Harry, practically drunk, had stumbled into his bedroom and was sitting on the edge of his bed, looking at the photo he'd taken of Louis the other night at sunset on his camera. Wishing he could take it to the printer in town and have it printed out so he could frame it, and knowing he couldn't because Louis would see it. He wasn't as prudent as he otherwise would have been because of the beer he'd consumed.

So when Louis appeared at his door, he jumped, putting the camera down on his dresser in a hurry. Louis' eyes followed the motion, taking in the camera, but knew it wasn't his place to ask what Harry had been doing. He couldn't help feeling very curious about the camera and what picture Harry must have been staring at. Harry had certainly acted guilty.

"Wanna watch the telly, or just go to bed?" asked Louis. Harry had just left the room with no explanation. Louis chalked it up to him being tipsy. He shouldn't have let Harry drink four beers tonight. He liked the way Harry talked to him while drinking, but he didn't want Harry to feel badly with a hangover in the morning. This was probably the most they'd ever drank together.

"Want me to put you to bed?" he asked, his eyes dancing with mirth.

"Hell no. Fuck off," Harry grumbled, but then giggled, ruining his effort to sound gruff. Harry was sweet, soft, and thoroughly enchanting when drunk, reflected Louis. Even when he used bad language. He wished he could put Harry to bed.

Harry giggled, stretching out onto his back like a cat. Louis gazed at him, marveling that he looked like he had come straight from the pages of a magazine. A centerfold. So naturally sensual. Only thing was, he was wearing too many clothes.

But then, just as quickly, a cloak of despair dropped over Harry's face. He looked truly dismal.

"What's wrong Harry? Just a minute ago you were enjoyin' yourself."

"Nothin.' I was just . . . rememberin' sommat."

"Wanna share it?"

"No."

"Look, Harry. Whatever it is, it's poisonin' your mind. Won't it help to tell me?" Louis felt he needed to get a bit more forceful instead of being so damn polite that he wasn't insistent enough. Harry needed help, obviously.

Harry looked to be fumbling for something to say.

"It's none of your business," he finally said.

"No, but if you need to vent . . . damn it, it's your decision."

"Alright, it's my dad, okay?" Harry had a sharp edge to his voice. "I was havin' a good time with you until he barged back into my thoughts."

"Well, tell me about it."

"It's nothin' more than what most people go through."

"I think a lot of people have fathers who accept them the way they are," Louis gambled, hoping Harry would relent and agree to tell him more. Preferably everything.

"Maybe. But never mind. I think I need to get some sleep."

He was using sleep as an excuse to get Louis off his back, and Louis could fathom that. When uncomfortable with the conversation, get out of it however you can.

"I believe I'm a hair away from being flat out drunk," Harry said inelegantly.

Louis grinned and sat down on the edge of the bed, ready to take flight should Harry object. But Harry didn't, because his inhibitions were so lowered that Louis believed if he'd climbed onto the bed with him, Harry would have put up no protest. Louis would never take advantage, but that didn't mean he didn't desperately want to.

"Any more of your . . . memory comin' back?" Harry asked haltingly, surprising Louis that he was coherent enough to even ask it.

"Well, yes. Here and there. Little things. I can kind of remember parts of England, and stayin' somewhere, no idea of the location. Lots of other people there too. Lots of kids."

"Recently, before your memory loss?" Harry slurred a little, but not bad.

"Don't think so. Think I was young – very young."

Louis hadn't been super keen to talk about this to Harry before because he feared his memory would come back completely, and then he'd have to face reality and go back to his old life. Frankly, it terrified him.

"Anythin' else?"

"No. Sorry I didn't tell you about rememberin' parts of England before, but . . . " Louis floundered.

"But what?"

"Oh, I don't know." Louis was running out of options. Either he kept being evasive, or he manned up and answered Harry's question. He considered it, wishing he knew how to phrase it so that Harry would understand. It only took a moment to decide.

Harry helped him along.

"C'mere and tell me what you really want to say." Harry patted the bed beside him. He turned from his back to his side, so he'd be facing Louis.

Almost choking on his own tongue from shock, Louis took a huge bracing breath. He had to look like he was under control . . . somehow. Like he wasn't nearly trembling with joy that Harry had invited him onto his bed.

He did as Harry asked. He laid on his side on the bed, facing Harry, but with a little distance between them.

"I guess . . . I guess I really don't want to know about me old life. I guess I kinda wanna just stay here and be an ostrich."

Harry looked stunned, and Louis realized he might not be as drunk as he'd thought he was. Perhaps Harry had been feigning drunkenness as an excuse to get closer to Louis.

Dream on.

"Um, wow," said Harry in a soft voice. His hypnotic, low tone was getting to Louis again. The timbre was mesmerizing. But Louis was extra skittish about what he'd just admitted, so that helped to keep his thoughts in line and his head on straight. Well, fairly straight.

"I didn't know you , , , felt that strongly about it."

"I'm just so content here, I guess you'd say. You already know I feel like I belong."

"Yeah, and I like you bein' here. But I can't help wonderin'. . . what you're givin' up."

"You mean, I have a choice?"

Harry's expression was a question mark.

"What I mean is, you don't mind if I stay here and don't try to find out who I was before?" Louis knew it was a loaded question, but he felt, for some reason, like he needed Harry's approval. Even though they'd touched on the subject before, they hadn't gone into this much depth.

Harry mulled that over for a moment.

"No, actually, I don't mind. But I have a secret."

Well, that one sure came out of the blue.

"This is gonna sound massively selfish, but I was kinda hopin' you'd decide to stay here."

Louis laughed, but it wasn't a laugh because anything was funny; it was a laugh of relief. He could hardly believe Harry felt as he did.

"Sick. I feel so relieved right now," he said. "You say you feel selfish, well, imagine how selfish I feel."

Harry was deep in thought again. Then, "Yeah, if I put myself in your shoes, I can see how you might feel selfish. But let's remember you're also a rebel."

"A rebel, yeah, I guess. But do you mean in a good or bad way?

"You're a good kind of rebel, in my opinion. Not dangerous or the law-breakin' type. Just sassy, adamant. Let's put it this way – I always know when I'm out of line, or you don't agree with me."

They both laughed, and being on the bed together suddenly didn't feel unnatural at all.

"Harry, can I ask you sommat?"

"Shoot."

"You're not as drunk as you tried to make me believe, are you?"

Harry laughed sheepishly then, covering his face partially with both hands, peeking through his fingers at Louis, as if he were guilty, but trying to make a joke of it.

"Okay, maybe not quite as off my face as I made myself out to be."

"And why? Why act drunker than you are?" Louis was really on the edge of his seat now, so to speak. He loved hearing Harry's responses and watching his facial expressions; couldn't get enough of them.

Harry was visibly struggling to find the right words. "I wanted to be freer with you than I've been before. I'm buzzed, but not quite drunk. Just buzzed enough to be talkative, and I didn't really want to say good night yet."

"You don't have to act drunk to talk with me. You really can be yourself, Harry."

"Lou, I'm still findin' out who the real me is," Harry's liquid eyes drove his concern home.

What did that mean? Is he really afraid of alienating me? thought Louis.

"But you seem as if you do know who you are. You're a rancher, and you love it. You came to the U.S. to pursue your dream, on your own, even against your parents' will. Built this place with your own two hands. It's a great life if you ask me, and I admire you for it."

"Well, it's not exactly about that," Harry said in a voice that was barely audible.

"I won't just automatically dislike you if you say sommat against anythin' I believe," Louis tried to explain his thoughts. "I open me big mouth quite often, and you don't stop likin' me, yeah?"

"True."

"So let go, for God's sake, Harry. In the beginnin' you weren't afraid of offendin' me. Why are you now?"

Harry's face reddened and he cleared his throat, looking over Louis' shoulder, into empty space.

"Look at me, Harry."

Harry's eyes met Louis' crystalline blue orbs, and he knew he had to be completely truthful.

"Because it matters now."

"What matters?"

"What you think of me. I care what you think of me."

Louis was speechless, but the beer had made him slightly buzzed too, and he couldn't stop the smile that washed over his face. He couldn't slap on the poker face.

Harry was fascinating to watch. He was becoming a little coy, acting unlike anything Louis had seen from him before. It reminded him of his own efforts at flirting. Perhaps he was trying his hand at it. Harry flipped onto his back again and stretched luxuriously, this time reminding Louis of a lion instead of a domestic cat, and Louis found that seductive as hell. The lean muscle definition in his arms, and the little bit of skin that showed below his t-shirt as it rode up above his sweat bottoms. Mercy.

Harry's lips were amongst the dozen or so things Louis liked best about him. They smiled and pouted, and were equally enticing either way. And they were a nice shape. A kissable shape. They were sexy.

Oh man, he was screwed.

Louis arranged the pillow on his side under his head so he could listen, and more importantly, stare at Harry, and enjoy. Bask in his feline-like sultriness.

"I have other secrets," Harry teased. "Well, one secret in particular."

Louis heart pounded in anticipation. He couldn't afford to get his hopes up that it was something good.

"Wanna share?" he asked, afraid of breaking the spell that was causing Harry to be so open.

"Maybe." Harry was back to being coy again. Kind of like a giggly schoolgirl, and it astounded Louis. So different from the day-to-day Harry he knew, or thought he knew, so well.

"Not ready to tell you yet though," Harry continued to tease.

"Harry, come on! You can't do that to a person! Tell them you have a secret, and then refuse to tell!"

"Where does it say that in the rule book?"

Louis gritted his teeth. He rolled over on his back, staring at the ceiling, then throwing a forearm over his eyes.

"Quit poutin,' Lou."

"I have every right to pout, You're doin' me head in," Louis made sure his voice sounded just the right amount of somber.

Another few seconds of silence.

"Okay, okay. I'll tell ya. . . but not tonight."

Louis wanted to pump Harry more about it, and he also wanted to strangle him, but he refused to beg anymore.

There was a lot of tension in the room. Even though he was on his back, all Louis' attention was on Harry, but he couldn't allow Harry to know that.

"I know someone who is tough as nails, knows how to handle himself, and is pretty freakin' awesome."

"Who?"

Harry ignored his question. Louis tensed up. What was this all about? Louis was panicking inside. If Harry was interested in someone, he might end up with that person, and then where would that put Louis? Back on the trail, riding to nowhere . . . and without Harry.

Louis wished Harry was speaking about himself, but knew that even if he was, it was too soon for that. It could be someone Harry had seen in town and admired. So really, Louis couldn't call any attention to himself and his needy thoughts.

"I've got a crush on that person."

Holy shit!

And then it dawned on Louis in that moment. He swallowed his gasp before it could be heard. Holy shit again echoed inside his head. So Harry was gay? He'd said "him" when he had referred to this person.

Knows how to handle himself is what he'd said!

For a minute there, Louis had thought he might have a shot if Harry was really gay. But if he already had a crush on someone else. . .

Harry's voice had sounded so earnest. Louis turned slowly back onto his side, facing Harry. Louis' eyes, which had been closed, opened. Harry was looking at him, and the look in his eyes was intense. But he was also drunk, or nearly so, and Louis couldn't take a chance that Harry might merely be teasing him. He could have made it all up just to get a reaction out of Louis. So he just stared back at Harry, speechless and feeling helpless. No matter what he said, he might blow it.

If Harry was teasing, and he made a fool of himself by admitting he had a crush too, he'd totally die from the humiliation. But if he shined Harry on, Harry himself would feel like a fool, that is, if he was referring to Louis.

But he couldn't possibly be that lucky. He just couldn't. Louis got up from the bed.

"You're right – we need to get some sleep." He avoided Harry's eyes and slipped out the door, going back to the couch. He fully expected Harry to come after him. If Harry had been talking about him as far as the crush was concerned, he would come to him and tell him. So he wouldn't stew or worry or . . . cry.

The tears were coming, and Louis hoped he could get to the couch and cover his face with a pillow in time so that Harry wouldn't hear his sobs.

There wasn't a single sound from Harry's bedroom. But of course, Louis probably wouldn't have been able to hear it anyway because his head and face were buried in a pillow as he cried his heart out.

When morning arrived, Louis dragged himself off the couch and slipped out of the door before it was even fully light. He'd been awake most of the night, and when he was able to snatch a few minutes of sleep, he dreamed about Harry with another guy, happy and laughing together, holding hands, and even kissing.

He had to get away from the ranch. He began walking without taking his mare for fear Harry would wake up and stop him before he had a chance to leave. He didn't take anything with him. He just wanted to get away. He had to get away. He was aware he wasn't thinking clearly, but he couldn't stay in the house or on the ranch, considering the negative way he was feeling.

If Harry had meant he was talking about Louis as far as the crush went, he would have told Louis. He wouldn't have stayed in his room and let Louis go back to the couch, alone. He would have come to him. He had to have known Louis was upset. It didn't take a rocket scientist. Louis knew his expression had to have shown his emotions, even though he'd tried to wipe them off his face. His actions, though, should have been the clincher.

He must have covered miles. He knew his eyes were red, his cheeks splotchy. This was ridiculous. Here he was, mooning over someone who wasn't available to him. Harry didn't feel that way about him. He admired him, but that was it. Louis could do ranch work, and even cook. But that was what Harry had been looking for. A ranch hand. He didn't see Louis as anything else, except maybe a friend. He didn't feel like Louis did. That much was clear.

When Harry woke up, it was getting light outside. And he had a raging headache. Everything came back to him in an instant.

Oh shit! He'd told Louis he had a crush on someone. And he'd been close to drunk, so that explained why he'd overslept. He rushed to the couch, but Louis wasn't there. He ran outside, but Louis wasn't in the barn or anywhere else in the immediate vicinity. His mare was in her stall. So were all the other horses. The truck was parked where it always was.

This is what he got for running his mouth last night. He'd lost his nerve and clammed up, but was that why Louis had left? Because Harry wouldn't tell him who he had a crush on? That didn't seem possible. Louis was a reasonable, grounded person. He wouldn't up and leave just because Harry had said something stupid after drinking too much beer.

But it appeared he had. Well, he was on foot, so he couldn't have gotten that far. Harry threw hay at the horses, and hastily fed the other animals, then jumped on Comet, his bay gelding, after the horse had a little time to eat. It slowed him down, but he couldn't let the horse go without breakfast. He'd be able to catch up with him easily enough. The only problem was, which direction had Louis gone? It was spooky – like when he'd pursued Louis over two months ago, and not known which way to go.

He ended up following his instincts and assumed Louis had gone the opposite way from last time. Harry figured Louis knew he would go to the east in his search, so this time Harry went west, thinking he'd outwit Louis.

He was wrong. He saw that after riding for over an hour. He should have caught up with him by now. So Louis had pulled one over on him and gone the way Harry expected him to go. For some reason, this brought a reluctant smile to his lips. He should have known – Louis was as sharp as a tack and cunning when he needed to be.

Mr. McElray spied Harry riding by, and Harry could only imagine what the old man thought their random wanderings past his ranch must be all about, wondering what kind of nutters they were. Especially when Harry rode by, then rode back again just minutes later.

He found Louis miles down the road, past the Geislers' place. Louis had walked over five miles.

"Want a ride, cowboy?" Harry called to Louis as he walked his horse up beside him. "C'mon, climb up behind me," he encouraged.

Louis, tired and emotionally exhausted, didn't resist much. After trying to walk off a few times, he grudgingly swung up and settled behind Harry. Comet wasn't accustomed to having two riders at once, and Harry had to concentrate on steadying him before he could talk to Louis.

"I'm sorry about last night. I've got a hella hangover, so yeah, I think I really was drunk."

Louis didn't comment, so Harry didn't bring it up again. He just carried on a totally one-sided conversation as best he knew how with a wooden, mute person behind him on his horse, making life even more miserable than a hangover.

When they arrived back at the ranch, Louis acted as if their "holiday" was over. He dove into the chores and didn't stop until it was almost dark. He worked his ass off.

Harry wished he knew what to say to him. He had no idea why Louis was so upset. He did know it had to do with what he'd said last night, because Louis was fine up until that point. Louis had encouraged him to talk, but he wasn't following his own advice now. Harry wanted to remind him of that, but he needed much better timing.

Harry had had loose lips last night, and now he was paying the price. What was the right thing to say to Louis? He feared Louis would either blow up, or leave, or both, if he wasn't extra careful. It was really better to say nothing at all than to chance it. Maybe Louis would cool down and come to him to talk later on.

Dinner was about as awkward as it gets. Harry tried to talk about mundane things; the animals, the weather . . . then he remembered the need for chicken scratch and grain. He hoped it was enough of a conversation starter, boring as it was.

"I'm gonna have to go to town tomorrow to get scratch and some grain. Wanna come with me?"

Louis just nodded his head, but didn't say a word.

The dishes were done, Harry having studied his profile as they stood at the sink, admiring how handsome he was, wanting to hug him with a vengeance, only to be ignored. Louis got dressed for bed in the bathroom, then settled down on the couch.

"I'm goin' to bed," Louis said, and he pulled the covers over his head. Harry sighed, defeated, and went to his room. What a shitty day this had been.