Diclaimer: The characters are not mine and I make no money from them.

AN: Thanks to Melissa, Max, and Sheera, who betad this chapter. Beware of animal death in this chapter.

Chapter 4: The Clutch

The open road was a beacon a lonely, callin' a Jack Twist. That road that could take Jack anywhere, and had taken him some pretty interesting places fer sure, was powerless ta deliver him inta his salvation. Today was leavin' day, and leavin' day roads were wide and clear like the road to Hell. Jack quit watching that dirty road like he thought Ennis' truck might come tearin' back towards him. He thought he ought a muster some sad, but numb was swallowin' him whole, too empty ta even feel empty. Jack climbed on inta his truck, and took ta that wide passage east.

The truck eased inta the valley too eagerly for Jack, roads flattening and spreading out, stretching from the Big Horns. The Wyoming woeful plains were no longer a distant concept, but all around. The endless roads and flat horizon gave Jack the eerie feeling that no matter how hard and fast he drove, he wasn't goin' nowhere. He never liked to feel that stagnation before, but now he figgured it was better than some a the alternatives. And besides, he was goin' somewhere, jus' almost too slow ta tell. There was a big difference.

It was a sweet November so far. The week had been unseasonably warm, and this Saturday late-afternoon was unseasonably beautiful in every fuckin' way, sun shinin' down like June. It was late in the year an' the corn an' apples had long been farmed, but there was still an occasional roadside set-up sellin' a half-rotted pumpkin or sixty. Flocks a starlings and finches floated over the winter wheat. Sometimes the starlings would take to the air in swirling masses, lookin' like the aurora he saw couple times as a kid, only instead of the shimmering greens and blues of his youth, these were black and dreadful. But they had some mysterious 'bout them. It was a beautiful sight, Jack thought. Their dance was deep and dark and a secret from the world, like life, and death, and the unspoken silent blackness lying between the stars at night.

The drive wasn't all sunshine. Out a nowhere a little hail storm blew up an' rained tiny pebbles onto his truck. He was usin' the old '79 this trip; the new one was a automatic, and Bobby'd been unable ta understand the stick. Jack only found out after hittin' the road that Bobby'd 'bout worn the clutch down ta nothin' in the process of not learnin' anythin'. Bobby weren't too smart, even though he was goin' a get a better education than Jack had ever had. Still, he was a good kid, an' if Jack had a have a kid, he prob'ly would a picked Bobby. Jack made a mental note to replace the clutch before the long drive back ta Texas. He had no desire to be stuck on the side of a road.

The drive weren't long from the Big Horns ta Lightning Flat-- only three an' a half hours the way Jack drove. The sky was the bluest blue Jack had ever seen, not a cloud in sight in any direction 'cept one tiny fluffy one off ta the Southeast, probably the one that brung the hail. He was tryin' not ta think 'bout Ennis, but missin' him already, when he pulled up Trail Creek Road, gravel bouncin' under his four tires. Not ten minutes later he was pullin' on ta the dilapidated Twist Ranch.

They'd been expecting him, and his ma was at the door in no time. She was smilin' that tight little smile she had. Jack hugged her gentle, and his ma put a hand in the small of Jack's back to lead him on inside. Their exchanges were few, just a "Hey, Mama," followed by a "Jack, you look good. Come on in." Jack wasn't sure if maybe he looked better than a week ago, when Ennis said he looked sick, or maybe just his ma wasn't really lookin'. Or not wantin' a see.

The inside a the house was way too cold, not a whole hell of a lot warmer than the temperature outside, though that was fallin' on account of evenin'. Jack would a guessed maybe sixty three, and his fingertips were feelin' numb as he helped his ma finish dinner. His dad was workin' and would be back soon. Dinner was just some hotdish, but Jack was happy to help just ta be around the warmth of the oven, sixty three bein' a damn sight too cold for him.

John Twist came in, parked his hat, and sat down at the table without so much as a hello for his only child. Jack didn't pay it no mind; his dad hadn't been speakin' ta him most of his life. Long ago gave up on pleasin' that man, recognizin' it as a damn waste a time. Never did know why his dad was so sour on him, but didn't really matter at this late date.

His ma put the casserole on the table and Jack put down plates. They both got the water glasses. When they'd finally sat down, Ma cleared her throat.

"John, your son is here."

He grunted. "I ain't blind."

"Good then. Let us all say grace. Jack, since you are visiting, think it'd be best for you ta do it."

Jack nodded. He hated this fuckin' job, sayin' grace. He felt like his daddy thought he was mockin' God, and maybe his mamma thought sayin' a prayer at a dinner table would make him different from how he was.

"Lord, bless this good food. Help it nourish us to do thy service. Amen." It was basic'ly the same grace he said every time. Maybe one day they hope I'll say, 'Lord, bless this food and help it make me not queer.' Needless ta say, he didn' really enjoy seein' his parents no more, though he wondered if he ever had, and couldn't say as it was so.

They were diggin' out the hotdish, somethin' generic with chicken, cheese, and noodles, when Jack broke the news. "Ma, Dad, I got cancer. I have surgery next week."

His dad was the first ta speak. "Goddamn Farley's sick."

"Well he ain't th'only one." Jack wondered if anyone'd heard him.

"What do you have, Jack?" His mother had a crease of concern between her eyes, and she'd put her fork down to lean hard on the table.

"Doc says he has a bladder tumor or somethin'. Can't pee." His dad was still harpin' on Farley.

"Cancer, Ma. Of the kidney."

"Can't afford no surgery. Been a good horse, but we're gonna hafta put him down. A shame."

"Dammit, Dad, didn't ya hear me?"

John Twist pinned Jack with his eyes, blue too, but a steely, cold color.

"Jack's sick, John."

"Gonna cost ten thousand dollars."

"Goddammit, Dad, I ain't no horse."

"Tell you whut. I had the money, I'd spend it on Farley 'fore you." With that John Twist stormed out of the room, plate mostly untouched.

The room fell silent for about twenty seconds, after which Ruth Twist said in her simple, enunciated, ladylike voice, "Jack, please don't use the Lord's name in vain at my dinner table."

Jack had had enough and he was stormin' back out inta the cold November air before he lost his temper to his ma. He sagged down hard on the front stoop, but the chill of the concrete seemed ta soak right through his pants.

Farley. Farley was Dad's oldest work horse. He was a tall brown quarter horse with a white blaze. Jack had ridden him a couple times, an' he was steady in that predictable way that even Ennis's horse seemed ta lack. But Jack hadn't never put much stock in steady an' predictable. Was just another way to say boring. Least when it came to horses. There surely was something awful charming 'bout a steady and predictable man.

Jack stood to stretch his stiff back before heading towards the horse barn, thinkin' on Ennis, like most always. On the outside, Ennis and John Twist didn' seem too diff'ernt: quiet, stubborn, strong, steady like rock. But his dad was granite, cold and gray, where Ennis was like one of Lureen's garnet rings that seemed a change color in different lighting. Jack had seen the colors a Ennis, reflecting always, but only for whoever was lookin' for it. To the world Ennis might seem dirt-brown and silent-gray, but to Jack he was also passion-red, peaceful-blue, flowering-purple, naive-white, envy-green, and black like night down to his center. Not the evil kind a black, but the way the black between the stars bewitched you and drew you in too deep. Jack caught himself lookin' up at all that blackness an' felt the shiver of bein' small in such a bigger world.

Or maybe the shiver was the cold air movin' in. Trance broken, he hurried to the horse barn ta check on Farley. Reason seemed obvious enough, like he knew somethin' 'bout what Farley was feelin', though that was pretty stupid 'cause Farley was just a horse.

Jack was leanin', back ta Farley's stall, just scuffin' his foot along the cobble-brick barn floor, sweepin' up bits of hay and dirty into little piles with his boot toe, when his dad entered the barn, shotgun in tow.

"You gonna shoot him for me?"

Jack stood full height and frowned. "Can't the doc give 'im a shot?"

"Ain't gonna pay no money for ta kill a horse. Can do that myself."

Jack felt his stomach turn at the image of his old man leveling a shotgun at his best horse. "I'll pay for the doc."

"Don't need yer money." John spit some chew at Jack's feet, landing it right on his own barn floor.

"'Parently you do."

"You wanna shoot him or should I?" His dad was already makin' a move towards the stall.

Jack could only frown back, not budging. He said the only thing he could think of ta say, "You let me do it, an' I will, but not tanight."

John watched him suspicious, but nodded and walked off.

I ain't stupid. Old bastard wants me ta shoot the horse with cancer as a lesson to me, how worthless I am, not worth spendin' a dime on. "Well fuck him." Felt awful good to say aloud.

Jack went back to the house, found his dad already gone to bed. His ma was still up, though, cleanin' a spotless kitchen, solvin' problems as weren't even there, and Jack wondered whether she an' Ennis would a gotten along.

Hearin' him enter, she turned, her smile tight and nervous. "Jack. Son. I'm sorry about your father. He doesn't understand 'bout illness. Is your illness serious, Jack?" His mother had a dry way of saying things, but he saw the glimmer of liquid in her eye.

"Don't think so, Ma. Jus' have ta get this surgery." No need to tell his ma everything he told Ennis 'bout the doc sayin' he didn't think they'd got it early 'nough, though he didn't have no proof a that.

"That's good, Jack. I'll pray for you."

"Thanks, Ma." Much good as God'll do me. We ain't exactly exchanging favors, Him n' me.

"And your friend?" Which one, Jack thought. Las' time I was here I was shootin' my mouth off 'bout Randall like some sort a fool. When I think 'friend', I think Randall, but that's because Ennis ain't my friend, he just is. She pro'ly means Ennis, though.

"Ennis? He's doin' alright. Yeah. Tomorrow's his daughter's birthday."

"Oh, that's good. He has a daughter then?" Jack didn't miss the surprise in her eyes.

"Yup. Two of 'em, actually."

"An' he's married then?"

"Divorced. Why you askin', Ma? You never asked 'bout Ennis before."

She shrugged and set to washin' the old wooden table with a heavily stained rag that mighta been white and blue once upon a time. She was a small woman, an' not anywheres near young, but Jack could see her puttin' some elbow grease ta things when she wanted to.

Her next words nearly shocked him out a his chair. "You tell him?"

"Who?" he kept his face stern, like he didn't know what they was talkin' about.

"Your friend."

"Yeah I tol' him."

She nodded, kept scrubbin', head down.

"Well, Ma, I had a long day an I'm gonna hit the hay."

She stopped at that, put down the rag and hugged him lightly. Kissin' him gentle on the cheek, she said, "See you in the mornin', Jack," and went back to scrubbing. He turned slowly to head up the stairs to his room. The evenin' hadn't been anythin' like he'd hoped, but it was all he'd really learned to expect from his parents and Lightning Flat-- it was practical. Life didn't stop here for no one, and ta people inured to livestock, death didn't invoke much fear. People 'cept Ennis, Ennis bein' one big ball of fear 'bout now. Jack had long 'go given up on figurin' out what he meant ta his parents. He knew his Mama loved him, but she had a beat-down sense about her. He knew where that came from, too. He climbed the creakin' steps, knowin' long ago they'd stopped bearing his weight in silence.

The bedroom was dark, and he turned on the one lamp, but it didn' help much. The bed was two sizes too small for a grown man. His ma kept his room like it was when he was a boy, an he had ta say he did like one thing about that-- as a boy it was his refuge. His daddy didn't never come ta hit him in his room save once. It was the one place where he would close the door, and sit by the window, and dream of the million and one fates awaitin' for him down a road made a earth and gravel. None a those fates was the one he'd found, but this week he'd learned somethin' 'bout himself, and that was that he wasn't yet done tryin', still workin' for somethin', and if he wanted it bad 'nough he had some plans ta be makin'.

The bed creaked like his old bones, and he stared off in the vague direction a the closet doorway, framin' more dreams now than his rickety old window frame ever had. Goddamn, but he didn't know what ta do. Ennis had said he would "do anythin'," but Jack knew the power a sway that man held over him, and he knew he wouldn't ask for nothin' with no finality that Ennis couldn't give. Jack just wasn't sure any more whether this thing was 'bout what Ennis wanted and didn't want, or whether ti was 'bout what he did an' did not have the balls ta do. Ennis was a complex creature, and more broken than Jack knew how ta fix. Feelin' one of them deep frowns wearin' wrinkles under his skin, he lay down on the bed ta think.

Well, he didn' know the first thing 'bout fixin' Ennis, but he sure as hell knew how ta replace a clutch. He wouldn't go tomorrow on account it was Sunday and no place'd be open, but he'd try some junkyard on Monday and see if he couldn't get one.

It was somethin' practical to think on while all the things he didn't want ta think on nibbled away at the sides of his soul, him pretendin' ta not notice the nibblin'. But Jack wasn't one ta lie to himself, so after he'd pissed and changed inta sweats for sleepin', the house too cold and drafty ta sleep in anythin' else, he lay back on the bed again. Jack starred up for the ceiling for a long while, playing images of his week with Ennis over and over in his head like some sort of movie, 'til he was hard in his body, and needy in his soul. Didn't want no relief right now. He needed to feel the pain 'cause it was better than feelin' the emptiness. He rolled over to face the wall, and into the dark bedroom of his childhood dreams, did what he hadn't never done before, and murmured a "goodnight, Ennis" to the patient wooden walls.

Jack woke up early, sun streamin' in though the South-facin' window. His first thought was how eager he was not ta be under his daddy's roof any more, which reminded him 'bout the clutch problem. He dressed an' went downstairs to find his mom servin' up sausage and syrup.

She was alone. Her faced was etched with worry lines, but that wasn't much new, and Jack couldn't recall a time in his forty years his ma's face hadn't carried bad emotion with every other kind. She set down some sausages and a coffee for him without asking, saying simply, "You eat this up, Jack."

"You goin' a church, Ma?"

"Your father and I will be leavin' in about an hour for church."

Jack nodded, absorbing the information. "Say, Ma, anythin' you need me ta do around here."

"You'll have to ask your father about the chores. But I do know part of the paddock fence is falling down. Foxy kicked it."

"She ok?"

"She's fine. But don't you be doing any work you are not feelin' up for."

"I'm fine, Ma."

"Are you sure? What does your doctor say?"

Jack was feelin' impressed that his Ma even remembered he was sick. Seemed like no one gave a damn the night before, but he just shrugged and inhaled a sausage.

She nodded, seemed satisfied, and answered with, "I'm going to go get ready."

After his parents left for church, Jack busied himself with that paddock fence. It was something practical to be doing ta not be thinking, but he couldn't help but wonder what got inta a horse ta make it kick at a fence. More than one had done it, and they'd had a horse go lame years ago from getting a leg stuck in the fence, but it didn't make much sense. They had plenty a food and room, and nothin' outside the fence cept'n baldies and coyotes. Jack guessed some horses just felt the need ta be free, even when they was, if not loved, at least provided for. It was a feeling he could understand, and he felt bed remaking the fence, but knew it was for the horses' good. Lot of danger out there in the world.

He ate dinner with his parents, silence hanging over them and thick. Jack inquired about the stock, about the chickens, about the church folk, mostly getting' one-word answers from both his parents. Feelin' tired, he got up ta head ta bed right after dinner. Heard his dad call after him up the stairs, "You don't shoot that horse and I will."

"I'll get to it." It was the only response Jack could muster, though it weighed on his mind to know the horse was suffering every minute of the rest of his not-too-much-longer existence. If he'd a been any kind a man, if he'd a been Ennis del Mar, that horse woulda been buried by sundown today. Laid in bed for a while wondering what sort of man it was he was. Took him a long time to admit he was queer, and now he was sick, but what the hell else was he? The no-good pissant LD said? The thankless fuckup his daddy thought of? Or was he Ennis's romantic fool? Fuck if he knew, and he fell asleep with more questions than answers.

Monday came, and Jack was going ta look for a clutch for the old truck. Bobby never did learn manual transmission. Lureen'd gone ahead and told him ta drive Jack's truck without even asking Jack, and that's how that was.

The day started out fair for approachin' mid-November, colder than last week, but the forecast was callin' for snow. He started off at the most local junkyard in Lightning Flat, but they didn't have any truck matchin' his make n' model well 'nough, wrinklin' their noses that he drove a Ford (they were die-hard Chevy people, it seemed, and not above judgin'). Jack simply heaved a sigh and headed South to Gillette.

The junkyard in Gillette was bigger, and even had a truck his make and model, but lucky him, the clutch on it was shot. But the time they were done pokin' around for another model that might fit the bill, the air had found its bitter cold, and the wind was blowing strong towards the east. Jack thanked the men there heartily and headed downtown ta just buy one from a auto-parts store.

Shit fuck damn almighty, the only one auto parts store in Gillette was fuckin' closed. Sign on the door notified hopeful customers that the owner was celebratin' the birth of a grandbaby and would reopen the store tomorrow.

Not over eager to head back to his folk's ranch anyway, Jack bit the bullet and decided ta follow the flat wide roads ta Casper, check in on the junk yard there, and surely they had a parts store or two.

But somehow his truck just steered itself right on through Casper, Jack lost in his thoughts, or pretendin' ta be. He'd already driven for hours, south inta central Wyoming, and now his body was steering itself.

A couple hours later, snow startin' ta fall, drivin' west against the wind, Jack stopped for coffee and gas in a little roadside waylay. Pullin' out, he noticed just how bad the clutch was, and figured he had better get himself one in Riverton.

Was only then the thought hit him like a ton of brick. Why the fuck was he goin' a Riverton? What did he hope ta accomplish? He knew he hadn't been thinkin' with a single brain cell, and told himself it was his penis steering the truck, though he knew it was another body part. Not really sure what ta do now, havin' driven so many hours for no real reason, Jack pulled off on the side of the road, keepin' company with a sign readin' "Riverton 95 miles."

The wind was cold, but the snow was light still, the road deserted, and he got up out a the cab ta walk around a bit, clear his thoughts, wake up his brain, and figure out what the fuck he thought he was doin'.

He pulled out a smoke and leaned against the grill. Not a single car went by while he was smokin', though he took the cigarette slow, not wanting ta make the decision he knew he had to. He simply didn't have the emotional fortitude right now ta deal with Ennis turnin' him away. He'd been down that road ta Riverton before, and not eager ta repeat it. He'd been strong and young then, lots ta lose, and lost it all, but now, if it was possible, he had more to lose, and less strength, so he knew it was a mistake. Staring westward along the highway he imaged he could feel Ennis movin' about his work day on the ranch, day near about ta come to an end. Squeezing his cigarette under the heel of his boot, puttin' his foot down, and squeezin' his heart shut, closin' his eyes against the fast-gatherin' snow and realizin' he better get home afore it turned inta a right storm, Jack climbed on back inta the truck. He started it, cranking the heat up, put it in gear, and peeled back off down the highway, fixin' ta make a big fuckin' U-turn in the middle a US-26.

The first think Jack noticed when he eased off the clutch was a griding noise, an' that started his adrenaline, but then it got worse and he realized he was driftin' down the highway. Pullin' over just past the mileage sign, Jack felt the muscles in his body weaken with resignation. But resignation don't mean a person ain't angry and willin' a fight, an' he knew somethin' 'bout that already, so he climbed back out a his truck, and yelled triumphantly, as if it might spook the truck inta restarting, "You fuckin' piece of PISS SHIT!" He capped the sentence off with a mighty fine kick, leather boot 'gainst metal trim.

And there Jack was, a few feet less than ninety five miles from Riverton, snowstorm kickin' up strong around him, with one fuckin' busted clutch.

Fuck. Jack guessed plenty a people froze ta death just this way. The sun was setting for good now, late afternoon settlin' in, storm kickin' up, and he wasn't expectin' many people ta be on the road. The temperatures were dropping. He had some gas in the tank, but not enough ta last the night if it should come to that. Fuck. Not one to panic easily in a situation he had so little control over, Jack walked around the truck a couple times. When no ideas occurred to him that way, he pulled out another cigarette and sat in the ditch, legs straddling the space. Jack felt death hovering, cold, and in a ditch on the side a the road, just like Ennis always feared. He laughed and started in on a fourth cigarette, feet already nice and numb, when he saw headlights along the eastern horizon, headed his way.

Jack jumped to his feet and went to the road. He knew his chance when he saw it, and wasn't about to freeze to death on the side a 26, ninety five miles to Riverton like a mark of iniquity on his brow. He turned on the truck, hit the lights and flashers, and stood in the brightness of his high beams on the road, scared of being hit, but more scared of being missed altogether. The snow was coming hard, blowin' him cold from the North again, gusting in eddys on the road, and dimming the oncoming vision of salvation.

Jack didn't need to worry so much. The vehicle pulled over, a hulking palomino-yellow Ford van. An overweight bloat of a man leaned over the passenger seat ta pull the lock up, and even pawed at the door handle for Jack. He looked somethin' like LD, but with a kinder face.

"Hello! Have some car trouble?" The man's voice was loud even in the snowy hush.

"Yeah, you bet."

"Climb on in!"

"Thank you, friend. Had me some bad luck taday an' I don't need ta be dyin' in no snowstorm on top of it," Jack said, climbin' in.

"You headed ta Riverton?"

Jack didn't even know what the answer to that was, so instead he said, "I'll go 'bout most anywhere yer headed, at this point," an eager smile lightin' his face.

The man laughed warmly, jutted out a swollen hand. "Jeff Jacobsen."

"Jack Twist."Jack took it, feeling his icy fingers warmed by that foreign paw. But it was a bit sweaty, too, and he resisted the urge to swipe his hands across his jeans as Jeff pulled back out onta the highway.

"So where were you headed?"

Jack still didn't know what to say, so he just said, "Well, yeah, Riverton. But I pulled off ta piss, and the clutch went out as I was pullin' back on." Not a total lie. Jack had pissed by the side of that Riverton sign, near 'bouts freezin' his dick off in the doin'.

"That's no good! Tell you what, gettin' stranded in a storm like this could mean bad news, bad news."

By this time Jack mostly wished the man would shut up. Not to encourage Jeff, Jack answered, "Yup."

It seemed a work. Every few miles Jeff would pipe up about the weather especially, at times mumbling on and on about it and how remarkable it was, though Jack had lived in Wyomin' long enough to know November snow wasn't the least bit remarkable. But Jeff Jacobsen seemed a need to think everything was a bit remarkable. He would talk on 'bout how well the heater was workin', like it was breakin' a world record. He talked 'bout how many geese he'd seen that day, 'bout how unusual it was to give someone a hitch. Jack found that silence and the occasional "yup" worked just fine on the man. Maybe this is my punishment for talkin' at Ennis too much.

Not soon enough, they were approaching the outskirts a Riverton.

"You want me to drop you at the gas station?"

"Reckon it's too late to tow me."

"Yup, it probably is. Do you know someone, like me to drop you there?"

But Jack was hardly listening, so focused was he on a sign ahead that signaled that drug that alone could erase this godforsaken day. "You can just drop me at that tavern, friend."

"The Wolf Ears? No problem. They make a really good beef sandwich, if you're hungry."

Jack was starving, but food was no longer the focus a his attention. He mumbled a thanks to Jeff, and stalked across the small lot toward the bar. Lureen said he drank too much, that he couldn't go a day without, but Jack figured he'd earned his liquor today, and was plannin' on seeing just how much he could hold. Some part of his brain vaguely registered that Ennis was around on the outskirts of this town somewheres, newly moved to a trailer on his boss's property, where a few other hands had trailers too. Jack knew a few things 'bout how Ennis lived, but didn't have the faintest clue what Ennis's boss's name was. Had did have a very big clue that, whatever he was gonna do for lodging tonight, it would have to wait on the whiskey.

Snow was falling thick and sticking in his eyebrows and lashes, cakin' on his jacket. Jack grabbed the door handle with conviction and determination. Inside the door, he took a second, lettin' his eyes adjust, face feelin' flushed from sudden heat, fingers tinglin'. The place had a dark, wooden, cozy look, especially in light a the blizzard goin' on outside. Friends seemed ta know each other, and a couple men were dancing with their gals to the sounds of a jukebox. Jack liked the looks of the place.

He took a few steps in and seated himself at a table. He usually preferred the bar where he might be able to make conversation, but he wasn't in a chatting mood, and besides, the bar looked full. Not three minutes after he'd been there, efficient as a schoolmarm, a slender waitress with a head full of blond curls and a million dollar smile was introducing herself and askin' him his drink preference.

The words "whiskey, double" were on the tip of his tongue, but died, soundless, as her name seeped into his brain. Cassie. Where I heard that name before and why's it make me mad?

"Been puttin' the blocks to a good-lookin' little gal over in Riverton. Waitresses part-time." Just this past week, Ennis tol' Jack that gal's name was Cassie. And here was Cassie, the Riverton waitress, askin' for John C. Twist, Jr.'s drink order, wearin' concern on her face from Jack's silence.

This was her. The girl who'd sat to meals with Ennis's girls. The girl who'd shared not just his body, but his bed. Jack tried not to imagine her with her arm 'round Ennis, or even worse, Ennis's arm 'round her. Tried not to imagine them hand in hand, or leanin' together at a drive-thru, or kissing, that firm but plastic mouth Jack knew too well pressed up against her plush lips. Tried not ta imagine that strong, angry-red dick Jack dreamed of at night pushed deep in... Fuck. Tried but failed.

Instead of assertin' his need fer whiskey, he found himself sayin, "You know Ennis del Mar?" What the fuck I say that for? Just wish I could tell her I'm the reason he left her. Wish I could tell her she made a move on my man.Wish I could tell her my name was the one Ennis was whispering in his head when he come in her. Jack seemed a hate her more than Alma, which was plain, because Ennis had made commitments to Alma before he'd known Jack, but he'd made commitments to Cassie after, and that was worse.

And what is it you do, Jack? You never fuck Lureen? Hell, not much any more, and that was one mistake I wish I could take back. But what 'bout Randall. Don't you let him fuck you?But I never led him on 'bout no future or relationship. I got feelin's for him, sure. He's a good friend. Wish he would get it through his head that he won't never be nothin' more.

Her big, fake smile slipped, eyes flickerin', lettin' Jack know that she'd thought she was in some commitment with Ennis fer sure. Jack didn't have any clue how long 'go they'd broke up, but she wasn't quite over it, that was plain. "Yeah I know him." She looked utterly wary. "You a friend a his?"

A friend. There's that word again. "Yeah," Jack stuck out his hand hoping to make a good impression on her, for Ennis's sake if no other, "Jack Twist. Old friend. Thought I recognized yer name." He took her extended hand, gave a big salesman smile, and instead of shakin' it like she clearly expected, he raised it to his lips. There, he branded her with his own fierce heat, his lips against the soft girlish skin, but felt that brand had plenty a Ennis in it, his own private joke, his chance to have what Ennis had. Jack Twist had kissed the waitress Cassie, too. Another thing ta bind them.

"Well," she seemed to have softened some too, "I didn't know he had any friends. He never mentioned you." Jack smiled bitter towards the table. No, he wouldn't, would he? And how many times has Randall heard the name Ennis del Mar. Took fuckin' many, for starters. "He usually doesn't come in until 8:30 or so on Mondays, so I'll make sure he sees you."

Jack thought his heart might have stopped altogether in his chest. All he had to do was sit here and do nothing for a half hour hour, and the shittiest day of his life was going to deliver Ennis del Mar straight into his hands. He knew it was all too good to be true, just like that lark song, but maybe Jack had simply forgotten all the good that could come true when you wasn't lookin. Jack had learned young that he didn't know nothin' 'bout knowin', but it seemed he had forgot that again.

"Thank you ma'am. In the meantime, I'd sure like a whiskey, double, straight up." She smiled warmishly and whisked ta do Jack's bidding. Jack had ta admit she had a tight little rear end, and showed it off well. 'Bout as pretty a woman as Ennis could a found, good lookin' fer sure. He was tempted a wonder why a cute lil fiery thing like her would see anything in a old, quiet cowboy, but it certainly weren't the first time a fiery energy had been bound to that cool stone. She brung the whiskey, and he downed it fast, orderin' up two more, and plannin' a be good and drunk by 8:30.

An' he was. He was slumpin' back in his chair, stomach heavy with a full day's worth of calories comin' from whiskey alone, hat pulled low over his eyes. He had a sense a butterflies flappin' around in his stomach, remindin' him of the yellow swallowtails that used a like the summer wildflowers up on Brokeback. Ain't seen them in many years, always goin' when it was too cold for butterflies, but they was flappin' again inside Jack this time.

Jack nearly felt Ennis before he saw 'im, Ennis's long legs comin' through the tavern door. Jack could only see his legs under his dark hat pulled low, and Ennis quickly headed for an empty place at the far end a the bar. Sitting down and orderin' a beer, Jack watched him close, but from a safe distance of Ennis thinkin' he was in Lightnin' Flat. Jack thought Ennis del Mar was made ta sit the leather-top stool of the Wolf Ears Bar. For a moment Jack felt like Ennis should a felt him there, like electricity in the air, like Jack was feelin'. There he was, Ennis, Jack's Ennis, acting like Jack wasn't twenty five feet away. He was what Jack needed. Jack's man. Jack himself in a way, or one of the main ingredients. And Jack knew then that this was why he'd held his pace through Casper, and if this was as close as he got, he couldn't regret it, even with the snow and shitty clutch.

Jack guessed he was the only one who noticed that Ennis's pants were too low and too big, an' his shirt too small, as they broke their chaste tryst and showed Jack a bit of crack he was well-equipped to appreciate. And appreciate he did. Nothin' chaste 'bout that ass, he knew, and he felt the drool startin' a puddle behind his lower lip.

Cassie was movin' behind the bar to pour Jack more whiskey, Ennis avoidin' her hard. Still, she saw him, leaned over with annoyance on her face ta talk. She pointed in the direction of Jack, and put Jack's whiskey on a tray with some other drinks. Cassie swooped on by, dropped the whiskey without a pause, and moved on.

Jack couldn't see Ennis's face from his vantage point, but he could guess the look Ennis was making at the vacant air where Cassie once stood. Jack turned his head just a hair's breadth, and caught Ennis turn towards him from the bar, makin' a face like he'd maybe seen a purple people eater instead of a friend. Ennis gripped his beer too tightly and parted the tide of tables fast. His boots scuffed the dirty wooden floor, and the chair across Jack creaked as Ennis sat down. Jack still wasn't looking at his face, both hats pulled low, but he saw Ennis's elbows come to rest on the table. Ennis was leanin' forward. Likely all the sign he'd get. Jack slowly released his breath; he'd been scared as a whore in hell, but not willing ta let Ennis know that.

"What you doin' here, huh?" There was a silver tint to Ennis' harsh voice, matchin' the moonlight off snow. Except it was a new moon now.

Where had Jack heard those words before? He knew he shouldn't never have come to Riverton. Christ, he'd even tried the fuck not to, but something inside of him had prayed a different prayer, and some God of Trucks had heard it alright. Using one tipsy finger to push up the brow of his hat, he mimicked Ennis's stance on the table. "Fuckin' clutch wore out 'bout ninety five miles east a here." He was tryin' to keep his face neutral-- knew the grin he was wearin' inside would make him look like a romantic girl to Ennis, but also knew he wasn't no good at hidin 'em, and couldn't fer long.

"What was you doin' ninety five miles east a here?"

"Tryin' not the fuck ta get to Riverton?"

"Huh?"

Jack finally lost it and shot his signature shit-eatin' grin 'cross the table. He chuckled a bit, shakin' his head. "Member how I told you 'bout Bobby and the clutch? I went on a hunt for a new one. None in Lightnin' Flat, none in Gillette. Somehow managed to pass right on through Casper--"

"Well it ain't easy to miss."

"Guess I was a little occupied." Jack's voice carried a hidden song. "Anyways, good Samaritan, Jeff somethin', gave me a ride to town."

"Well, that's mighty lucky. Snowin' like a bitch out there."

"So I noticed."

The silence pulled in thick. There hadn't even been a hello. They'd seen each other day before yesterday, but that didn't change much. Jack was a little afraid of spookin' Ennis in public, and Ennis was probably afraid of public in general. After a couple minutes and a couple whiskeys, Jack rekindled conversation.

"So I, uh, met Cassie."

"Yup."

That didn't go over too well. Ennis must a felt his turn was next, though.

"You talk ta yer folks."

"Hell yes. Tell you whut. Think they don't give a good goddamn."

"Aw, you know that ain't true."

"Do I?" Jack felt brave and made his eyes meet Ennis's. Ennis flinched away first.

"You got Lureen."

Jack laughed at that. After a pause and another steady breath taken in the form a whiskey, Jack added, "Friend, I got nothin' but myself and a busted-ass truck." For a brief second Jack remembered all of Ennis's new tunes this past week and thought the man might protest, but Ennis gave a little understanding nod like what Jack said was the truth, and Jack crashed back to the real world in a whirl of whiskey and stomach pain. He nodded back, rendered speechless for a moment by the taste of disappointment in something he vaguely knew he'd been foolish to hope for.

"So, uh, where are you, uh, what're you gonna do 'bout your truck?"

"Reckon I'll get it in the mornin' when the storm clears. Get a tow back here, replace the clutch."

"Replace it yourself?"

"Hell, yes. You know, I ain't so helpless when it comes ta cars."

Ennis's lip turned up at that. Probably he figured he knew different.

Jack looped an arm over the back a the chair, relaxing into the company, and sipped again, noticing he wasn't drinking so fast now that he had a friend.

After a few minutes of silence, Jack broached the obvious subject. "Wasn't there a little motel block or two over, here? Thought I saw one. I can just stay there so's I'm near the station in the morning."

Ennis's eyes became as unreadable as a road sign in the blowing snow. After a few moments, he said low, "No need ta spend yer money, Jack. I have a place."

"Easier ta get it towed this way, friend."

"Drop you on by. Gotta fetch some things from town for work anyways."

"You, uh, want me to." It wasn't really a question.

"Just, I hate ta waste yer money, Jack. Hell, I got chair I can sleep in."

Jack was taken aback by that, but this was Ennis, and sometimes his fears weren't quite rational. Jack had ta admit he was a little nervous to see where Ennis was living. Ennis was probably worried that Jack would think down on him, but Jack knew that weren't possible. Jack was worried Ennis lived in a utter shithole and didn't take care a himself proper. Hell, worried wasn't even the right word. He knew it. But knowin' and seein' was two different things.

Jack nodded. "Alright, then." He paid what he figgured was his bill, Ennis pullin' out cash ta do the same. Jack wasn't eager ta talk to Cassie again, and he figured Ennis was feeling sort a the same 'bout that.

The night was colder now, but the blowing snow didn't hurt so bad with Ennis right beside him.

Jack headed straight to the passenger side of Ennis's unlocked truck, climbing in out of the cold. Never ridden in Ennis's truck before. Not once. Not never.

Ennis climbed in fast against the wind and started the engine. For a heartbreaking moment, though, they didn't go nowhere, and Jack wondered if maybe Ennis had changed his mind or some'in'. He was about to ask if he should get out and walk to the motel, like the pathetic shit he was, when he saw Ennis starin' at a small bruise on Jack's wrist. Green and yellow peaking out under shirtsleeve and parka, and Jack knew right away what it was from, and why it had caught Ennis's eye. That night in the mud, when Ennis chose ta lie in that mud with Jack, while they was goin' at it, Ennis had grabbed his wrist. Not like a man grabs a wrist durin' sex, ta hold someone down, but mostly like Ennis was tryin' ta hold himself up, or hold Jack to him. Gripped so tight he'd left a welt. And there it was, not a couple days old, a mark of mutual muddiness. Jack felt a stupid grin risin' to his face.

Ennis put the truck in gear and gave it gas, peelin' them out of the parkin' lot, runnin' full-throttle again. long. At least this time, unlike all the others, Ennis was findin' him shelter from the icy storm.

They rode in silence, pullin' up at a small silver air streamer, well past its age a luxury. Ennis rushed to open the door for Jack. Once inside, Jack saw what he knew he was goin' a see-- a shitty one-room trailer with hardly any furniture, one cot an' two chairs. A couple chipped, dirty mugs and plates wallpapered the kitchen counter. It was 'bout as different from Jack's house in Childress as you could go before bein' in Mexico. Jack knew he couldn't say anythin' 'bout that, Ennis givin' him a sign of trust to finally let the rich businessman Jack see where he lived. Hell, Jack hadn't growed up with too much better, and didn't see no reason ta judge. He'd rather live in a one room air streamer with Ennis than in the fuckin' White House with a harem of Lureens and Randalls.

Sagging on the cot without preamble, Jack heaved a sigh, glad for the moderate warm of the interior. "God, I am so fuckin' tired after today, you wouldn't believe." He scrubbed a hand over his face, and scratched at his nine-o'-clock shadow.

Ennis was tryin' a clean up his kitchen a bit. "I bet." He sounded distracted.

"Hell, Ennis, you mind if I use your shower?"

"Go 'head."

Jack struggled to his feet. Once in the shower, he relished in the warm water. He was awful glad the snows come after they came off the mountain. This would a been a kicker of a storm up there.

He emerged in his dirty boxers and nothing else, still wet.

Ennis didn't even hazard a glance, keepin' his head down while he talked to Jack. "You feelin' alright? Drank a lot. Want me a make you some food?"

Jack was instantly touched. How did that man say in a couple words what he'd ached for his parents to say to him his whole life-- that he was valued, cared for, loved, an' needed? Jack just shook his head. "Shit, I'm just tired." Poking the cot a couple times, Jack pulled back the covers. Ennis had said he'd sleep in a chair, but Jack assumed that was some sort of bluff. The cot was barely big enough for the two a them, but it'd do. "You got some more blankets? I don't wanna put those clothes back on, but this place is godawful cold, Ennis."

"Uh." Ennis swiped his hands on his pants and looked around his trailer like he was seein' it for the first time. "Maybe in the closet." He crossed the space, poked around, and pulled out an old green blanket. Ennis threw it to Jack across the room. "All I got."

Jack nodded, sagging down on to the couch. "Don't mind if I call it an early night, do you?"

"Nope, g'head."

"You not ready ta turn in?"

"Um, I was just gonna, maybe straighten up 'round here some." Jack saw the place was mostly cleaner already, from the short time he'd been in the shower. He didn't know what else Ennis intended to do, but he nodded against the lumpy pillow. He had barely finished the nod when he lost his train of thought to sleep.

Jack woke up some unknown time later, noticin' that it was pitch black and freezin' cold. He shivered under the two blankets, and felt around the cot for Ennis as if he could a maybe gone missing on a cot barely big 'nough for one man let 'lone two. Slogging awake, Jack heard himself murmur through clatterin' teeth, "Ennis?" He sat up and looked around. There he was. In the chair in the living room like he'd said he'd be, teeth chatterin' away, since he'd given all his blankets to Jack. He was wide awake.

"Ennis, what the fuck? Get over here."

"Jack, I don't... this. I know the guys 'round here. They seen you here. I don't..."

"Fuck almighty, Ennis. They ain't in yer livin' room, are they? We're both cold. Just shut up and move on over here. We don't gotta do nothin'."

"Just like we didn't do nothin' last time you invited me inta your bedroll, huh?"

Jack chuckled once, and started again, gentling his voice. "C'mon, Ennis. Just come on over here already. We both losing sleep, and I, for one, want me some."

Ennis grunted, stood, and pulled up the cot's blankets. He slid under, plastering Jack flat against the wall. They both turned on their sides to have more room, and Jack held Ennis close. It wasn't their usual way to sleep, but it worked just as well. Warm through-an-through, neither was even awake long ta appreciate it.

Ennis woke with the dawn always, and the cold empty space next to Jack let him know why he'd have ta get up soon, so Ennis could drive him inta town to see about his truck. Rising, he saw Ennis fixin' scrambled eggs. Jack changed quickly into the damp and stinky clothes of the previous day's adventure, inhaled a couple eggs, and before he knew it he was bumping through Riverton in Ennis's truck 'gain. The weather was overcast and uncertain, but at least it weren't snowin', and some roads was startin' ta clear from regular traffic.

Jack hopped out at the service station with a "See you later." Ennis answered with a "yup" before they parted for their day alone.

Jack went with a tall, quiet tow-truck driver named Mark on the journey to recover his truck. No sooner did they get there and get it hooked up for a tow, than they were turnin' back. Jack's life was always turnin' back towards Riverton, weather uncertain, but this time Ennis was expectin' him. Ennis had invited him. And the sun was thinking about breaking through the clouds. But thinking about return trips made Jack realize it weren't too long before he had a couple that pointed him away from Riverton, so he shut up his thoughts.

Jack managed to get the clutch-less Ford towed to Ennis's trailer, picking up a new clutch in town on tis was through. The mechanic knew Ennis, in that incomplete sense that anyone who wasn't Jack Twist might a known Ennis from livin' their whole life in the same town as him, and Jack explained he was a friend from Texas, comin' a visit Ennis, when the clutch gave out on account of his son. The mechanic, Chris, was surprised ta know Ennis had a friend from as far away as Texas, him not bein' one ta have any friends. Jack had ta explain how they'd met on a job in Wyoming, but Chris, who wasn't really nosy and didn't really care, was more than satisfied with that.

Ennis came home around dinnertime with a grocery bag of bread, cheese, canned veggies, beer, cola, and hot dogs. Jack filled the rest of daylight by fiddlin' with the truck, while Ennis made food. Jack was pleased to fill his stomach with the fruits of Ennis's labor.

Exhausted, probably from his sickness, Jack took ta bed not long after dinner. He felt like a woman for bein' so tired, but he didn't even know how to begin makin' apologies for that, so he didn't. Just said how he felt, and crawled under covers. Jack expected Ennis to follow soon after, but was asleep long before he could confirm that.

Jack awoke to an empty bed again, but this time an eerie white light filtered in through the trailer windows, its angles awkward and piercing. Jack, confused and still in half a dream, stumbled to the door and swung it open, revealing Ennis, shirt untucked and unchaste butt-crack fully-illuminated by a small flood lamp, shoulder deep in Jack's truck.

"Ennis? What in hell? What time's it?"

Ennis shrugged but didn't answer. Jack stumbled back inside and found his watch. Two eleven.

"Ennis! It's two in the mornin'. I can fix my truck tomorrah!"

"'Bout ta be fixed now." Ennis called over his shoulder, not pausing from his work.

Jack stepped back from the door, letting it shutter closed in front of him. He felt like somethin' warm had been pulled out of his insides. Ennis was so fuckin' eager to have him gone, he was willing to stay up all night workin' for it. Damn. That hurts like a bitch.

Jack lay back down, but try hard as he might, he couldn't get warm enough ta sleep for a good long while.

When Jack woke again, the trailer was empty, his truck was fixed, and a small piece of scrap paper taped to the kitchen table proclaimed, "See ya bud drive safe." Jack got the message loud n' clear, and for an instant he thought he'd rather be at his parents' place than here anyway. He could feel plenty of bitter risin' up. Even so, he scribbled a phone number at the bottom a the sheet, his ma's, before hopping in his truck and peelin' out of there like it wasn't the one place in the world he most wanted ta be.

The drive back felt fuckin' long, still overcast, no snow. He wondered what his parents thought had happened to him, but even doubted they'd spent much energy on worryin'. Jack disappeared overnight in Lightning Flat sometimes ta drink, and, given his condition, a two-night bender wasn't totally un-called-for.

Only too late did he realize he'd spent another two nights with Ennis, and hadn't so much as got ta touch that man once in a nice, sinful way. Still, he was smiling when he thought about it. Sometimes, with him and Ennis, they got so fuckin' lost in each other's presence, they lost all kind a common sense. Sex would a made sense, but Ennis seemed to have some kinda thing 'bout it bein' in his neighborhood. Jack would a traded the sex for the slumber the way it had been, anyway, and he'd been plannin' on a motel alone, so he didn't think he ought a be complainin' none. Didn't never stop him, though.

The longer he drove, the more he got ta thinkin' 'bout that note, and not the tender sleep. Sometimes he really didn' know what the fuck was goin' on inside Ennis's head. He felt like a little kid with an erector set he didn't understand or somethin'. Ennis was some kind a complex. Eventually that frustration an' sadness wore on Jack, takin' him straight to angry. His fury blinked with yellow lines, held steady around the turns in no-passing zones, burned black up through fresh-fallen snow. By the time the sun had set, anger was mostly all he was feelin'. Fuck Ennis. Fuck him. Send me away like some stray dog. Knew I shouldn't never have gone to Riverton. Knew he was goin' a do that. For a day there I thought he might even treat me like a decent human being, but he stayed up all night so's I could get the fuck away from him. Well I did. Hope he's happy.

If Jack were to be completely fair, there was some place inside a him that could still appreciate all the nice things Ennis gave him in that day, but even that soft side a himself couldn't make no sense out a that note.

He clenched the wheel 'til his hands were red and his knuckles white. His stomach was sour. His blood pressure shot up, an' he could feel the vein in his neck standin' up ta be counted. He might a threw a dirty punch now if he could a got within two feet a Ennis del Mar, but as it was, all he could do was punch the air, an' he did so, with his words, cursin' Ennis with every one. The truck listened patiently, though the man on the radio was less polite. That only made Jack madder. Throwin' up a cloud a pebbles as he hit his parents' drive, he was greeted by the last sight in the world he wanted a see.

"You goin' a shoot Farley?"

"Dad, we can call a vet."

"Ain't gonna be callin' no vet on my dime." And John Twist was movin' towards the barn, shotgun in hand.

Jack tried to stand between John and the barn, but John hit him hard in the chest with the butt a the shotgun. Staggerin' backwards a foot, Jack didn't even hesitate before he recovered an' launched himself at his old man.

But John was tough, kept the gun between him and Jack, all the time mutterin' vile words too low for Ruth to hear from inside, 'bout how Jack was a cocksucker. 'Bout how Jack wasn't no kind a man. 'Bout how Jack had gone out on a fuck-fest and left a horse ta suffer for two days. 'Bout how that's why Jack deserved ta die. 'Bout how that's why Jack's man didn't want no part of him.

That was it. Ennis must not a wanted no part a Jack, and Ennis find out he left a horse ta suffer, too, he sure as hell wouldn'a wanted no part a Jack. 'Course, if his daddy cared so damn much, he would a shot Farley himself, but John Twist cared more about hurtin' Jack than preventin' sufferin', and that sure's hell made John a worse man.

Movin' under the force a some deep hurts, Jack grabbed the shotgun from his dad. A good seventy steps brought him to the horse barn. He couldn't even look in Farley's eyes, the horse down on the ground with sickness. Leveling the shotgun, bringing it to bear against his shoulder, knowing it would be ripe an' ready ta go in his old man's hands, Jack didn't think, just pulled the trigger. The recoil shocked him, not used to usin' a shotgun. There was a spray of blood an' somethin' else that wasn't quite liquid. He stared down at the gun, knowin' he should a used somethin' else than a shotgun, but he'd taken whatever the fuck his father'd given him, done whatever his father'd told him. Jack couldn't give the old man the satisfaction of gettin' remorseful. Spinnin' in time ta see John Twist spit just outside the barn, Jack simply said, "Old fucker, you gave me a shotgun and now I get a hell of a mess ta clean up."

Jack stormed off past John and in to a meal of beef and vegetable soup. He didn't eat much of it, but stared into it, thinking how much it looked like... Fuck.

Clean it up he did, just after dinner. John even helped some with buryin' Farley. They wiped down the stall tagether. Jack felt good 'bout doing the work, hard labor makin' his muscles ache, retribution his father wouldn't see.

They were done sometime around two am, and Jack took a long, hot shower before hitting the tiny mattress. He sure as hell didn't care if it was girly or not, and no one was watchin', so he took them two shirts into bed with him. The night's events had rattled him some, but not because of the horse. He'd done just exactly what his daddy wanted, just how he'd wanted, and that couldn't never be right.

In the morning he packed his things, shirts included. He ate pancakes with his Ma, his Dad long gone ta work the ranch. Ruth patted him gently on the back and told him to take care a his health. He promised he would, hugged her genuine, and, tryin' not to think or feel or care enough ta look back, he hit the long, flat road towards Texas and the mid-day sun.