Harry was in no mood to surrender to Louis, figuratively, like he usually did. So he had adopted an attitude that was slightly on the haughty side. And he had not a clue what it was doing to Louis.

Louis found it stupendously appealing. Here was a component to Harry's personality that hadn't cropped up before. Except maybe briefly in the line shack, at the creek, and the time, that seemed so long ago now, that Harry had insisted Louis look at him, and not evade his eyes. So Harry Styles had some spunk to him. He just didn't advertise it often.

Louis' guarded eyes flashed a cobalt blue in the near-dark, caution ruling him.

Where was Harry's mind at?

He soon found out, as Harry promptly rolled over on his side, facing away from Louis. Okay, so, it was barely dark, and Harry was going to sleep already? Whatever. Louis lay there, hands clasped behind his head and waited for Harry to give an indication that he was asleep. Like that soft, steady pattern in his breathing.

After they'd gone back home from the line shack, Louis had found it difficult to sleep for lack of having Harry beside him. He'd grown so used to it in the. . . what. . . two or three nights he'd spent with him? He couldn't even remember the time frame, as it had all blended together, with certain highlights that were heavily underscored in his mind. Those moments were really special . . . all the kissing . . . but, no, those thoughts were banned.

"Lou?" Harry's voice roused Louis from his musings.

"Yeah?"

"Were you asleep?"

"Yeah, but I'm not now," Louis lied.

"Sorry."

"What did ya want?"

"Well, um . . . like, are you ever gonna tell me that nickname of yours?"

Louis knew exactly what Harry was talking about. Harry'd remembered it all this time!

"How much is it worth to you, mate?" Louis could have kicked himself. That had sounded so . . . suggestive.

Harry either didn't notice, or pretended not to.

"A dollar?"

"Hmmmm . . . " Louis acted as if he was contemplating it. "Maybe."

"Well," Harry leaned over and grabbed his wallet from his jeans and pulled out a single. Louis waved it away.

"I'll tell you if you promise not to laugh."

Harry returned the dollar to his wallet, stuffed it back in his jeans and then turned to Louis, those wide eyes of his shining like bright coins in the dark.

"I promise," he said, sounding very much like a young teenager would when sharing a secret at a sleep-over.

"Well, I'm trustin' you not to spread it all over Pecos." Louis closed his eyes, even though the room was so dark that Harry could barely make out his expression under the crescent moon that glowed dimly down upon them from the window.

Louis didn't want to hear the laugh or giggle, or see the smirk on Harry's face when he divulged the nickname. There was a sizeable possibility he was going to be sorry for this.

He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, letting the silence linger, then uttered, "Boo Bear."

Silence. For a long moment. Louis waited, but no giggle came, nor any other sound. He slowly turned his head and dared to open his eyes. Harry was smiling, but not in a way that said he was poking fun. Rather, in a sweet way.

Tension hung thick around them, and Louis still feared Harry would burst into laughter at any second.

"I like that. Someone has a lot of affection for you," Harry said.

Louis sighed in relief.

"Me mum. I was only three, but I remember it well. I think me dad told Johnny, Nora and Cookie. Whatever, doesn't matter . . . but word got out somehow and now all the ranch hands know it. Except of course, Leo."

"And I bet you forbid anyone to use it too."

Oh, Harry was on the ball.

"Yep."

Harry could just imagine Niall using the nickname, and Louis jumping down his throat.

"I bet Niall's messed up a few times," he commented with a grin.

Louis smiled slightly and nodded. "More than once."

"Were you really asleep just now?"

"No."

"Then why'd you say you were?"

"Fuckin' with your head, Curly."

There wasn't much Harry could say to that. He still got disconcerted sometimes with Louis' blunt ways.

Louis spoke up. "A few days ago, maybe a week ago, I looked out the window of the house and saw you sittin' out by the chicken coop, and those newest baby chicks were all in your lap. Just climbin' all over you. The hen was pickin' at the dirt right beside you, content and trustin' as could be. I spent the better part of an hour watchin' you. Later on that day I saw Niall sittin' in the same spot you'd been, and I guess he was tryin' to copy you. But all the chicks were givin' him a wide berth, and then the hen decided to attack him. He jumped up just before she got him and said, 'Jesus Christ! That mother cluckin' hen hates me!'"

Harry laughed hard, holding onto his sides.

"No, really. It really happened," Louis said, the mirth in his voice barely controlled.

"Niall's a real character. I really like him," said Harry after he'd caught his breath.

"Yeah, we all do. For some reason, the hands that end up at the Rockin' Horse Ranch have been some of the best people I've ever met." Louis looked wistful. Harry wondered if he was referring to himself as well. He sure hoped so. He was also astonished that Louis had watched him from the window for nearly an hour. Why would he do that? He couldn't possibly find his interaction with the chickens that interesting.

Harry decided to take a chance. "Tell me about your dad . . . that is . . . if you want to," he said a minute later. He wanted to find out why Louis' dad still seemed to have such a hold on him, such an influence, even though he'd been gone several years.

Louis stiffened a bit, but then seemed to decide there was no harm in discussing his father with Harry. He relaxed and got more comfortable, snuggling into the covers, looking as if the question didn't bother him as much as Harry would have imagined it would. It was kind of cute, and Harry took the moment to admire his boss cozied up in bed. He looked so inviting . . . but Harry tried to shake that thought off. With any luck, Louis might be feeling comfortable enough in Harry's presence to talk more openly.

After pondering it for a bit and concluding that if Harry was curious enough to ask, Louis would tell him.

Well, he was tough . . . tough on his employees, tough on me, but mostly, tough on himself."

Harry chuckled slightly, catching Louis' immediate attention.

"What's that all about?" Louis asked, just short of defensive.

"Oh, nothin.' Nothin' bad anyway. I was just thinkin' that he sounds kind of like you."

Louis let out the breath he'd been holding. He wondered fleetingly why he'd been so quick on the gun in case Harry dared to criticize his father.

"No, no. He was much stronger than me. Really, he was," Louis insisted when Harry shook his head in the negative.

Harry continued to disagree. "You're exacting, precise, and tough when you need to be, and really, really tough on yourself. You don't sound like you're that much different than him to me."

Harry's words bounced around in Louis' head. What he really wanted to say to Harry was something like, Me dad wasn't gay. But he refrained because he didn't want to put himself out there like that, didn't want Harry to know how much it ate at him, haunted him, would give him no rest.

"Maybe in some ways he was like me, but not all," was what Louis settled on saying out loud.

Harry suspected Louis just might be talking about himself being gay, and his father not being gay. But that could be a stretch, because from what Harry had gathered so far, both Louis and his father were very complicated and intricate in nature. You never knew for sure what Louis was thinking. It could be many things that Louis spoke enigmatically about.

"Did you get on with your own dad?" Louis asked.

Harry smiled, his eyes becoming distant, fondly recalling things he'd done with his father like playing cards, going to football games, and watching movies together.

"We got on very well. He wasn't as . . . complex and driven as your dad seemed to be. He was mellow and easy going."

"Like you," commented Louis.

Harry nodded, and Louis could almost see the wheels turning in his head. "I guess temperament really is inborn as well as environmental."

Louis liked that Harry seemed to be well read, and had put thought into his reply. The lad was no slacker.

"Yes, and I reckon you're right. Me integral disposition is similar to me dad," admitted Louis. "Just as yours is to your own."

"Do you ever wish you could do things over? Like . . . do things differently with your dad?" asked Harry.

Louis thought about that, running his fingers over the stubble on his cheeks, resulting in a slightly raspy sound that made Harry's nerves tingle in a good way.

"Yeah. Sometimes I wish I could have had a more normal childhood and relationship with me dad. More like yours. But of course, you lost your dad earlier than I lost mine, so I shouldn't be complainin.'"

"True," Harry replied." I lost mine earlier. But me dad gave me a foundation, a baseline to pattern me life after. So it may have been only fifteen years, but it was a really fulfilling fifteen years."

"Me dad also gave me guidance, but in a very different way. He was a lot more serious than your dad, in fact, often somber."

"Oh, I realize he gave you direction, but, as you said, he had a different attitude toward life in some ways."

Louis was enjoying the shit out of this conversation. So he just shot from the hip, and said it.

"I enjoy the shit out of this."

"Talking?"

"Yeah, but more specifically, talking to you. The others are fun, but they talk about simpler, basic things. Safe subjects. Things that don't usually run deep. Johnny is the only one who talks . . . solemnly with me on occasion, but even so, you are on a whole different level."

Well, Harry was going to dare to take that as a compliment. He was thankful, contented, and even proud that Louis thought of him in that way. Louis seemed to take him seriously, where many people in his life had not. His mom, Audrey and Tish took him seriously, but, as Louis had hinted at, they both seemed to need this male "bonding," so to speak.

Harry could see how battered Louis' soul was. He didn't know if anyone else could sense it, but the tone in Louis' voice told him the older man had a need for this kind of camaraderie. Was, in fact, yearning for it. Harry was thrilled to be the one to provide it. He'd love to touch Louis, but it had to be Louis' move. These things have a way of working themselves out if it's meant to be. He had to keep telling himself that. And Louis was not one to be persuaded or coerced. Harry wouldn't want it that way anyway.

"Have you ever thought . . . about why you haven't come out to the other guys?" Louis asked.

Harry squelched a gasp. That was the last thing on earth he'd expected to come from Louis. At that moment, it began to dawn on him how much trust in him Louis was exhibiting. To even be discussing things of this nature was not routine for Louis.

He frantically searched his thought process for an answer that would help keep Louis calm, keep him talking.

"Um . . . like . . . no. I was afraid of being judged or disliked," it was as honest as Harry could possibly make it. It was the truth. "Besides, I didn't feel like I really needed to. Do I really need to put a label on me sexuality?"

"So you wanted them to have a good impression of you?" Louis asked. "And you didn't think that would happen if they knew?"

Holy crap. Harry was afraid of saying the wrong thing. He had to word this just right. He felt as if he was on very thin ice, which might crack at any time, and then Louis would refuse to continue, the result being a splash of ice cold water to Harry's face.

Deciding to ease his way through this, Harry deliberately dialed himself down. "Yeah . . . guys like me are ridiculed all the time." Harry was careful not to include or refer to Louis in any way, even though Louis was aware Harry knew he was also gay.

"Life is hard enough already, yeah?" Louis' eyes were soft and in that moment Harry felt as if the Donny man would forgive him for just about anything.

"That's the honest truth," responded Harry. Much too conscious of Louis' nearness made heat spread through him, the acute awareness of Louis' body so close to his own waking new discoveries within himself that had long gone dormant. He'd given up on finding any kind of romance.

"I couldn't . . . I couldn't respond to a woman recently," Louis' voice was very quiet and tremulous.

Harry was flabbergasted, not really sure what exactly Louis was saying. Had Louis gone to bed with a woman and not been able to perform? He didn't know what to say.

"Oh?" he said, settling for a relatively safe reaction.

"Yeah. At a bar. I went there to pick up a woman. Thought I'd try one last time." Louis looked into Harry's eyes, wondering what he'd see there. All he saw was confusion.

"But she didn't do anythin' for me."

"You weren't feelin' it?"

"Nope. Nothin.' That . . . that scares me."

Louis' demeanor changed then, in hardly a complete heartbeat. He seemed to make a mental decision, and then he stiffly turned his back to Harry.

"Good night," he said.

Harry knew what was happening. Louis wanted to talk to him, tell him everything. All his thoughts, all his fears, all his loneliness about being gay, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Harry had read it in his eyes, and he understood. And he hoped Louis would ultimately decide he was trustworthy enough to confide in. Eventually they both dozed off.

The next morning, after a night of sleeping fitfully and waking off and on with racing thoughts and digging bottomless abysses in his mind while also fighting off disturbing dreams, Harry awoke to an empty bed. He had liked waking up to a warm Louis in the line shack, so this was the ultimate diss, at least to his way of thinking.

Give him time.

Through the window, he saw Louis sitting outside where they'd watched the sunset last night, sipping a mug of coffee, staring listlessly out over the valley. There was a certain gloominess that hung over him like a cloud. He looked lost. The man was holding a lot inside.

Harry wondered why so many men didn't express their feelings and emotions for fear of being tagged as weak. Louis was anything but weak, but apparently Louis wasn't convinced of that fact. Harry approached him with the utmost caution.

What kind of mood was he in? After last night's curt good night from the man, Harry didn't know how to conduct himself this morning.

So he just sat down beside Louis, and simply said, "Good mornin,'" leaving the ball in Louis' court.

Louis' feelings toward Harry were erratic. Most of the time he liked him enormously, but on rare occasions he almost hated him-hated what Harry was bringing out in him. Hated that Harry made him feel soft. He needed time to examine these feelings, and that is what he'd been doing for the last hour. He needed to discover himself—to stop hiding from his feelings. Trouble was, he wasn't at all sure how he should feel. Sometimes he felt like half a person.

"Mornin,'" he returned, muttering more than articulating.

"Sorry if I . . . upset you . . . last night," Harry had debated if he should say this or not, and his clumsy way of stammering it out didn't help the situation much.

Louis stretched his arms above his head, his hands ending up behind him supporting his weight, and his legs sprawled out straight in front of him, crossed at the ankles.

"You didn't. Had nothin' to do with you. Just me own hang-ups."

Harry tried to digest that as Louis went and fetched him a cup of coffee.

"Thanks," Harry's eyes sparkled when Louis put the mug into his hand. He could have gotten his own coffee. It was a nice gesture.

He wasn't going to prod Louis into talking any more than Louis himself volunteered.

Louis sat back down, meeting Harry's gaze, trying not to get lost in those green eyes again. It was so much easier said than done. Harry had a way of rendering a person speechless with his beauty. He was not only sweet and lovely, but he set Louis' blood on fire. Louis didn't like feeling helpless, but Harry had a way of reducing him to a shivering ball of need.

Harry couldn't see into Louis' mind, and to him, the man seemed so disengaged, and it was worrying. He didn't want to infringe on Louis' privacy.

"I'll have me coffee inside," he said as he got up to walk into the cabin.

Louis perked up. "Do you want to be alone? In the cabin? If not, stay here."

Harry stopped, his back ramrod straight and still turned away from Louis.

"I'll come over there and pull your hair again," Louis mock threatened, his eyes glimmering with suppressed laughter.

Harry smiled. "I'd like that," he murmured, as he slowly turned and retraced his steps.

"What, me pullin' your hair?"

"Staying here," Harry corrected him playfully.

They sat and watched their hobbled horses grazing in the valley below them. Louis had scattered hay and grain about that Nick had brought along, and Harry was aware the creek was not far away. He imagined the horses really enjoyed this time off to relax and just be horses.

"Sooner or later we'll see wild horses off in the distance," Louis indicated with a nod toward the far side of the valley.

"How many are there?"

"Oh, a couple dozen last time I was here. Sometimes more, sometimes less."

They lay prone after a while, propped up on their elbows, chins resting on their hands as they watched the valley for the horses.

"Do they know where the creek is . . . if they're thirsty?" asked Harry, referring to their own horses.

"Oh yeah. Joaquin's been here so many times that he knows the area well. He's already escorted Saber to the creek. They splashed it in as well as they could with the hobbles," Louis smiled, remembering how the horses had dipped their noses into the water clear up to their eyes, and kicked it up at each other, trying to play like youngsters. He'd watched to make sure they didn't try to roll and then drown because of the hobbles. He'd been ready to step in if needed.

"How long have you been up, anyway?" asked Harry.

"Hour or so, I guess. Your leg was over me again."

He said it in such a monotone casual way that Harry wasn't sure if he was disturbed by it or slightly amused.

"Sorry."

"Just don't let it happen again." Louis' grin gave him away, and Harry's heart suddenly felt unusually warm. If he could sleep with Louis Tomlinson for the rest of his life, he would, and gladly.

A little later on, they took soap, shampoo and their toothbrushes to the creek.

"It's a little fast runnin', but not so fast that you can get carried away with the current. It's perfect for bathin' because all the dirt and soap are swept away. It's clean because it's filtered through all the rocks," explained Louis as they approached the creek. "So we can drink it too."

It was ridiculously refreshing to get all the sweat, dirt, and horse smell off, and they splashed around after bathing for quite a while.

Harry was rinsing his hair a final time when Louis advanced just to give his long dark locks a light tug, just the way he'd done in the line shack to keep Harry from leaving the bed. Louis had been dying to do that again for the longest time—sink his hands in those locks, and even though he could only do it in private, it brought him great pleasure to finally indulge himself again. The sight of it dripping down the lad's back nearly to between his shoulder blades, some of the wave remaining even when soaking wet had enticed Louis until he could no long curb himself.

"Don't ever cut it," Louis admonished, his voice laced with longing.

Harry's skin prickled with awareness of Louis' closeness. A smile lit his face despite himself. He was disconcerted at his awakening libido. Harry had never felt this way about anyone, male or female. It fanned out warmly in his belly, a foreign feeling, and delightfully tingly, changing from warm to hot in seconds. The only other time he'd felt like this was when Louis had kissed him. . . and kissed him . . .. and kissed him. It had been almost unbearably sweet.

Louis could see that Harry was far from complaining, flashing those dimples and charming his own heart right out of his chest. Louis was hard-put to keep from touching Harry, other than the brief tug to his hair. He wanted to reel him in and kiss him long, sweet . . . and . . . passionately. But he had too many demons to deal with. It was killing him. He was being pulled in two different directions. He could do what was right, and step back, not giving into temptation, or do what his emotions cried out for. But that was impossible, because he'd be doing himself as well as Harry a major disservice. And he couldn't possibly put any hurt on Harry. Harry was innocent. Even if Harry would have him, he couldn't promise anything. Because he still refused to completely accept the fact that he was gay. He prayed these feelings would pass . . .