April, 1977

Ennis checked the address again, frowning. This was definitely the right road, but the only structure in sight was a rickety farmhouse with a barn. It had to be the place, but it sure wasn't what he'd been expecting.

He parked the truck in the drive and walked up to the front door. There was a carved wooden sign on it that read "Out in the Workshop - Come On Over!" with an arrow pointing around the side of the house. He followed the arrow to the barn.

The door was open. Ennis's mouth dropped open as he entered the workshop. It was like walking into an alien landscape. Metal sculptures in various stages of assembly and completion were everywhere. Tanks of acetylene and bins of broken glass, boxes of junk metal and large stretched canvases dotted the floor like the obstacles in a steeplechase. He could see kilns and forges and an anvil, and many varieties of saws and tools. Workbenches were scattered about, seemingly at random. "H'lo?" he called.

"Hello!" A cheerful voice, gravelly from smoking. "I'm in the back!"

Ennis picked his way through the labyrinth until he found a little room built into one corner of the barn. Inside he found a surprisingly trim workshop containing a smiling man, tubby and grizzled, dressed in stained overalls and holding a soldering iron. "Afternoon," Ennis said, feeling more unsure of himself than ever. It had taken him three months to decide that this was what he wanted, and another three months to work up the courage. It was too late to turn back now, but not too late to panic.

"Hi there," the man said, putting down the stained glass piece he was working on. "Don't believe we've met."

"No, sir. I'm Ennis Del Mar," he said, holding out his hand.

The man shook it. "Myron Bergeron. Nice to meet you, Ennis." His eyes widened and he snapped his fingers. "Oh, I know you! You're one of those fellas that bought the old Horchow ranch!"

"Yeah, that's right."

"Glad somebody's found a use for it. Place wasn't doing anyone any favors. I hear you're making a real go of it out there."

"It's shapin' up. Listen, Mr...uh, Myron...Pastor Greenfield told me that you was good folks, and that you might be able to help me with somethin'."

"I'll surely try."

"You're...some kinda artist, is that right?"

"I'm all kinds of artist, Ennis," Myron said, laughing from his belly, which Ennis half-expected to see shaking like a bowl full of jelly. "I'm an equal-opportunity tinkerer. I do metalwork, glasswork, silversmithing..."

"Yeah, that. Silversmith, that's what I need."

"You need something fixed?"

Ennis shifted his weight, feeling the oncoming explanation he'd have to give like a freight train bearing down on him. "No, I need somethin' made. A ring."

"Well, I can certainly make you a ring. Is it for your wife?"

It took all of Ennis's determination that he would get this done not to turn tail and run right then. "I ain't got a wife. It's for...well, see..." He cleared his throat. "Thing is...it's for somebody that I...uh..." Dammit, spit it out, he scolded himself. You owe it to Jack not to be too embarrassed to say the damned words. "It's for my partner," he said, in a rush. He hated the damned word, but there wasn't a better one available to him. He hoped to hell that Myron would understand the implication, and not think he just meant a business partner…then again, how many men had rings made for their business partners?

Myron nodded. "Your partner?"

"Yeah. His name's Jack, and I wanna give him a ring, and so that's why I'm here and if'n you don't wanna make one for me then I understand and I won't trouble you no more..." Ennis's words were rushing past each other on their way out of his mouth. He'd half-turned to flee when Myron reached out and grabbed his arm.

"Whoa there, friend," he said. "Okay, take a deep breath. I can see this isn't easy for you." Ennis nodded, concentrating on slowing his breathing down. "I guess I know why Mike sent you to me. Some of the jewelers in town might look at you a bit funny. I'm sorry I'm not better informed, I might have spared you the explanation if I'd known you and the other fella were that way."

"It's okay."

"So, what kind of ring do you want? Is this...well, something along the lines of a commitment ring?"

Ennis relaxed, glad that the man seemed to understand. "Yeah, that's it, exactly."

"Do you know what size ring he wears?"

"No, but..." Ennis dug in his pocket. "I stole his wedding ring. He don't wear it no more, 'o course, but he keeps it in a drawer."

"How long since he wore this?"

"He's been divorced two years."

"Has he gained or lost any weight since then?"

Ennis frowned. "I don't think so."

"Good, then this ought to work as a template. Now, what do you want it to look like? You said you wanted silver."

"Yeah. And I, uh...I dunno much from rings, but...c'n it maybe look like rope? Or somethin'? Nothin' too fancy or frilly."

Myron nodded. "Yes, I think I know what you mean. What kind of silver do you want?"

"Well, it oughta be tough, but I want the best kind y'got."

"Fair enough. I can have it ready for you by the end of the week, if that suits you. It'd be sooner, but I'll have to send my wife to Burlington for the silver, I don't keep much on hand these days."

"That suits me fine," Ennis said. So great was his relief at having succeeded in making the request that he'd probably have had the same respose if Myron had told him the ring would be ready in six months. "I'll come back on Friday, then."

"I'll be here at the workshop in the afternoon. Oh, and Ennis?" Ennis turned. Myron smiled at him. "I think this is a real nice gesture you're making. I'm sure he'll like it."

Ennis sighed. "I hope so. This ring's got t'say a lot of things that I ain't so good at."

Ennis opened his eyes. So far, nothing hurt…but then, he hadn't moved yet. Maybe if he could just lie here, perfectly still, it would all be fine. He stared at the ceiling. It wasn't like he didn't have anything to occupy his thoughts.

He could sense the vultures circling his home, waiting to pick at his flesh and carry away everything he cared about. The acceptance they'd found here seemed to be eroding. Stan Forrester wouldn't be the last of it. He'd stir things up, because that was what his kind did. All he had to do was look at the fading bruise on Jack's cheek and the protective anger surged in him again.

He turned his head, taking care to do so slowly. Jack's face was only inches away, peacefully asleep. Ennis smiled a little, allowing himself to just wallow in it as he rarely did. Damn, my man's a looker, he thought. He could see the glint of the morning sunlight on Jack's stubble. If Forrester had his way, Jack'd be in a ditch somewhere, bloodied by tire irons. The thought made Ennis's chest hitch a little. He couldn't lose Jack. He just couldn't. Since they'd been together Ennis had reshaped himself a little bit at a time, whittling at his rough edges, filling in his cracks and smoothing out his sharp points, but the man he'd become was made to fit Jack. Without him, Ennis's shape lost its outline and didn't make any sense.

He slid closer and nuzzled his face into Jack's neck, slipping his arm across his chest. Jack felt warm and sleepy, and he smelled homey like pine needles and fresh bread. Ennis shut off that switch in his mind that kept him aloof and macho and let himself go. He kissed his way down Jack's chest, his lips blindly seeking his nipple, then worked his way back up to the other side of his neck. "Mmmmmph," Jack said, stirring. Ennis felt a hand settle on his hipbone. "You're awful cozy," Jack mumbled.

"I jus' wanna touch you," Ennis whispered, running his hand down Jack's side over the curve of his hip and around to cup the firm globe of his ass. He grasped the back of Jack's thigh and pulled his leg up and around his own hip. Jack had both arms around him now; he nudged his head against Ennis's until he found his lips. Ennis slid his arm around Jack's back as they kissed, slow and leisurely…

…just like in his latest dream. A jolt zinged through Ennis's mind and he saw it again. Jack torn to pieces, his blood staining the sorrel and the daisies, watching helplessly as his head was struck from his body. He sucked in a sharp breath and pulled away, burying his face in the pillow. Don't cry, you big baby, he scolded himself, but it was too late.

"Ennis?" Jack murmured. "What's wrong?" He was rubbing one hand in circles over Ennis's back. "Are you hurtin' somewhere? We don't hafta…"

"No, that ain't it," Ennis said. He turned and buried himself in Jack's arms, hating his own neediness but unable to help it. His only balm was that he knew that this was the one place he could let it out, and not fear being judged less of a man. "I won't let nothin' happen t'you," he choked out.

"Shhh," Jack shushed him. "It's okay. Ain't nothin' gonna happen t'me."

"I cain't stop thinkin' that it is. I been…" He took a deep breath. "I get these dreams, Jack. Always the same. Dreams 'o you getting hurt, 'n killed, by these men with tire irons. It's been comin' more often of late, though, 'n gettin' worse. I see 'em kill you…and I cain't do nothin' but watch…" He couldn't go on.

He felt Jack tensing a little. "Goddamn your bastard of a father," Jack said. "I c'd kill him for what he done t'you, for those things he put in your mind."

"That don't make 'em any less real."

Jack held him, shushing him with quiet murmurs. "It's just a dream," he whispered. "No one's gonna hurt me, or you."

Ennis wished he could believe it. He sighed and burrowed closer. "I hope you're right," he whispered.

Jack kissed him on the forehead. "C'mon, cowboy. I hate t'see you like this." He rubbed his hand up and down Ennis's back. "Wanna wake me up right?"

"Cain't make everthing okay with a fuck," Ennis muttered.

"No, but sure can take one's mind off things."

Liz had but one thought in her mind as she stumbled out of her bedroom: coffee. Blessed elixir of life, bringer of joy and vitality and eyes that opened properly. No one was in the kitchen when she got there, but the coffeepot was full. She fetched a mug from the cabinet and filled it, raising her eyes to look out the window over the sink.

Ennis was sitting on the teak deck sofa, one arm resting on the back of the cushion, balancing his own coffee on his knee. Jack was standing near the railing. She couldn't hear them, but judging by where Jack was pointing they were probably discussing the plans to build Junior's bungalow. She sagged against the edge of the sink, allowing herself the rare indulgence of looking at Jack without the fear of being observed.

Pete's uncanny observation and her subsequent admission had, unfortunately, opened the floodgates. Her sleep had been tormented by dreams of Jack, the sort that she wouldn't have dared to relate even to her diary. She'd woken time and again, breathless and hopelessly aroused, just so she could pound her pillow and try to talk herself out of it. Like that ever worked.

She hated it. She hated the fact of it and her own powerlessness to do anything about it. She didn't even want him, not in any realistic sense of the word. She loved how he and Ennis were together. They were special, and what they had was special. It made her think crazily optimistic thoughts about the world to see them together, and to see them living their life. All this was true, and yet she couldn't help the fact that when he smiled it felt like the sun shining inside her.

Jack was returning from the railing now. He perched on the arm of the sofa next to Ennis, one leg propped on the deck. He kept talking, gesturing out towards the river and the old shed, whose days were numbered. Ennis nodded slowly, sipping his coffee, not speaking. As Liz watched, Ennis's hand rose from the back of the sofa cushion, the tips of his fingers tracing aimless arcs across Jack's back. Back and forth, a feather-light, unconscious touch. Jack had fallen silent. He looked out over the backyard, raising his coffee cup to his lips. He shifted back a bit and slipped his arm across Ennis's shoulders. They sat like that, not speaking, for several minutes.

Liz finished her coffee and went back to her bedroom to get dressed, sick to her stomach with envy. Why can't I have what they have? she thought. Where's the man who'll touch me like I'm priceless? It sure as hell isn't Charlie.

Charlie. She felt moderately guilty for not having called him. Then again, the phone lines traveled both directions. Maybe he was glad to be rid of her. More freedom to screw his secretary in their bed.

"So it was a snake?" Liz said, bending down and trying to see what Ennis was showing her.

"Yup," he said. "See them holes? Big sucker. Got her right on the inside 'o the leg. Real painful spot, lots of tendons and nerves. Ain't no wonder she spooked and threw me."

Liz nodded. "That's a relief."

Ennis straightened up…moving slowly as he had been all day…and frowned at her. "Relief? How's that?"

She sighed. "Honestly? The thought crossed my mind that…well…Stan Forrester might've found some way to tamper with your horse."

Ennis arched one eyebrow. "Y'think?"

"I know, it sounds stupid now. I mean, the guy's not all-seeing and all-powerful."

"And if'n he wanted t'hurt me, there'd sure as hell be better 'n more reliable ways 'o doin' it."

"I can't help it, I'm a reporter!" she cried. "I see conspiracies everywhere!"

Ennis laughed, then groaned and put his hand to his back. "Fuck," he muttered.

"You okay?" Liz said, going to his side.

"I'm fine," he said, impatiently shooing her away. "Jus' about every part 'o me hurts, is all." They walked slowly back towards the house.

"Ennis?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I ask you something? It isn't about sex," she added quickly, seeing the apprehension on his face.

"Hmph. Okay, then."

"If it were legal, would you marry Jack?"

Ennis frowned and looked at her like he didn't quite get the question. "Would I marry him?"

"Yeah."

"Well…why wouldn't I?"

"You would, then?"

"'O course I would! What kinda fucked up question is that?"

"I was just curious, okay?"

"I made a commitment to him, y'know. He's wearin' my ring, for cryin' out loud. If there was some preacher or judge who'd see fit to make it for real then I'd be firs' in line. But there ain't, and there ain't never gonna be, and so it's no use thinkin' about it or usin' words for each other that ain't true."

"Words? Like 'husband?'"

"That ain't what he is. That ain't what I am."

"What, then?"

He sighed. "I dunno. I guess they ain't invented the word for it yet."

The call came on Thursday night, at about eight thirty.

Later, she would remember everything. Every little detail. She was sitting in her favorite chair, flipping through "Time" magazine. Ennis was sitting on the couch, his feet kicked up on the ottoman. She even remembered that his socks were slightly mismatched. They were both white athletic socks, but one had red stitching at the toe and the other had green stitching. It had been three days since he'd been thrown; he had been sore for a couple of days but by Thursday was mostly back to normal. Jack slumped at the other end of the couch, legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankle.

They were watching "Magnum, P.I.," mostly because it was the only thing on. "Damn," Jack said. "How's that guy afford a fuckin' Ferrari? He crashes in some rich guy's basement and spends all his money on ugly-ass Hawaiian shirts!"

"It ain't his Ferrari, dumbass. It's the rich guy's."

"That butler needs a beat down."

"I think the butler's really the rich guy," Ennis said.

"You're outta your mind."

"You wait. He's just pretendin' to be the butler so's nobody bugs him none."

"Y'hear this Lizzie? The TV predictions of Ennis Del Mar, seer of seers."

Liz shrugged. "As long as Tom Selleck takes off his shirt, I don't care what else happens."

"Oh, you fancy him, do you?"

"He's gorgeous. So…manly."

"Are you serious? Lookit that mustache! Makes him look like a fuckin' porn star."

Ennis raised an eyebrow. "And jus' how would you know what a porn star looks like, rodeo?" Ennis and Liz laughed while Jack turned red, spluttering in protest.

Jack got up. "I'm gonna get a beer. Either 'o you two assholes want one?"

"Gimme one."

"No thanks, Jack."

He headed for the kitchen, pausing to flip Ennis the bird. "Oh, ain't that sweet?" Ennis shouted.

She and Ennis sat in silence while the commercials ran. She heard Jack open the fridge, then the pop-hiss as he opened the bottles. He was in the doorway when the phone rang.

Jack set down the beer bottles and picked up the receiver. "Hello?" There was a long pause. Long enough that both Liz and Ennis looked up. Jack was frowning. "Lureen, I can't understand a thing you're…yeah. What's wrong? What's wrong?" he repeated, his voice rising. "Is Bobby okay? Honey, slow down."

Ennis's feet had come down off the ottoman and he was leaning forward, watching Jack's face. Liz put her magazine aside, a cold feeling spreading across her back.

Jack's chest was heaving. "What?" His eyes were wide. "WHAT?" he shouted. Ennis stood up.

"Jack, what's…" he started.

Jack waved him off impatiently, then turned his back and listened, his head down. Liz could see him shaking from where she was. "Oh dear Jesus, no," he said, low and choked. "Oh Christ…" He listened for a long time, his posture curling further and further in on itself. "Yeah." Another long pause. "I'm on my way. No. Hell, no. I'm leaving now. You expect me sometime before mornin'. No, I'll rent a car when I get there." Another pause. "I don't fuckin' care what your father says!" he shouted. "Yeah. You hang on, honey. Okay." He hung up.

Liz and Ennis were both frozen in place, waiting. Obviously, something awful had happened. She felt like she was intruding, but she couldn't seem to move.

Jack stared at the phone for a moment, gasping for air like he was drowning, his eyes unfocused. He looked around like he'd just woken up in a strange place, then began to pace in tight little circles. His hands kept lifting and then falling back, up to his face and drifting away, like they were obeying commands from a malfunctioning system. He was still sucking in great heaving breaths like he'd just run a mile.

Ennis took another step forward. "Jack…what is it, darlin'? What's happened?"

Jack looked at him with no recognition. He turned away and leaned both hands against the wall, lowering his head. He stayed like that for a few moments, then suddenly he drew back and punched the wall, hard. It left a dent. Ennis jumped, the look of alarm on his face intensifying.

Jack turned around. "Bobby's dead," he said, flatly.

Liz gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. Ennis's face was white and shocked. He went to Jack, reaching out for him, but Jack pushed him away. "Oh Jesus…what happened?" Ennis asked.

Jack was staring past Ennis to some point in the middle distance. "He shot himself."

Ennis made a choked sound like a half-sob. He grasped Jack's shoulders. "Dear Lord…Jack, I…" He tried to pull Jack close, but Jack pushed him away again.

"I gotta pack. I gotta get a flight to Texas," he said. His monotone was downright creepy. He wasn't looking at either of them, he wasn't looking at anything. His eyes were unfocused, like he was watching something playing itself out inside his own head. He turned and headed to the bedroom.

Ennis glanced at her briefly. She saw on his face the worry over Jack's behavior, and the shock of this terrible news. He followed Jack down the hall and disappeared.

Liz sat still for a moment, but she couldn't stay there. This wasn't her house right now. She got up and fled out the front door to sit on the porch steps. She hugged her knees to her chest, thinking about Bobby, whom she'd never met, and about Lureen, but mostly about Jack…and her still secret wish that she could have been the one to offer him comfort.

Jack was throwing clothes into a suitcase when Ennis came in. "Jack, stay still just for a moment," Ennis said, taking his arm. Jack threw it off. "Will you let me help you?" Ennis exclaimed. "Quit pushin' me away!"

"I got no time. I gotta get to the airport. I gotta get to Childress."

Ennis pulled his own suitcase out of the closet and opened it up. Jack stopped and looked up at him, his eyes focused on him for the first time. The look in them almost made Ennis take a step back.

"What're you doin'?"

"Packin'."

"Why?"

Ennis was speechless for a moment. "Because…I'm goin' with you, 'o course!"

"No, you ain't. You ain't goin' nowhere."

"Jack, for Christ's sake! I ain't lettin' you go through this alone! I sure as hell ain't lettin' you drive to Burlington in this state!"

"I ain't in no state, I'm fine. I gotta go alone, Ennis." Ennis kept packing. "Goddamnit, Ennis, I said I am goin' alone!" Jack roared. He seized Ennis's suitcase and threw it to the floor.

"What the fuck is goin' on?" Ennis said. He was knocked for a hell of a loop by Jack's anger. It was strange to him and made Jack strange, too. "What ain't you tellin' me?"

Jack was clutching at his hair, his head shaking back and forth. He bent over the bed, propping his hands, and for a moment Ennis wondered if he was going to be sick. He let out a few harsh sobs, then got himself under control. He straightened up and wiped his face. "He left a note," Jack said, resuming his packing and keeping his attention focused intently on the task. "Lureen told me. He said he couldn't take no more. Other kids callin' him a queerboy. Askin' him how many cocks his daddy sucked!" Jack abruptly looked up and shouted the last words at him. Ennis staggered back and felt behind him for the chair he knew was there, folding himself into it before he fell right down. "This is on me, Ennis. My boy is dead because of me! Because of us!" His voice broke and he turned away.

"This ain't your fault," Ennis said, hoping he sounded convincing. "It ain't on you them kids was a bunch of chickenshit assholes who teased him."

"How come he never told me? How come he never told Lureen?" Jack asked no one in particular, his voice plaintive. "We coulda talked about it…I coulda…"

"Maybe he didn't wanna worry you none."

"More like he didn't think there wasn't nothin' t'be done. Why else'd he…he…" Jack put his hands to his face. "Sweet Jesus, Ennis, my boy ate a fuckin' bullet because 'o what I am!"

Ennis got up and went around the bed. He turned Jack around and put his arms around him. It was like embracing an oak tree. Jack's arms were still raised before him, his hands over his face. Ennis rubbed his back, trying to give him any comfort he could. "I am so fuckin' sorry, darlin'," he said, feeling the choke of tears threatening. "But you couldn'ta known. It ain't your fault."

Jack pulled away, gathering his compsure, and closed his bag. He went into the bathroom and Ennis heard him getting together his shaving kit and toothbrush. He felt helpless and impotent. Jack was in more pain that he'd probably ever been, and Ennis had nothing to offer him that he was willing to take. "Jack," he said as Jack emerged from the bathroom. "I gotta go with you." But I won't tell you the real reason why. I gotta go to make sure no one messes with you. I gotta watch your back, 'cause you're headin' back into the lion's den where everybody knows about you and would like's not kill you for it.

Jack shook his head. "For the last time, no. You ain't comin'."

"I oughta be there with you."

Jack seemed to snap. "Why?" he cried, looking up at Ennis. "Why should you be there, Ennis? So's Lureen can get a real good look at the man I lef' her for? So's L.D. can picture your face when he's imaginin' us lyin' in the morgue side by side 'n burnin' in hell for all eternity? So the whole fuckin' town can see the man what made Jack Twist leave his family and his son t'be tormented into the fuckin' grave? Is that why? So's everybody can know for sure what they only whispered about, that Jack Twist is a giant fucking cocksucker what got his boy killed?" Ennis was mute in the face of this onslaught. "Nothin' to say? You got a better idea? You tell me why, Ennis! Right now! If you got a better reason why you oughta come with me, then you better fuckin' spit it out!"

Ennis looked at Jack's face and something clicked over in his mind. Jack was suffering, and all Ennis wanted was to make it stop. He'd take it onto himself if he could. He'd been by this man's side through a lot of good times and now he damn well wanted to be by his side for the bad ones. There was only one word for that, truthful or not.

"Because," he said, carefully. "I know I ain't never said it, but in all the ways that matter I am your husband, and it's my job t'see you through this."

The fight seemed to leave Jack, gradually, like it was seeping from a hundred shallow wounds. He put on his coat and shouldered his bag, then looked up at him. "Ennis…listen to me, real careful. I love you, you know I do. But I just cain't deal with you right now. I gotta do this. If you wanna help me, you let me go, 'n don't get after me none." He sighed. "I'll call you from Childress."

He walked out, leaving Ennis stunned and mute behind him.

Liz heard the front door open. She looked over her shoulder to see Jack emerge, a bag over his shoulder. He didn't look at her or acknowledge her, just walked down the stairs to the garage.

She heard Ennis's steps on the porch. He stopped on the top step. Liz stood up and went to his side. He just watched, his face like an Easter Island statue, as Jack's truck backed out of the garage, turned around, and roared up the driveway and out of sight.

Liz could sense him thrumming like a piano wire. She had heard a few raised voices from inside, but no words. Hesitantly, she reached out and slipped her hand into Ennis's larger one. He gripped her fingers immediately. "He's goin' back there, Lizzie," he said, his voice hoarse. "Back t'Texas." He hesitated. "You know what they got a lot of in Texas?"

"What?" Liz whispered.

He looked down at her. "Tire irons."