A/N: Couple of things.

First of all, a number of people have commented that Ennis's younger daughter's name is Francine whereas in the film it is Jenny. In the short story it's Francine. I have no clue why they changed this seemingly insignificant detail, but they did. I chose to stick with story canon on this point, although I've chosen film canon for other things (Alma's husband's name, for example).

Second, I found it deeply rewarding to read the comments to the most recent chapter and find people voicing such varied feelings about it. Some of you are really on Jack's side and think Ennis is behaving awfully, some of you are on Ennis's side and think Jack deserves what he gets, and still others of you can see both men's sides of the problem and can empathize with both of them. What this tells me is that I did what I meant to do, namely write a situation in which neither party is clearly the wronged party and both have valid arguments, and in which neither Jack nor Ennis is the "bad guy" here.

To answer a few specific questions:
1. Yes, we will be seeing Lizzie again.
2. No, we haven't heard the last of Stan Forrester.
3. Yes, I'm getting kind of close to the end (maybe three or four chapters after this one) but I already have plans for the sequel.

Thank you. On with the chapter.

Coming home to the ranch was a hollow relief. It'd be nice to sleep in his own bed, but he'd be there alone. Things were familiar and welcome here, but that which was most familiar and welcome had taken itself off to Plattsburg.

Marianne breezed past him with the groceries from the cabin, only about a third of which had been consumed. She had been exactly the kind of companion he needed, to wit, she'd kept her mouth shut and let Jack stew in his own juices, which was just what he wanted to do. When he'd gotten into her van he'd opened his mouth to offer some kind of explanation, but she'd cut him off. "Jack, you and Ennis are like family to me. But I'm not getting in the middle, are we clear?" He was clear, not to mention relieved. The idea of having to explain everything to Marianne made his head hurt, and he was glad to just sit in the passenger seat and brood.

As happy as he'd been to hear Ennis's parting declarations, that didn't lessen the sting of the fact that he had, in fact, been parting. He wanted to be mad at him for leaving at a time like this, but all he could manage was a profound sense of self-pity that made him want to kick his own ass. Half of him felt Ennis was completely justified, the other half was pissed off that his grief seemed to mean nothing in the shadow of his indiscretion with Lureen.

He didn't bother to unpack. The bed looked so inviting. He could envision himself flopping down on it, curling on his side and going right to sleep. Maybe he could sleep until Ennis came back. Maybe he could sleep until doomsday.

He changed into a workshirt and headed out the back door, taking his hat off the pegboard as he went. Borrickson, the stock manager, was walking from the stables towards the home paddock; Jack hailed him. "Hey, Jack," Borrickson said, tipping his hat back on his ruddy face. He was built like a fire hydrant with coloring to match. "Didn't think you were gonna be back for a few days."

"Slight change of plans."

"Say...I was sure as hell sorry to hear about your son."

Jack sighed. "Thanks, Rod."

"Where's Ennis?"

"He went up to Plattsburg to take a look at a friend's operation and give him some advice. Whyn't you show me them new calves, and we'll see if any of 'em gonna earn their keep?"

Ennis sat in the passenger seat of Dave's little four-wheel-drive cart as they zipped around his farm, wishing for a good old-fashioned horse. Dave was chattering on and on about birth rates and stud fees and milk production and Ennis wasn't hearing a word. He felt mildly guilty about this. Here he was, supposedly helping a colleague make some improvements, and all he could think about was his love life.

Dave pulled up to a pen where two bulls paced back and forth, eyeballing each other and snorting. He and Ennis got off the cart and stood at the iron fence. "What do you think?" Dave asked. "You think either of them's good enough for show?"

Dave was relatively new at the livestock business. He'd bought, improved and then sold several orchards for excellent return and was now trying his hand at cattle and dairy farming. Ennis knew him from the trade shows; Dave had sought him out in particular and they'd become something like friends. He looked at the bulls. "Well…that one there's a little short. I dunno, I ain't the real expert."

"Who is, then?"

Ennis sighed. Dave had never been to their ranch and he'd never met Jack. He could either talk his way around it or tell him the truth. "Fella that co-owns my ranch, he does all the breedin' and showin'," Ennis said, hating himself for his cowardice, but not having the energy to fight another uphill battle just now. "He's damn near psychic about it."

"Well, I wish you'da brought him along."

Ennis was starting to wish he had, too. "He's back at the ranch. Lots to do."

"Always is. Well, then, lemme go show you my foreman's office, got all the paperwork in there, the schedules, the rotations…"

Dave's voice faded away as they clambered back aboard his hellishly uncomfortable go-cart. Ennis grabbed the handhold by his hip as Dave careened off, jabbering cheerfully, his voice a mere buzzing against the clamor of Ennis's own thoughts.

Jack worked until nightfall forced him to stop. He and Rod examined all the new calves, marking their ears with clip-tags. Jack found one he wanted to groom for a time to see how it grew. It might show well with the proper care. He got on Saskatoon and rode the circuit, out to the north paddock, over to the east paddock, and back to the homestead, a round trip of about fifteen miles. He sat in the the foreman's tiny office and checked the logbook, then went out and yelled at the stock manager just for good measure.

He tromped back to the house after dark, exhausted. Marianne had left him a note. "There's a lasagna in the fridge. You know what to do with it. Get some sleep and don't drink too much." He smiled at her motherly tone and reached around to preheat the oven.

He jumped when the phone rang and then leapt for it, hoping it'd be Ennis. "Hello?"

"Jack?"

It wasn't Ennis. Jack sagged into one of the kitchen chairs. "Oh. Hey, Lureen." He sighed. "How're you holdin' up, honey?"

He heard her take a few steadying breaths. "I'm gettin' by," she said. "How are you?"

Fantastic, just peachy. Thanks to you, I'm eatin' lasagna in an empty house. "I ain't so great," he said, his own ears surprised to hear the truth coming out of his mouth. "Ennis 'n me…havin' some problems."

"God," she choked. "It's my fault, ain't it? I'm sorry, Jack, I didn't mean for any of this to happen, it's just…"

"There was two of us there, it ain't all on you," Jack said. "I just wish I had me a time machine so's I could take it back."

"It's probably best you told him, though."

Jack rubbed his forehead with one hand. "I didn't. He figured it before I c'd decide what I was gonna do."

"Oh, no."

"Yeah. He's up in Plattsburg right now, I got no idea when he's comin' home…" Jack held the receiver away from his face as he swallowed the lump in his throat. "He had t'get away from me, I guess."

"He'll be back," Lureen said, firmly. "Don't you doubt it, now."

"I cain't help it." Neither of them spoke for a moment. "How're things there? You still fixin' t'move away?"

"More'n ever. I feel like the last sane person on earth. I ain't seen Daddy since…that night. Momma's just playin' quiet 'n stickin' with him, which I mighta figured. But 'o course no one knows what happened, so everbody figures it must be me jus' bein' a bitch. Honest, I wouldn't be surprised if he was tellin' folks that Bobby's dyin' was my fault." She sighed. "I'm just tryin' t'sell the house 'n pack what I need. My cousin in Savannah's thrilled I'm comin', she says I c'n stay with her till I get m'own place." She hesitated. "I'm thinkin' I might start up a business 'o my own, with the money you gave me."

"That sounds like a fine plan."

"I don't know. I just know I gotta get myself outta here." She cleared her throat. "But this ain't why I called. I jus' wanted t'let you know that I sent along a box with Bobby's things what you picked out. I threw in a few other things myself. It oughta be there by the end 'o the week."

"Thank you," Jack said. "It's kind 'o you."

"Ain't no trouble. And…Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"Listen, if'n you need t'talk, well…you know my number."

Jack shook his head, imagining the karmic debt he'd accrue if he vented his troubles to the woman who'd caused them. "Thanks, but I don't know if…"

"'O course, that might be a bit odd, mightn't it?"

"Just a little."

"Well…you take care, Jack. I'm sure everthin'll work out jus' fine."

"I hope you're right, Lureen. You let me know how you're doin'."

"I will. Goodnight."

"Bye." He hung up and leaned back, presing his fingers to his eyeballs. They felt sandy and strained, and a steady throb was taking up residence just behind them.

He got up and put the lasagna in the oven, setting the timer just to be safe. He could easily imagine himself going out to the deck and losing track of time until Marianne's poor lasagna was reduced to smoldering cinders. The night air outside was refreshing, but nothing much pleased him at the moment. Nothing seemed beautiful, nothing felt comfortable, the earth was out of alignment on its axis and it wasn't in his power to set things right.

He sat down. Lureen had been right about one thing, though. A sympathetic, objective ear wouldn't go amiss in this situation. He briefly considered calling Lizzie, then rejected the idea. She was back in her own life, and fond as he was of her, she was still a very new friend. This wasn't exactly something you discussed with the boys over a few beers down at the White Horse, either.

He thought back to other difficult times of his life, other crises, other issues. Who had he talked about them with? Ennis. And when Ennis was the problem, who had he talked to? No one. There was no one he trusted as much as Ennis, no one he felt he could really talk to as much as Ennis. In the past when there'd been problems, which of course there had been, they'd managed to talk enough to work it out. How could he do that if Ennis kept running from him?

Beer with the boys down at the White Horse was sounding like a better and better idea with each passing minute.

"You're skimpin' where you oughtn't and payin' too much where it ain't needed," Ennis said. He was sitting at Dave's desk in the farmhouse, Dave peering over his shoulder. "You cain't cut labor and expect t'maintain this many head. You gotta spend a little if'n you wanna manage this place right. A poorly-run farm's worse'n no farm at all. It'll sink you sure's shit. You need at leas' three more full-time hands and you really oughta have a foreman, place this size."

"I don't know if I can afford all that labor right now."

"Then you gotta cut back on your herd size until you can. Work up gradual-like."

"Gradual? You turned a profit in your first two years!"

Ennis sighed. "Not 'cause 'o my ranchin' skills. I had other things workin' in my favor. And you 'n I don't work the same markets, y'know. You're goin' after the wholesale beef market, you gotta maximize and minimize, Dave. Maximize the return and minimize the cost. But if you ain't staffed right you ain't goin' nowhere. But then look here…why the hell you payin' vet bills t'some guy in Rochester when you c'n take your pick 'o prob'ly four or five large-animal vets in three counties?"

"This guy's supposed to be the best."

"They're cattle, not liver-transplant patients. He may be the best but he ain't worth the extra cash, I promise you. Get a local vet, for Christ's sake." He stood up, rubbing his neck. "Man, I am bushed."

"I made up the guest bedroom for you. Mary's gone to Albany overnight, but she'll be back tomorrow."

Ennis managed a small smile. "I reckon we c'n manage." He moved to the living room and sat down, his spine still vibrating from Dave's hell-machine.

"So, uh…you gonna tell me why the sudden visit?"

"I don't get you."

"I've asked and asked you to come up here and give me some advice, and it's always the same. No time, got a ranch to run, maybe next season. Then out of the clear blue sky, you call and say you're on your way. I'm grateful, don't get me wrong…I just don't know why."

Ennis sighed, taking the beer Dave was offering him. "Had me a coupla free days, figured I'd see how they do things in New York State."

Dave sat down opposite him. "You've got woman troubles, then?"

"Huh?" Ennis said, frowning.

"I don't mean to pry into your business, but you look fucking exhausted, Ennis. And you just seem…sad. That special kind of sad a man gets when he's flying solo and isn't used to it."

"Sounds like you might be acquainted with that kinda sad."

Dave shrugged. "I've spent my share of nights on the couch. Doubt there's a man who hasn't, especially in our line of work. Long hours, never a rest, never a holiday, and it's always fucking there."

"Ain't that the truth." Ennis watched Dave's face. "Y'might say I just needed a bit 'o time away."

Dave nodded sagely, as if that revealed everything. "Your woman sleeping around on you?"

Ennis shut his eyes. He'd made a deal with himself when they'd moved out here. A deal and a promise. It was okay not to volunteer the details of his personal life if it didn't come up, but the deal was that if it did come up, he couldn't let the easier, more comfortable lie stand up in place of the truth. The promise, which he'd made to Jack inside his own head, never voicing it, was never to be ashamed. But it would have been so easy just to say yes, his woman had done him wrong. He and Dave could commiserate about it and that would be that. Easy, so easy and comfortable. He felt like crying. Why couldn't the truth be as easy and comfortable? Maybe someday it would be, but it wasn't likely to be a day he'd live to see. "In a way," he finally said, "except it ain't my woman."

"Just a girlfriend, then?"

Ennis cleared his throat. "You remember when I mentioned the fella co-owns the ranch with me?"

"Sure. What's his name, again?"

"Jack. Jack Twist." Just saying his name hurt.

"Right." Dave's eyes got big. "Oh, shit! Is he screwin' around with your girlfriend?"

There must be an easier way. "Naw, it ain't like that." He shifted in his seat. "Truth is, Dave…Jack ain't just my business partner. He's my partner partner, if you take my meanin'." Dave was looking at him blankly. "Y'see what I'm sayin'?" Still nothing. Ennis blew air through his teeth, exasperated. "It was him screwed around on me, get it?"

Comprehension came into Dave's face, then in quick succession surprise, revulsion, recovery and a species of phony bonhomie that Ennis had seen before on the faces of others. He thought of it as the "No problem!" face people put on when they wanted to mask their discomfort with fake tolerance. It wasn't his favorite reaction, but it sure beat a right hook to the jaw. "Oh, I see," Dave said, clearing his throat. "I, uh…didn't know you were like that," he said.

Like that? He makes it sound like he just found out I cheat at poker or somethin'. "Well, I don't go 'round wearin' no sign 'round my neck, but I ain't no liar, neither. You asked, so I told you the truth." Dave smiled weakly. "I don't guess you still wanna hear 'bout my troubles none, then."

Dave sat back, flapping a hand. "Aw, why the hell not. I'm intrigued. I know all about woman troubles. What the hell kind of troubles do two men have between them?"

"The kind where one sleeps with his ex-wife."

Dave's face scrunched up in sympathetic pain, and it looked sincere enough. "Goddamn, that's a hard one. That's gonna leave a mark."

"Yeah," Ennis muttered. "So I jus' thought maybe I ought not to be around for a coupla days, jus' till I cool down."

"That's a bitch of a situation."

"At least."

"So his ex lives near you, then?"

"Naw, she lives in Texas. Jack was down there visitin'."

"He visits his ex-wife? And you let him?"

Ennis sighed. He really hadn't wanted to get into all this, but it was too goddamn late now. "Their boy killed himself las' week. That's why he was down there. That's how come they…y'know. They got emotional."

Dave was staring at him. "Wait…just wait a goddamn minute. His son just committed suicide and you left him all alone at home so you could…what was it? Cool off? I don't know how your kind does things, but to my mind that's just cold."

"It ain't like that, it was jus' that I…"

"Look, Ennis, being cheated on hurts. I oughta know, it's happened to me twice. I done it once myself, too. Shit happens, but you get through it. You either split up or you don't, but you move on. But a man losing his son…that's something else. You let him grieve by himself and that's gonna last a lot longer than some post-funeral screw. Hell, people always want to screw after funerals, everybody knows that! That was their damn boy!"

Ennis sat staring straight ahead. He felt like he'd been sucker-punched. Hearing it said like that was like somebody opening a window into his skull, a window Jack had been too guilt-ridden to open. What was his hurt set against Jack's loss? Could you compare? Was there some table of values by which he could measure who was in the right, and who'd been wronged worse? It didn't matter. Right now, sitting here and listening to an outsider's reaction, he did not feel like the wronged party. He knew Jack hadn't stayed at the cabin. He wouldn't have done, not alone. He could picture him at home, sitting on the deck with a beer, trying not to think about Bobby and having no one to distract him, no one to comfort him if he thought about him anyway, no one to hold him when the night was too quiet.

Once, when she was much younger, Junior had asked him, in an adorably serious tone, how you knew when you were in love. She had a crush on some boy at school and envisioned herself the heroine of a timeless romance, and needed a way to quantify her feelings. Ennis had been at a bit of a loss. He'd thought for a moment, going back over his relationship with Jack and how it felt, what it meant, and how it made him act, and had gleaned some kind of an answer for her. "Junior," he'd said, "You know you love somebody when their happiness is more important t'you than yours."

She'd nodded, trying to look wise and thoughtful, and hopefully realizing that the boy at school was just an infatuation. Ennis's statement had recurred to him a number of times over the years, and now it came back to haunt him. I oughta care more 'bout his grief than our trouble, he thought. Our trouble'll keep. His grievin's here now. "Goddamn," he muttered.

"Damn is right. Or…I don't know." Dave seemed suddenly uncomfortable about his outburst, or perhaps he was just remembering that he was talking about two men. "I don't know the particulars. Hell, for all I know he busts your balls every day and you've been dying to get away and this was just the excuse you needed."

Ennis stood up. "Dave, I gotta go."

"Wait, wait a minute…where you think you're going?"

"Home. I gotta go home right now."

"Ennis, you can't go now. You're dead tired, you'll drive right off the road. If you mean to leave, you can leave in the morning."

Ennis faltered. Dave had a point. He was exhausted, and it was almost midnight. He could sleep for a few hours…but a delay of even a short time felt like too long. "I dunno…you got me all turned around now…"

"Well, that's good, but have some sense. Get a night's sleep. Hell, he's sleeping, too. Go back with your eyes more than half-open and when you're able to form a coherent sentence."

Ennis nodded. "I s'pose you're right, Dave. Where's that guest room, then?"

Jack walked into the White Horse, looking out for Fred Trimble, who he was supposed to be meeting. Fred hailed him from a table where he sat with Gus Flaubert and a man Jack didn't know He headed over. "Hey, Jack," Fred said as Jack took a seat at their table, the men's faces accordingly sober in keeping with Jack's recent loss. "Do you know Rich Whiting?"

"Don't b'lieve so," Jack said, extending his hand across the table.

Rich shook it, smiling. "Nice to meet you, Twist. I've sure heard a lot about you from these guys."

"Ain't none of it true, not unless they said I was happy 'n handsome."

Everyone laughed. "Where's Ennis tonight?" Gus asked.

"Oh, he's up Plattsburg helpin' out a friend," Jack said, sending a clear change-the-subject look at Fred.

Fred got the message. "So, you fellas see Grant Linebeck's new truck?"

And so on from there. People's new trucks, to their old beat-up trucks, to their wives, to their horses, to the high school baseball team's chances in the state playoffs, to the city council's latest idiocy, to the new nightclub that was opening outside of town next month, and on and on. All the while the beer flowed, and Jack found himself neatly anaesthetized before too long. He didn't let himself get too drunk, purely as a precautionary measure, but he thought he'd earned getting a pleasant buzz to take the edge off.

Eventually Rich headed home, and Gus followed not long afterwards. "Well, Fred, I best get home. Sunup's early and I've got a lot to do tomorrow."

Fred nearly leapt out of his chair. "Let me drive you home, Jack."

"I'm fine."

"I just hate to think of you being by yourself."

"I said I'm fine."

"Will you at least let me walk you out to your car?"

Jack frowned. That seemed strange. "What am I, your date? You gonna wanna kiss me then?" He cackled. "Didn't know you was joinin' our team there, Freddola!"

Fred colored. "I'll get my coat. Don't go nowhere." He disappeared into the crush of people.

Jack waited for a moment, then shrugged. Screw it. I'm fine. He headed out the door into the cool, clear night.

Ennis drove as fast as he dared. A speeding ticket would delay him longer than a few miles on the dial. He was already later than he would have liked to have been, because Dave hadn't woken him early. "You needed the rest," Dave had said, in response to Ennis's angry questions. As a result, he hadn't gotten on the road until almost eleven, and it was a two-hour drive home.

He was almost there. A sense of urgency he couldn't explain had ahold of him. What was the rush, anyway? It wasn't like Jack had anywhere to go. He might even still be at the cabin. If that was the case, Ennis would just have to turn north and head up there. More driving, no big deal.

Still, something at the back of his head pushed him relentlessly forward. Go faster, it said.

He blew past the "Welcome to Farmingdale" sign a mile from the ranch, barely giving it a glance. The familiar roads near home whizzed by and within a few minutes, he was pulling into the driveway. The sight of the house, looking so normal and stable, calmed him a great deal. He could imagine Jack out with the herds, maybe conferring with Rod, or maybe riding out to the north paddock. He pulled his truck into the garage and got out, taking a deep breath. Everything's okay, he reassured himself.

"Howza, Mist'Ennis," said a familiar drawl. Ennis didn't even have to turn around to know who'd spoken.

"Howdy, Cady," he said. Cady was their longest-serving ranch hand, a Quebecois of indeterminate age with a face tanned to leather and an Acadian accent so thick it was like gumbo. Most people could barely understand him, but Ennis couldn't imagine running the ranch without him. "How's things?"

"Thought youza be wiz Mist'Jack," Cady drawled.

"Oh, is he still up at the cabin?" Ennis asked, his heart sinking at the idea that Jack might not even be here.

An odd look crossed Cady's face. "Thought youza be in town, wiz Mist'Jack," Cady repeated.

His expression was making Ennis's heart beat fast. "Cady…what do you mean? Where's Jack?"

Cady nodded towards the house. "Miz'Mairie, she done tell." He began to shamble off.

"Cady!" Ennis called after him, uselessly. He turned and ran up the porch steps and flung open the front door. "Marianne!" he shouted.

"Ennis?" came her shout in return. The mere fact that Marianne was shouting brought a cold sweat to his brow. "Thank God!" She hurried out from the kitchen and Ennis took a step back. She was pale and sweaty and she'd been crying.

He strode forward. "What's going on?" he said. "Where's Jack? What's happened?"

Her head was shaking back and forth on its own. "I wanted to call you, but…I didn't know where you'd gone, he never said, and I thought maybe if I called…"

Ennis grabbed her by the upper arms and gave her a brisk shake. "Marianne! Where is Jack?"

She looked up at him. "He's in the hospital."

Ennis's perception shrank to a tiny point. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears as everything went dark around him save Marianne's face. "What happened?" he asked, forcing his voice into even tones.

She took a deep breath. "He went out to the White Horse last night. Fred Trimble saw him there. He wasn't too drunk, but he left alone." Tears were running down her face again. "Ennis, there were five of them."

Ennis let her go and stepped back, his feet operating on their own accord, taking him in meaningless trips and loops around the living-room floor. "Did they have tire irons?" he heard himself ask, in a tiny, frightened voice that didn't sound like his own. It sounded like a little boy's voice.

Marianne frowned, no doubt at the oddity of the question. "No," she said. "Just their fists. One of them had a two-by-four. They didn't get him too bad…not on his body, anyway. Fred and a couple other men from the bar came outside when they'd barely begun and stopped it. But…one of them just got him in the head with that two-by-four, right at the end…" She reached out and grabbed his arm, stopping his perambulations. "Ennis, he's not waking up."

A great black yaw had opened beneath Ennis, and he would have gladly jumped in. The only thing stopping him was that he didn't want to leave Jack alone. Not again. If he had to handcuff himself to Jack's wrist, he was never leaving him alone again.

He pulled himself together. It felt like a physical effort; a tightening of ropes, a winching of the stays, wrapping himself tight like a swaddled baby so he wouldn't fly apart. "C'mon," he said, grabbing Marianne's hand and heading for the door. "You're drivin'."