. Having gotten his attention, Sam continued, "I'm...not in the habit of doing things that are going to hurt you."
"You did." Jake countered, the brush of the comb filling the silence, "You still are."
"What do you want me to say, Jake?" Sam argued, "That I'll marry you for the wrong reasons, chain you down for sixty years of misery because we got off on the wrong foot? They are going to grow up and leave us, you know, and then where will we be, if we only got married for the sake of a family?"
"You're saying you don't love me." Jake said, as though the assertion wasn't completely laughable.
"I'm telling you that I love you enough, know you well enough, to know why you're asking!" Sam was glad that she had cleaned Razzle's hooves, and Jake given him a quick brush, because they needed to talk, clearly. "You asked before because it was time, you said, convention, you said, our friends, you said." The pain of those realizations that had come from thinking over his proposal came back in a flood, "You're asking me now because of this baby-"
Jake visibly recoiled, as the stall door shut behind Razzle, "You've made up your mind, then."
"No!" Sam all but hissed, "If I had made up my mind, if I could do what was right, instead of what I wanted, I wouldn't want to marry you. I want to. I've wanted it since I was a stupid little girl. But now I'm just a stupid person. And I can't. I can't..."
Jake did not cut her a single bit of slack, "Can't muster up enough sense to trust yourself, or to even try to trust me!"
"What happens, Jake, what happens the day you wake up and you realize that your life has been nothing but a series of choices based on duty, obligation, and doing the right thing?" Sam postulated, "I'm not going to let you do that to yourself. You can't live your life doing the right thing."
"You're a coward and a hypocrite." Jake asserted, quietly, boldly, without a hint of hesitation, without a care for her feelings, "You're so afraid of doing something wrong that you won't do what you want to do. It's a simple question. What happens the day you wake up, Sam, and realize that in stopping yourself from doing the things you want to do, that you've cut yourself off from doing those right things you repudiate, the really right things, not the things your father always said was right, because he was scared, too?"
Sam couldn't speak. She couldn't find the words. She leaned against the barn wall, wishing the wobbling in her knees would stop. She had never before been so blindsided by his verbosity.
"Brat..." Jake whispered, and Sam shivered with that gesture of intimacy, because he'd really only ever used that tone of voice with that nickname in bed, "When something is really right, they're the same choice. And soon, you're going to see that. And when you do, I'll tell you what'll happen. You're going to wake up fifty years from that moment, and you're going to thank God that you had somebody in your corner, somebody who wouldn't let you make a damn martyr out of yourself."
"Jake..." Sam didn't know what she even wanted to say, not really, but it wasn't like that. It wasn't. She wasn't afraid or sad because she had gotten caught having fantastic, utterly life-altering, sex outside of marriage. She wasn't concerned about that, though she knew the family would be concerned about exactly that.
"I..." Sam's fingers were digging into the lapels of work jacket. Her work boots were firmly rooted on the concrete floor below her, but she knew, she knew right now, that she had to tell him. She had to tell Jake, not that she would marry him, because that wasn't something she'd decided, but that she had never, not once, questioned their love for each other. It seemed important that he know that fact.
"I can't, not now, Sam." Jake's starchy voice was steely, but every bit of conviction had gone from his words. In its place was a tired honesty that shook her to her core, "You've got to figure out what you want, and make it happen. It's on you. I'm always in your corner, Sam, always, but I can't make you see reason. I can't show you your heart."
"Jake, please..." Sam sensed his sadness, his withdrawal, and it hurt, "You've always been what I want. You know me. You know."
"And you say you know me." Jake stepped back, "But you know nothing if you think that I'm going to sit back and watch while you let your dreams die."
Sam knew what she wanted to do. It wasn't the right thing. She should have stayed to finish the day's labor. But it was what she wanted, more than anything. She was not a coward. She was not a hypocrite. She did what she wanted. Case and point: she fled, but the burning intensity of his gaze stayed with her.
Jake was fuming when went to bed that night, stewing over what Sam had said. Sam was conflicted. She who never wavered on the path she walked was wandering aimlessly, lost and conflicted. He knew that and he didn't blame her, hurt as he was by her constant refusal to do what they both wanted.
Still, he didn't pretend to know what she was going through. She had always so hard to prove that she was just as good as one of the boys, that she was tougher, stronger, brighter. She'd had to be, in many ways, to feel like she could hold her own. Jake understood that, from seeing it growing up. But he'd tried to tell her, tried to show her, that there came a time when she just had to follow her heart. Her heart, her soul, was the thing that would guide her. Jake knew that people thought he was pragmatic, and he was, but rarely did he find that what he wanted and what he knew to be right were in direct conflict.
Later that night, flopping over in his cold bed, Jake realized something. He had asked her to marry him, repeatedly. He had spent his life with her. He had loved her with every fiber of his being since he had memories. Sam was the center of his universe. He had no problem admitting that fact, was actually proud of it, proud of what they had walked through together so far. How much he loved Sam wasn't other people's business, but he'd never hide it. Then again, he had never really shown it, either.
They'd been a couple for almost a decade, friends for over two. Sam knew he loved her. But Jake knew that Sam was a woman of action. Looking at things through her eyes, maybe he'd been a bit too hesitant in his approach. He thought he'd put his cards on the table. He'd beat the shit out of Quinn, for starters, and nearly killed him at dinner last week when he'd questioned her fidelity.
Sam thought, though, that he kept going back to the baby. Jake didn't know exactly how to avoid the subject. He didn't want to avoid it. The pregnancy was the best thing to come their way so far, and there wasn't any other way to slice it. Sam was happy about it, and Jake was happy that she was happy, and also happy for himself.
At the Jake blew out a breath and kicked at his blankets. He was focused on getting her to marry him, damn Quinn, but not at the cost of her happiness, not at the cost of their friendship.
He heard a noise outside his window. Jake sat up, unsure and frustrated.
He heard another noise outside his window. Jake huffed, and reached for his watch. 11:48. God. He had to be up at five, and he hadn't slept yet. He never could sleep alone, not anymore. Jake considered his jokes about cohabitation. The few days with Harry at Deer Path had been nice. It had been right, felt right, to wake up in the same bed again, after so long apart. It had felt nice to tease her about her awful hair at bedtime, and to run his fingers over her tired body, knowing that he had no intent other than to hold her while she slept.
Jake blinked out the window in the darkness, and saw something glint in the moonlight.
The noise that Jake had assumed was an animal, was in fact, something on his window. Jake lurched into action when his gaze found that it was a hand against the window, not a pebble from the ground, but a grasping hand from the trellis. Jake hauled open the window. "Have you lost your mind?"
Sam's fingers grabbed at the window, but Jake grabbed her arms, and gently as he could, he pulled her up and in. "I've done this before."
Jake remembered that night. She hadn't been here that night, and had figured the trellis would be easy. She had made that night memorable in more ways than one, if Jake recalled correctly, which he knew he did. She had spent years sneaking in windows, mostly for the sake of the horses.
Sam landed on a heap on his floor, and Jake hauled her to her feet. "You weren't..." He made a vague motion with his hand.
"Okay, Quinn." Sam joked, "It's fine."
"You could have texted." Jake blurted, not sure what to say or do. He'd wished she was here, and here she was. It bordered on odd.
"Let me talk." Sam stood in the center of his room, looking serene and unruffled in the darkness. "I have a question."
Jake made a motion for her to continue, his throat dry.
"Marry me." She blurted, "The right thing is the thing I want. You want it, too. Marry me."
Jake felt his answer well up from his soul. He knew that this was the right answer. Sam deserved everything he could give her. She deserved everything. She would have it, too, if he had anything to say about it. Apparently, he now did, because the girl he had loved since she'd flown into his world, a whirlwind of elbows, knees, guts, and sunshine, was looking at him with her heart in her eyes.
Jake drew in a breath, saw her lips part. The word stuck behind his teeth. This word was going to change the game, change it for good, change it forever, and Jake knew that he was ready for what would come next.
He had a bride to court, after all.