Won't you take me where the poor man lives?

It's where I call home

And can't you see that a breeze is just a change in pace?

And money can't buy my soul,

Because it comes from a hard earned place.

Southside of Heaven, Ryan Bingham

Jake shifted from foot to foot, feeling every inch of his frame as he moved. He hadn't felt this way in years, not since he'd shot up in middle school. He felt gangly, overgrown, not quite suited to his frame. Sam was on the phone in the other room, and Jake was at loose ends, staring at his fingers, wondering if his hands were attached to his limbs, limbs that felt too long. He flexed his fingers, trying not to think of the words Sam had whispered last night. Regina, too, was waiting with baited breath for the word from the doctor, though she seemed content to knit.

He had spent all evening last night thinking, long after Wyatt left for home. He couldn't be bought. Was Wyatt really trying to say that it all came down to money, that Jake was still some boy who needed to be provided for, rather than a person who could provide? His hurt was quickly buried, under the tasks of making plans to go home, though, and he tried not to think about Wyatt Forester.

Sam called the doctors, before the close of business, and left messages. Ella, ever modeling the behavior she wanted to see from her clients, returned her call first thing. Dr. Francis had not been so prompt, and mid-morning found Sam sitting by the phone, drumming her broken nails and bruised fingers against the Queen Anne style end table that contained the house phone.

Jake, last night in the dark, came to a conclusion about his relationship with Wyatt. They could be civil, for Sam's sake. There would be no animosity from him, if the topic concerned Sam. No matter what Wyatt thought of him, Jake would do his best, no matter that it hurt that Wyatt thought so little of him.

Wyatt didn't seem all that angry at him, surprisingly, by the time that he left. He seemed to look at Jake as though he were puzzling out something, pulling out information like taffy, twisting it in his mind, and not liking the conclusion he'd come to. It couldn't be helped, though, and the man left for Darton County, without saying one word about taking Sam's things. It was just as well that the planning began after he left. An early dinner with him had gone on long enough, and he didn't stay for dessert.

Over Sue's tea service and a thankfully store-bought pie, it was arranged so that Regina could work her normal hours and have the evenings off just as she would in San Francisco. Sam called and left a message on her father's machine, but no one called back. Sam thought that was odd, but Sue promised she would try again as well, as she hugged them goodbye soundly. Cell phone reception was spotty at best in certain areas. They all wrote it off, as they'd just seen him yesterday. Jake had told his parents they were coming, and they'd offered to put Regina up, who agreed quickly to the use of the guest room.

Regina smiled, as her knitting needles clacked, "Sam was lucky to get the doctor on the phone so early."

Jake made an inarticulate sound of agreement. He didn't have the heart to tell Regina that it hadn't been luck that had gotten Sam what she wanted. It would destroy Sam's image of being such a "sweet girl" in Regina's eyes. Everytime Regina said something like that, Jake could barely keep from laughing until he fell on the floor. Luck comprised almost nothing of Sam's persistence. She called the doctor's practice at least five times, using every number she had to get the man on the line. Finally, her persistence paid off, and her call was returned. Probably, the man wanted to get her off his back. Jake left the room, giving her some semblance of privacy, a gift they'd determined to be rare indeed.

Jake stepped forward once, unable to wait any longer, and excused himself to the bedroom. He found his duffel bag, and began to work quickly, tossing his clothes into the bag with precision. His books and pillow were tossed atop the toiletries that topped the clothes. Finally, he added the Book. With an air of confidence, Jake pulled the zipper shut, elation rising within him. Sam had packed last night, but something had held him back from packing until it was sure thing. He was as sure as he could be, now. Why else would the conversation be taking so long?

He spun around on his heel and exited the room quickly. The other room, the one that held the hospital bed, contained several boxes that had been shoved in the corner. On top of the boxes sat a green bag with black netting. Sam's 4H duffel bag quickly was pulled open, and he stared at it. Memories of her using this bag hit him, memories of camping trips, and drives, and a million other things. It didn't matter now, where the bag had gone, for it was returning to its customary place in her closet. Jake hoped it would stay there forever. It hit him, looking at her bag, hard. They were going home.

This moment felt so different and full. Jake couldn't articulate why, but he felt a bloom of hope in his chest, whereas when he'd come down here, all he had felt was a desperate surety in his soul, an unbreakable resolution to fix the wrong that defined their separation. Now, the situation was different. Jake no longer felt empty, no longer felt dead inside. His excitement was welling up within him, causing him to fumble with his cell phone. He chose to ignore messages from Darrell. Nothing, not even business, would spoil today.

"Regina?' Jake spoke, "Would you...?" He intended to ask her if she was as ready as Sam was, having packed most of her clothes with Sue last night. Sue had insisted upon being involved in the process to the point that Sam abdicated control of packing to her aunt. Rather than being disappointed that they were going home, she was excited, as though she were going herself.

"I don't know if we can leave today, Jake." Sam cut in, entering the room, sadness clear on her face.

What did she mean? He should have waited, should not have packed. That was why he always waited. He waited, made sure of things, not wanting to raise his hopes. Impulses were not usually his style, and this was why. Sam, after a quick glance, answered his unspoken question.

Sam supplied, sitting on the bed, "He wants me to stop by, get checked out."

"Probably a good idea, Brat." Jake tried to reassure both of them, as his heart slowed. He watched as Sam shot him another look, reminding him that Regina did not understand the whole Brat thing. The woman could deal, he supposed. And anyway, a check-up before they headed out was a good idea. It certainly would help Sam to know how she was doing.

"Yeah." Sam pulled at a loose thread in her robe's pocket, "My appointment's in an hour. Can we be packed and ready? We'll just leave from there."

"You're sure?" Jake asked, flicking a look at Regina, who seemed to agree to leaving. There would be quite a bit to do.

"If we're going to go, let's go." Sam pulled hard, breaking of the thread with a sound snap, "No sense in putting things off."

Jake had never agreed with her more.

Blue skies smilin' at me

Nothin' but blue skies do I see

Blue birds singin' a song

Nothin' but blue skies from now on

I never saw the sun shinin' so bright, never saw things goin' so right

Blue Skies, Willie Nelson

Getting ready, Sam thought, had not been easy, but it had been fairly quick, rather like pulling off a band-aid. Once they'd made up their mind to leave directly from the hospital, things fell into place quickly. Sam tried not to think as Jake took out all of her equipment, quickly folding down the shower chair, adding the tool kit for the wheelchair to the trunk, and those sorts of things.

Regina helped her to pack her medications. The collection took up an entire pocket in her duffel. The nebulizer found a spot, wrapped in its case, on the floorboard in the back, tucked behind an extra pillow. Adding the orange bottles to her pack made her sad. Gone were the days where she could throw on her boots, toss some jeans in her pack, and head out. Now, she needed all of things to survive, to function. She felt trapped, and burdened.

Her luggage for a simple weekend at home contained so much she might need. She had everything from homemade hot packs to a huge bottle of aloe, because her skin was so sensitive right now, and the aloe helped, if only mentally. "Sam?" Jake loitered from the door, "You ready?"

"Yeah." She tore her gaze from the paintings, wondering if she'd ever think about picking up a brush without her head hurting, "Got all your stuff?" Sam took one last look around the living room, and adjusted the note to Sue on the end table. Her Aunt knew, of course, that she was leaving, but Sam didn't feel right about not leaving a note.

"Yeah." Jake stepped forward, holding her elbow as they moved towards the door, "Sue left us some sandwiches."

Sam returned his grimace, looking to her up to her left, ""Do we actually intend to eat them?"

"Brat, I'd sooner eat cardboard." Jake frowned sheepishly, "It might not kill us."

"I'll buy you Denny's." Sam made an offer, as they walked out the door. No matter what she'd promised Dad, she didn't want to come back here. Sue had been lovely to her, but San Francisco didn't exactly hold the best of memories. Everywhere she looked, she saw pain, and hurt.

"We'll see..." Jake hedged. Sam rolled her eyes, and broke the touch between them. With an inhalation, and a prayer, Sam pulled the door shut. It clicked firmly. She checked the knob, and they walked away without a backward glance. The girl that had suffered and cried, lost parts of herself and begged for death crossed a threshold, literally. There would be no turning back. If she came back, it would be with a fuller understanding of the woman she was. There was hope for the future, and the open road was before them.

It sounds like 1963
But for now it sounds like heaven

May the wind take your troubles away
May the wind take your troubles away
Both feet on the floor, two hands on the wheel
May the wind take your troubles away

Windfall, Son Volt

"You ready?" Jake straightened the rearview mirror and flipped his visor down. The sun was blinding. The hospital parking lot was busy, and he started the Scout, hoping he wouldn't hit the M3 that wanted their spot. The woman smiled in thanks, and Sam saw that Jake couldn't help but return her grin.

"Let's roll." Sam could not contain her excitement. She was going home. The doctor had not proved a worthy adversary. She was going home. Everything would be okay. She decided that for this trip, there would be nothing but the open road, and their joy. She forced everything else away, and turned on the radio. "Any requests, Regina?"

"Don't go out of your way for me." The woman replied, pulling out an MP3 player. "I've got a audiobook that Morgan Freeman narrates. I could listen to him read the phone book." Regina said, with much relish.

"Alright." Sam smiled affably. She was selfishly glad that, in some way, these coming moments would be hers and Jake's alone. A glance at him said that he agreed. Car rides were their time. You could, Sam thought, say anything, talk about anything, in these moments. Car rides were sometimes stressful, like the time somebody insisted that it was imperative he go to this new feed store, and they'd gotten lost as lost could be in the middle of nowhere. Sam knew the middle of nowhere was relative, but this place made Alkali look like the San Fernando Valley.

Another time, Dad shipped them off to check on a client as they readjusted to being home, and they'd gotten caught in a downpour, which required them to pull over, and wait the rain out. Sam's mind recalled the moment. Rain hit the ground, and hopped up, like bugs trying to escape a jar. They were on a deserted stretch of highway, with no one around for miles, and Sam had done one of the things that thrived within her soul as one of her best memories.

She had stood toe to toe with Jake Ely in a rain storm, and stolen his hat. They'd had to throw a tarp over the truck bed, knowing it was probably too late, as they hadn't been using the Scout. In the rain, they had ended up drenched and laughing over some joke she'd made. The sniffles they'd gotten from being soaked to the bone had been worth it, just to see the look on his face, as surprise from being hatless gave way to the humor Sam's joke brought forth. The radio had played Willie Nelson as they'd sat and waited out the storm, and Sam couldn't think of Willie Nelson without thinking about how wonderful that coup had felt, not to mention the peace that had fell over them, as they'd dried off in the cab, watching as the rain fell all around them.

"On the road again..." Sam began, memories fading, though the emotions stayed with her. She began flipping through the stations on the radio. "Just can't wait to be..." She didn't feel like pop music. The moment, she knew, this trip, would be something she would remember, and she wanted it to have a good soundtrack, at least in her head. Rock? Maybe. Nirvana? Not right now. She flipped that station. Rap? As if. Hmm. She pushed seek, again, and settled on finding some country music.

"Brat, if you're going to sing Willie Nelson, at least put him on." Jake shifted lanes, as they made their way towards the interstate.

"I'm in charge of the radio." Sam threaded her tongue between her teeth, still dissatisfied with the selections she'd come upon, "And I think what we need, Jake, is some strait up road music."

"Fine, but if you put Garth Brooks on repeat again, I'll toss the CD out the window." Jake threat was large, but she knew his words were hollow. This coming from the guy who'd braved Wal-Mart for his very own box set and then hoarded like it was the last one on the shelf, threatening Quinn if he so much as breathed in the glossy black box's direction.

"It's your CD." Sam relaxing against the seat, unruffled. "Remember?"

"Hm. Can I get over to the left?" Jake flipped on the turn signal, and the soft click-click was like a balm to her soul.

"Yeah, just wait for this green Ford to go." Sam smiled, peeking out the window.

They slid into their roles so easily that it stole Sam's breath. She was finally, finally, free. She was, as they moved down the interstate, unhampered by the injury. Sure, the cars going fast beside them made her a bit disoriented, but that didn't matter. She was actually helping Jake like she always had. He drove. She called the shots from the passenger seat. He grumbled about her music choices, but sang along, under his breath, if he forgot himself. That's how they were, how they had been, Sam knew, and she hoped this trip would be the same. The sun was bright on the dashboard, and the moments that sped by were absolutely perfect. She could not bring herself to analyze her joy, nor her desire to just drive, and drive, forever.

Driving down the road, it felt like nothing had changed. They could be going anywhere, doing anything. It felt like they were finally, finally, running away. The sun was bright above them, and the world felt right as the music played. Very little needed to be said, and very little was said of importance. They talked, as they always did, of music, and books, and people they knew, the moments feeling timeless. Jake muttered, in his easy going way, about out of state drivers, until Sam pointed out archly that they were the out of state drivers. Jake didn't contradict her, and she knew that he was so content because he did not play devil's advocate.

There were, in these moments, no drama, and no pain. Sam could pretend that they were on the way back from someplace fun, loaded down with stories to tell, and not salves and scars. As they drove, she felt like she was being released from jail, freed from a prison she'd built in her mind. All the hurt was behind her, and the demons she had yet to confront were far enough away that she did not allow herself to consider them.

Ooo life's so sweet right here in the passenger seat

Ooo yeah life's so sweet

When I look to my left, see his suntanned hands

His muddy river hair and his thousand-acre plans

I'm all shook up like a quarter in a can

Ain't life sweet in the passenger seat?

Passenger Seat, SHeDAISY

The asphalt sped by, and the Scout picked up the another station. Commercials seemed few and far between. The miles sped by and there was a part of her that never, never, wanted to get where they were going. She was too consumed by worries that she shoved away with the whole of her emotions. Still, questions popped up, from time to time, as she visualized what it would be like to be home. What if she couldn't do things, even things the evil Dr. Francis had allowed? Okay, so the man wasn't really evil, he just had given her strict instructions. Sam did not like being told what to do. What if she couldn't function? What if Kitty and Ace hated her? What if Gram was really bad off and Sam couldn't help her?

"Sam?" Jake interrupted his initial musings, as SHeDaisy played on the radio, proclaiming things Sam understood all too well.

Sam glanced over at him, the sun glinting off of him, "What?"

"I can hear you thinking." He kept the Scout in the lane, even as he spoke, easily.

She grinned, and noticed that she was drumming her fingers on the armrest of the door. He'd heard her fingers, she realized, and was not actually capable of reading her mind. She thanked God for small mercies. "Well, what else am I supposed to do?"

"Be." Jake declared, flipping the station for something he didn't consider to be so Nashville. He should just admit, Sam thought, that he was a hipster snob when it came to music. He never would, though. "Just be."

"Foolish you are, for Yoda you are not." Sam imitated a small green being, with a smile. He'd somehow lucked out and found some Seger, without ever moving his eyes from the road. Sam wondered how he always got so lucky, and she had to flip, and flip, until she found a song she could live with.

Jake grinned in reply, and Sam's stomach flipped. She chided herself, wishing like heck she could stop overreacting. Now, not only did his touch make her go haywire, the mere thought of it drummed up some kind of recall, and she could swear she felt him, even now. Sometimes, the thought calmed her, and other times her reaction was decidedly the opposite. Her brain was completely messed up, and she cursed the injury that caused this silliness, even as she relished the feelings it gave her. She wouldn't trade the feelings she felt for anything. She only wished she could convince herself it wasn't wrong to feel things she ought not from a simple touch.

I've seen you smiling in the summer sun

I've seen your long hair flying when you run

I've rnade my mind up that it's meant to be

Someday lady you'll accomp'ny me

You'll Accomp'ny Me, Bob Seger

Jake made a concerted effort not to speed, not to rush this. Sam's expression was one he'd do anything to see on her face, and he wondered fleetingly what she was thinking about. She drifted asleep for a moment, and woke easily. An hour after that, Sam grew dissatisfied with the radio, "How did that flip go, by the way? I never asked."

Jake lowered his gaze, slightly, even as he kept his eyes on the road, "Darrell's calling the shots on that one." He wasn't about to tell her that he'd not done a lick of work since the accident. He'd tried, once, because work and being alone were the only ways he could cope. After several hours, Darrell found him, staring into space in some living room. Darrell, being Darrell, overreacted and freaked out that Jake had been alone with all sorts of tools at the work site. He wasn't suicidal, but Quinn had been with Darrell, as though they were looking for him. He remembered the look in his brother's eyes as conclusions had been drawn.

They were jumped to and were ones Jake refused to give any credit by even thinking about. Quinn had dragged him home, and pretended, as all brothers should, that Jake hadn't bitten his tongue to keep from crying. Quinn had been his shadow, now that he thought about it, for a lot of time after that day.

"You're letting Mr. Shiney Shoes run a flip?" Sam blinked incredulously. Jake smiled, knowing she was only teasing Darrell and his way of dressing when he did showings. The man, surprisingly, liked sweater vests.

"He's got to learn, Brat, somehow." Jake's replied, falling back on one truth to avoid telling another, "'Sides, it's a low level flip."

Her voice dropped to a whisper, in deference to a sleeping Regina, "Low level, like...?"

She wanted to hear him talk, Jake knew. Sometimes, she just did, though God only knew why. Flips put her a bit on edge, being that she thought it would change Darton County. He wasn't trying to do that, just get work someone else would get if they didn't. "Low level, like it's easy. Some clean paint, some carpets, some electrical. Then all the other stuff." Jake dismissed the process as easy with a shrug, "Three weeks of work, tops."

Jake had been involved with flipping houses for some time, but only recently went out on his own with Darrell. He'd gotten his start picking up part time work laying tile for a guy Grandfather knew. Darrell's late Grandfather's will had provided the start up funds for a tiny flip two summers ago. Some guy, in over his head, threw in the towel and passed it off to them quickly, eager to wash his hands and go back to Oregon.

Jake enjoyed flipping. It was a project with clear goals, a process of getting things done. They could get a place, strip it to the studs if they needed to, and put some sweat into it. That sweat meant money, weeks later. He liked working with Darrell, because he was his own boss. He didn't much like handling the sales, but Darrell had sat for his real estate license last year when he'd finished high school, and he handled that end of the deal. Jake did most everything else, and he liked it that way fine.

They were making a decent living, as infrequently as they flipped a place. His cut paid tuition, anyway. They saved money because Seth did their legal work, and his brothers often came out to work on a flip if they had time. Adam liked to stop by on the off seasons, saying that knocking out walls gave him something to do.

Sam made a sound, one he knew to take as support of his work, even as the idea of tearing up houses and selling them to people they often didn't know made her nervous. She just didn't like change, and Darrell had promised a million times that they would never, upon pain of death, remove character from a house. Jake still had no idea what character was, but Sam did, and she fought Darrell tooth and nail to keep an eye out for it. He generally listened to her advice when she spoke up.

And there you were like a queen in your nightgown

Riding shotgun from town to town

Staking a claim on the world we found

And I'm singing to you, you're singing to me

You were out of the blue to a boy like me

And I'm looking for you in the silence that we share

You were pretty as can be, sitting in the front seat

Looking at me, telling me you love me

4th of July, Shooter Jennings

This trip was something he'd been looking forward to, for weeks. He hadn't known it, of course, but the situation felt so right that even Jake couldn't deny that he'd been waiting for this moment. San Fran was not their home. The city was vibrant and compelling, but nothing compared to home. When they were home again, Jake decided, things would be okay. He would work out whatever he needed to, with Wyatt, and he'd start working for Heck. Life had changed, would continue to change, but the things that mattered had finally come back to them.

Apprehension bloomed under his joy, even as he pushed it away. Sam deserved one day, one day of pretending that this hadn't happened, that things were like any normal day that they'd driven someplace. She deserved to pretend that there was no Regina sound asleep in the backseat, no troubles they could never outrun. She would have that day, if he could give it to her.

She was in her element, her loose, shorn, waves flying in the breeze from the open window. The sun shone, and illuminated her like the brightest of frames. "Jake?" Sam broke the companionable silence between them.

"Hm?" Jake passed a mini-van, and slowed down again, to settle into the steadiness of the moment.

Sam turned up the radio, slightly, as a song she loved came on. "Just making sure you're still here." Sam replied, an oft repeated joke.

"Who'd be driving the car, then?" Jake answered, as was expected.

Everything about Sam was so out of the blue. She told him things with a forthright honesty that stole his breath. Jake didn't deserve the kind of friendship she gave him, nor the steady support her presence in his life provided. He'd made this trip so many times, recently, but today, it was completely different.

Honey if I had to choose

I'd rather ride around with you

I don't care where this road goes

No, I don't wanna turn around

Let go of the wheel, feel the wind blow

Don't even think about slowin' down

I'd Rather Ride Around With You, Reba McEntire

Sam enjoyed the ride, she said, simply because she could get lost in the motion and the music. Jake was glad when sleep overtook her, as he stole glances over at her. Her skin was pale, but she'd gained a little bit weight, and she seemed stronger and more herself with every day that passed. Not that her medical condition was free and clear, even though she hadn't filled him on what Dr. Francis had said. She was probably stewing over restrictions placed on her for the trip home, but she would fess up sooner or later. No, Jake knew things were not free and clear. She still needed to reconnect parts of her brain and body, as it were. She frequently mentioned that her senses had changed, that she was more easily aware of changes in her balance and the texture of touch and the taste of food.

Last night, they'd been sitting, talking over the trip home, trying to figure out the logistics. In a lull, Sam had said something that still knocked him through a loop, just thinking about it, "Jake?"

"Hm?" He paused, looking at her, tired but alight with a joy he had missed like air.

She'd began, carefully, "Want to know something?"

"Yeah." He nodded, wondering where this was headed. Of course he wanted to know. What was that, as a question? He had been hesitant, when he'd realized that she was testing the waters, preparing for his reaction.

"My senses have changed." She met his gaze steadily, even as he saw that her eyes were foggy with pain and pain medication, "When you touch me, the sensation lingers on my nerve endings. I felt your hand on my arm for a good hour after you'd left, when you went home. Strange, huh?"

"Maybe your memory has improved?" He ventured. He knew that some of it was the injury. Some of the sensory processing issues were normal, and so he'd tried to rationalize it. He'd failed horribly, some part of himself buoyant as his heart insisted, as it often did, that it was them who made the mundane special. If it was him, him that made her feel that way, feel like he did, when she touched him.

"Hm, perhaps." She nodded, and added, "Maybe it's my superpower."

"Maybe." He'd smiled, as she'd tossed the notebook on the floor, with an impulsive thud, and gone to sleep.

If pressed to admit it even to himself, he noted that they'd touched a lot, even before he understood what it meant to her. It was a way of saying "Hey, I'm here, and you're here, too." that transcended words. As much as she felt touch reaffirmed where she was in the world, spatially, he knew he needed it just as much. What if a time came that she wasn't there to hug? Having her words, knowing that it was powerful for her, too, gave him another excuse, another reason, to not deny his own need to touch, not when she needed it.

More than that, though, Jake knew that a messed up brain wasn't her superpower. It had been a joke, one to put off the swirl of emotions within them both as she'd said that, confessed God only knew what, to change his world yet again. She really, he thought, really had to stop changing his world. It cost him his equilibrium more than he cared to admit. He'd spent sixteen years with her, and still, she hit him over the head with secrets, things he couldn't understand about her. He could understand, more than anything, that that they needed each other, day in and day out. He hoped that would never change.

Knowing he needed her had been a hard pill to swallow, simply because he'd only realized it when she was gone. It hadn't hit him that he'd needed her, not really, until he'd been standing in his room after he'd left the hospital, with no one to talk to, and nothing of importance to say. College had been hard, but not like the weeks at home without her, not like the weeks knowing she was gone with no way to bring her back.

It was loneliness at school, he knew, because he'd tried like hell to ease it, on the track, and even at some parties. His teammates had insisted he go, but every time some girl came up to him, he excused himself. It felt wrong, to be getting to know someone Sam didn't know, hadn't met. It was wrong, to draw impressions of someone without the tilt of her head or the quirk of her eyebrow to balance what he gathered himself. It felt wrong, to know things about some stranger that he would never know about Sam. It felt impossible to go through a day without talking to her, or failing that, wondering why she hadn't called. After the accident, the loneliness had become despair, torment, a kind of torture only they could understand.

Once he'd figured out that he needed Sam, the absolute rightness of the fact slid into his mind like a puzzle piece, and he wondered why he'd questioned the fact, even as grief and fear swallowed him whole. They'd always needed each other.

He realized, then, what going home from school had meant. He'd come home to visit often, annoying his mother. She was glad to see him, of course, but she fussed over him making friends at school. Those people didn't matter. He had Darrell, and some buddies from high school, if push came to shove. He had his brothers, who were better friends than anyone else, because he didn't have to worry about social convention with them. They knew him, and for the most part, they still liked him. Even when they didn't like each other, there was a relationship there that time couldn't erase. His college buddies wouldn't matter in five years. His ranch would. His family would, and he hoped he could make his parents see why he was doing what he was doing. He was doing it for him.

Jake wasn't giving up on his goals, though he knew his parents would see taking online classes as a cop out. He knew that this weekend, he'd have to come clean. He needed to sit them all down, and calmly, coolly, explain what his choices were. They'd have to understand that as an adult, he was going to make choices for his family. He wasn't too worried about Sam's reaction, truth be told. If she'd had to make the call, he would back her up on it. Only time would tell, he supposed. He knew, though, that the accident had clarified many things, even as it had made many others too complicated to think about.

She's an earthquake

And you're the fault line

So, when you feel the ground start movin' around

Hold on tight, you're in for a ride

She's so California, Gary Allan

Sam looked down at her shirt, waking as the song changed. The song was one of Jake's favorites, but the shirt was new, and unusual. It was nothing like anything she'd ever bought, and felt very...California, for lack of a better word. The shirt was made of a silk blend, the sort that had a few buttons above a raised waist that created a vee-neck. Sue insisted the style created a long, lean torso. Sam brushed her fingers over the self-tie belt. Gosh, she thought, Jen is going to have a field day with this outfit. For years, they'd disparaged clothes like this, and now she was dressed like it. None of her own, comfortable clothes fit correctly.

Her jeans were cut very narrowly. Sue said the style was fashionable, even if Sam did think the narrow cut made her feet look huge in comparison. Sam had thought they looked okay, but now, she thought maybe they looked sort of strangely shaped. She looked down at the flats on the floorboard, ones she'd kicked off ages to prevent the low thrum of discomfort that she always from becoming pain.

"You cold?" Jake asked, seeing that she'd awoken, an expression of complete ease on his face.

"What?" Sam said, only to realize that she'd wrapped her arms around her waist. "Oh, er, yeah."

She fiddled around with her sweater, and pulled it over her arms, smoothing the light fabric over the scars that the needles had left in her arms. Understanding the reasons behind the smallest of actions, Jake sighed, "You look fine, Sam."

"I know." Sam did up a few buttons, fumbling with the small rounds and tiny holes, of the sweater, "You're sure Jen will be there?"

"You don't want her to be?" Jake asked, flicking a look at a sleeping Regina in the back seat. She had woken up a time or two, but as soon as she put her headphones on, she nodded off. It would have been funny if they both didn't know why she was there. If she had been Jen or Darrell snoring away in the back, there would have been jokes and teasing. Regina's presence, for as kind as she was, was hard to navigate.

"Of course I do!" Sam leaned forward hotly, "I'm just... I can't be the friend she needs, but I love her. But I'm not..." Jen deserved a good friend, one who could keep up with her, be what she needed. She loved Jen so much, and she knew Jen had gotten such a crap deal in this situation. At least she and Jake were together.

"Sam." Jake paused, hesitating, "Maybe..."

"Maybe what?" She ran a hand through her shorn hair, cutting him off when he floundered.

He started, anew, "I just..." Finally, he looked at her, and she understood the question that he couldn't put into words.

"Alright, look." Sam shifted her weight, "Our entire friendship was built around the horses, and now...that that idiot Francis won't clear me to do anything, what if..." Sam trailed off, flipping the station. She'd almost told him too much about the restrictions the doctor insisted upon.

Jake picked up on that slip, but obviously chose to stay on track, "Sam, you know that's not true. Jen is your friend." She thought it was funny, that Jake never called Jen her best friend, and wondered again why he didn't.

"I know." Sam admitted, because she did know. She knew Jen loved her as much as she was loved in return. She knew Jen would stand by her, as she always had. "It's irrational."

"And even if you can't ride right now, you can..." Jake tensed, a hopeful expression lighting his brown eyes, making the shade appear more colorful than normal. Sam swore, that even sitting side by side, she saw them glitter, and that made her scared. What if she couldn't keep up with him, once they were home either? Then, then, she wouldn't have him or Jen, and she needed them, but not, Sam thought, not at their expense. She couldn't bear if their friendships suffered, or if...

Sam cut him off, admitting the darkest of truths, "If I can't have it all, I don't want any of it, Jake. I'm not a masochist."

"What?" Jake nearly swerved, getting over, passing a pickup with Alberta plates.

Sam evaded, falling back on their history, hoping to make it easier on herself. "I'm a brat, remember?"

"Sam." Jake wouldn't have any of it, "Talk to me."

She turned the tables on him, hoping that she didn't have to admit this one thing, this one thing that would make him see her for the immature girl she really felt like. She hated, hated, hated when he thought she was a little girl. "You going to tell me, then, why you're hedging about that flip?"

"Sam, please." Jake pleaded, and in his voice, she heard the surety that whatever she said, would be okay. She could admit this, because he needed her to do it.

"I just...don't know if I could deal with being so close to having what I want, what I need, and not have it, you know? Like, if I can't have my life, all of it, everything, the way it used to be, normal, I'm not sure I want to even..." She sighed, "I don't know. Because if that's how I feel, why are we even doing this?" Sam's voice cracked "I'm not strong enough, Jake."

"Why do you feel this way?" Jake own voice wobbled, as though he were surprised by the admission. Sam couldn't deal with his clearly evident shock. She knew he knew how weak she was. He had held her hair back, when she'd cried until she threw up, when she'd trembled in his arms, and railed at the injustice of it all. Why was the fact that she could admit it a shock? Or was he shocked that she was so immature?

"What?" She said, startled, pain ripping through her. She could not handle the rejection she saw in his eyes. Was he rejecting her words...or her?

He clarified, slowly, "Why?"

"Because I can't bear to not be able to do what I do. To not be me. What...if I let them down, again? What if Dad says..." Sam rambled, relief flooding her. He must be doubting her words, and not her.

"Analysis Paralysis." Jake declared, knowingly.

"Hm?" Sam shifted slightly, having never heard the term.

Jake explained. "You're over analyzing, Sam, to the point that you don't want to do anything, because you assigning too high values of importance to things that aren't important."

"Are you going to tell me that riding my own horses aren't important?" Sam shot back, horrified. How could this man, this man who was born to be in the saddle, downplay his horses? Witch...was his world. Witch was loved, totally and completely, without blinders to her faults. Witch was understood by Jake, and she only hoped that she and Ace or she and Kitty had half the relationship Jake had with Witch.

"No. It is." Jake replied, and Sam was glad to know he hadn't had a lobotomy, "You'll get there. But Sam, what were you doing with Jen, while you rode?" Sam understood his words, even if she didn't share in his quietly expressed confidence.

"Oh." They had been sharing their time, talking in places they loved with people they loved. "I guess. But Jake, it's not so simple."

"It is, Sam. Define what is important, and go from there." He advised, trailing off, "Just...make it happen, somehow." Jake paused, "We'll make this work."

They sat in silence, for a time, as music swirled around them. Sam came to the conclusion that Jake was probably correct. It didn't mean that she had to like it, or that the coming days would be easy on her, on them, but he was right. They could do this. She could do this, for herself. She could define what was important, what mattered, and go from there. Surely it was not impossible to be her, somehow. She could still do some of her chores, no matter what that idiot doctor said. No riding. No lifting. No nothing. Extra rest. Keeping medication schedules. Blah Blah Blah. He'd almost refused to sign off on her going, but when she had told him that she was going no matter what he said, he'd lectured her heavily, and sent her on her way, his brows drawn together, as though he wasn't used to be defied or having his authority flouted.

Sam had told Jake the facts of what the man had said, but not the severity or the intensity with which he had said it. Sometimes, she thought, the fact that Dr. Francis insisted on seeing her on her own was a blessing in disguise. It meant that she could interpret his directives in her own way, without worrying about Jake's overprotective nature kicking in.

Still, doubts that had been shoved away early in the trip flared up. The logistics she didn't have figured out haunted her. It was the tiny things that made her question how she could do this. Stairs. Keeping up with her family. Proving to Daddy she could work when the doctor said to be careful. Pain that had building the back of her mind soon burst into the forefront of her conciseness. To keep from leaning forward, shifting around, something she knew was a sure tell, Sam spoke the first thing that came into her mind. "Are you going to tell me about that flip, Jake?"

"Later, Sam." Jake said, "You getting hungry? We could wake Regina, get off here, and get something?"

Gosh, yes. She could eat, then, and maybe they could get some IcyHot out of her bag. The heat hurt something fierce, but it helped, after a time, once she bore the discomfort of the heat long enough to let it. Sam gave one condition, "You have to let me pay."

"Why?" Jake said, seemingly baffled.

Sam could not deal with explanations. Pain made her short tempered. They'd had this argument a hundred times, and even though Jake wouldn't say, she knew money had something to do with his problems with Daddy. "Because!"

"Sam..." Jake said, as realization dawned, and compassion bloomed in his eyes. He knew she was in pain. He'd probably known since she started shifting around, as they'd talked about Jen. Jake set to getting off the interstate. Sam counted the seconds until he got where she knew he was going, as his other hand took hers for a fleeting second. Sam tried her hardest to focus on his touch.

Sam let their discussion go, having bigger fish to fry. "We're going to have to talk it out, sooner or later, you know that, right?"

"Okay." Jake said, finally on a regional road they knew, "But not today."

"You're avoiding a lot, you know." She waited in vain for him to reply, and muttered, "Including this conversation."

Put a dollar's worth of gas in his pickup truck

We're goin' ninety miles an hour down a dead end road

What's the hurry, son, where you gonna go?

Small Town Saturday Night, Hal Ketchum

Roper Cafe was a small, hole in the wall, place that he and Sam often stopped by on their way places. They were hours from home, but close enough that the town was not entirely a mystery to them. Jake came through here more often than Sam did, and they always stopped at Roper's. It was in just another little town that dotted the West, a nondescript place with people just watching the interstate pass them by, wondering if their corner of the world was really a part of something bigger.

"Sam?" Jake hooked a left, passing a tiny bookstore, and a Nazarene church, "Why don't you wake Regina?" He continued driving, pulling into the parking lot.

"I'm awake. I heard talk of food some miles back." Regina yawned, and put away her Mp3 player. "I could use me a good cup of coffee."

"So could I." Jake agreed. He flicked a glance over at Sam, who was clearly in pain. Her brows were drawn tight., and her green eyes were tinged in a way that made him feel like his soul was being stomped on. Regina got out of the Scout, probably to stretch her legs in an an new place.

Sam spoke, "I can't do this."

"I'll help you down." Jake offered, wishing her voice didn't sound so broken.

"No." Sam shook her head, rambling, "I can't go in there. See those people. I can't. I can't."

"You can't?" Jake turned quickly to look at her. Roper and Ruby, the couple that ran the place, were kind, good people. Jake understood, though, what she meant when he remembered that she knew that fact well. The inability wasn't physical. This was the first encounter Sam was having with someone who'd known her weeks ago, someone who didn't know what had happened since then. Jake wondered how he could help her. He hadn't thought about what this would be like, feel like, for a woman as proud as Sam.

"I..." Steel glinted in Sam's tone, in the tilt of her chin, "I have to do this. Practice round for Darton, right?"

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to, Sam, but..." Jake ran his fingers through his hair, agreeing with her reasoning, as much as it felt wrong to do so.

"I'm fine." Sam squared her shoulders, and inhaled, "Let's go."

"You sure?" Jake placed his hat back on his head.

"I said yes." Sam leaned forward, and pushed the door open, "Stop asking me."

Jake didn't want to stop asking her. He didn't want to have to hold in the questions that mattered. Sometimes, though, no questions were needed. He watched in silence, gathering answers that cut like a knife, as Sam tried to ease the pain in her aching body, holding on to the truck door to stretch. He watched as she sank into the chair, wincing as she resumed the position of sitting. He watched as she tossed a stick of IcyHot in Regina's bag, and as she insisted on pushing herself up the tiny ramp made of concrete.

The front left wheel caught on a lip of the pavement, from where the ramp and the sidewalk it led up to connected. Sam held it together, and tried again. Jake's fingers dug into his palms, only holding himself in check so as to honor Sam's wishes, no matter what he thought of them. Regina held the door, and gave them both sympathetic glances.

Just off of the beaten path

A little dot on the state road map

That's where I was born and where I'll die

Down Home, Alabama

Sam fell asleep, as soon as they were on the road again. Jake knew she'd deliberately knocked herself out with a low dose of pain medication. She wanted to be as well as possible when they got home. The dinner had gone fine, but Ruby had floundered until Sam had put her at ease. It wasn't the first time Ruby had seen an injured cowgirl, and it wouldn't be the last. Jake wished, however, that knowing the dangers that were inherent to their lifestyle made it easier to deal with, now that it had happened to them. Sam was Sam, and somehow, that erased any semblance of rationality he possessed, even if he could not acknowledge it.

Jake watched her sleep out of the corner of his eye, wishing it was because she felt at ease, and not because her body was worn down and trying to escape pain. He felt a bit better, though, when he heard her mutter his name in her sleep. At that, a shot of something primal raced through his blood. He ran his thumb over the back of her hand, the one wrapped around her seatbelt, and watched as it relaxed and moved to her side.

As they edged closer to home, Regina asked questions about their surroundings. She seemed enthralled by the cattle they passed, and asked about fencing lines more than once. She saw the sky widen, and gaped. He explained in some detail what ranching was, and the basic processes involved with keeping a place like Three Ponies going. Regina spent a bit of time talking over the differences between farming and ranching. She seemed amazed that they didn't grow cotton or peanuts. Jake smiled. Her Georgian roots were showing, as were her urban leanings.

As the sky opened above him, Jake felt a shift in him that had begun a Roper's. He felt a tension in the back of his neck melt away, a uneasiness drift away as they moved closer to home. For all the issues facing them, they were home, his hat was on his head, and Sam was by his side. Home was looking pretty good, Jake, thought, as he sped up. Soon the roads became ones he knew like the back of his hand, and Regina's interest was no longer half hidden.

He pointed out the roadside stands, points where one man's land became another's. Jake told her everything he could think of, joy thrumming within him, growing as Sam's sleep grew more natural. He realized that he was being given a gift. Finally, he was seeing home through the eyes of a stranger, the eyes of someone who didn't see all of the issues and problems, didn't see this place as more of the same old, same old. He was proud to acknowledge these places as their stomping grounds, far superior to San Francisco.

The road became a two lane road, and then, gravel, and finally, the path back towards the house became a dirt driveway. In front of them stood a house that for the first time in weeks, was the most welcome sight. in the world. Regina was silent, for the first time in awhile. Jake took the moment to pray. He thanked God for this moment, and begged Him for the strength to see this weekend through. He thanked God for the girl stirring next to him, and prayed that God would give them the solace only being home together could provide.

Well, I just smile because they don't understand
But if they ever saw a sunrise on a mountain mornin'
Watched those cotton candy clouds roll by
They'd know why I live beneath these Western Skies
I got peace of mind and elbow room I love the smell of sage in bloom
Catch a rainbow on my fishin' line

Western Skies, Chris LeDoux

Hey, everyone! Two updates in such a short time is usual for this story, I'm well aware. However, I wanted to get some of this out for you, as I'm really wanting to move forward.

Something special to note: Sam starts out really happy in the chapter, but gets more nervous as time goes on. Also, note that Jake arcs in the opposite way, starting with a lot of fear, and ending more idealistically. The point of this was to show you that when they peaked, were both happiest, is what made the trip so great, for all of its issues. It was just an important rhetorical choice, I think, one that shows a lot of insight into both of them, even as Jake served as the main speaker. This, too, was intentional, as a mirror for the trip he made without Sam.

Selecting the music for this chapter was hard. I finally cut out a bunch of songs (yes, I did!) and trusted my gut, but if you're interested in what didn't make the cut, there was a lot more Steve Earle and Reckless Kelly, specifically "Ragged as the Road." I also wanted to use "All the Roadrunning" but I couldn't make it fit. There were about 10 other songs, but I hope to add them in at another point.

Please Review. Thanks for all of the support.

Jumping Arabian: Thank you. So much. Sometimes, there's things I want to tell you, as readers, that I just have to show you, and hope that you feel what I'm hoping you do as I write this. It made my day to know that this rings true to you, and things are coming across as authentic. It's humbling to know that Run means so much to you.