Why hadn't Harry said anything? Why hadn't he explained the comment he'd made last night? Louis was feeling very unneeded, to say the least. He could hardly believe how inconsiderate Harry was being. He had been teasing Louis, and now it seemed he was drawing it out. In effect, torturing was a more accurate word. Louis got the feeling he wasn't ever going to explain it. And that angered him. There was no way Louis was going to try to drag it out of him. This was on Harry.

It took forever to get to sleep. They were going to town tomorrow morning. He dreaded it. But Harry had asked if he wanted to go, and Louis wanted to be available to lift heavy stuff into the truck bed. Harry usually did it himself when he went alone, but Louis wasn't sure how much Harry was planning on getting, so he felt obligated to go.

They set out for town after doing the morning chores. Louis kept his mouth zipped and didn't talk for the entire trip. Harry had popped some aspirin, and donned sunglasses. But that was the only indication that he had a hangover. When Harry asked a question, Louis answered in a suppressed monotone, and with only one syllable whenever he could.

After a while of this, Harry signed his annoyance, and dropped even trying to talk to Louis. It was no use. Louis was more stubborn than any mule Harry had known.

No one in town, of course, seemed to know Louis, but he was getting used to that by now. As they loaded up the feed, a young man came out of a store and spied Harry.

"Harry! Howya doin?' It's been a while." He walked up and clapped Harry on the back. Louis stood there slack-jawed as Harry actually smiled at the guy. Louis hadn't seen him smile at anyone but himself for the entire time he'd been here.

"Damon!"

The guy couldn't have been more than twenty-one or twenty-two and was attractive, with golden blonde hair streaked by the sun, tanned skin and striking hazel eyes. He was thin and wiry, and he exuded an air of cheerful confidence.

Harry gave Damon a one-armed hug, which got Louis' full attention. Now Louis hated the guy.

"Oh, Damon, this is Louis, my new ranch hand," Harry swept his hand in Louis' direction. "Louis, this is Damon Johnson."

Well, Harry had never been this polite before either. With anyone. Louis was floored.

And, Harry had referred to him as "his ranch hand" with no mention of the word "friend." Ouch.

Damon smiled pleasantly at Louis.

"Nice to meet you," he said, offering his hand and a wide smile. Louis shook it, but with reserve, cracking somewhat of a smile just so he wouldn't look like a total ass.

Damon and Harry exchanged small talk while Louis tried to look like he wasn't bothered. But he felt very out of place, not included or important. Not a nice feeling. It was lonely, and he was out of sorts and sorry for himself.

Suddenly remembering Harry's remark about having a crush on someone, Louis felt his heart drop to his stomach.

Oh my God! Could this be the guy? It made perfect sense, now that he assessed it. He was the only person Harry had shown proper respect to that Louis had seen, and he was actually being friendly to the bloke. Louis felt a surge of an emotion that he didn't want to name engulfing him. It was like a dark, insidious cloud. Hus dislike for this friendly blonde guy was growing by the second.

When Harry finally got into the truck, Louis did the same. They drove the twenty-five miles home without a word spoken between them. Now Harry had a sour look on his face.

The moment they exited the truck, Harry turned on Louis.

"I suggest you tell me what you've got your underwear in a knot about!" he demanded.

Louis turned his back to Harry, walked to the bed of the truck, and lifted one of the heavy sacks of grain, throwing it over his shoulder. Harry walked up and knocked the sack back into the back of the truck.

"What are you onto?"

They stood, face to face, like two roosters having a showdown, going all alpha male.

"Nothin' I can't get over," Louis barked in a hoarse voice.

At the evening feeding time, Louis had completed his share of the chores and then, sometime later, Harry couldn't find him. He never thought he'd feel like he'd completely lose it if he didn't find him immediately. But he did now. The thought of searching for him again was , , , well, unimaginable. He feared for Louis being out in the dark and alone more than anything else.

"Loueh! Loueh!" he called over and over. He searched the twenty acres on horseback. Louis was plainly not on the property, and had not mentioned leaving for any reason. The last Harry had seen him, he'd been checking on the cows and calves.

It was getting dark quickly, and Harry's heart was stampeding when he at last found Louis sitting, watching the sunset on his own, at the far end of a pasture, nearly invisible in the waning light. A small figure, hunched over, arms wrapped around his legs, chin on his knees. When Louis saw Harry, he got up as if to walk away. Without even thinking about it, Harry deftly swung his rope over his head and eased a loop fluidly over Louis' chest.

Louis tried to get away, but his arms were pinned to his sides. Harry cued his horse to back up a few steps; not enough to pull Louis off his feet, but just enough to tighten the loop and keep it that way.

With a stony face and clipped voice, Harry demanded Louis tell him what was wrong. "Let's get this sorted out, straightaway! No more playin' games!"

Harry kept the rope tight until Louis relented.

"I'll tell you at the house," Louis grumbled. Harry dragged his rope back onto his saddle. Louis insisted on walking as Harry rode. So Harry simply dismounted and walked beside Louis in the dark.

"We missed the sunset."

"I didn't," Louis snapped.

Once they had entered the house, Harry plopped down on the couch, signaling Louis to do the same. Louis sat down, but he kept his eyes on the floor, and he didn't sit close like he usually did.

"What is wrong with you?"

"Nothin' I want to talk about."

"You said you'd tell me when we got here," Harry prompted him with rapidly disappearing patience.

"You wouldn't understand, so why even waste me breath?"

"Look Lou, why don't you try me? Cut me some slack, for fuck's sake!" Harry struggled to keep his anger in check.

"Cause I'll look stupid!" Harry could tell Louis was close to tears. His voice was abnormally husky.

"What set you off though?" Harry knew worry lines were forming on his forehead, but he didn't care. He wanted Louis to know how concerned he was. How could Harry fix it if Louis wouldn't tell him what was wrong? Despite being drunk, he'd known Louis was upset last night, but today it had manifested itself even more concretely, especially after they'd gotten in the truck to come home. He felt worse than clueless because he didn't know why Louis had suddenly gone so cold.

"I don't know how you feel!" Louis cried.

Well, that was a pretty vague thing to say, creating a blurry picture from Harry's point of view. It could mean so many things. Harry was almost afraid to ask anything more. Louis' state of mind seemed very delicate right now.

"Be more clear, Lou."

"I can't! Don't you see that? You have to do your part in tellin' me how you feel, because I don't know where I stand!"

Well, this was just getting worse and worse. Harry's mind was hopelessly tangled, his thoughts in complete disarray. He began wringing his hands, then running them through his hair in vexation.

"Feel about what?" Harry tried to keep his voice calm and steady – for Louis' sake more than anything.

Louis was looking like he wanted to yank his own hair out.

"You don't understand anythin.' And I don't want dinner. I'm just gonna go to bed."

Not this again! Whenever they were at odds, it seemed that one of them went to bed without dinner. It was mentally unhealthy for them to lose all communication when they disagreed, the way they were doing right now.

"I'm not lettin' you go to bed! You're gonna tell me how I'm fuckin' up!" Harry's voice was raised more than he'd thought. Louis' eyes got wide, and he leapt up from the couch, stomping into the bathroom. When he stayed in there too long, Harry knocked at the door.

"You alright Lou?"

"No."

"Come outta there."

Louis finally came out five minutes later, still distressed and oppressed.

"Now, communicate with me, Louis."

"No. I'm going to go to bed right after me shower. I'm gonna pull the covers over me head, and I don't care what you do. Watch telly, or whatever. But I don't want to be bothered."

"Arrgh!" Harry dropped his head into his hands as he sat on the couch when Louis got his bed clothes ready. Louis was in the shower only minutes later. Harry felt like there was something major he was missing, but he couldn't seem to grasp it. He supposed he should have been more truthful, but it seemed that everything he said got him into trouble. He hesitated now to open his mouth at all.

He sure wasn't going to bring up that "crush" thing he'd blurted out last night again. It seemed the trouble had started not long after he'd said it. He thought he remembered Louis leaving his bedroom, but he must have passed out then, because he had no memory after that. He hadn't woke up at all until morning, only to find Louis gone from the couch, and not in the house. And as the day had gone on, it had only gotten worse.

It was becoming an obsession. Louis and thoughts of him. He unceasingly wanted to be close to him. When they passed each other in the barn aisle or other places, the same thing always happened, only much worse than in the past. He was hyper aware of Louis' every movement, the sound of his boots on the wooden barn floor, the sight of his hair being a bit disheveled, the distinctive aroma of his warm skin only when Harry got super close enough to steal a whiff. And most of all, those eyes. When they settled on his own eyes, he couldn't stop the shiver, and then he couldn't shake it. It was a losing battle.

It was only the first night without it, and yet he was already missing sitting on the couch with Louis' warm thigh nestled against his. He missed their shared smiles, the teasing, the small talk. He needed it like he needed air. How would he feel a week down the road?

He'd been so proud of his autonomy. But he was finding that now he needed Louis so much that it appalled him. So much for living alone, needing no one for anything. Especially emotionally. Something like this happening had never crossed his thoughts. He'd more or less shrugged his feelings off before, because he'd thought it was mere physical attraction. But now he came to the realization that it was much more than that. He craved Louis by his side.

Harry suffered with the intensity of his passion for another week. He didn't know how he managed to get through the day anymore. Everything revolved around Louis; where he was, what he was doing, wondering if he would speak to him today.

But every day was the same. Louis was apparently a guy who held grudges. Worst thing was, Harry didn't even know why. Both being stubborn and hard-headed, they remained silent except to communicate with a nod or hand gesture when doing the chores, and asking for the salt to be passed at the dinner table. No more involved than that. That was the extent of their communication.

Louis had started erecting a fence between the pastures where he'd ridden through that first day, closing off the path between the two pastures so others couldn't do the same. They had discussed it weeks before the misunderstanding, and so Louis went ahead and got the job done. Now no rider could ride past the ranch. They'd have to go to a gate and wait to be let in. This meant no uninvited guests. Just people who needed to pick up calves, pigs, or whatever Harry wasn't going to trailer out.

Louis also took it upon himself to paint the barn. He did a little every day until it was finished just a day ago.

Harry pointed toward the barn. "Love it," he said simply. He approached Louis, only to have Louis recoil. Well, there was another rejection.

"Thanks," Louis muttered, and then went to get busy with another chore. He never gave Harry a chance to even suggest a conversation.

One day, Harry was tending to the vegetable garden when he heard loud squealing. This was no ordinary squeal. It was the squeal of a very disgruntled pig. More like, a furious pig. The pigs didn't fight very often, so Harry was on instant alert, already walking toward the pig pen at a brisk pace, ready to break into a run.

There was Louis, inside the pig pen, penned against the fence by the largest and most dominant female. They were face to face, hardly four feet apart. Harry had warned Louis many times to use caution and watch the pigs closely when he entered the pen. He tried to stress how dangerous they could be. He hadn't thought Louis had taken his warnings to heart, and now it was very evident that he hadn't. The hammering in Harry's chest echoed his very real fear for Louis.

Louis tried to make the pig retreat by using aggressive body language. He postured as if he was going to lunge forward, but this was counterproductive, as the pig merely took it as a challenge and became ever more pugnacious. It was taking quick, menacing steps toward Louis. It was just a matter of time before it full on attacked him. The tusks weren't overly big on this pig, but pigs had very nasty bites, and if she knocked Louis down, there would be no stopping her if she decided to chew the hell out of him.

Harry spied a rake, the only thing that was close by to use as a weapon, and sprinted into the enclosure, coming up behind the pig and bringing the handle down on the bridge of the pig's nose from behind. Pigs cannot see behind them, so it hadn't seen Harry coming, and it spooked. It jumped sideways, spinning around in Harry's direction, ready for battle. Harry had hoped the whack with the rake handle would ward the pig off, but this animal was in the mood for major confrontation. A mere rake handle wasn't going to change its mind. An angry pig doesn't let pain slow it down.

Harry ran over to Louis. He wasn't sure exactly why, but he supposed he felt he should try to protect him, and he couldn't do that from behind the pig. There was no way Louis and Harry were both going to be able to get around the pig to the gate, which was situated behind the pig. So basically, they were trapped. The only saving grace was the fact that the fence was only three feet high. Pigs cannot jump, so there was no need for a tall fence.

Harry and Louis would have to get a running start, and jump the fence behind the pig. But how to get a running start if the pig is right in front of you? The fence that they were backed up against was taller – six feet, because it was connected to a pasture. Harry thought about climbing it, but that would mean turning their backs on the pig – and they just weren't fast enough to climb it before the pig hurled itself at them. So it was either jump the fence where it was three feet tall, or take a chance of getting killed or badly mangled. Harry didn't even want to think about the stories he'd heard of pigs eating people. He didn't know if it was really true, but he sure didn't want to find out.

"We . . . have to jump that fence," he pointed to it. "It's the only way." The fence was about fifteen feet behind the pig. There was no time to waste, as the pig was getting closer with every threatening move it made. It was only three feet in front of them now, and preparing to rush them.

"Run this way, fast!" Harry cried as be bolted to the left. Thank God Louis followed him. Pigs can run surprisingly fast, even with their bulk, but they also have bad eyesight. Harry took advantage of this, and caught the oinker by surprise. In the split second it took for the pig to realize they were running, they had just enough time to cut across the pen and jump the fence. Harry was taking no chance of not clearing it, so he dove head first over it, landing with a hard thud in the dirt. A second later he heard an equally hard thud right next to him, the dust billowing up around them and coating the air. and he knew relief like no other when he saw Louis lying there, the breath knocked out of him.

Harry could tell he was trying to drag air into his lungs. Harry knew what that felt like. He'd had the wind knocked out of him a couple of times when he'd been thrown by a horse. Right there, in the dirt, outside the pig pen, Harry stayed on the ground and held Louis loosely around the shoulders, encouraging him, telling him his breath would come back. Then, after about ten lifetimes, when Louis finally gasped for breath, Harry sat there and settled his head into his lap.

"Fuck!" Louis cried. "Fuckin' pig! Thought I was gonna die!"

Well, if Louis was able to curse, that meant he could breathe, and Harry sighed in relief.

Without even thinking about it, Harry smoothed the hair back from Louis' forehead, his hand lingering, moving down to stroke Louis' cheek, noting the stubble was hardly there. He had shaved his face smooth. Why hadn't he noticed that before? Because Louis had been avoiding him – that was why. Louis had been making himself disturbingly scarce lately. Harry came to the conclusion he liked Louis' face shaved smooth just as much as he liked the fashionable, several day old stubble.

When Louis' breathing eased, and he finally stopped cussing, he looked up at Harry, probably realizing for the first time how Harry had his head in his lap, and that was when their eyes locked.

There was something in his eyes that made Harry's breath hitch. Gratefulness, relief, gratitude, but there was something more. Just a glimmer of it was all Harry could see before Louis threw a veil over his features.

Yeah, there was something there that eclipsed gratefulness. Whatever it was, it hung in the air, a reminder that was distinct and was rooting firmly in his consciousness. There had been a mixture of softness, fondness and . . . something else. That something else was what had sparked something between them for a fleeting moment before Louis had hid it away. The moment it was gone, Harry craved it, wanted to milk it for all it was worth.

Then came Louis' voice.

"Harry, do you have any idea how beautiful you are?"