"Hey, Cowboy," Kate had said to Sawyer as Hurley passed.

"Please, never ever call me that again," Sawyer had moaned as Hurley stopped to listen.

"Why not?" she'd asked. "You know it's one of my favourites."

"This book has ruined every notion about cowboys and mah-chiz-mo I ever had as a kid," he'd replied.

"Who's it by?" Hurley'd heard.

"Annie Proulx. . ."

"Hey! Cowboy!" It was the very least there was to say Sawyer was surprised to hear that word coming from Hurley's mouth. Hurley wasn't the nickname type.

"Yeah, Jabba?" Hurley wasn't surprised at all at this witty retort. He just walked on over to where Sawyer was sitting with new glasses and a new book.

"There was a book you were reading, a couple weeks back," Hurley began. "By Annie Proulx?"

"Close Range," Sawyer recalled. "Had a fuckin' gay cowboy story in it. Speakin' of which, stop calling me cowboy."

"Soon as you stop calling me lardo," Hurley muttered. "In any case, you still got that on you?"

"Uhh, somewhere in here, why?" Sawyer said, looking around behind him. "Getting a bit tired of Libby?"

"Nah, she's. . ." Hurley trailed off. "But anyhow, would you give it to me if I can guess who it belongs to?"

"Sounds interesting," Sawyer declared. "Shoot."

"Charlie Pace."

"Fuckwad."

"You gunna hand it over, dude?" Hurley chuckled.

"Yeah, take your fuckin'. . ." Sawyer reached back, pulled it out from his tent and chucked it at Sawyer.

"Did you just pull that out from under your pillow?" Hurley laughed.

"Shut the hell up," Sawyer muttered threateningly.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. . ." Hurley began to walk away, "cowboy. . ."

Sawyer sighed and watched his bedtime reading shuffling off with the one guy who shouldn't've beaten him in anything. Short of Jack, of course.

Hurley walked back to camp, thumbing through the first few pages of "Brokeback Mountain." So far, it really wasn't ban-worthy. The only -worthy things about it were a) the note-worthy name on the inside front cover ('Charlie Pace, so hands off!' in thick black sharpie) and b) the awe-worthy amount of wear on it. Not only were the edges of every page thick with grime (Charlie really needs to wash his hands. . .), but most of the pages were dog-eared in three or more places. When Charlie said he read it on the road, he meant it.

"Whatcha got there, Hurley?" Steve asked as Hurley got closer to his hut. "Is'at Close Range? I haven't seen that book for five years!"

"Really?" Hurley asked, barely concentrating on keeping up.

"Yeah," Steve said. "One of the guys brought it in one day, at the office. Just to make sure, 's'at the one with 'Brokeback Mountain'?"

"Last story," Hurley answered absentmindedly.

"Yeah," Steve said gravely. "That one ended a couple of marriages. I'm happy John and Tony are happy, though. . ."

Hurley looked at Steve shocked-and-confusedly. Somehow, Steve took this as a signal to continue. "Yeah, two guys got inspired by the story and sorta. . . well, I think you can guess." Upon seeing Hurley's blank face, he added, "Overshare?"

"Kinda." Hurley then turned and walked away, continuing on to his tent.

"There you are!" Tracy yelled at Steve as she grabbed him by the wrist. "We're late for our shift!"

"Locke canceled it for some reason or another," Steve informed her. "Something about comfort."

"Aww," she moaned. "I was looking forward to six more hours of–"

"Not on the beach!" he said urgently. "Remember? You're married? With kids?"

"And this is just sex, I know. Geez. . . ."

"Hey, Claire!" Hurley said brightly, acting like he hadn't just heard the weirdest conversation ever behind him. "Aaron all set?" Hurley had placed the book in his back pocket, which allowed him to smack his hands together like a coach of a Bantam soccer league team.

"Yep, he's ready to go like the last two times," Claire said. "My, have we developed a neat little routine here."

"Yeah," Hurley agreed, happy that his friends were happy. "So, time for me to ride out?"

"I was thinking. . ." Claire said, paying no attention to Hurley's last comment, "that next time, I could come with? Tag along? Say hi and all?"

"You sure?" Hurley asked. "I thought three was a charm."

"Well, the first time was kind of a test, anyway, so. . ." Claire mumbled. "But, I'd feel more comfortable next time."

"You want a day to make sure you don't smell like island."

Claire stared unsurely at the ground, and dug one of her toes in. "So?"

"Nothin'," Hurley said reassuringly. "Just funny is all."

"Funny strange or funny ha-ha?" Claire asked.

"A little bit of column A, a little bit of column B," he wheedled. "Seeya later?"

"Sure," she said, though to Hurley it always sounded like shore. With that thought, Hurley walked on down the beach to where Eko was building with the baby in tow. Sure. . . shore. . . sure. . . shore. . . peanuts. . . Libby. . . . . . . . . . . pean–Libby. . .

"Hello, Hurley," a deep voice said to his right.

"Oh, hey Eko," Hurley said absently. "Where's Charlie at?"

"He's waiting for you around the next corner, with his guitar," Eko replied, going about his construction.

"What are you building, man?" Hurley inquired, looking at the formation of. . . something. . .

"It. . . it's not ready to be advertised yet," Eko answered unsteadily. "Do you mind holding the end of this?" he asked, indicating a large log centered on a tree stump.

"No, not at all." Hurley shuffled over and precariously held the end of the log, leaning forward to make sure it didn't touch Aaron.

"How's the little one?" Eko said, coming down on the log with a hatchet.

"Holding up well, not sick or anything." Hurley looked down the beach, back where he came from and added, "You know, Mike used to be in construction, maybe you could get his help."

"I think I have all the help I need," Eko responded cryptically. "In any case, you are running late for your meeting."

"Hurry up my fish is sick! Oh man, it's total gridlock!" . . . Dude, that was so racist it wasn't even funny. . . Hurley straightened up and cradled Aaron to his belly. "Yeah, Charlie calls."

"Goodbye, Hurley." With that, Eko turned back to his wood and resumed tying and chopping.

"Seeya, dude." Hurley started walking down the beach again. It was only a few paces before he saw Charlie, sitting on the ground, strumming away. "What's that one?"

The guitar came to an abrupt halt as Charlie realized he had an audience. "Uhh, it's. . . it's nothing, nothing at–why are you asking?"

"I brought your baby," Hurley said with a chuckle. "By the way, you gotta change'im, sorry. He sorta crapped himself when Eko started whaling on that log."

"Was he anywhere near it?" Charlie rose in a panic, guitar dropping to the beach. "Did he get a splinter? Those can hurt you know! Lemme see'im! Pass'im!" He started making gimme motions at Hurley, who obligingly passed Aaron over for full inspection. "Oh, god, he reeks!"

"I tolja!" Hurley laughed. "Point one for the fat guy!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Charlie said, waving Hurley off. "In any case, he's fine, you oaf."

"Anyway, what's Eko building?" Hurley sat down beside where Charlie was sitting, and picked up the guitar.

"Between you and me?" Charlie asked quietly.

"Who would I tell? 'Hey, Hurley! What's Eko building? I'm dying to know!'" Hurley prodded as he watched Charlie pace along the beach rocking Aaron. "In any case, would ya sit down? You're gunna gimme a seizure, dude."

"It's a church," he said quieter than before, looking around to make sure Eko wasn't peeking through the trees.

"Well, leave it up to the guy with the Jesus-stick," Hurley said in stark contrast to Charlie's attitude. "Seriously. Stick. With scripture. Jesus-stick. I'm not even that devoted!"

"Devout," Charlie muttered, between cooing at Aaron, and attempting to change him.

"See!" Hurley sighed. "So, what were you writing? Or playing, if you weren't writing it. . ."

"It was a song," Charlie said, having successfully changed Aaron and having sat down next to Hurley to stare at the surf.

"Okay. . ."

"For somebody."

After a pause that lasted a while, Hurley spoke up. "Who?"

"Who do you think?"

"Oh. . ." Hurley said. "So, you really do love Jack?"

"Hurley," Charlie answered warningly.

"I know." Hurley stared out at the surf. "You know, if we had a TV show, it'd be called Men with Feelings."

"Ew."

"Lowest ratings ever."

"You got that right."

"She wants you back, you know."

"You serious?"

"Yeah. By tomorrow, you won't even need a song."

"We'll still need a song. To dance on our wedding day."

"Who said that first?" Hurley asked suspiciously.

"Hawksley Workman," Charlie admitted. "Canadian singer-songwriter, crossed tours with him once, bought the album. How'd you know I didn't think that up?"

"Sounded like it shoulda rhymed with something," Hurley said simply.

"Ah."

"Oh! Yeah, dude, guess what I got?" Hurley asked excitedly.

"Laid?" Charlie said happily, readying himself for a high five.

"Uhh, no. Thanks for poking that wound." Hurley put down the guitar and reached around into his back pocket. "I got a book."

"If it's Bad Twin, I've–"

"Better! And I didn't know you took Close Range with you everywhere you went," Hurley said mockingly.

"Well–I–Um–Are you going to give it to me or not?" Charlie decided on.

Hurley put the book down next to Charlie. "All yours man."

"Thanks. But no one finds out that I read about gay cowboys on the road."

"You got it."

Fourty minutes later, Hurley was walking back along the beach after an unusually calm visit for both baby and daddy. He said hi to everyone he saw, he kissed Libby on the cheek as they passed each other. Finally, he reached Claire's tent. In Aaron's crib, he found a note, that read:

Dear Hurley,

I hope I get back before you find this, but if I don't, I was wondering if you could look after Aaron for a while. I'm out getting water from the thing Libby set up. Well, you and Libby set up. Btw, how did you two think of that anyhow? Tell me when I get back, Claire.

Hurley smiled as he set Aaron down, moved his crib to the shade and settled in.