When Harry had promised never to judge him, Louis had suddenly been able to breathe easy. He knew Harry's word was good. Sure, Harry would still give him a hard time because that was just the way their relationship went. But Harry had more or less told Louis he could absolutely be himself – whomever he was. And Louis felt the weight of a good sized mountain lift off his shoulders.

He didn't have to pretend. Of course, he couldn't go around ogling Harry all the time, but it was pretty clear that Harry would and did accept him unconditionally. He knew Harry was at the least very suspicious about Louis' sexuality, if he wasn't certain of it. If what Harry had said was true, there shouldn't be a problem with it. The relief was palpable for Louis. Only now did he realize how much he'd worried about it.

Louis' bashfulness was making him wish he was as bold as he sometimes made himself out to be. Maybe then he'd be able to actually talk to Harry about it. But even if he'd had the courage, he feared Harry would think less of him, even though Harry had more or less assured him he wouldn't. That little bit of uncertainty lingered. He wanted Harry's stamp of approval. It would take a little time, Louis realized, to be completely comfortable enough to talk to Harry about it.

Harry was transparently at ease now, and looked like not much of anything would bother him. Now would be the perfect time to bring it up. But no way could Louis muster the bravery to forge ahead with it. Not tonight. Instead, he sat there, charmed by Harry's thoroughly easygoing manner. Seeing Harry be this carefree was a treat. Harry was way too uptight on your average day.

Everything was sensitizing Louis. The way Harry licked his lips was absolutely sinful, even though Harry was completely unaware of it. Some of Harry's hair fell over his brow, and Louis yearned to brush it back. He wanted to feel Harry's hair beween his fingers – savor the texture.

But now was not the time to be thinking these thoughts. He wrenched himself away from them.

"Why don't you have a stereo?" he asked. Anything to deflect these thoughts. He'd been wanting to ask Harry about that for some time anyway.

"I listen to my Walkman occasionally before going to sleep. But I don't see a need for a stereo. And I know a Walkman is outdated, but I don't care," Harry added.

"I wouldn't know about that. I can't remember what a Walkman is, if I ever did know."

"Oh yeah. Forgot about your amnesia for a minute there. It's that round thing in my bedroom? You know, with a wire and earbuds attached to it?"

"Oh, is that what that is?"

"Yeah. You put a CD in there and put the earbuds into your ears so only you hear it."

"Strangely, I do know what a CD is. Cassette disk."

"Right. Do you miss listenin' to music?"

"Not sure. I know I enjoy hearing it on the telly, but I don't know if I'm really into music or not. Just wondered why I see stereos in people's livin' rooms in magazines and on the telly, and I wondered why you didn't have one."

"I'm odd. I'm not traditional, and I don't follow trends. I'm just me," Harry explained.

Louis smiled. "Interestingly enough, I like that."

Harry clumsily patted Louis' shoulder, though he had to reach a bit to do it.

"Don't be a stranger. Move a little closer." And with that, Harry grabbed Louis' chair and jerked it to within six inches of his own chair.

Louis tried to show no reaction, but his body buzzed with adrenaline. He tingled, and he felt warm fuzzies right alongside red hot desire. Of course sitting closer was fine with Louis, even though he was sure he came off as clumsy and awkward, in addition to scared stiff. He was nearly in a state of disbelief.

"Let's get closey," Louis said, trying to lighten his own feelings up and ease the anxiety.

They both laughed, although it wasn't overly funny. But when you have a few beers under your belt, things are funnier in general.

"Have any trouble gettin' the chickens back in their run today?" asked Harry. He'd been busy in the barn when Louis had taken on the job. The chickens were finally getting accustomed to Louis, but still gave him a hard time about going to bed for the night.

"It went pear-shaped," said Louis.

"What happened?"

"Some of them went to the north side of the run – on the outside, mind you, and some went to the south."

Picturing it, Harry laughed again. "They still try to take advantage of you. They're little stinkers."

"Or rather little shits," Louis countered. "But don't misunderstand. I like all the animals. The horses respect me, but those chickens don't! Now explain that one to me!"

Harry was doubled over sitting in his chair, his shoulders quaking with laughter.

"And Monkey, well, he's a different story altogether!" Harry said, still laughing.

"Yeah, he doesn't respect either one of us!" Louis agreed. Louis had had to rescue Monkey from the roof of the barn when Harry happened to be out in the pasture, and he had found for himself what a perilous experience it was. Louis wasn't afraid of heights, but coming down the ladder with a thirty pound dog without dropping him had made him almost queasy with fear when the dog wiggled. Hell, he didn't care if he fell, but he'd never forgive himself if he dropped the dog.

"You can listen to my Walkman tonight," Harry decided. "I don't listen to it every night. Just a couple times a week, maybe."

"Thanks."

Louis was still wondering why Harry had asked him to move his chair closer, and then taken on the task himself. He tried not to read anything into it, but it was hard not to when he craved Harry's closeness so much. He didn't know how he'd react if Harry ever made a move. For all he knew, he might get seriously grossed out. But the feeling in the pit of his stomach was creating heat that was anything but unpleasant.

Harry held up his glass, Louis responded, and they clinked together; maybe a little too forcefully on Harry's behalf.

"Oops," said Harry, putting a hand over his mouth. It was so adorable that Louis felt what must have been his heart melting just a little bit.

"Let's keep you drunk all the time," Louis said with a smile.

I'm just a little loosened up, is all," Harry tried to sound casual, and carelessly shrugged his shoulders to accent it. More cuteness.

Their eyes met, and that weird warm fluttering started in Louis' middle again. Harry wouldn't break his gaze, so Louis felt he shouldn't either. But man, did it make him squirm! The urge to look away was overpowering, but so was the trance Harry's eyes were putting him into.

Why is he staring at me? What does he want? Is it just the beer he drank?

Harry's eyes weren't glazed over like a drunk man's would be. They were bright, moist, alert. Liquid curiosity. The only way you would be aware of his tipsy state was the fact that although he was talking more than usual, he was speaking even more slowly than was his custom. Otherwise, he was just as witty as ever, only in a much nicer way. He was almost sweet.

Louis thought back on when he'd first come here. He never in a thousand years would have believed it if anyone had told him Harry could be sweet. He'd literally gone from a long-haired, feral, dangerous looking hermit to a curly green-eyed charmer who even had dimples to offer.

Amongst Louis' busy thoughts, Harry's voice cut in. "I wouldn't be much good 'round here drunk all the time." In the brief silence, his voice had pierced the tranquility so abruptly that Louis jumped. Harry looked slightly amused.

"By keepin' you drunk, what I really meant was that your whole demeanor changes when you drink a certain amount, and I really would like to see you like this when you aren't drinkin.'"

Harry gave this some thought, as if it were a complicated idea. Louis knew the beer was causing his brain to be a little on the sluggish side.

"Drinkin' makes me feel a little vulnerable," Harry confessed slowly, and Louis saw either reluctance or caution in his eyes.

Oh, so now we're getting somewhere.

He'd have to be extra careful, but this gave Louis an opportunity to delve into Harry's realm of thinking; very delicately.

"What's wrong with vulnerable?"

Harry shifted his weight in his chair, the sun having gone down minutes ago, yet he stared at the horizon as if it were still there.

Avoiding me, thought Louis.

Then, after a few minutes, Harry spoke again. "Lots wrong with it."

"Like what?"

"You're like a spider sniffin' out a fly," Harry muttered.

Well, that was an interesting analogy.

"You're pretty unabatin' yourself." Louis returned. "You've hounded me on several occasions."

Harry smirked, and Louis realized he was about to gain the upper hand.

"You mean about if there was someone special in your life?"

Shit! He'd foolishly left himself wide open to that one.

"I see what you're doin.' Don't make this about me. It's about you," he reminded Harry. "I wanted to know why bein' vulnerable is so bad, and you're regressin' on purpose."

Harry laughed at Louis' quick retort. "Men naturally don't like feelin' vulnerable," he said, knowing he was dancing around with that weak reply.

"And why is that?" Louis decided he'd give Harry a taste of his own medicine. Grill him a bit.

"Because it makes 'em look fragile."

"You, me friend, are not exactly fragile. In fact, very much the opposite."

Harry suddenly looked more sober. "Sometimes I can be deceivin'."

"Oh? And what things have you been deceivin' about?"

"Nothin' that I know of. Just that."

So, Harry was now admitting he could be fragile.

"So you're not as tough as you make yourself out to be?" Louis asked, tempering his voice to sound patient and gentle.

"Maybe, maybe not," Harry teased with a smile, refusing to answer directly. Louis was finding out just how slippery Harry could be when he set his mind to it.

"Everyone feels fragile, I reckon. I feel right bloody fragile meself."

Harry felt guilty. Louis had a reason to feel fragile and vulnerable. He didn't.

"What does it feel like to not remember things?" Harry poured on sincerity, not wanting Louis to think he was waiting to pounce with a cheeky, insolent remark when Louis was unarmed.

Louis sighed, running his hands down the sides of his chair, not knowing what else to do with them. Harry's eyes were velcroed to the rippling muscles in his biceps and triceps. His eyes had just gone there of their own accord. Louis was wearing a tank top tonight, and Harry could barely snap his eyes away. But he did out of respect for the fact that Louis was about to speak.

"It feels like I'm lost. Kinda like there's an empty cavity in me chest."

"If it helps or matters at all, you're a part of this ranch. I know it's not much but . . ."

"Oh, you have no idea," Louis inserted quickly. "I do feel like I belong here."

Now he was really rendering himself defenseless. But Harry wasn't grabbing any opportunities to make him look helpless or uncomfortably exposed. Harry was even putting his own neck on the line, admitting his vulnerability. Louis simply nodded his head.

A moment later Harry said, "And I did mean that I want you to stay," in that silky, irresistible, deep voice of his. "I know I've been cross with you, but I'm tryin.'"

Harry wanted to say so much more, but he knew he would sound desperate, even though that wasn't the case. He was a long way from it. He didn't need anyone, and he certainly wouldn't accept just anyone staying here. Only one person, and that was Louis. In a word, it would be nice to have Louis stay. Very nice.

"I feel kinda powerless right now," Harry said, echoing Louis' own thoughts, but putting different words to them.

Again, Louis jumped on another rare moment.

"If you're talkin' about me, you shouldn't. I'm trustworthy. You know that. I've been here since . . . early April? And its early June now. You should know by now I'm not gonna go blabbin' your secrets to anyone."

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly, blowing out his cheeks.

"How do you reckon I have secrets?" he asked, feeling a little clammy and restless. This was getting personal fast.

"I don't think you really have secrets so much. What I meant was, you can let your guard down with me. Talk to me if you need to - about your supposed powerlessness too."

Harry took another deep breath and allowed more thoughts to work their way out.

"I know you can be trusted – I've tested you," he ventured, wondering if Louis would take offense.

"I know," Louis shot right back, surprising Harry. "You left money on the kitchen table more than once, you leave valuable things sittin' 'round all the time. You didn't do that when I first got here."

Harry felt a little sheepish, and his face reddened. "So you're onto me. I should have known."

"Yeah."

"Okay then, since I'm feelin' good, I'll be more open with you, but I'll probably regret it tomorrow."

"Don't do it if you're afraid of regret. Talk to me only if you want to, and only about what you feel comfortable sayin.'"

Harry was apparently thinking it over, so Louis picked up the slack.

"You know, in the beginnin' I thought you were kind of a dick, actually. You seemed so stiff and cold and locked down. But at odd times . . . and when you drink more than two beers, you're someone I really like."

Louis' bald honesty rattled Harry. He admired him more for saying exactly what was on his mind.

"Maybe I'm repressed or sommat?" asked Harry to no one in particular, even though Louis was the only one there. Maybe he was asking the universe, mused Louis.

"Perhaps," Louis kept it vague, wanting to keep Harry talking. Harry was opening up to him, and he didn't want to muffle him in any way. Harry had often taken the proverbial step closer, but then had withdrawn, frosty as ever. Maybe Louis could keep that from happening tonight.

There was a vein of ice running through Harry, but now Louis knew it was all for show. Harry didn't want to feel – he didn't want to hurt. Maybe it had to do with his father's rejection. Louis didn't know, but he did know he seemed to be making headway in getting Harry to ease up on the tight hold he had on himself.

"No reason to feel powerless," he reminded Harry.

Harry downshifted then, becoming more serious, and completely ceasing with the reaching for clever comebacks. He put them out of his mind. Louis was being real tonight, so the least he could do was be real in return.

"My dad made things difficult," he began. "He didn't accept me. He was quick with criticism, and praise was non-existent. He didn't like the fact that I wanted to have long hair. He'd wanted my older sisters, at least one of them, to be a boy, and when I was born, he had finally gotten the son he wanted, but I didn't measure up to his standard, I guess."

"In what ways?" Louis was afraid to be at all hopeful about getting answers.

Maybe Harry's dad had rejected him because he was gay?

But no . . . Harry went on to explain. "He thought my idea of being a rancher was dumb. He wanted me to have some high-falutin' job. Said he was embarrassed to tell his friends that I was goin' to America just to be a rancher. My dad is a banker, and he thought I should have a similar job. Maybe that's why I'm feelin' powerless sometimes."

Harry's phone picked that moment to blast as loud as a train rumbling along tracks. At least it seemed that loud in the peaceful silence of twilight and their hushed conversation.

Harry rolled his eyes upon seeing it was his mother again, but Louis' own eyes held mild amusement, because he knew Harry didn't really mean it. Louis moved as if to get up, but Harry signaled him to stay put.

"Hi mum," he was trying to put on a sober act, and he hoped it held.

"Same ole' stuff. How 'bout you?" He flicked his speaker on, and Louis wasn't sure why. Maybe so Louis would feel at ease – not like he had to leave every time she called.

"At church, Melanie was askin' 'bout you," his mum said. "She's such a pretty girl, and so shy." His mother paused, as if she was afraid she was being too pushy.

"That's nice, mum. Tell her I said hi." Harry caught Louis' eye and he shrugged, pulling a silly face, making Louis get the impression that Melanie was not important to him.

His mother abandoned that topic and tried another.

"How is the ranch and all your animals?"

"Doin' fine. I miss you." Harry looked immediately embarrassed. It was the truth, but in front of Louis, well, it might have been a little too soft.

"Oh, I miss you too, sweet lad. So much. Workin' too hard, as usual, are you?" she asked next.

"Actually, I have some help now," Harry returned. He saw the alertness in Louis' eyes even though Louis was trying to conceal it. There was the slightest tensing of his arm muscles, his back straightening just a touch.

"Oh, really? A ranch hand; is that what you call them?"

Harry smiled into the phone. "Well, yeah. Only he's not only that, but a friend too. He's livin' here."

A slight pause. "Oh! How nice! I worry so about you. I'm so glad to hear you have someone there just in case anythin' happens. You know, an accident or sommat. You're so out in the middle of nowhere, yeah? What is his name?"

"Louis," Harry hadn't even hesitated. Louis figured Harry would have to figure out how to set things straight if his name turned out to be different. Boy, would that be interesting.

"Is he workin' out well?"

"Oh yeah. He can do everythin' 'round here that I do. Better, if I'm to be barefaced honest. He's a workhorse."

"How long's he been there?"

"Close to two and a half months."

Why didn't you tell me 'bout him before?"

Harry looked into Louis' eyes for the second time during the phone call. "I wasn't sure if things would work, but now I know they will. It's a done deal. That is, if he wants to stay."

Louis grinned at him to let Harry know he was pleased.

"How old is he? 'Round your age?"

Harry paused, not knowing what to say. "Yeah. Right 'round my age."

"Oh, that's just wonderful . . . "

The phone began to break up, as it inevitably did. Harry could hear his dad grumbling somewhere nearby, right on cue, so it was just as well.

"Oh dear . . ."

"That's okay mum. At least we got to talk a little. I'll talk to you soon."

She, of course, said she loved him next, and Harry had forgotten about that unavoidable part of the conversation. Louis could tell he was uncomfortable saying it in front of him.

Louis launched himself out of his chair, their glasses in his hands, and went into the house. Harry knew it was a guise to give him some space. He appreciated it, and his heart felt a little swollen in his chest.

"I love you too, mum. Good-bye."

Trying to sound sober had been a bit of a chore, but Harry had managed it, and he felt quite impressed with himself for pulling it off.

Louis returned a couple of minutes later with the refilled glasses.

"I didn't sound too slurry, did I?" asked Harry.

"No, you did a bloody admirable job. Happy days," said Louis, holding up his glass to Harry's and they clinked them again.

"Man nothin' sobers you up like your mum on the phone," mumbled Harry. "Thanks for . . . well, you know."

"I know," Louis said, dismissing the subject with a careless wave of his hand.

A mother's love. Harry was a lucky guy.

Louis considered himself quite lucky as well. Even if Harry wasn't gay, it didn't matter. Louis could control his impulses. He was just thankful that Harry had saved him from a very uncertain future, had given him a job and a home, and had spoken highly of him to his mum. That meant the world to him.

Sometimes when Harry looked at him, he could swear he was . . . no, his overactive imagination had to be reading him wrong.