Louis left the cabin soon after, just as dusk settled around them. Harry watched him strut with purpose and resolve, as if he was bound and determined to outrun his own feelings.
That's what Harry wanted to believe; it couldn't true though, because Louis obviously didn't want him. Well, that shouldn't shock him. What did he expect? Harry was a nobody, and Louis was a successful rancher. Harry shouldn't get in his way—impede him. Besides that, Harry reckoned Louis would need a strong partner, one who was as self-assured as he himself was. And that was something that didn't come naturally to Harry. Harry felt weak, fragile and too passive.
Where was Louis going? Harry couldn't tamp down his inquisitive nature. In a few short seconds, he decided to follow the Doncaster man as he stalked quickly away, disappearing from sight almost immediately. Harry imagined him sulking and grumbling to himself, cussing Harry out under his breath.
Harry hated discord, and wished he hadn't been so pushy, pressuring Louis the way he had. As Harry continued to trek after Louis, he noticed how quickly it was getting dark. Soon, it was hard to make out the path ahead of him. Now and then he'd hear what he thought were Louis' footsteps somewhere ahead of him, but with the strange way sound carried out here, he wasn't sure if the rancher was a distance away, or right in front of him.
Suddenly, it was as if the ground suddenly dropped out from under him. It felt somewhat like when he and Saber had somersaulted, but on a horse, he knew he only had about five feet to fall. In this case, he had no idea how far he was going to plummet. He realized, too late, that he'd probably gotten too close to the edge, where the ground sloped down to the valley. But he also knew there were places that were anything but sloping. They were steep drop-offs, and Louis had warned him about them. He'd had his mind on Louis, and with the gathering darkness, hadn't been paying close enough attention.
Nope, this one wasn't gently sloping, where he would simply roll downhill, and his worst fears were confirmed when he hit something with a jolt. He sensed the object was all that stood between himself and a horrendous fall. If he was indeed at a steep drop-off, he could fall all the way to the bottom of the valley, and he doubted he'd survive a fall of that distance.
Dizzy with fear and gasping, he grasped the object with both hands as his feet swung in mid-air. "Louis!" he screamed as loudly as he could. Panic overtook him. This might well be the end. And all because he'd made a stupid mistake by following Louis, who knew this area a hell of a lot better than he did; instead of waiting for Louis to return to the cabin. And furthermore, in the dark!
Harry was deathly afraid to move a muscle. He tried to control his panicked breathing, but his lungs felt like he'd sprinted a hundred yards. He hung on with a fierce tenacity, praying Louis was near enough to hear him. He feared that just the slight movement required to yell out again might be all it took for whatever he held on to, to break away, and down he would tumble to his death.
He heard a crack, which caused him to flinch and gasp, and realized that whatever he clung to was giving way. It was probably a thick branch of a vine, root, or something of the sort, sticking out of the edge of the drop-off. No way of telling when it would break loose. A fresh curl of adrenaline unfurled in his belly, and made his panic grow ever worse. Louis wasn't coming. He would have been here by now. But then, how would Louis find him, as it was almost completely dark now? If Louis had heard him, he would have answered. Man, he was screwed!
A firm, solid grasp closed around one of his wrists.
"Harry, hold on!" Thank God. Louis had found him. How he had managed it, Harry hadn't a clue, but he'd never been more grateful in his life.
"I am, but I think it's gonna break loose any second!" Harry cried.
Louis took a deep breath. "Give me both your hands," he instructed. "I have ahold of this one. Now give me your other one."
"I can't! I'll fall!" Harry clenched his jaw in mortal fear. He was afraid of heights, and he tried not to imagine how far below him solid ground was. Too far.
"Harry!" commanded Louis. "Trust me! Give me both your hands! I'll pull you up!"
Harry didn't think Louis could do it. He was dead weight, and Louis would have to hoist him up over the side of the cliff. Louis was strong, but was he that strong? The odds . . . what were the odds? Harry had his doubts. And he didn't want to let go of whatever he clutched because he was afraid he'd pull Louis over the edge, and then both of them would die.
Another slight snap, and Harry knew the thing he was holding onto was getting ever closer to breaking away.
"Harry! Both your hands! Give them to me! NOW!" Harry heard the tremor of panic in Louis' voice just under the surface of the demanding tone, and somehow he knew that Louis was panicked for him.
Somehow, that gave him the strength to let go of the object and take Louis' other hand. He couldn't disappoint Louis by wimping out. This was going to be hard enough on his boss as it was.
"Relax, Harry. I'm pullin' you up now. Don't move—just let me pull you up."
Harry listened to Louis. He had to trust him. And if they both fell, then there was nothing he could do now.
Louis leaned back, braced himself and began easing Harry up. Harry heard his heavy breaths, his grunts to pull up a man who weighed about the same as he did.
Up a little more. Inch by agonizing inch, Harry felt himself being lifted. But when would Louis' strength give out? He could lose his grip on Harry's hands at any second, because Harry felt the moistness of the sweat of labor in Louis' palms, and their fingers were sliding apart by fractions of an inch.
It wouldn't take long for their grip to be lost. And Harry knew in his heart that Louis wouldn't let go even if that happened. Even if they only had each other's fingertips, Louis would keep trying. More grunting, a few swear words, and Harry suddenly felt solid ground under his body. He quickly rolled toward Louis' legs, which he could make out in the dark. Away from the side of the cliff.
For a few moments of hard breathing, Harry lay there on his belly, in shock.
Louis forced himself to speak as he gasped for breath. "It's okay, Haz. You're safe now. Just don't move, please." As Louis got his breath back, Harry tried to look at his boss, but darkness had enveloped him.
A couple of minutes went by, Louis' hand clamped onto Harry's wrist as if he were afraid Harry would get away and end up in the same predicament.
"Get up, Harry. Slowly. You're only about eighteen inches from the edge. Get up, and let's move back from the edge a little more."
Harry did as he was told. When they were safely a few feet away, they dropped to the ground again, both of them in semi-shock.
That had been a close one.
Harry, his voice quivering, murmured softly. "You saved me life, Lou. Thank you," Harry was surprised he had a voice. He was in complete awe of his boss.
"What the fuck were you doin' out here in the dark anyway?" was Louis' reply.
"Lookin' for you."
"You knew I'd be back."
"Yeah, but . . . I guess . . .I was concerned because I pushed you too much to talk when you didn't want to. Man, you really are Superman."
There was a bewildered silence. A moment later, "No I'm not. You're just lucky I'm really familiar with this area. I've hiked all over this place. You picked one of the worst places to almost fall off a cliff."
The story of his life. All his life, Harry had managed to get himself into deep shit without even trying to. The tripping and falling, getting lost, and now, almost getting himself killed. And almost taking Louis along with him.
"Let's go back to the cabin. I think that was enough excitement to do us for a while." Louis' voice was unnaturally husky, but Harry couldn't see his face to try to examine his emotional state.
Louis kept Harry close by his side on the way back to the cabin, placing himself between Harry and the edge of the drop-off. He wasn't taking any more chances. Harry didn't realize how far he'd traveled, looking for Lou. It turned out to be over a mile.
As they finally reached the cabin, Louis ushered Harry inside and lit a lantern. Then he sat on the edge of the bed.
"We'll talk now. I had a chance to think about it when I was walkin' out there, and I haven't been exactly . . . fair to you. I need . . . I guess I need to tell someone how things have . . . escalated with me." Louis' voice was now becoming scratchy and raw, his eyes flitting here and there, never settling on anything for long.
Harry was perplexed. What was escalating with Louis? He stayed silent though, sensing that Louis had to do most of the talking. What people called venting.
"Me dad . . . me dad expected a lot from me. You see, he was groomin' me to take over the ranch when we moved here. When he first started to get sick, he knew I'd be takin' over soon, and he wanted me to run it just like him. Run it when he was gone. He said I'd have to learn to be in charge, that I could work alongside Johnny. That I could learn a lot from Johnny, but ultimately, I'd have to do it meself. Hire, fire, direct. Make all the big decisions.
"When me dad died, I knew what me destiny was, of course—to run the ranch, but I didn't know if I was made of the same stuff me dad was. After a couple of years, the pressure got worse. I'm not like him . . ." Louis faltered.
Harry struggled to process all of this, and at the same time, figure out what Louis was really saying. There must be an underlying message, but it was beyond him. He felt helpless, and to be honest, a little dim-witted because he wasn't clever enough to decode what Louis was trying to convey.
"How are you not like him?" he asked when Louis grew silent and looked on the mournful side.
At Harry's words, Louis' eyes showed fear in the flicker of the lantern and the dying fire. He got up and paced. It was as if he was putting off saying the inevitable—whatever the inevitable was.
Sitting back down on the edge of the bed, he leaned over, putting his head in his hands, elbows on knees, and then covered his face with his palms. This was serious. Harry sensed real ambivalence in his boss. Louis looked like his thoughts were swaying back and forth, as if he was trying to decide what to tell Harry, and what not to tell him.
"Harry, if you . . . only knew," Louis' voice was weak and plaintive, and Harry's breath got caught up in his throat, never having heard Louis sound so tentative, so powerless.
Harry instinctively closed the distance between them, sliding to sit closer to Louis, and put his arm around his shoulder.
"You can tell me. I won't tell anyone. I promise."
Louis' breathing was shaky. "I can't though . . . I can't say the words," Harry's perceptiveness picked up all the trauma to Louis' emotions, and it killed him to see the man he'd always known as nothing but strong and robust reduced to this point.
Louis needed him, and Harry would be there for him. No matter what it was Louis had to say.
"I'd never judge you, if that is stoppin' you from tellin' me," he said, carefully choosing his words.
"I know . . . I know you won't. You're the only one I feel I can tell this to. You see, I was never good enough . . . " Louis' shoulders started to shake, and Harry realized with shock that he was crying. Holding the sobs inside, but crying just the same. Harry was so stunned that he just watched Louis' face, which was uncovered now. The tears streamed freely down his cheeks, splattering down steadily.
Louis covered his face again, and Harry took the initiative to pull Louis' hands away from his face. Louis didn't yank away or fight it. He was shockingly compliant. He gathered and steadied himself, trying to stem the flow of tears.
"Tell me . . . tell me how you weren't good enough," coaxed Harry softly, in his quiet, deep, comforting voice.
"Me dad . . . he was hard on himself . . . never cut himself any slack, nor anyone else either for that matter. He had no tolerance for anythin' substandard. He was a tough man, who worked himself into the ground. He hated any kind of weakness . . . he hated gay people too." At this admission, Louis began sobbing again.
"Oh Lou . . . " Harry crooned softly, pulling the man into his shoulder. It shocked Harry when Louis gave to the pressure, using Harry to collapse against.
"No matter what I did, it was never good enough. I couldn't measure up to him. He rarely praised me. It was always 'try a little harder, Louis. You can never try hard enough.'"
Harry reflected on how hard Louis worked, how he'd witnessed it daily. No wonder Louis appeared to be so calloused mentally as well as physically! He drove himself, remembering his father's words, and thinking he'd never be good enough, fast enough, determined enough to fill his father's shoes.
And the gay part . . . Louis had cleverly inserted it in the middle of his confession, putting layers of other things around it, being careful not to make it look like it stood out, or had the most impact, but Harry knew better.
Louis had kissed him. Louis was gay. He had admitted to no interest in women. And Louis had been exposed to a homophobic all his life. The guilt! Louis had been living for a long time with tremendous guilt for being gay.
Now Harry understood every bit of it. In the midst of trying to live up to his father's legacy, Louis felt he couldn't ever be good enough because he was gay. No matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, Louis could never be the man his father wanted him to be.
"Normal. I'm not normal," Louis whispered raggedly. This brought on a fresh round of sobs. They weren't completely silent now. They were soft and sweet as he buried his head in Harry's chest, letting it all out. Harry simply stroked Louis' head and soft hair with his big, gentle hands and let him cry. This had obviously been a long, long time in coming. Louis had needed someone's shoulder to cry on—literally and figuratively since his father had died. And who knows for how long before? He'd held it in all this time. And Harry was more than willing to allow him to cry and vent as long as Louis wanted or needed to. And he did—Louis cried for what seemed like a long time, although Harry wasn't keeping track. The most important thing was that Louis got it out of his system as much as possible.
The silence closed in except for the quiet sobs that remained until they petered out. Harry grabbed the opportunity to try to reassure Louis.
"And what's normal?" he teased softly, reminding Louis of their running joke about what normal really was. Pointing out to him that It was only an opinion, depending on who you talked to.
"Your dad was very conservative," he said. "Doesn't mean he was wrong, because it's what he believed in—his dad was probably the same way, yeah? So it was all he knew. But it doesn't mean he was right about everythin' either."
Harry let that sink in, and Louis reflected that his grandfather had, indeed, been just like his father. Harry could actually see Louis soaking up, absorbing the significance of his words.
Louis finally met Harry's eyes for the first time since they'd come in and sat on the bed. He grabbed a tissue from a drawer in the nightstand and wiped his eyes and blew his nose, grinning shyly at Harry. How long had it been since he'd cried in front another person? Probably not since he was about ten years old! It had been so deeply ingrained in him to have a stiff upper lip, suck it up, and never appear weak to anyone. That thought made this experience even more surreal.
"God . . . I'm so embarrassed, Hazza. I've never, ever told anyone . . . the stuff I just told you," he confessed, careful to keep constant eye contact because Harry seemed to need it—even thrive on it. "But you know what? I feel about one thousand pounds lighter. You were the right one to talk to, and you're here for me without judgin' me or tellin' me I'm wrong and me dad was right. That's what I was most afraid of when I decided to tell you."
Harry drew a fortifying breath and began to tell Louis how he saw things. "I don't as a general rule, judge people anyway. But I'm payin' close attention to everythin' you said just now, and you know, it all boils down to you bein' your own person. You aren't your father. You can love him, and his memory, and respect him, but don't make unrealistic demands on yourself. Nothin' wrong with bein' gay. Nothin' at all."
Was this the same docile, almost meek Harry that Louis had hired? Louis felt nothing in this moment but pride. Pride for the awkward, clumsy, shy youth that had risked everything and had come to his ranch to get a job. And had stubbornly stuck to it, basically forcing Louis to hire him. As tough as it had been, he'd succeeded, and gone on to prove how worthy he was. Harry had moxie, and a lot of initiative. He was a great worker as well as a great friend. A friend Louis could confide in. And, somewhere during the last five months or so, Harry had become a man.