THAT SUMMER
inspired by the song "That Summer" by Garth Brooks
Ch. 4 Hell-bent to Make It
Disclaimer: Neither the song "That Summer" nor the movie Labyrinth are mine, and I make no money or other profit from my writing. Would I could and did, but I can't and I don't.
Rating: M for mature themes & sometimes explicit scenes including, but not limited to, death, drugs/alcohol, abuse, and sex. If you can't handle these things, leave now.
A/N: Medical information herein is, at best, half-assed researched. Information re: native tribes also half-assed researched. Basically, I made sure I didn't have the wrong groups in the area and that whatever medical information is used won't kill Sarah off immediately. The specifics are left vague and I meant to do that. I'm not going to try and rewrite a cultural history or medical reality here. This is fiction. I'm just trying not to screw up completely with the most basic elements of the story.
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Sarah woke up when her alarm went off. She was a little sore, but nothing horrible. She stumbled out of bed and showered, taking the time to change into jeans and a comfortable shirt. Again, she didn't put on her shoes. Jareth had mentioned Doc coming in early, so she thought she'd be working after the old man had come and gone.
Downstairs, she met Jareth in the kitchen. They finished making breakfast together, and, next to the small mountain of breakfast food, was a warm wedge of pie smothered in cream.
"A peace offering," Jareth said when she looked over at him. "Since you couldn't fight for your pie last night, I figured I could allow you one piece without a struggle. The rest of it, however, you will have to defend."
"Thanks for the warning," she grinned at him. "Pie thief." Before Jareth could respond, she asked, "So how did one of the Fae get control over the land of goblins?"
"It's a long story," Jareth said between bites. "A very, very long, dull, political story. I'll send you the six volumes that cover the details, but, in short, the goblins asked for help and they got it. They asked the Fae, which meant they got the Fae idea of help. In this case, it was taking over." He took a long drink of coffee. "Once Fae get power, they don't leave. Ever. Even with a fight."
"Then my refusal to accept your power…" Sarah's voice trailed off as she worked through the implications.
"Was very annoying, but, because of your belief in your words, absolutely true." He waited to see if she would ask about her friends. He would be left wondering, because just as she opened her mouth to say something, a voice from the yard echoed through the house.
"Well, boy, I hope you have breakfast for an old man!" rang in the kitchen. The window was closed.
"Is that--?" Sarah's surprise was obvious, but Jareth didn't bother commenting on it.
"Yep." Jareth got up and went to the window. He threw it open and called to Doc. "Come on in, you old mooch. We got plenty waitin' for you."
A low laugh rumbled through the open window, and the door opened a minute later.
"Good to see you back here, Jay-bird. How was the big city?" The voice carried through the open entryway and into the kitchen, but Sarah couldn't imagine the face to match it. The voice was big, rich, and slightly flat, with an accent she couldn't place. It was nothing like Gracie's nasal tones or Jareth's curiously British accent, but she knew it from somewhere.
"Oh, the usual," Jareth replied airily. "Crowded, dirty, and filled with people. You'd hate it."
"Most likely. Now, where's the grub?" The men stayed away from the kitchen doorway, and Sarah didn't want to get up to go meet this doctor. She wanted to run upstairs and hide under her bed, but that was completely unacceptable behaviour in a woman who had been on her own for over a year. Who was still on her own, even if she had managed a softer landing this time, figuratively speaking. Instead of letting herself run away, she worked on her breakfast, forcing another bite into her mouth and waiting until the men came around the corner.
"Out in the hayloft," Jareth deadpanned. "Your oats are in a bucket."
"Heh. Only place they would be, at my age. If there are any left," he gave the younger man a wicked grin. "Sowed as many as I could. I think I sowed 'em all."
"Somehow, I'm not surprised," Jareth murmured. "Please, come meet Sarah," he said, changing the topic.
Sarah looked up as the men walked into the kitchen and blinked. The Doc a wizened little old country doctor with a Colonel Sanders face on a slender, black-suited body, had been difficult to reconcile with the deep, booming voice that had come through the yard. The Doc in front of her looked nothing like her expectations. To begin with, he was Indian--Native American in the politically correct parlance she'd heard in school. His long, braided hair was mostly white, but his eyes were bright black and hidden among a nest of wrinkles earned from long hours in wind and weather. He wore jeans, boots, and a faded snap-front shirt and carried a beat-up leather satchel that was beautifully beaded with bright symbols Sarah recognized, but didn't understand.
"You must be Sarah," Doc said, his voice much softer and gentler with her. She'd heard the same voice used with skittish horses in the stables back home. When he spoke quietly, the soft accent strangely comforted Sarah. Either the accent or the voice worked its magic on her, and the tension she'd held in all morning flowed out of her. "I'm Doc. My full name is long, drawn out, and unpronounceable for you--"
"I can pronounce it quite well," Jareth interrupted.
"--Most of you palefaces." The words were accompanied by a sidelong glare at Jareth, then a soft smile at Sarah. "But if you must refer to me by something other than Doc, I'll respond to Eli Redwolf."
"That doesn't sound too hard, Doc," Sarah replied, softly. "I'm Sarah Williams, but I guess that was a bit obvious."
Doc snickered. "That one," he jerked a thumb in the direction of Jareth, "isn't pretty enough to be a Sarah, so it was obvious, even to these old eyes." Doc pulled up a chair and sat down. "Now, finish your breakfast. Jay, go find someone else to bother. I'll deal with you later."
"I've not finished breakfast," Jareth replied, returning to his chair, "and I won't be run off from my own table, not even by you."
"Eh. I tried to get him to leave us alone, lovely one, but he seems to be hovering like an old hen." Sarah couldn't help giggling at the teasing the old man was giving Jareth or the obviously insincere flirting. "When he leaves, though, this old fox will be here."
"So long as you don't bite, old fox," Sarah said, grinning, "I think we'll get along just fine without Fluffy there."
"Fluffy?" Jareth protested.
"Isn't that a better nickname than old hen?" Sarah asked, her voice sweet and innocent. "Or do you prefer plucked owl?"
Jareth sighed and ate, knowing he was not going to win any sort of battle with Doc sitting there egging the girl on. And to think, he'd encouraged and even wanted this meeting of devils. As things went, so long as Sarah was healthy, he could stand the ribbing. He'd had worse.
"I prefer for my employees to eat," he replied dryly, "so they don't starve between the breakfast hour and the time they finally get a luncheon."
Sarah rolled her eyes and took another bite of her breakfast. Doc prepared a plate and dug in, noting that she had listened to Jay, but not from fear or any other unhealthy emotion. She trusted her boss, which was good. Her boss was worried about her, which was also good, but there was something else there--something most would dismiss. Just in a short exchange, he noticed there was a familiarity that didn't fit with the "just met two days ago" information he'd heard from town.
Alerted to the possibilities, Doc watched the byplay between the rancher and his guest-hand. There was history here, something between them other eyes would not see, and while he would not pry, he saw more than others could. He was a medical doctor, yes, and he had left the reservation years ago for his own reasons. He was not immune to his natural skills, though, and he saw deeper than others. Although he returned to the Blackfoot lands regularly, he preferred to seek a path alongside, not with, the people. Understanding ran deep, or rather open conflict was to be avoided between those of the tribe, discussion and understanding the preferred method of resolving difficulties within the tribe. Doc's decision to remained outside the boundaries of the rez were not well-liked, but those who knew him well understood his reasons. He may be miles away from his family and all the lands he had roamed growing up, but he was always available to those who needed him and never far from home in his heart.
The rest of breakfast was light and entertaining, Doc ensuring that the young, wounded girl would not be nervous with him. So far, she was more than a little relaxed; she was almost unguarded. While this was an admirable trait for one so fragile, it was also dangerous. The one called Jay was much stronger, much more certain of himself. This young girl had much to learn. He would see to it she had a knowledge of the paths before her and an ear to listen to her worries and a voice to tell her of things she could not yet know. For now, though, he would ensure she was in good physical health. Other healings required much time and focus that she was not ready to endure.
In time, Jareth left them to go out and work in the fields, saying something Sarah didn't understand about the irrigation system and dry soil. From what she gathered, there hadn't been as much rain as needed, which somehow made Jareth's life much more difficult.
"So," Doc said, turning to Sarah, "you have a story to tell, and I wager it is not a pleasant one."
"No," Sarah said, biting her lip. "It's not."
"Let's go up to your room where none will interrupt. We can talk while I work." The skittish-horse voice was back. Doc watched her carefully.
Sarah nodded, not nervous, but definitely not eager to have the conversation she knew she would have to have with this man. He positively reeked understanding and compassion, but there was an underlying core of steel, one that was as uncompromising with himself as it was with others. Somehow, she knew her story would show she was somehow unworthy of his good regard, and that hurt.
"Works for me," she said, standing. "I'm in the blue room." Realizing he might not know which one that was, she started to explain.
"I'm familiar with the house and with its masters," he cut her off, reassuring her. "I've stayed here more than once in winter, when the snows were deep and the roads impossible." He gave her a long look. "You know Jay."
The statement caught Sarah off-guard. "I met him a few years ago," she confirmed. "We were…not friends and not adversaries." She frowned as she walked to the stairs. "I don't know what our relationship would be called."
"Names are not always important when it comes to the heart," Doc said, "but this was an intense time for you, your meeting. There was much pain that came after it." There was a long silence as Sarah walked up the stairs. Finally, she responded.
"Yes," Sarah said, not realizing she was broadcasting her memories with every breath. Doc was a skilled people-reader, and he recognized the way she moved and reacted, even the stresses in her voice. "Intense is a good word."
"Then let me tell you this: Jay is not what he appears to be. I know, he told you I delivered him. I tell you now, the child I delivered could never be the man called Jay King." Doc's voice was soft, but the warning was not necessary for Sarah.
"I know," Sarah said, turning to face the old man at the door to her room. "He wasn't Jay when I met him."
"Do you know what he is?" Doc asked, knowing his people had a word for it, and figuring Sarah's did as well.
"Yes," Sarah replied. She felt compelled to add, "And I know I'm safe with him. I haven't been safe in a long time, Doc."
"So long as things stay as they are, I see no problems. Be careful, Sarah. You may be safe, but you are a beautiful girl. Men can be fools for less temptation." He didn't worry about Jay, not really. His main worry was the unresolved issues that hovered between Jay and Sarah, the ones even they didn't know where there.
"And women can be fools for less safety," Sarah replied, looking down at the floor. "Or none at all."
Doc watched as Sarah's shoulders slumped and her pain and fear came to the front of her mind. The memories she replayed now were new, and they caused her great pain.
"Tell me, little one," he said softly, his words coming in his native tongue. Even though Sarah didn't understand the words, she knew what he wanted.
"It started about four years ago, when my mother died…" she began, the story spilling from her, this time with the swiftness of infection from a lanced wound. As Sarah spoke, Doc moved around her, checking her heart and lungs, skin, and eyes, conducting a physical exam while she rid herself of her pain with her words. She was up to the most difficult part, the times she had used her body to get what she needed to survive, when she paused. Doc had stopped moving.
"So far, you are too thin, but healthy," Doc said. His eyes were calm, his face completely neutral. "The most difficult part of the examination is coming up. Do you wish to talk through it?"
Sarah nodded jerkily, then began removing her shirt and jeans. Doc turned away to give her the privacy of the room, letting her slip under the sheet of her bed. When he returned to her side, she began speaking again.
"Sometimes, when I was out of money and couldn't find any other way to get money or food…"
As she spoke, Doc finished a gentle but thorough exam, testing and checking the most intimate portions of her body.
"There was great danger to you with what you did," Doc finally said, "and not the physical kind. That, you were careful with, and you should be commended for your care. The dangers for you were more of the spirit. To share the body with an unhappy or unwilling spirit is a kind of violation that can bring deep wounds." He saw Sarah blink and stare at him, then smiled. "I know, that sounds like something you'd hear in a bad Western, but there is truth to it. I am what most would call a medicine man, even though that has connotations that don't belong with my ancestors. I am a healer, Sarah, but there is more to healing than just the body. Physically, you are strong and mostly well--I'll say more on that later. Emotionally, you are wounded. Spiritually, you are wounded. Mentally, you are strong, but wounded. These four things must be in harmony for you to be truly strong. Let those who can help you as you heal."
"I…don't think I'm ready for this conversation, Doc," Sarah managed, her voice shaky. "Can we…talk…later?"
"I'll leave you my number, but I must warn you that I'm an old-fashioned doctor. I tend to go see my patients rather than wait for them to come see me. Sometimes, they don't even have to have an appointment. I just show up." He grinned at her. "Keeps people on their toes and good behaviour, no?"
Sarah couldn't help but laugh a bit. There was something about Doc that just made her feel better about life. Just the way he spoke and the openness of spirit he brought with him made her think that life was precious and wonderful again, and that hadn't been something she believed for a long time. He gave her laughter, even when he gave her advice and wisdom.
"It would me," Sarah admitted.
"Good. I'll keep that in mind." Doc grinned at her a moment, then stood. "Dress, Sarah. We will talk again downstairs."
With that, Doc took his satchel and walked back down the stairs, almost running over Jareth who was waiting impatiently at the foot of the stairs.
"Well?" Jareth demanded.
"I will tell you only because there is no medicine here that can help her, old one. Listen well. She has a condition called genital warts, though she did not catch these from any sort of loose behaviour. There is nothing that indicates promiscuity. It was probably from something she wore or a shared towel. She also has the cold-sore virus, Simplex II. Can your kind heal these?" Doc's voice was calm but pointed.
Jareth blinked. "Old one?" he murmured. "Nothing gets past you, does it? And yes, I can heal both of those, though I will need to consult with…another. How did you know?"
Doc snorted. "You're good," he admitted. "And so is the other one. But there are things that you cannot see. I can see them, and so can others with my particular gifts. What is, is. To those who know how to look, nothing is hidden." He paused, hearing Sarah walking down the hall. "Go. Let me speak with her."
Jareth nodded and walked back outside. He would get in touch with his healer while he fixed the damned irrigation system for the third time. If he didn't know better, he'd accuse Gareth of letting the thing go to ruin while he was up her just so Jareth would have to fix it.
Doc waited for Sarah at the foot of the stairs and took her into the living room. When she was comfortably seated, he spoke.
"Sarah, there is no nice way to say this, so I'll be blunt. You have two STDs, though they are not dangerous in the way of most." He saw her turn pale. "Both can be treated, though not by…traditional medicine."
"You mean, J…Jay?" she caught herself just in time.
"By whatever name you know him, yes. The first is simple. The sores that sometimes come to your lip are the Herpes Simplex II virus. This is not like the other form, but I know the sores are said to be painful when they do come. These are unappealing and annoying, but not overtly dangerous. The second is not dangerous either, but it is embarrassing. I will draw blood before I leave, just to confirm what I believe I have found, but you have a condition called genital warts."
"But I haven't--" she began.
"Let me finish," he said, holding up a hand to stem her outburst. "This particular virus is a tricky one. There are other conditions it can cause, but this particular form is not life-threatening and you could live a normal life. To prevent passing the condition to your partner--when you do take one--you would have to be careful. Other things, though, you would also have to do carefully. Sharing towels would not be a good idea." Sarah winced. She had done that more than once when she had stayed in a YWCA or split hotel rooms with two or three other girls. "Neither are other forms of intimate sharing. Not all STDs require intimate contact of skin to skin. This particular one is more…resilient than others off skin."
"Oh." Sarah sighed. "I guess I have to tell Jareth," she said, absently using the name she knew. Doc raised an eyebrow at her slip, but said nothing about the name.
"That would be wise. He can cure these conditions. My medicines cannot." Now Doc looked at her and asked, "Sarah, there is something that troubles you, and it has nothing to do with the old one. Tell me."
"There's nothing you can do, unless you can change time," she said, not wanting to go into it.
"Time cannot be changed, but pain shared is pain halved. I need say nothing for you to begin the healing. Just speak." The quiet confidence in his voice gave Sarah courage.
"I told you about using my mouth to…get money to live on. There was one, the first one, when I wasn't as careful. I was so nervous and so hungry that I didn't think of anything other than getting it over with. I didn't realize that he wasn't going to be content with just what I offered." She took a breath, remembering the ugly scene. "Everything started out alright, I guess, but then he got rough. He held my head in place and moved. My teeth caught his skin a few times and he slapped the back of my head so hard I saw stars. Then he gripped my hair so tightly I couldn't move. It was…terrifying and…painful. I couldn't breathe.
"When he…finished, though, he said he wasn't done with me. He started pulling at my shirt and jeans, trying to get them off of me. My head still hurt and I was still gagging and choking for air, so I didn't understand at first. He…he almost managed it. I don't know how I did it, but I got one hand free and, well, I grabbed hold and pulled." Doc's lips twitched. Sarah shivered. She wasn't looking at him. "He hit me again, so I twisted, too. That's when he screeched and fell on the floor, retching and whimpering. I fixed my jeans and shirt and ran out of the room." She shook her head. "Do you know what makes me feel even stupider about that? I forgot the money. After all of that, I forgot what I'd gone in there for."
Sarah was quiet for a minute, berating herself anew for losing sight of her goal. "I got lucky, though, and an older lady saw me in the park. I was crying, and it was just after I'd gotten away from the hotel room. She brought me a carry-out bag from McDonald's, so I did get to eat. Next day, I found someone else who would cooperate on my terms--a college guy, I think. That time, I didn't forget the money."
Doc looked at her. From the way she spoke, he knew she was unaccustomed to speaking from her heart. She hid her pain, her fear, and continued on. While this was good in many ways, for there to be no one with whom to speak of her heart was a source of amazement and pain to him. He was raised to speak with and for those he loved and even those with whom he disagreed. To have none able to hear him would bring him pain. To be alone was foreign to him in ways it was not to Sarah. Finally, he spoke.
"Distraction by pain and fear is nothing that should bring you shame, Sarah. You were able to prevent an assault that would have wounded you even more deeply. Such actions are admirable and should be a source of pride. You learned from that first experience what you should and should not do. Such learning is admirable and should be remembered."
"But what I did--"
"Was no small part of what you thought and knew at the time. You were alone and in a place where you had no real friends or allies--or even enemies. What you did was what you thought you had to do. You have learned one of the great truths of life: It is not easy or gentle with those who are in need. Your path was not one that is recommended, but only a great fool does not know such happens. Let go of the pain and embrace the lessons you have taken from these experiences." Doc stopped and looked at her. "Perhaps it is too soon for a full healing talk. Go in small steps then. Consider what could have happened and did not. Consider what could have become of you without the funds you gained from things you did not enjoy. You did not enjoy what you did, correct?"
"No, I didn't. I hated it. But the alternatives…" Sarah shook her head, trying to free herself of the visions of girls her age and younger, emaciated and hollow-eyed, willing to do anything with anyone, just so they could get the powders and pills that made their lives bearable. Living dollies with shattered hearts and broken health, sometimes obviously pregnant. One girl she'd seen had miscarried in an alley and gone on to take two men in the backseat of an old car. Three days later, she'd been dead from infection and hemorrhaging. No one had taken her to the hospital.
"Were even worse. I have seen and heard much," Doc said, his serious face and eyes showing his age. "There is little you could say that would surprise or even dismay me. My heart hurts when I hear tales like the one you have told, but there is also hope. Sarah, you are alive, healthy, and somewhere you will not be harmed. There are those around you who will help you and give with open hearts. Let your heart be open to receive what they offer. You will find what they need and provide for them in return."
"The circle of life kind of thing?" Sarah sighed. "I never really bought into that when we learned about it in school, and it's even harder to believe now." She had always hated the 'web of life' and 'it takes a village' philosophies that were so popular around her hometown. What had happened to making it on your own and striving until you succeeded? Why did everyone have to have a shoulder to cry on? All crying did was make your head hurt, your eyes puffy, and your nose stuffy. The appeal of close girl friends was lost on her, as was the tight-knit parent-child relationship. It was difficult to understand what you never had.
"And yet you sit here in the home of one who owed you nothing and opened to you all you needed--including clothes and a visit with a doctor. Is it so hard to believe when you live it?" Doc's voice was calm, carefully not rebuking her for her seemingly ungrateful attitude.
"It's not charity," she insisted, pride rearing up. "Everything he's giving me is coming out of my pay."
"Pay that comes from him," Doc said gently. "Tell me, what price the safety you mentioned earlier? The kindness and openness I saw between you at breakfast? What price is there on the food that nourishes your heart and the knowledge he will give to you, not asking you to stay and use it only here? What will you do for him? More of what you did with other men?"
"No!" Sarah almost shouted. "Jareth's not like that. He's--" She stopped. What did she know about Jareth's expectations?
"He's a man. There is something in you and in your company that he needs. Just as you have needed what he is providing willingly, so you will give to him what he needs. Your body is not the medium of this transaction. There is something within you that the old one seeks, even if he knows it not. Perhaps it is your gentleness. Perhaps it is your will to continue. Perhaps it is the kindness and teasing you give to him when few others dare. Your old one is not an easy man, Sarah. Be open to the possibilities. Give and take from one another as you need to do. There will be an even reckoning in the end. There need be no pain or shame."
Sarah sat quietly for a long minute.
"Are you saying we are going to fall in love?" she asked, bewildered by all the talk of giving and taking and being open.
Doc laughed. "I am saying that many possibilities branch from these moments the two of you share. If you become lovers or friends or simply help one another before parting, who can say? The future will be as it is. The past is done and will remain as it was. This moment is the one you have before you. Do not dismiss a future out of hand. Do not accept one that has not yet occurred. Simply be as you are and become what you will become. All else will come naturally to you, if you are open in your heart."
"So I should just lay my heart out in the road and wait for it to be squashed?" Sarah was still confused.
"Nothing like it. An open heart and mind does not mean you are careless. Be careful with what you allow in, but be open to others. You are not a basket, waiting to be used and filled with whatever is lying around. You are a person, a woman, a willing receptacle of life. Be a person, not a basket. A basket cannot help but be used how others will. A woman is strong and beautiful, the strength of the home. From you will come life, but only if you allow it."
"Now we're talking about children?" Sarah was close to panic. From a check-up to children in one sitting? What the Hell?
"We're talking about heart and mind." Doc thought for a moment. "Are you alive?"
"Of course."
"Are you sentient?"
"Of course."
"Then from you comes life, even as life goes into you. Call it breath, call it energy, call it…Fred. The name does not matter--the reality does. Life flows into you and life is expelled from you in every moment. You are open to life. Now be open to the lives of others. Let their lives touch yours, but take away from them only what you need. Give to them what they need. You are as you are, and none can change that but you." Doc laughed softly at her rapid blinking and shook his head. "Perhaps you should understand that my words come from my past. My past, my early years, all say that no one man is alone what he is with others. The strength of the whole depends upon the strength of the individuals, but the individuals are strong so that others may become strong through the strength the one brings to the whole."
Sarah thought about this for a minute, willfully blanking out the thoughts of children and other panic-inducing phrases.
"A chain is only as strong as its weakest link," Sarah rephrased. "So every link needs to become as strong as it can be. Then the chain is the best and strongest it can be, and each link will be stronger in the chain than it is alone."
"An apt analogy," Doc nodded. "And perhaps that is enough for today. Ask yourself about the chain of this ranch. What strengths do you offer and what strengths are being offered to you? What will you need to become strong here? What will you offer to make the rest of the ranch strong?"
Sarah nodded. "I get it now." She thought for a minute. "First, I need to get strong as I can physically, and that means…telling Jareth about the…viruses." Doc didn't mention he'd already told the old one. This would make her stronger. "Then I need to work on the skills I'll use around here and make sure I eat properly and enough. Once I'm going in the right direction with that, I need to open up a bit more to Jareth and let him talk to me, too." She bit her lip. "And then…I call you?"
"Or before, if you need to think something through that you are not ready to speak with Jareth about it." Doc repressed a grin at the name. He couldn't wait for the opportunity to use that name on the old one. "I may not be home, but I do keep an answering machine. Just leave a message and I will get back to you. If you need, call my office. Nurse Highhorse will find me if you need me. You may find you do not need my voice, but that your own will provide answers just as well."
"Nurse Highhorse?" Sarah wasn't sure if that was a joke.
"A bad joke. She's always on her high horse about something. Her real name is Ellen Pitre, but I haven't called her that in years." Doc thought for a moment. "I wouldn't advise calling her Highhorse, though. I'm the only one who can get away with that. Then again," he grinned at his patient, "I am her boss." He sobered and continued. "She's a nurse practitioner, so she's able to handle most of what comes up. There are others in town and around who have various medical training, but we're the two on-call all the time."
Sarah nodded, then addressed his last sentence about answers. "How can I provide answers to myself about things I don't even know how to talk abou?"
"The heart knows what the mind does not always want to see. Sometimes the spirit knows and it takes longer to understand. Always, though, the mind is the filter for our actions. Once the mind is trained to see clearly the heart and spirit, the rest becomes clear. I do not mean it will be easier, just that it will be clear." Doc sighed. "I must warn you that nothing is ever truly easy, even when it is most clear."
"Why do I think you should be calling me Grasshopper and making me walk on rice paper without tearing it?" Sarah sighed.
Doc laughed. "That's next week."
"Great. Just for that, I won't offer you any pie." Sarah sniffed and tried to look injured, but her lips couldn't stop twitching.
"Just for that, I'm taking the rest of it with me. Call it my fee," he countered.
"Okay, I'll share," Sarah capitulated quickly, making Doc chuckle. "Shall we?"
"Heh. Let's finish it off and Jareth can go begging Dianne for another." Doc thought it was a good idea.
Sarah smirked at the wicked glee that suddenly danced in Doc's eyes and together they went to wreak havoc on a certain sugary, flaky, fruity dessert. As they ate, Sarah learned more about the area and the people, Doc filling her in on a few of the more salient townsmen and how the town operated on a day-to-day basis. When they finished the pie and coffee, Sarah looked into the pie plate. There were two lone cherries, an apple slice, and a bit of crust left. Grinning wickedly, she carefully wrapped the pie remnant in its aluminum foil and stuck it back in the freezer. Jareth could have dessert after all.
"Diabolical," Doc murmured, approving of her plan. "What did he do to you?"
"He stole my pie last night," Sarah replied. "I consider this payback. Do you think Dianne will make another pie soon?"
"You know, you could learn how to bake one," Doc replied, grinning at her expression.
"Doc, I can cook, but baking defeats me every time. The pie would end up being half crystallized, half charred, and half raw--and don't ask me how I'd manage to get three-halves, but I promise I would." Sarah sighed, thinking of rocklike cakes that had unbaked centers, fallen muffins that were better hockey-pucks than food, and cookies even two-year-olds wouldn't touch when they were crumbled up in chocolate milk.
"I'll see Dianne on the way out," he replied, shaking his head. "She mentioned something about a yearly check-up for her baby, so maybe I can get another pie out of her, too." They were walking to the door and Sarah had just opened it, stepping out onto the porch.
"For us or for you?" she asked, her voice suspicious, and for good reason.
Doc gave her an innocent, injured look. "Why, Sarah, what a thing to ask."
Sarah snorted and just gave him a look. Doc chuckled. Together, they walked down the porch steps and separated when Sarah saw Jareth waving to her. She walked over, calling her farewell to Doc. Doc waved and walked to the horse Jareth had saddled. It was a nice day, and the quickest way to the little cabins Dave and his wife used was cutting across the fields.
Jareth watched as Doc rode off and Sarah walked over to him. She looked more relaxed now than she had earlier. He deliberately ignored her appointment with Doc, figuring that she wouldn't want to discuss it now, and introduced her to the well-known tool of cowboys, the rope. In this case, it was a braided rawhide lariat he had made last year.
"Ready to get started?" he asked, lifting the slender, limp length of braided cord.
"I guess. So, what do I get to lasso?" she asked.
"Rope. This is a lariat, and you rope calves and cows with it. 'Lasso' is for movies and newbies." Jareth gave her a look. "While you may be a newbie now, by the end of summer you'll know what's what around a ranch."
"Yeth, mathter," she replied, mock-bowing to him, complete with hunched back and a limp. "So, what do I do?" she asked as she straightened up. Jareth ignored her Igor impression.
"First, you have to understand how to widen the loop and get the rope spinning." With those words, he began demonstrating the art of twirling a rope in the air. Sarah watched, carefully noting his movements. Jareth let the rope bounce lightly to rest on the ground the now-small loop coming to rest just in front of his toes. He handed her the lariat and Sarah did her best to mimic his actions.
When she lifted pulled the loop close enough to twirl properly, things seemed to be going well. It was only once she'd begun to circle her wrist that she realized this was much more difficult than it looked. On the second swing around, the loop jumped up and smacked her in the nose.
"OW!" she yelped, dropping the lariat.
"Keep your hand angled," Jareth noted, walking over and lifting her hand to the correct angle. "Otherwise, the rope can bite."
"Thanks for the warning," she said, sliding the loop close again. This time, she managed to start a decent loop, but moved too fast and the loop uncoiled and wrapped around her throat.
Jareth left his perch on the rail of the horse corral, untangled her, and showed her how to retie the knot. When she had retied the knot to his satisfaction, he returned to his seat, and watched her start again. This time, she managed to keep the small loop going for about twelve seconds before she lost speed and the loop simply collapsed.
"Better. Do it again," Jareth said, watching. Today, he could devote time to starting Sarah on roping. Quinn's wife, Lacey, had agreed to help with the heavier work, part of her private deal with Jareth. Every time someone in need of training came on, Lacey stepped up and helped out, leaving her regular job at the small beauty salon in town to prep the ranch before she and Quinn went haring off on another round of rodeo, or until the newcomer was proficient enough not to get himself killed--whichever need came first that year. Since Lacey had grown up on a ranch in Wyoming, she was familiar with what needed doing and did it, no additional instructions required.
Jareth watched and coached Sarah for close to an hour before she managed to get the loop moving properly.
"Now for something a bit trickier," he said, coming to stand behind her. "Start the circle." She did. This time, he stepped up to her and slid his hand over hers, letting her guide the motion and speed. The idea was a good one, he'd employed it before. The execution was lacking, for she had jumped about a foot into the air and tossed the entire loop up into the air. Given speed and angle, the rope ended up wrapping around her chin and his left arm.
"That was not what I had in mind," he said dryly as she spluttered incoherently.
"Warn me, Jareth. I'm not…I don't like it when people just walk up and touch me." She changed the sentence, and he wondered what she had intended to say.
"Now you know. When I stand behind you while you are learning something with rawhide or rope, I intend to give you a practical demonstration as I talk you through the motions." He looked down at her as he shook the lariat from his arm. "Now, start again."
Growling, Sarah did so. This time, when he touched her hand, she lost the rhythm for only a second before getting it back. As he spoke and guided, she learned to grow the loop, or make it bigger while she kept it moving. This process involved both handsm, so it involved both of his hands as well, since she had to let the rawhide slide through her gloves and feed the growing loop with the longer coil of the lariat. Learning this took very little time, but turning the technique into a successful solo effort had taken a bit longer. Finally, she managed to twirl the loop and let it grow as she twirled it. Jareth repeated his teaching technique for the opposite, shrinking the loop. Conversely, it took only a few minutes before she learned how to make it smaller, too. Suitably pleased with her progress, Jareth led her over to the practice calf, a vaguely calf-shaped construction of wood, complete with neck, head, and baby horns.
"Now, to rope a calf requires timing, anticipation, and, at first, dumb luck. Start the loop," he instructed. He stood behind her, slid his hand over hers, and let her guide the motion. He'd done this twice while she was learning to make the loop larger and smaller, so she didn't manage to get them both tangled up this time. "You want to cast when you're right here--" he snapped their hands forward.
Sarah had kept hold of the rope. The loop wrapped around their arms from wrist to shoulder.
"How do you manage it?" Jareth sighed, staring at their bound arms.
"How do I manage what?" Sarah asked, not sure how this was her fault. He hadn't mentioned letting go of the rope.
"Every other person I've shown this to over several years," the emphasis on the word 'several' gave her an idea what he meant, "has let go when their hand moved forward. Why in seven hells did you hold on?"
"You didn't say anything about letting go, just wanting to cast." The logic was uniquely feminine in Jareth's estimation.
Sighing and resigning himself to the inevitable, he clarified. "When I say something like 'you want to cast', from now on, understand that I intend you to suit actions to words. If I am standing behind you, that means I will be moving your hand very quickly and you are to let go or hold on, depending on the phrasing used."
"Fine," Sarah replied, irritated that he hadn't untangled their arms yet. "Now, get the damned loop off my arm and I'll try again."
Neither one knew they had gathered an audience. Fortunately for Doc and Quinn, the pair at the practice calf were too far away to hear their laughter.
Sarah managed to, with Jareth's expert guidance and assistance, rope the practice calf twice in close to two hours work. Neither of those times had been alone. As the morning wore on, Sarah's temper and the results of her throws were deteriorating rapidly. It was such a simple concept: twirl rope, cast rope, drop loop over calf's head, pull loop tight. The execution was proving to be a cast-iron bitch with PMS.
Finally, close to noon, Jareth called a halt. "Enough for today. Let's go in, make lunch, and you can get to the stables."
"Is the whip any easier?" Sarah moaned, rubbing her arm. She was nearly convinced it was dead. She'd passed pain an hour ago, but was determined to get one more good throw in. Determination had finally given way to the desire to be able to use her right arm that afternoon.
"For me or for you?" Jareth returned, not considering her feelings when he said it. "Never mind. Most likely not, since it is actually a fairly easy process." He sighed. "You can fix a fence almost immediately with a tool you've never seen before, remember how to ride with almost no practice for two years, and understand how things work around here at a basic level without previous experience. I'm anticipating the rope and whip lessons are going to be pure Hell. For both of us."
"Then why learn?" Sarah asked, frustrated enough to ask the question.
Jareth shook his head. "We've got some separating to do--some of the young bulls we kept are starting to feel frisky. Some of the young heifers aren't going to be bred this year. Some of the older cattle aren't being sold or traded to other ranches in the area to improve bloodlines. There's always a reason to need a rope. The whip, well, you saw the old brush cattle. Believe me, you'll need a whip for them, not a rope." He gave her a look. "I don't even try to rope the brush cattle. Then there's the possibility of stampede during nasty weather, or just for the hell of it, if the weather's been making them restless." He didn't bring up pistol and rifle. There were some things he just wasn't ready to consider.
Sarah sighed and walked with him up to the house. They brushed off their boots and headed for the stairs, each intending to wash up well before going into the kitchen to make sandwiches for lunch. This time, Doc, Quinn, Lacey, and Dave joined them inside. Now few jokes were made at Sarah's expense, but she was stronger than she seemed about some things. As long as no one got really nasty, she could handle the teasing. With Jareth and Doc, she gave as good as she got. With Dave, Lacy, and Quinn, she managed a few little barbs. They laughed through lunch, even though they ate quickly, enjoying the easy camaraderie.
As Sarah walked out to the barn, Lacey's kind gift of Tylenol long since taken, she realized that she'd had more fun in half an hour than she'd had in months. Even after the frustration of morning roping lessons, she'd been able to lighten up and simply enjoy the company she was sharing. Something about that lunch had made her even more determined to heal and grow stronger, able to take life as it came and turn it to be what she wanted.
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A/N 2: I hate seeing 'Please read/review' all over everything, but a few little notes would help immensely. To my reviewers so far, thank you. Most of you have reviewed for each chapter, and your notes are eagerly read and appreciated. To those who've read and not reviewed…please do. It's more than a way of feeding the ego. Reviews help with plot points, clarity, and other writing technicalities that would otherwise continue to be weak or overpowering. Thanks--TA