The moment was disappointingly fleeting. Louis backed off, shaking himself like a dog, pretending to get the water off his face that his hair had dripped into his eyes. But he was in reality trying to shake away his raw desire.

"English muffins," he said suddenly, and a little brokenly. "Cookie sent some along. Sound good, or do you want to rummage around in the bags for sommat else?"

"English muffins are fine. With peanut butter," Harry had registered the odd tone in Louis' voice but didn't know what it meant. The man seemed to be having difficulties getting words out of his mouth.

Back at the cabin, they put on clean clothes and heated up the English muffins over the fire that Louis stoked and got started going strong again, then slathered peanut butter on them. Harry had found some in the cupboard at Louis' direction.

"We can cook eggs over this fire too. You know how good the hens' eggs are," Louis reminded Harry. They'd stored them in the coolest spot around-a mini cellar Louis and the hands had dug under the cabin. It was a very small space, only about three feet by four feet, but big enough to hold more than enough food for two weeks for at least two people.

"No, I'd rather wait until later to eat a bigger meal. Me appetite is more for sommat other than food," Harry blurted out without realizing he was all but admitting to his sexual appetite that had suddenly come to life. He was instantly mortified, and swallowed down a gasp. What a mouth! He seriously needed to learn to govern it.

"What?" Louis furrowed his brow, peering at Harry curiously. Harry couldn't really mean what it had sounded like.

"Um, yeah, like . . . watch for those wild horses." Harry sighed in relief and pride that he'd come up with a quick, natural sounding answer. Louis knew of his passion for horses, so it saved his ass. But he'd better be a lot more careful in the future. Next time he'd probably get busted, mused Harry.

Harry hadn't known this kind of longing was even possible. He realized he hadn't really lived until Louis entered his was feeling off balance and aching with Louis beside him as they peered down at the valley. Wanting, but not knowing what. Fear mixed with desire made him tremble. Louis was sitting just a little closer than what was normally acceptable for two men.

Louis knew Harry was fighting his own emotions, and it took every ounce of willpower Louis possessed to step back. Physically and mentally.

"I'll get the binoculars," he bit out before his yearning made him all squishy, and then caused him to melt like a chocolate Easter bunny in the hot sun, and went into the cabin again. Regaining his composure was taxing, but he had to do it. Harry couldn't see him in this state. His eyes would give him away, surely.

"Happy days," announced Louis as he strode toward Harry again, proud he'd found the binoculars so quickly. He wished he'd had an excuse to stay in the cabin longer though. His pants felt skin tight. And they were, in a critical area.

His mind being mostly numb, Harry took the binoculars Louis offered, nodding his thanks that Louis was letting him use them first, horses being the absolute last thing on his mind at the moment. Normally, he'd be beside himself, but Louis was a very effective distraction.

"Quick," Louis gestured to Harry to move closer to him, even though they were already almost touching. "They're coming for their daily drink of water."

Louis quivered with shared excitement, because he knew how much Harry had been looking forward to this.

Louis gave Harry an encouraging smile. When Harry spotted them, he could hardly control himself. He wanted to stand up and cheer, but of course, that would have alerted the horses.

Harry watched on, hardly breathing as the horses drank for at least ten minutes to slack their thirst.

"They get real full of water, and then they're easier to catch, yeah?" asked Harry.

"How'd you know that?" Louis was surprised.

"Johnny told me how you catch them."

"Oh, okay. I wondered how you would know sommat like that."

Harry's breath hitched as he concentrated on a particular horse. "Did you see that paint one? The grey and white?" he asked, his voice almost reverent-sounding.

"No, let me look real quick," Louis took the binoculars away from Harry just long enough to spy the horse in question.

"Ah, yes!" he said as he handed the binoculars back to a Harry that was about ready to burst from excitement. "I remember him from last year. He was about two then. In the awkward stage. He's turned into a real beauty," Louis remarked. A real beauty was an understatement.

Through the binoculars Harry could see that the horse had one blue eye, and a jet black, extremely thick flowing mane and tail. His luxurious forelock covered most of his face. The rest of his body was spotted with large patches of grey and white. "He's magnificent!" cried Harry.

"Yeah, he's sommat, isn't he?'" agreed Louis. "I'd sure like to catch that one. You like him a lot?"

"Hell yes!" exclaimed Harry.

A thought came to Louis then. For just a second he was thinking that If Harry wanted the spotted horse, he would try his best to catch him for him. But then he cast the thought away just as quickly. Why had he thought that? Why would he catch a horse for Harry? Why was the thought already dominating his mind?

"By the way, spotted mustangs are known as pintos, not paints," Louis informed him, trying to get his mind off the prior disconcerting thought. "Paints have quarter horse blood—pintos don't."

"How tall would you say he is?" Harry was obviously head over heels for this young stallion, rushing headlong into getting as much information as he could.

"Oh, hard to say from here. He's not completely full grown yet either. Mustangs aren't generally as tall as domestic horses, but he's a little taller than most. Mustangs are unique. They're more sure footed than any equine except a mule, and they're unusually strong. They can carry heavy men. Look at his bulk. For a three year old, he's stocky. He's gonna be plenty big for anyone to ride. Maybe fifteen hands, I reckon."

Harry didn't ask any more, but he watched the horses' every step as the equines disappeared to the far side of the valley after they'd quenched their thirst.

Harry couldn't get Louis to indulge in much talk that night. They ate the second dinner Cookie had sent along after Louis retrieved it from the mini cellar. After heating it up, they dug into the tender baked pork chops, rice, asparagus and tapioca pudding for dessert.

Getting into bed was a painful process for Louis, as he wanted with a desperateness to snuggle up to Harry, but he knew he didn't dare. If he did, he'd end up kissing him, and he knew his self- control would certainly take a beating. Harry needed to be protected—from him. Little did he know, Harry was fighting a similar battle within himself.

Louis wasn't surprised in the least to find Harry gone from the bed and outside, looking out over the valley through the binoculars at dawn. In fact, he'd expected it.

"See your horse yet?" he asked as he approached Harry.

"Oh, the pinto? No, haven't seen any of them," Harry answered, his voice barely cloaking his disappointment.

"You'll see him when they come for water, don't worry."

After a quick breakfast, they headed to the creek again to wash. They always washed with their underwear on, cleaning themselves discreetly on the sly when the other wasn't looking, even though they'd seen each other naked that night they'd washed themselves in the rain. It was a precious memory for the both of them, though they never spoke of it.

"Want fish for dinner tonight?" asked Louis.

"Are there fish in here?" Harry looked around, not having seen any yet.

"Yeah, I'll show you where they are. The type of fish I usually eat here don't always like the moving water, depending on the time of year, and they hang around quiet pools that branch off this creek this time of year."

"What kind are they?"

"Spotted bass. Best known as 'crappie.' They make good fillets. Some people don't like the taste, but I do."

"I'd like to try them."

"Okay, well, let's see if we can catch some for tonight's dinner after we're done here."

"Wait, don't we need that sun block stuff? You know, the kind that looks like lotion. The lotion you use at the ocean. Hey, that rhymed!" Harry looked very pleased with himself. Louis shook his head. Harry loved to tell really lame jokes, and make things rhyme too. He was still such an enigma to Louis. Goofy, funny, innocent, sweet and shy. A cornucopia of extraordinary surprises.

I get tan, I don't burn. You, on the other hand, will probably burn before you tan. Here, I'll smear some mud on your face and shoulders to make sure that doesn't happen."

Harry ducked, but Louis, armed with a handful of mud, was too quick for him. He effectively held Harry with one hand and slathered the mud freely on Harry's shoulders, forehead, cheeks, nose and chin with the other.

"I just washed!" protested Harry.

"You can wash it off before we go back to the cabin. It isn't as if it's all over your body," was Louis' amused answer.

"Can you show me how to fish?" asked Harry.

Louis' eyes flashed with wariness. Was Harry trying to get him up close and cozy again? Louis really did need to steer clear of that.

"What? You haven't fished before?"

"No, me dad was gonna teach me, but then he got sick, and there wasn't enough time before he died."

Okay, so Harry had Louis feeling a little mournful for the curly haired lad.

They went back to the cabin and brought two of the rather crude fishing poles Louis had made himself back to the creek. The other hands had asked Louis why he didn't use store bought poles, but Louis had insisted he wanted to do things as primitively as possible when he was in the Apache Mountains. And he did—for the most part. The only thing he couldn't seem to do without was using fishing lures instead of bait, and the ranch hands had a field day with that. They reasoned that if he had handmade poles, he should also use bait. They found it comical that Louis was oddly inconsistent, and never let him live it down.

"That reminds me. Someone will be bringin' us more food tomorrow," he mentioned to Harry.

"I hope they remember to bring some of me other clothes. Nothin' I have matches," Harry pointed to his mismatched shirt and sweats with a good natured smile.

"You don't have to make a fashion statement out here, Styles. I doubt anyone will show up wanting a photo session."

"Well, at least some sweats that match would help. I don't need a three piece suit or anythin.'"

Louis had to laugh at that.

"Hopefully they'll remember. We're so isolated out here that I've never been able to get a signal on me cell phone, or I'd call them to remind them."

Harry felt prickles and tingles zigzag up and down his spine with the mere thought that he and Louis were many miles from any other human. No one could even reach them by phone. The thought caused his brain to go into overdrive, imagining the two of them doing whatever they wanted . . . alone . . .

No! Turn those thoughts off! Remember, long ago, Louis said that not even the thoughts were allowed. But then, he'd also said they couldn't be alone again, and yet, here they were . . .

Forcing his mind back to fishing, Harry soaked up what Louis was teaching him about using the lures, and before long, they were sitting sit by side, waiting quietly and patiently for the fish to bite. They joked around, but in a hushed way so as not to spook the fish. Harry was enchanted with Louis' often sarcastic humor.

"The mud's cakin' and dryin' on your face," teased Louis as a piece of dried mud fell off Harry's chin and landed in his lap, as if to prove his point. Harry scrunched his face up.

"Lou, I wanna take it off now."

"Okay, you can take it off as soon as we have some fish. If you disturb the water now, we won't get any fish."

So Harry waited, the tacky mud sticking and making his face itch. It paid off because they caught three fish, one of which Harry had snagged, and it tallied up to nearly three pounds of meat. Harry had been ecstatic, nearly losing his pole in his excitement when it had tugged his line. Louis's steady hands, however, circling around him from behind and guiding him as he reeled the fish in, saved the day. Harry's eyes bulged at the ten inch fish he'd caught. He felt a little sorry for it, however, as Louis dumped it into the bag he'd brought from the cabin.

"Not bad. More than enough for dinner, and tomorrow too, if we feel like it. We can have instant rice with it and corn," announced Louis. "The rice'll be easy to prepare over the fire, and the corn is canned. We can have the rest of Cookie's bread too."

Harry's mouth watered when he thought of their tasty upcoming dinner. But not nearly as much as it watered when he thought of discovering delicious secrets when it came to Louis' body. He didn't know the first thing about that kind of stuff, but he'd sure like to find out.

"Hey," Louis murmured, close to Harry's ear, his breath ghosting over Harry's neck. Goose bumps rose on Harry's arms.

"What?" he asked.

"You did a good job catchin' that fish. Should be proud of yourself. I didn't think you'd catch anythin' on your first try." This made Harry glow with pride. And that made Louis marvel at his beauty, once again. A flushed Harry was the sexiest thing Louis had ever seen.

That evening they cooked the fish over the fire, and Harry was pleasantly surprised at the taste. It wasn't as good as salmon or trout or swordfish, and it was boney, but he still quite liked it.

"Right. That was really delicious," declared Louis as he sat back to rub his belly. They hadn't even finished half of the fish, even though they'd both been ravenous after their day of fishing. They were stuffed to the gills.

There seemed to be a shadow that hovered over Louis when he was not invested in the conversation, so Harry tried to keep him talking. And Louis thought it uncanny how Harry knew when his thoughts shifted to anything other than the current subject. When that happened, Harry would calmly direct him back to the present.

Still, unsettling thoughts continued to seep in, causing Louis to become distracted in his effort to stay focused on what Harry was saying. It wasn't that Harry didn't keep his interest—quite the opposite really, but he couldn't permit himself to concentrate too much on Harry because Harry was danger all over the place. At least to Louis he was. All Louis could think about was kissing him again . . .

"You're sort of a rebel, aren't you?" asked Harry.

Louis was taken aback for a second. He hadn't seen that one coming. Some of the strangest things would come tumbling from Harry's mouth, and at the oddest times.

"Well, I don't take any shit from anyone. I guess some people consider me a dick."

Harry remembered Louis making a similar statement once. "Oh, I don't think so. I think they respect you."

"I'm not talkin' about the people on the ranch, but maybe some people in Pecos."

"I've never seen that. At the barn dance, everyone seemed to admire you."

Louis tried to ignore that comment, his cheeks feeling slightly warm.

"Yeah, I'm a rebel, yet tied to me father's legacy, so I guess I'm conflicted."

"So you don't want to be tied to his legacy?" Harry's eyes were questioning and full of interest.

"Oh, yeah. Of course I do. But there's a certain . . . wildness in me, I guess you'd say. Moreso than me dad ever was. I guess I'm a bit of a rogue."

"Tell me about the wildness," Harry shifted his weight to get more comfortable as they sat before the valley, gazing down on it. Harry's eyes were now fixed on Louis' face.

Louis thought about the strict, torturous rules he'd set for himself. Then he thought about his attraction to Harry. Where the former was concerned, he was disciplined, but with the latter, he was a different man. A man full of unquenched desires. But he couldn't tell Harry that.

"Hey, it's about time to keep an eye out for those mustangs," Louis tried to divert Harry from this subject that was beginning to make him feel unsettled. "They're later today for their drink."

"You're avoidin' me again," Harry said almost mournfully.

Louis sighed, recalling just how tenacious Harry could be when he wanted to know something.

"Okay, the wildness—the feral part of me, is, uh, hidden a lot of the time. I've been bottlin' things up for too long." As he talked, Louis tried not to recoil from Harry, but merely talking about these things was making him feel terribly vulnerable. The crushing loneliness he'd put up with for so long . . . feeling so lost.

"Look, let's not get into this right now. You'll miss the mustangs if we don't keep an eye out for them," and Louis raised the binoculars to his eyes, dismissing Harry's questions as if it didn't matter a whit to him.

"But you can't deny what's between us, can you?" Harry's direct question made Louis shiver a little, and he tried, unsuccessfully to use avoidance.

He slid his butt a little farther away from Harry, his heart picked up its pace and he felt trapped, suffocated, even though he desperately wanted to be open with Harry.

Harry was, for all intents and purposes, forcing him to talk. "I've been holdin' meself back," Louis answered. "For a very long time."

Harry looked puzzled. "From what?"

"For God's sake, Harry. You! Don't you know?" Louis was becoming exasperated.

Harry's throat constricted, realizing Louis was finally admitting . . . what? That he wanted him physically, or something else? Something more along emotional lines? Romantically, or just having to do with lust? The one-night kind of thing? Or something more lasting? Louis didn't impress him as the emotional, sensitive type, and Harry was afraid to ask, so he didn't.

"Bloody hell, there's the mustangs," announced Louis, handing the binoculars back to the younger man, grateful for the diversion the mustangs brought.

Harry, still stunned and speechless as a result of Louis' words, tried to focus his eyes, but they did nothing but blur. He couldn't make out the horses. They looked like blobs, moving along. His mind worked frantically, trying to figure out just where Louis stood with his feelings.

He'd been holding himself back?

The boss man, with his stringent, uncompromising requirements and rules had been trying to thwart his feelings for Harry? The man was good . . . really good at cloaking his true self if this was the case.

All along, Louis had been putting on an act when in Harry's presence. He'd only given in to his desire on that trail ride they'd had, and in the line shack. And that had been only to kiss Harry.

"See him? See the young stallion?" asked Louis, but his voice sounded miles away to Harry.

"Not sure. I want to see him but I'm . . . how do I say it? Overcome. We need to talk." Harry lowered the binoculars and peered straight into Louis' azure blue eyes.

Caution ruling him, Louis cast those suspicious eyes on Harry.

"What about?"

"You know what about. What were we just discussin?'" Assertive Harry was bobbing to the surface again.

"Fookin' hell!"

Louis pushed himself up from the grass and stalked away. "I can't fookin' talk about it!" he yelled over his shoulder as he disappeared into the cabin.

Was Louis merely denying his feelings, or did it run a lot deeper? As he had in the past, Harry suspected it was a lot more tricky and problematic than he would expect. Something was poking a very painful thorn in Louis' side. And it was festering. And Harry, by God, was going to find out what it was.