A/N: I hope this chapter isn't too much of a letdown after the extremely angst and schmoopiness of the last few. This is very much a transitional chapter, both into the last few chapters of this story and into the next one.
Jack wafted the coffee mug under Ennis's nose. "Wakey wakey," he sing-songed. "Y'already missed breakfast. Wanna miss lunch, too?"
Ennis blinked. "Ohuh?" he gurgled, rubbing his eyes and reaching half-blindly for the coffee.
Jack, who'd been up for hours, sat on the edge of the bed. He'd come in intending to yank Ennis's chain, but his pinched face and unfocused eyes were turning his amusement into concern. "You okay?" he said, frowning. "It's almost noon. Ain't like you t'sleep this long."
Ennis tried to open his eyes, but didn't get very far. He groaned, putting his hands to his head. "Fuckin' A," he said.
Jack sighed. "You got another pounder, hoss?"
Ennis rolled onto his stomach and pulled the covers over his head, which was all the answer Jack needed. Ennis was plagued by occasional migraine headaches, which Jack privately suspected were the result of having denied his bad eyesight for so long. They didn't come often, three or four times a year on average, but when they did, he was good for nothing but lying in a dark room and throwing up every few hours.
Jack got up and pulled the shades down, drawing the curtains as well to further block out the light, plunging the room into nighttime shadow. He leaned over Ennis again. "Y'want some..." was as far as he got. Ennis made a choking noise and heaved, then suddenly half-jumped, half-fell out of bed and staggered to the bathroom. Jack waited for him to finish, wishing there was something useful he could do. He hated seeing Ennis like this, and he knew that being laid so low was terribly embarrassing to him. Ennis was so stoic that he'd once worked for three days on a fractured foot before admitting that it hurt, but these headaches completely incapacitated him. "I get bashed on the head 'n you're the one with the headache," Jack said, keeping his voice quiet, as Ennis returned to bed. An unintelligible grunt was the only reply he received as Ennis climbed back into bed. Jack sighed. "I'll check in y'later," he whispered. Another grunt.
Jack reached behind the bedside table to unplug the phone and then left the room, carefully shutting the door behind him, and returned to the kitchen, where Marianne was getting lunch ready. It was Saturday and she wouldn't normally have come over, but Jack had the feeling she was trying to look after them without being too motherly about it. "Did you get him up?" she asked.
"He's got a migraine, poor fella," Jack said.
Marianne shook her head. "There ought to be something can be done about those headaches. Can't Pete..."
"Regular aspirin don't touch 'em, nor any 'o the doc's stronger pills. Ain't nothin' Pete c'n do about it. Ennis just got t'suffer through it."
"How's your head? Sure looks better."
Jack's bruise was fading to yellowy-purple at the edge, though it was still red and black at the center. The ugly tear in his scalp was filling in and healing, too. "Feels okay unless I bump it or whip m'head around real quick." He sat down at the kitchen table and Marianne handed him a reuben on a plate. He ate it morosely. Nothing tasted as good when you ate it by yourself.
Ennis didn't make a sound all day. Jack poked his head in once, but he was sleeping. It was hard not to feel a little let down after the intensely emotional night they'd just passed. He felt like they ought to be on honeymoon, and here Ennis was about as responsive as a doorstop. But, it wasn't as though Ennis had conjured the migraine intentionally, so Jack swallowed his pique and went about his day as usual.
The phone rang around eight, just as Jack had settled on the couch to start the new Stephen King. "Hello?" No sound. "Hello?" he repeated, frowning.
"Jack," said a gruff, reluctant voice. The name was hardly a greeting and barely an acknowledgment.
Jack sat back, dumbstruck, his book falling to his side. "Dad," he said. "This is a surprise," he said, covering his shock with careful enunciation. He hadn't spoken to his father since he and Ennis had attempted to pay his parents one last visit before starting out for Vermont. It had ended disastrously, with his father standing in the door, bellowing and waving his hunting rifle while he and Ennis ran for the truck, wondering if their new life was about to be cut real damn short.
"Your ma said you got yerself hurt."
Jack harrumphed. "I'm jus' fine."
"You gettin' in trouble again?"
Jack bristled at the tone, one you might use on a sullen teenager or a young buck who just can't get his life together. It certainly wasn't one you'd use on an established businessman who'd be thirty-nine in September. "I ain't in no trouble, Dad," he said.
The old man made a vague harrumphing noise. "You...ranchin' still?"
Was this an attempt at actual conversation? Okay, he'd play along. "We're doin' real well." He wondered how much he could say about his success before his father started accusing him of boasting. "Got a nice spread. About fifteen fulltime hands on site." That piece of information would be all his father needed to hear to clue him in to the ranch's size and prosperity.
"Guess you think you're some kinda big shot, then."
Jack sighed. "I ain't no big shot. I'm jus' a workin' man, like you."
"Sounds t'me like you're the bossman now."
"Well, that's so, yes."
A long pause. "That fella still workin' with you?" he finally said, all in one breath, roughing over the words like a man driving fast over a bumpy patch in the road.
Jack felt his hackles rising again. It was a blatant attempt to bait him. His father had to know he and Ennis were still together; after all, Ennis had been the one who'd called his parents just two days before. "You know his name, Dad," he said, a hard edge coming into his voice.
"Don't care t'say it."
He was tired. He was just so tired of dealing. First Bobby, then Lureen, then the trouble between him and Ennis, and then Forrester. He was wrung out like a pair of jeans worn to ford a stream, hanging limply over a branch to dry, dripping on the dirt and watching a mud puddle form underneath him as his will to keep dealing leaked out of him. "Fine. Don't say it. I'll say it all. Ennis 'n me are still together, this is our place. No one stones us in the streets like you said they would and we got plenty 'o friends and a real damn sweet life, damn sight better than yours ever was or ever could be, so you jus' remember that when you're sittin' in your miserable lonely house askin' God t'damn us t'hell, okay? 'Cause while you been sayin' that God would punish us, He's been busy givin' us everthin' we ever wanted!" By the end of the tirade he was really shouting. He pulled himself back, casting a guilty glance towards the hallway, hoping he hadn't disturbed Ennis. "Is that what you wanted t'hear?" he said, lowering his voice to a more civilized volume.
There was a long silence, long enough that he wondered if his father had hung up while he was yelling at him. He waited for him to unleash some disavowal or invective, but when he did speak, it was with tired resignation. "I guess y'think I deserve all that yellin'," he said.
Jack sagged. "What d'you want from me, Dad? The last time I saw you, y'took a shot at Ennis. Am I s'posed to jus' forget about that?"
He heard his father sniff. "Didn't mean no harm," he said, mostly under his breath. Jack knew it was the closest he'd get to an apology.
"Why'd you call? Seven years and nothin', and now suddenly you're callin'? I'm fuckin' exhausted. We've had a real stressful coupla weeks." It suddenly crashed into his brain like a freight train that his parents had no idea Bobby was dead. He briefly considered and then rejected the idea of telling them. They'd never even met the boy, nor hardly ever asked after him.
"Your ma was worried when your...uh, your...uh..."
He knew it wasn't politic to rub it in the old man's face, but his reserve tank of patience and discretion was down to fumes. "My husband, Dad."
His father harrumphed, which turned into a coughing fit. Jack waited. "When he called 'n said you was hurt, your ma...well, she wanted t'check in."
"Then whyn't she call?" At first, he only asked to get the old man's goat, but as the question left his lips, he realized that it was a legitimate one.
Another long pause. "Truth is...I thought I'd be talkin' t'him."
Jack's mouth dropped open. "You wanted t'talk to Ennis? Why, so's you could cuss him out and rake him up one side 'n down t'other?"
"I jus' wanted t'see what kinda man he was!" his father suddenly exclaimed. "Or if he was a man at all! Ain't I s'posed t'wonder what kinda fella my boy's done took up the yoke with?"
Jack shut his eyes. Don't do this to me, Dad. I jus' got to a point in my life where I'm okay with hatin' you. I'm comfortable not havin' a relationship with you. Don't you start tryin' t'reach out or make amends. I cain't take it. "Well, don' you wonder no more. Ennis is a fine man, the finest. You know, I think you'd like him if y'weren't so goddamned bitter."
His father sighed. "Then I guess you got all the answers."
"Goodbye, Dad." Jack hung up and felt immediately guilty, which then made him berate himself for letting himself feel guilty after the hell that man had made of his childhood. Why was it, he wondered, that a man's father could always make him feel unsure and discombobulated like he was a little boy again? He sure as hell didn't feel like a grown man with a life of his own, not when his father dismissed him so casually.
He stared at the phone for a few more minutes, then picked up his book again. He tried to get interested in it, but for some reason haunted cars just weren't grabbing his attention tonight. He put the book aside and turned on the TV, but Saturday night programming wasn't of the most scintillating variety.
On a normal Saturday night, he and Ennis wouldn't even be home. They'd be over at Fred and Arlene's playing poker, or sitting out on the Linebecks' back patio with a bunch of folks chowing down on Martha's barbecue, or down at the White Horse having a few beers, or seeing a movie up in Middlebury. He wished it was a normal Saturday night. Not much had seemed normal of late.
At least what was on the tube was reassuringly banal. His choices included a doughy Shatner trying to be a tough cop, whatever treacly crap Disney was airing, and a coupla sitcoms, each complete with irritatingly precocious kid.
He left Shatner on (at least he had a cute partner to help the scenery) and slouched down, telling himself he'd wait and see what woman-in-peril or disease-of-the-week was featured on the nine o'clock movie.
The next thing he knew, somebody was shaking his shoulder. "Jack?" He blinked. Ennis was leaning over him, his forehead smooth and his face free of that pinched, migraine expression. "Y'fell asleep, bud. You gonna have a crick in your neck."
Jack looked around. The TV was still on, but it was the late news. Ennis was barechested, dressed only in his pajama pants. He rubbed at his eyes. "How's your head?"
"It's good. Short one this time, thank God."
Jack sat up and tried to lift his head. A bolt of pain shot up his back, through his neck to the top of his head. He grimaced and grabbed his shoulder. "Goddamn," he grunted.
Ennis chuckled. "Serves you right for sleepin' sittin' up with yer head all cockeyed like that. C'mon." He extended a hand. Jack took it and let Ennis haul him to his feet. Ennis pushed him down the hall to the bedroom, snapping off the TV as they passed. "What were you doin', anyway?"
"I dunno. I was bored. You in bed, nothin' t'do." Jack stripped down to his shorts and went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Ennis leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. "Tried t'read, but got distracted."
"By what?"
Jack held up a finger, finished brushing and spat. "My dad called."
Ennis blinked. "He called?"
"Yeah. Said he was hopin' t'talk to you. Wanted t'know what kinda man you were. And don't ask, 'cause I got no fuckin' idea what that means." He pulled on his own pajama bottoms and went around the bed to his side, trying to stretch out the knot in his shoulder. He sat down with a sigh, feeling the other side of the bed sag as Ennis got in, too.
"He upset you?" Ennis finally asked, after Jack had been sitting there on the edge of the bed, not moving, for longer than was probably normal.
"I dunno. I don't wanna think about it." He stretched out and pulled the covers up to his chest.
They just lay there for a few moments, silent and comfortable. "Hey, we gotta get goin' on Junior's bungalow," Ennis finally said. "Time's gettin' short."
"Yeah. She'll be comin' in a coupla months. Maybe..." Jack suddenly cut himself off with a sharp gasp, which became a surprised sob of shocked grief.
Ennis looked at him, his brow furrowing. "What? What's wrong?"
Jack put his hands over his face. "I jus'...I had this thought, that..." He hesitated. "Junior'll be here soon 'n maybe if Bobby times his summer visit he c'd meet her." He turned his face to Ennis's. "I forgot jus' for a second...he ain't never comin' again..." He tried to keep it together but it was too late. His eyes shut and his mouth twisted up; all at once it wasn't the pillow but Ennis's bare chest underneath his cheek and it was okay to let go because Ennis had him.
Walking into church the next morning, Jack felt like some kind of a rock star. Seemed everybody wanted to say hello, shake his hand, wish him a good morning, tell him he'd been in their prayers, offer condolences for Bobby, toss some angry words off about Forrester, have a look at his head and toss off some more angry words.
He wished he could be giving his friends and fellow congregants more of his attention, but a good deal of it was taken up with the fact that Ennis was holding his hand. Yes, holding his hand, in front of God and everybody, and acting like this was business as usual. Jack might have found that hand useful, for shaking hands and patting shoulders and gesturing, but he didn't dare let go lest he break the spell. No one else seemed to notice, but Jack could think of little else. They'd gotten out of the truck and headed for the doors as usual, but on the way Ennis had fallen into step next to him, reached out and taken his hand without comment. Jack had nearly tripped over his own feet. Ennis had sworn, as he'd put it, to live it with him, but frankly, Jack hadn't expected any seismic shifts in the bedrock that was Ennis's habitual reserve.
And it didn't end there. After the service, they had lunch out at the Refectory with the Linebecks and another couple, Dave and Sarah Gerrold, and their teenage son Hank. The Gerrolds had only been in town a year, and were still only casual acquaintances. Ennis was no more outgoing than he ever was during lunch itself, offering minimal commentary between bites, but as they moved on to coffee he leaned back against the semicircular booth, his arms up across the backs of the seats. This wasn't unusual. What was unusual was that in fairly short order one of his arms migrated to Jack's shoulders. Jack kept his poker face on, holding up his end of the conversation, as if he wasn't wondering who this man was and what he'd done with Ennis.
Once the dishes were cleared and everyone was set up with coffee, Grant leaned forward, having clearly been waiting to ask. "So, Ennis. Everyone's saying that you really let Forrester have it."
Ennis sniffed. "Might've done."
"Well? What'd you say to him?"
Ennis sighed and sat forward, folding his arms on the tabletop. "I jus' told him he ain't welcome here no more. Gave him a few reasons why not."
"They're saying he lost his liquor license and his home loan," Dave Gerrold said, one eyebrow raised. "Are those two of the reasons?"
Ennis smiled. "Might be."
"Damn, I'd've loved to've been a fly on that wall," Grant said, leaning back.
"Tell me about it," Jack said.
"And you had no idea he was doing all this?" Martha asked Jack.
"I was still in the hospital. I knew he was up to somethin', though. Had that look."
"Which look?" Ennis said.
"The one that used t'frighten the sheep."
Everyone laughed except Dave and Sarah. "What sheep?" Sarah asked. "I thought you guys raised cattle."
"Ennis and Jack met herding sheep on some mountain in Wyoming," Martha said, clearly relishing having a newcomer to tell stories to. "What year was that?"
"Sixty-three," Jack said.
"You couldn'ta been more'n teenagers!" Dave said.
"We was both nineteen."
"Mom said you used to be a rodeo rider, Mr. Twist," Hank Gerrold said.
Jack laughed. "Your mom's exaggeratin' just a bit, son. I used to be a bullrider, but I wasn't too good at it. Only did it for a couple 'o years."
"But look at you now," Grant said, chuckling. "Big shot cattle ranchers."
Jack heard his father's voice saying almost those same words. "We ain't no big shots," Ennis said for him.
Martha was frowning. "Ennis...what's that?"
"What?"
She pointed to his hand. "That!"
"Oh," Ennis said, flushing. "That. Uh...well..." He glanced at Jack, who thought that the grin he was suppressing might just bust his cheeks open if he didn't let it out. "Yeah, that's new."
"Isn't it the same as...it is! Look, it's the same as Jack's!" Martha was in busybody's heaven. "You guys are all fidgety and blushing. What's going on?"
Jack sighed. "It's just somethin' we did. Between ourselves, y'know. Been a long time comin'." Ennis was nodding.
Martha smiled. "Why'd you keep it so private? You have friends who would've liked to share that, you know."
"Honest, it was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing. It ain't like we planned it. Besides, havin' some kinda fake ceremony, well...that ain't our style."
"I know, it's just...too bad. People like celebrating happy occasions. We ought to take every opportunity to do so."
Ennis pulled into the garage. "I'm squirrely. How 'bout a ride?"
Jack shrugged. "Okay. Let's get changed."
Changing was pleasantly interrupted when Ennis came up behind Jack, who was half-in and half-out of his pants, and pressed up against his back. "I liked it when Marty saw my ring," he said, his lips moving against Jack's neck. "Felt like I was showin' off."
"Showin' off what?"
Ennis turned him around. "That my husband's finer 'n hers," he said.
Jack raised an eyebrow, inwardly delighted. "What, Grant ain't your type?"
"Ain't got no type but one," Ennis murmured, and proceeded to help Jack the rest of the way out of his clothes.
They finally managed to get to the stables and head out on their horses, racing each other around the paddocks and through the hills beyond their property, then picking their way through the evergreen woods that lay in the valleys and between the fields. "It still amazes me jus' how green it is here," Jack said. "Ain't like home."
Ennis drew up next to him. "Y'still think o' Wyoming as home?"
Jack frowned, replaying his words in his head. "Well...didn't realize it, but I guess I kinda do. Home, like the place I was born 'n raised. Not home like the place I wanna be. That's here." He took a deep breath, taking a good look around at the scenery of the valley laid out before him. "God, don't it sometimes jus' make y'wanna burst?"
"What?"
"You know..." He made a vague, sweeping gesture, wondering what he really did mean. "All of it."
Ennis smiled. "Oh, yeah. Sometimes."
"Y'know what Marty said? 'Bout our friends wantin' t'share stuff?"
"Yeah," Ennis said, his tone dubious, like he was afraid where Jack was headed with this.
"Well...what if we had a party? A big party. At the end 'o the summer, like a Labor Day party."
"Y'mean, a party for us?" Ennis asked, holding up his hand and wiggling his ring with his thumb.
"We wouldn't have t'say that's what it was for. We c'd jus' say we wanted t'have a big party 'n invite all our friends. We c'd wait till Junior gets here, so she c'd meet everbody."
Ennis seemed to be considering this. "I dunno. Thought the point 'o havin' a weddin' reception was t'get a shitload 'o gifts."
Jack laughed. "Well, if'n you wanna go register at Macy's, you go ahead. Anyways, now that we spilled it t'Marty, ain't like the whole damn town ain't gonna know the real reason we havin' it anyway."
Ennis's mouth was moving around in a way it had when he was thinking, and Jack knew he was wishing for a cigarette. "A party, huh," he said. It wasn't a question.
"After all the shit we been through, Ennis, I sure's hell feel like we deserve a fuckin' party."
Ennis chuckled. "Do I gotta wear my party dress?"
"No. But if you wanna model it for me, I ain't gonna say no."
Their high spirits were short-lived.
When they got back to the house, Walter was waiting for them on the porch, drinking a beer. "Hope you don't mind," he said, holding up the bottle. "They were in the cooler."
Ennis and Jack exchanged a glance, then took seats. Ennis's gut was crawling around inside him like it was trying to escape, and he wondered if Forrester hadn't decided to somehow get the law after him for their little conversation. "No, help yourself," Jack was saying.
The sheriff set his beer aside and crossed his legs, regarding them thoughtfully. He wasn't in uniform. "Well, I got good news and bad news. The good news is that those boys that came after you, Jack? Well, they talked. Turns out jail time was scarier than eternal damnation. They all now corroborate what my deputy said, that Forrester put them up to it."
A fierce surge of righteous victory was rising in Ennis's throat. "So you c'n get him for assault 'n battery now, right?"
"Yep. Assault with a deadly weapon, too. But that's all gravy. The DA's issued an arrest warrant for Forrester, for attempted murder."
"Murder?" Jack said, his eyes wide.
"According to the boys, Forrester wanted one or both of you dead."
"Then why din't they have better weapons?"
"Because he wanted to be able to pass it off as a bar fight gone bad. He told them no guns or knives. Fists only, and anything they could pick up off the ground that could be a weapon of opportunity. He didn't want any proveable intent. This guy's been around the block a few times with this game, I think."
"Well, he ain't gettin' away from it this time," Ennis said. "So he's in jail, then? Or…did he make bail?"
Walter sighed. "I have the arrest warrant, and I'd be happy to serve it, if only I could find him." He paused for effect. "Seems Mr. Forrester's skipped town. His house is empty. His office is cleaned out." He fixed his eyes on Ennis. "I hear somebody might've motivated him to make himself real scarce."
Ennis felt sick to his stomach. He hadn't thought Forrester would be held accountable for anything, and he'd just wanted him far away. It had worked, and now because of it, he'd escape justice again. "Shit," he muttered.
The sheriff sighed. "I wouldn't beat myself up too much, Ennis. I'm sending this warrant out to every police department in the country. The minute he gets so much as a speeding ticket, we'll drag his sorry ass back here."
Ennis got up and turned his back, crossing his arms over his chest. Goddamn it, he thought. Try t'do the right thing, try t'take care 'o your man, and y'end up hogtied again. If you'd just waited a few days, a few lousy days, he coulda been in prison for what he done. Instead, he's out there free as a bird 'n prob'ly laughin' at you.
"Thanks for keeping us up t'date," he heard Jack saying, then the sound of Walter getting up.
"At least we're rid of him," he said.
Ennis shook his head. "Everbody coulda been rid 'o him. Now he c'n start tormentin' somebody else, wherever he's gotten off to."
"Thanks for stoppin' by, Walter," Jack was saying.
"No problem. I'll see myself out," the sheriff said, then Ennis heard his boots on the patio stairs.
He felt Jack come up behind him. "You couldn'a know them boys'd talk. You was jus' tryin' t'do the right thing."
"Right thing woulda been t'let the law handle it."
"I cain't blame you for thinkin' that it wouldn't. Forrester got off for the same damn thing once before. Hell, if'n he'd gone t'trial, he mighta got off again. Y'jus' never know. Coulda got a jury full 'o folks who'd think I deserved it. At leas' he's gone now."
"Is he, though?" Ennis said, quietly. "He done started somethin', Jack. Who were them boys? Are there more? Who'd he have joinin' his little churchy group? Naw. He might be gone, but what he started…I'm guessin' we're stuck with it."
Please feel free to visit my livejournal: madlori. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and supported this story as it winds down and heads towards the sequel, which I am now planning. I wish I could thank everyone individually. It's been suggested that as a thank to ALL my reviewers, I might write a little extra-special scene about the Naughty Stable Boy and the Strict Stock Boss.
I'll take that under advisement. :-)