Witch, it seemed, didn't much like Boomer. He sniffed around her, and she looked down her autocratic nose at him. She looked at Jake as if to say, "You left again, and came home with this?" She had been acting like that since he'd been home from the training course. "What use to me could he ever be?" Boomer visited her at least once a day, and she looked down her nose at him, no matter what.
Boomer sniffed at Witch, and gave her a loopy grin. She switched her tail and walked off. Jake picked up the pail he'd set aside and called to Boomer, "Hier."
Boomer, as always, came and was praised for it. "Sorry about her. She'll come around. What do you say to some dinner after we clean up?"
Jake knew that Witch would come around. Sam had, or at least, they were working on it. They were talking. Their conversations were often stilted, but they plowed through anyway. Jake was proud of that. He kicked at a tuft of grass, just because he could, and watched as Boomer made a fool of himself, zooming around now that he was off duty.
Jake headed for the barn, calling to Boomer. Boomer bounded over, and they set about cleaning the tack room. Boomer wasn't much help. He gnawed away at a toy, grasping it between his paws and giving off contented growls every few moments. Jake left him to it. He owed Boomer. Boomer changed so much for him.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
After that night when Sam had given him the last of the pie, their relationship shifted in ways Jake could not quantify. The next few weeks had been hard for him, in that he had to do his darn best not to shadow her and beg her to talk to him all of the time now that she finally was. He wanted, more than anything, to be near to Sam. It was like the sun was out in his life after eons of waiting for the sunrise. His life felt warm, and sometimes, blinding in its intensity. They were talking again. There were heavy moments, sure, when something would come up. Maybe they hadn't addressed everything, but a softly said but honestly meant, "I'm sorry..." meant everything. It meant everything, because she'd replied, "I know." and he knew that she really did.
They'd had six weeks. It was the start of something Jake hoped was forever. Life was good in that it was better. There were no emotional upheavals. Things were steady. Level. It blew. He thought daily about doing something to shake it up. Of course, he'd never told Sam that he loved her. He wanted to say it, but the words died on his tongue. He would not burden her with that. She wanted friendship, and she would have it.
Then, he'd gotten the call. Ballard flat out told him that he was up for assignment to some unit. Jake knew that, being a small department, they all did what they could to wear as many hats as possible. Because he was young, Ballard said, and not likely to leave, they wanted him to take on a pretty long commitment. Jake jumped at the chance to become a K9 handler, only to realize that it would mean a month away from home, being matched up with a dog, and completing his own training for search and rescue as well as the standard K9 stuff.
This time, though, when Witch 'accidentally' bumped into Ace on the range, Jake told Sam what was going on, even though he didn't have all of the answers. In that six weeks, more questions arose than anything. Sam was herself, but she was different, too, assertive in a way that sometimes bordered on prickly, and quieter. She seemed surprised surprised to hear him reply from her half the time, even when she'd just said his name.
He didn't recall what words he'd used, because Witch had been using up all of his contradiction. She kept trying to weave, pulling in too close to Ace, bumping his shin into Sam's. Sam blushed, when Witch tossed her head, though why, Jake couldn't understand. He'd tried to make it better. He said, "What'd you do to my horse?" It had been a poor attempt at a joke.
"I didn't do anything." Sam said, competently guiding Ace away to give Witch space. He was cheesed that she wasn't listening to him, and knew that they'd have to work this out in the ring. Witch needed to communicate something.
Witch, of course, wanted to follow Ace. Jake wanted to let her, but he didn't. "Come on. You know what I mean."
"Do I?" Sam snapped, "Let's talk about what I've done with your horse, hm?" In some cases, she got prickly about everything really fast. Jake was losing his footing. Sam was clearly getting ready to bolt, to leave him to stew in his own mistakes again.
"Sam." Jake pleaded, "I..." The wind blew, and Jake was glad that it hid his heavy inhalations.
"Get off." Sam said. She dismounted from Ace's back quickly, and looked up at him. Witch stilled with a slight command from the reins. "I'll prove it. Ten bucks says I get on and she stops."
Jake didn't know what that would prove, so he said, "I don't want money." The summer sun made her hair seem more red than usual, and Jake fought the urge to tug those chopsticks she loved away with a flick of his wrist. He thought about pulling them out all of the time. He wanted her, in any way, and in every way, she was comfortable with. Somehow, he didn't think she'd be cool with him asking her to take her hair down.
Sam, futile the attempt was, glared at him. "What do you want, then?" He dismounted, and watched as she swung easily into his saddle. She'd ridden Ace bareback, making tentative fun of him for his use of tack. All of their conversations were tentative, like she was afraid he was going to bolt, even as he feared the same thing.
"Promise you'll answer the phone when I'm away." Jake prompted, "That's all." He lived in terror that she wouldn't. That she wouldn't be there, like he hadn't been here. It had taken two years, though, and they were growing up. Sometimes, Jake realized, you had to ask for what you wanted, even if you knew you shouldn't get it.
Sam's mouth dropped open. She shut it quickly. "That's assuming you call." With that, she and Witch continued on their ride. Jake was stunned into silence when Sam didn't, for the first time in forever, take the chance to run off. She stayed. And, if there had been money on the line, she would have been $10 richer. Witch behaved for her, and that ticked Jake off.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
He kept his word. He called. He texted. He sent pictures. Sam answered, and replied, and sent pictures of her own. During those weeks, they said more to each other via text than they'd said in the entire preceding year. Sam was a writer. She liked words, and Jake kicked himself for forgetting how verbose she could be in text.
He told her about Boomer. He was a good dog, little more than an overgrown puppy when he wasn't suited up. The German Shepard was all legs and smiles. They gelled as partners. Jake was stoic, he knew, that was putting it mildly, but Boomer was just like his name implied, a ball of energy when he wasn't working, and sharp as laser when he was. It was like a giant boom was trying to go off when Boomer tensed, though he was always controlled when he did. When he let his guard down, though, the dog was a goofball, growling and humming over a rope toy. The feed room was clean, and so he said, "Boomer."
Boomer picked up his toy, and carried it outside, tail waggling. His tail still seemed too big for his body. He regularly tripped over it when he was offered a treat. Despite his personality, he was trained to be totally unflappable. Jake had been scared out of his mind when he first came home with Boomer. The trainers weren't there, anymore, and he lived in terror for the first three weeks that somehow, he'd ruin Boomer and lose his dog and his job in one fell swoop. Mom said it was like having a baby, but he didn't think so, because if there had been a baby he would have been able to ask Sam what the heck he was supposed to do now.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Jake headed into the house. "Boomer." The dog hopped to it and came quickly. He scrambled up towards the window. Jake smiled as he went to the kitchen.
Boomer was looking at the truck, as if to say, "We're eating here, again?" This was Boomer's home, as it was his, though things were a little complicated because of how much Boomer grew to love Sam. Sam loved Boomer, though, and the day they'd met had been pretty memorable. It was, by then, early July.
He'd pulled up in the Scout, and Sam had been nowhere to be seen. Pepper, he recalled, had asked him about Boomer. Jake didn't remember what he'd said. He'd wanted to see Sam. He saw Sam's over-shirt hanging on a post, and he grabbed it. Jake had an idea seconds before he passed it to Boomer, "Go find! Go find, Boomer!"
Oddly enough, the police commands were in German, but the search and rescue commands were in English. Jake had no idea how on earth Boomer kept it straight, but he did. Jake loved to watch him find. His nose went up into the air, and his big brown eyes went wide as he sniffed the air. After a few seconds, he sent off a signal that it taken Jake a while to learn. Boomer was alert. His head lost its customary tilt, and his back went straight. He started moving, and Jake knew Boomer had caught Sam's scent, something even more uniquely complex than the light scent that defined her in Jake's own mind. Boomer zoomed forward, left, right, forward, towards the barn. This was an easy test. Boomer was hardly challenged, after years of being trained in the perilous art of finding people in ravines and caves. He raced to the barn and gave a controlled bark. Jake followed at his own pace, until he heard Boomer turn back to get Jake to do the refined. After urging, "Who'd you find, Boomer? Who'd you find?" Jake allowed himself to be led to where Sam was sitting cross-legged, on a bale.
She was writing, scribbling in a notebook. The dog placed himself at her feet, and looked up triumphantly. "Good boy, Boomer!" Jake replied. Jake pulled the ratty squeaker toy from his pocket and gave it to Boomer, "Good boy!"
The dog took it and resumed his position, making the toy squeak with abandon. It was a toy he often got as a reward. Food was never a reward. Boomer would eat even if he flunked out of his job, even if he turned his back on his work. He would always have a standard of living that was unearned.
"You're back." Sam said, slowly. She unfolded her legs, and leaned forward, shutting the book.
"Just got in." Jake said, shaking off the proverbial dust as he rolled his shoulders. Two words from her were a balm to his soul, and he wondered how he had ever survived without hearing it, "I, uh, missed you."
A strange look crossed Sam's face, and Jake recalled wondering what he'd missed. She slowly replied, "May I pet him?"
"He's not working now." Jake said, wondering why she hadn't answered him. "He's just a dog, Sam. Just a dog."
"I've been dying to meet him." Sam whispered, running her fingers over the dog's caramel hair. "I counted the moments." It wasn't until later that Jake realized just what she'd been saying. When he did, he floated until he tripped over his own feet.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Boomer was devoted to Sam. If he wasn't working, he was with Sam. Boomer gave Jake the excuse to come and see her, more often than not. Boomer hopped up like he was a lap dog, and lolled in her lap, giving goofy kisses whenever he could. One night, in late July, Sam was sitting in the swing at River Bend, staring at the sky that stretched on for miles. "Boomer." Jake said, "We've got to go."
Boomer tilted his head, and laid his head back in Sam's lap, using his agility training not to save someone this time, but to balance the swing's bench. He was enthralled with the task. Boomer's sigh was the most pitiful thing he could muster. "Go on, you faker." Sam said, not moving or stopping in her petting of the dog, "Night, Jake."
Jake stared at her, unwilling to leave. "Five more minutes, Boom." Sam continued to pet the dog. Jake continued to move the swing, and they sat. He stayed for another hour and was back at River Bend not eight hours later because Boomer demanded a run with Sam.
The first day it happened had been a warm morning, even with the sun barely risen. Jake heard her footfalls, and wondered if she would let him run with her. Things were still a little funny, but he relaxed when Sam grinned when she saw him. Sweat was glistening on her body, and yet, she managed to look as clean and pristine as ever. He heard the click of her iPod, "I'll beat you to River Bend."
Jake understood the offer for what it was, "What do I get if I win?" Boomer was even with him as they ran along. Jake caught up to Sam, who accelerated until they were pushing each others limits. He let her set the pace, though. After all, he was a cop. He ran, basically, for a living. Jake still didn't understand how she'd come to be an accomplished runner.
"I'll teach you how I left you in the dust." Sam offered, as their feet pounded in the dirt.
Jake grinned, it was time with her, and that was all that mattered, "Deal."
There was no more talking between them. The next week, Sam taught him some equine yoga. She said that learning to stand on her head made her feel powerful. Learning that she'd, for one second, felt powerless was a kick in the gut. She didn't say it, but he knew that what he'd done had consequences for her that he'd never imagined.
Still, meeting up at the boundary line started to be a daily thing. They didn't talk much, because she listened to music and he greeted the sun. The music she listened to changed over time. At first, she listened to a lot of pop, and oddly enough, dance music. That wasn't the music of the girl he knew, who loved Garth and George and Johnny. Over time, though, he heard the strains of Steve Earle floating from her earbuds, and wondered what that meant.
Boomer expected the activity after a week. After two, he completely ignored Jake except when commanded to comply, when they ran. His attention was wholly on Sam. Boomer matched her step for step. Jake sometimes let himself fall behind to see what Boomer would do. Boomer didn't even notice, but Sam did. She called back, "Need a little dust to go with your coffee, Ely?"
He tried not to stare at her. He failed, mostly.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
They were in the bonding period, wherein he had to spend as much time as possible with the dog. He didn't mind if Boomer wanted to be at River Bend, which he nearly always did. Boomer was cool with his lifestyle, even if he did hog the couch and sneak Doritos. Boomer continually promoted this chill attitude that Jake could never approximate in his own life. By September, some of Boomer's zen had rubbed off on him. He was like Adam Sandler in dog form. Jake felt like Rob Schneider, as the delivery man in Big Daddy.
He ate a mountain of food, but gave Jake looks when he had to eat it without Sam. His dog had a massive crush. He would bring Sam his favorite rope toy and look at her with those eyes that just begged her to throw it over and over. Jake used his dog's goofball crush to his advantage. He asked Sam things, tried to tell her about work, tried to see the world like she did, brightly and with much joy. It was easy to ignore the passage of time, when it was so common for him to get lost in her words, something denied to him for so long.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
There were things that he could not ignore. There was problems with Witch that he'd not taken in hand well enough. She was herding Sam. Every time they were together, Witch nudged Sam towards him. She pushed Sam into Jake's space, forcing Sam to turn around and say, "No." several times a day. Not that Jake wasn't glad of the help, but Witch had to know that that sort of behavior was not okay.
They were working this out, with an audience. Jake looked over the dark horse, and added, "Right. Robbie, what would you do now?" Robbie was a good guy. He spent the first weeks hating the very sight of him. He was, according to Jen, adorable in a rock-climbing, vegetarian, socially concious kind of way. Jake thought he wouldn't last a day. He lasted, earning the respect of every person on the outfit, if not their complete understanding of what exactly vegan work boots were. Dallas had the most trouble, and called tofu "too-foo" because he couldn't get the word right. Boomer wouldn't eat tofu. Darrell tried to feed it to him, earning a lecture from him. You didn't feed other guy's K9s.
Robbie answered correctly, and Jake was pleased that the intern was working hard and learning quickly. Witch looked at them as if to say, "This is what you've interrupted me for? How dare you bid me to stand here as though I have nothing better to do with my time." She was glaring at the lack of grass in the ring. She turned her head and looked at Sam, "You could have gone to the effort of providing refreshments."
Sam didn't much care for Robbie's discussion of respect. Jake saw it in her eyes, in the way she tensed. Sam patted Witch, "That might not always be the case, though."
Jake looked at her askance. It was a silent question. She replied, "You have to understand the reasons for their behaviors before you can address it. Jake's assumption is incorrect."
"Sam?" Jake asked, lowering his voice to keep Robbie out of the conversation. Why was she going on like this? Witch was overstepping her boundaries. She needed leadership, and half the time with him with Sam and half the time with him wasn't cutting it for the horse. They needed to be consistent.
Sam looked him square in the eye, "I'm just saying; you can't assume." Jake looked at her. She continued, frowning, "A word, please? Privately?"
"Sam." Jake followed her out of the ring, towards the house, "She's herding you around because she doesn't respect your boundaries."
"Doesn't respect me?" Sam repeated, "How dare you tell me my horse doesn't respect me. I earned her respect." A bird called, breaking into their discussion.
"And you've lost it. Sam." She was making this personal. It wasn't about her, personally. There was a problem, and it needed to be fixed. Robbie still needed to learn these skills, so he was invited in. No one was holding her up as a failure. "It's not personal."
"I'll remember that." Sam said, and Jake thought that it was over. He tried to smile. She understood and they could move forward. Sam didn't smile back.
Jake didn't know what else to say. He looked at her sunburned arms, and asked, "Can we get back to work?"
"If you want to do shoddy work, sure." Sam pulled her hat down. The sun wasn't that bright, and Jake realized that she was hiding the emotions that flared in her eyes. She was hiding her passion, her anger, whatever she was feeling.
"As you see it, Sam." She was getting upset. Witch didn't need her to get upset. Witch needed her to be in control. "Who has the upper hand here?"
"Listen, you idiot!" Jake was surprised by the vehemence in her voice. Why did she continually mishear what he was saying? "Out there, you're some big shot deputy with a dog and a gun. Out there, people kiss your behind because of a shoddy power differential. In here, though, that's over. That's done. Nobody in here submits to you because of what you are. You best remember..."
"Remember what, Sam?" Jake was angry. No one ever kissed his behind because of his job. People often did the opposite, giving him drama for just doing his job. It's not like people said, "Yes, thank you, deputy, for arresting me! Thank you so much!"
Sam's eyes narrowed and she shoved her hat back, "That a partnership is about listening."
"I'm listening." Jake insisted, stepping into her space, "Why is she herding you, then?" Her chest rose and fell, brushing his body. It was all Jake could do to listen to her words, and not to the suggestions some baser part of his brain was screaming at him to act upon.
"I'm not telling you, but we've discussed it, and she promised to stop." Her voice was shaking, but solid in a way that brooked no rejoinders. With that, Sam turned and started to walk away. He wasn't about to let that happen. Not again.
"Uh-uh." Jake replied, taking action, "You're welcome to scream at me, Brat, as much and as often as you like. Walking away isn't an option anymore." Jake made quick work of tossing her over his shoulder and heading for the confines of the empty house. They needed to talk this out.
"I have a brain in my head and feet in my shoes!" Sam spat. "Put me down!"
Jake learned, much later, that boundaries were only helpful when you learned how to break them.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Back in the ring, Witch huffed a breath, displeased that the fence limited her progress to follow the words of the Girl. At least He was displaying some level of assertiveness so necessary in heard leader. Leave it to humans to bungle something so simple, "Dog! You there!"
Boomer looked back at her and nudged the big ball with his nose after he wiggled under the fence. Witch strode over to him, "Dog. As there are places that I cannot enter on this ranch, due to their horsist policies, I have decided that you are to be my vassal. You will assist me in all ways until my objective is accomplished."
Boomer tilted his head at her. She nudged him, "I do not care if this cuts into your off time. Good Lord, have you no priorities? To be sure, I would not wish to be a mother, but I would like there to be a foal about this place before they turn you into glue. I have given them two years. If they haven't come to a logical conclusion on their own by now, they never shall." She snorted shooing him away, "Now. Go. And, Dog, if you fail, I shall hide your squeaky toy, and life will be quite miserable indeed." She put her hoof over the blue toy, and made it squeak once, "You will report to me daily."
Boomer carefully rescued his toy, and did as he was bid.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Three months later, Jake would be forever grateful for that argument they'd had. They learned to fight and not take it personally. Now, it seemed they did it all the time. They argued about politics, about theology, about anything and everything. Jake thought they did it because they figured out they could. Sure, there were just as many serious moments, but it felt like Sam had realized that she could say whatever she wanted and he wasn't going to walk away or let her do it, either. There were spats all the time, now, but nobody walked away.
That isn't to say there weren't problems in their relationship. Jake often wondered if there was any room for him in Sam's life. She didn't need him anymore. She never asked him to do the things she would have expected him to do before he left. She often threw away the green and yellow skittles, like she forgot he was there to eat them. It hurt. She was competent, cool, and in-control. He felt like a teenager, again, reacting to her in ways the defied logic.
He wasn't an insecure guy. He valued Sam's independence, but many times, he found himself gritting his teeth when she took on a chore meant for two or three by herself, and saw nothing in getting it done alone. She saw nothing in disappearing for hours at a time, with Witch or Ace, like nobody was concerned about where she was, or would have liked to come along. He didn't want to be needed, exactly, but a little bit of want would have gone a long way in making him feel like less of an extra pinky on the hand that was her life.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
She rolled in after a ride one afternoon. Ace was quickly settled, and Jake caught her as she came outside. February was colder than usual, and that fact stood out in his brain as he looked at her red nose. She pulled out a tissue, and Jake hurt, because he never realized that she'd started to carry her own tissues. He stopped himself from extended the clean ones that were always in his jacket. "Sam," Jake asked, standing next to Scout, "Do you want to come to Boomer's class? He's got a lesson and I..." Boomer had a weekly class, and then a weekend intensive once a month on both Saturday and Sunday.
Sam cut him off, "I'll get my bag." She dashed into the house. Boomer looked overjoyed when Jake told him that he couldn't ride shotgun because Sam was coming along. Boomer certainly had a way with the ladies. Mom thought he was large and clumsy, but Sam, well now, she bit off people's heads when they said things she didn't like about Boomer. Boomer was three, but for Sam, he might have as well been a puppy.
After that weekend's hours of lessons, Boomer learned a new trick. Jake would say, "Go home!" and Boomer did. Boomer went home alright, sniffing the air, playing find, because home was never the same exact location when Boomer went looking. He about died the first time Boomer did it out of a training session, which just happened to be when Wyatt was around. At practice, Sam has severed as the "home" partner, and now Boomer, well... It was enough to make Jake blush.
Boomer bolted, with all due obedience, to Sam time and time again, no matter how many times Jake tried to retrain him. It didn't interfere with their work, or their search and rescue missions at all, so after a while, Jake let it go and tried to listen to his dog.
Sam, Jake realized, was Boomer's home. That was why he lolled over her, broke all the rules, treated her like she was the sun in the sky. Sam was Boomer's home. Jake learned, then, that a home wasn't a place. A person could be his home just as easily. That was clear, as Boomer preferred to spend his off time with Sam. Jake spent more time at River Bend than he did Three Ponies. It was a half-life, and he still had no idea what to do about the things Boomer was trying to tell him. He and Sam spent more time together in a few weeks than they had in years, and Jake was angry with himself for feeling like it wasn't enough.
It wasn't enough to see her for a few hours, and have to leave. It wasn't right, and he felt angry and selfish. Sam gave him friendship, a sounding board to run things by, a friend to lean on. He didn't have the right to ask for more. They were friends. Hadn't he told himself that that was enough? Now, the second he felt like they were friends again, he wanted more. He wanted more, but there was no room for him.
He wanted to come home to her after Boomer sank his teeth into some guy hiding on a roof with a knife in his pocket and murder in his eyes. He wanted to hug her when he and Boomer found a small child huddled in the brush, scared and crying for her mother. Those nights, when work got tough, he'd pray she wasn't listening in on the radio. He always felt relief when she realized that Sam had done so, because there didn't need to be words.
Early March came quickly, but the days lingered after he'd been called on to find yet another child. Sam whispered into the darkness, "You don't need to do this, Jake. You don't need to wonder if you could have found her sooner, because you did. You found her."
Jake looked over at Sam. The lights from the dashboard made her look ghostly pale, etherial, "She was just a little girl, Sam." They were staring up at the night sky from inside the cab of the truck. It was too cold to sit outside for long, but he could not take one more second of being inside.
"I know. And I'm sorry." Sam continued, eyes fixed on the North Star, "But think, when she looks back on this, she's not going to remember the fear. She's going to realize that she's not scared of the brush anymore because she's lived in it and come out okay. She's going to know what to do differently, next time."
Jake smiled, "When'd you get so smart?"
"Hm." Sam said, not looking at him for a second, "I didn't tell you anything I didn't learn the hard way." Jake knew that Sam was pushing for bravado, but he heard the truth in her voice. It hurt but her bald words made him see that they were friends again. There was trust, and there was hope. Jake slept just fine that night, for the first time in days. When he thought about Sam's words, he felt pain, and he knew that she had opened her wounds to try and help him heal his.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
He and Sam stagnated. There was no other word for it. They were friends again, but it wasn't the friendship of their childhood. It could never be. She was 18, and he was just 21. There were adult roles to navigate, work and school, and animals that demanded a home-life he could not give them. Jake was tired of waking up at the crack of dawn just switch off between the dog and the horse. Boomer seemed to think that they should spend all of their time together with Sam. Jake agreed, sometimes, when he didn't want to lock Sam away for some stupid stunt she pulled with the horses.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Jake was glad to set aside his winter jacket one morning in April. Jake reached for his hoodie, only to curse when he realized that it was at River Bend. He grabbed another and grabbed his hat. It was a good excuse as any to stop by there on his day off. "Boomer. Want to go out?"
Boomer was spread out on his bed, and Jake knew he should have kenneled the dog in the barn. The poor softy had crawled into his bed, once, though, and that had been the end of the discussion. He rolled, as if to ask where they were going, "Want to go to see Witch?" She spent more time with Sam, now that his work schedule was three days on, and then the rest of the week on-call for search and rescue and other K9 jobs.
The dog bolted to the door, as if to say, "What are you waiting for?"
So continued a pattern that stretched on for ages, well into late spring. Thank God he worked for Wyatt, or else he would have to explain, "My dog's in love with your daughter, sir. He likes to cuddle and see her first and last thing." Yeah, that would go over well. Still, there had to be some sort of solution to keep Boomer happy, keep Witch in check, which was the closest her sassy self would ever get to happy, and keep him and Sam together. He just wished he knew what it was.
"Boomer, lass das sein!" Jake said, forcefully, as Boomer tried to fit his fully grown body onto the tops of Sam's feet, using them like a chair under the table. He pointed to the door of the tack room, "Aus!"
The dog left obediently. He'd be fine outside for a few minutes. "Sorry about him."
Sam went back to polishing tack. "It's alright." She said it with a smile.
"He'd rather live with you, I think." Jake said, knowing that Boomer moped when Sam wasn't around and they weren't working. According to his trainers, Boomer wasn't supposed to be like this with other people, but since when was Boomer normal? He was potentially lethal in the field, and acted like he was a toy poodle the second his vest was off. The trainers wanted Sam to come to more sessions, just to observe her interactions with Boomer, but Jake hadn't brought it up. He saw the joy and the light that characterized her treatment of the K9 and he would not dim it, if it didn't effect Boomer's safety or their work.
"Is that allowed?" Sam asked hopefully, reaching for more polish, "Doesn't he have to live with you?"
"Sam." Jake sighed, "He's not a pet, and you can't keep him, so don't get ideas." Her rag stilled on the saddle before her.
"Well, uhm." Sam said, swallowing, "I was thinking, you know, maybe he's bored." Jake's fingers kept working on the bridle in his hand. "Maybe we should..."
Jake grinned, cutting her off, "A dog who works five days a week and does exactly what he pleases the rest of the time is bored?" Boomer had a steady rotation of people and other dogs to play fetch with, to play find with, to squeak his squeaker for. He was hardly left to languish. In fact, he took it as a personal affront when Jake kicked him out long enough to shower.
"Tell you what." Jake offered. "Come to his classes with me." Maybe they could make that a thing, or something, a routine. There would be nothing wrong with stopping for something to eat, maybe, after, or before, if she wanted to be ready to leave that early.
"I already do." Sam said, smiling in that way. Jake knew she was being polite, looking for way out. "I really can't, this weekend."
He hated that smile. She had a million others, and yet, she turned to the only one that wasn't real to deflect him. Why? "Oh?" Dread built within Jake. He knew that Robbie was a no-good, low-down, snake. He saw. He saw everything.
"I do have a life, you know." Sam said, calmly. She gripped the rag and the saddle, rubbing with more force than was truly needed.
"I never said you didn't." Jake replied, finishing with the bridle and reaching for the next one. The leather was taunt within his fingers. There was so much hedging, here. It hurt.
"No, you just act so surprised all the time, when I'm doing something." Sam said, flatly.
It was just that every time he asked her to do something, she couldn't, or she had to modify the plans somehow. Jake couldn't take the beating around the bush anymore. "I need to know."
"What I'm doing?" Sam asked, softly. "I really don't think..." She frowned. Jake wondered what she got up to, all the time, when she said she couldn't go or wouldn't help with something or go do something.
"No, Sam." Jake said, "Is there room for me? In your life?" He looked at Sam, and inhaled, "Tell me, if there isn't." He was tired of looking for ways to fit himself in a world, in a universe, that had no place for him in the place he most wanted to be. The light above them cast a yellow glow over the workspace, and it hummed.
"What do you mean, is there room for you in my life?" Sam shot back, looking at him, "What kind of crazy..."
"It's not crazy, Sam." Jake replied, honestly. "At least give me that." He thought about all of the things they did to each other, and he knew he was at fault, too, but she had to understand that he wasn't good with things like she was. He couldn't figure this out on his own. He needed to know.
She was silent for the longest moments of Jake's life. Finally, she spoke, "I honestly don't know. I'm so used to doing things alone, anymore. I don't know." Sam frowned, "I just don't."
"Do you think there will ever be?" Jake pressed her. It felt like his soul was bleeding. He was too shocked to be angry, but he wanted to be. He wanted to know what gave her the right to shut him out like this, to just move on, leave him behind.
"I hope so." Sam whispered, "I hope one day, I'll wake up, and not be surprised when you're there, and not feel like you shouldn't help with the work because my way is better, because I'll just have to do it again alone. It sucks waiting for the other shoe to drop, Jake."
He'd given her that right, that option. In fact, he'd forced her into it. If he had known, then, that not answering one of her phone calls would have this many outcomes, he would have risked the mental anguish. But no, he'd put it off, and was dealing with it in spades now. "Do you want to be alone?" Jake asked, softly.
"Boomer would disown you." She paused, "There..." Sam cleared her throat, "There's nothing I want less. I'm sorry. This is just so hard."
He knew. It was hard on him, too. He imagined he often felt like a starving person at a buffet, dying to just dive in, all the while knowing that too much, too fast could make him very sick, if it didn't kill him outright. "Hating me was easier, huh?" Jake tried to joke amid the relief of knowing that she didn't want him to leave.
"No." Sam insisted as she shook her head, "I don't know. I never quite got there. Don't think I didn't try. Or that I'm not trying now."
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
"Ruhig Sein." Jake said, when Boomer started to bark so that he couldn't hear the radio in the truck. He got excited, as most trained dogs did, when he heard sirens over the line. Jake thought about how every day led up to today. Sam did try. He tried, too. They tried together. Jake remembered to ask questions before jumping into something. Sam tried, he knew, to cut him slack before she hogged all the work to herself like a brick wall between them. Jake wanted nothing more than to understand, but he sometimes got caught up in wondering if she understood what it was to be him, a man who lived every day knowing without reservation that his role in life was to serve and protect, not the world, but her alone. He wondered if she understood what it meant to not be welcomed to do that where it mattered most.
Of course, he could never ask. He could never tell her that he'd become a cop to keep guys like Slocum, may he rot in jail forever, away from their homes, away from hurting the animals she cared about most. But if Sam didn't want to be alone, and neither did he, then they had to figure out how to be together and not in the half baked sort of way they were now.
Jake reflected, sometimes, when he was sitting in the patrol truck with Boomer in his seat in the back. There was little else to do. Boomer was a good dog. He'd taught Jake a lot of tough lessons in the last year that they'd been together.
Happiness, for Boomer, wasn't based on circumstance, a yes or no question. Boomer was always happy. There were degrees of happy, and Jake realized that his problem was that he was too focused on not being happy where he was to be happy there. Boomer was happy scarfing down potato chips, and he was happy chasing after some criminal. Boomer was happy today, sitting in the car. He was happy to wait, content in knowing that whatever was coming would be the coolest thing ever. Boomer taught Jake something he'd never expected to learn. There was time. There was time to figure this out, and he didn't have to hit his limits on happiness two seconds out of the gate. He wanted to. He wanted to, so badly, demand that she understand.
Jake knew, too, that he had things he needed to understand. When he'd first come home, he was so fixed on fitting back in the way he always had that he failed to understand that who they were, the world they created, had changed. Learning that lesson had made the second year triply hard. No longer was it assumed that he would be there. No longer could he assume that Sam would be there. And yet, she said she wanted to be there, with him, even when he knew she was struggling not to push him away. Jake struggled with pulling her too close.
He needed her, needed her presence in his life. She wanted him. She didn't need him. Did that matter? He didn't know. He liked to be needed. He liked to feel as though he was helpful, and vital. Was that selfish? Did she think that he he didn't want her? Nothing right made any kind of logical sense. He went from feeling thrilled that he had her back again, to wondering if he really did. He flip flopped between feeling as though Sam understood far too much about him and wondering if she understood.
Jake wasn't good with emotions like Sam was. He never had moments of blinding clarity, life teaching him lessons just in the nick of time. No, for him, lessons came in the form of karmic beat downs. He hadn't realized he'd loved his brothers until they all left him behind. He hadn't understood that he liked to talk until there was no one to talk to for days at a time beyond the librarian. He hadn't understood that home wasn't a place until he came back to the place he'd always called home and found it gone.
He didn't learn things until it was too late to change them. He didn't learn how to say 'I love you" until there was no one around to hear it. He didn't know that the worst fights were the ones that took place without words until he spent weeks in a cold war style meltdown, praying that this was better than epic screaming matches, only to find out that there could be arguments without screaming.
Jake felt stupid. He was supposed to understand people's motivations. He was supposed to get the human condition in all its frailty. The county paid him, after all, to deal with the the aftermath of that frailty and brokeness. He had no idea what to do. First, he tried ignoring the elephant in the room, and then he tried working around it. After that, they tried to meet underneath it, using the things they couldn't talk about to hide from the future. Jake didn't know what else to do.
He recalled the one lecture he'd listened to in a religious studies class. The professor had gone about an elephant. Each person felt a different part of the elephant, not realizing that they were dealing with the same thing because of the isolation. Jake knew that he wasn't dealing with the whole of the situation.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
It was three o'clock in the morning before he made up his mind. He didn't want to be right. He wanted to be happy. Happy wasn't about being right about your portion of the elephant, because maybe Sam was just as right about hers. He could see the choices he made one way, but he had no right to make her see them his way. She was entitled to her interpretations, but to make the best interpretation, however it turned out, she needed the facts. Jake rounded the corner of the tack room at River Bend and found himself staring at Sam, sleeping in the chair in the room. The faded fabric was covered by a warm blanket. Jake did the only thing he could.
He sat. He waited. About 15 minutes later, Sam's eyes cracked open. She gasped. Jake spoke softly, "Guess you weren't expecting to see me here."
"No." Sam said, sitting up, dragging the blanket up with her, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." Jake said, having no real plan of what he was going to say. They sat in silence for another few beats. The darkness wasn't heavy, and Jake found the static over the county dispatch line comforting.
"Sorry. I'm just surprised." Sam apologized, reaching over to shut off the radio that had kept Jake entertained.
Jake didn't know what to say. He shrugged, but internally, he was thinking about all the things they'd said in the last year. He opened his mouth to speak, "Sam, I..."
"Jake." Sam cut him off, "Waking up to find you here...it wasn't a bad surprise."
"I guess I should be glad you're not calling me a creeper." Jake said, fighting the urge to grin like a madman.
"Yeah." Sam replied, biting down on her own smile, "There is that."
Jake knew he'd missed a moment. He'd wanted to tell her everything, tell her the most important thing, but the soft smile on her face was too beautiful to risk sending it away. Jake knew that there would be another moment. He hadn't missed this lesson before it smacked him in the face like every other lesson in life had. Boomer was right. He could be happy waiting for the next thing, the next smile, because he had faith. Maybe he didn't have faith in himself, and maybe he didn't understand where Sam was coming from half the time, but he was cool with waiting for the signal.
When the time was right, he would know. They would know, together. He didn't have to worry about missing this lesson, this moment, because he looked at Sam, and he knew that whatever was between them was external. They were the ones creating it, whatever it would be.
Later...
Sam wandered to the pasture, moments after Jake left. She was giddy with relief at the realizations the last hour had wrought about herself. She'd awoken to find Jake there, and her mind hadn't done anything other than say, "Oh." like he was, of course, there. She didn't think she was dreaming, and she didn't wonder how fast he would fade. Her mind, and her heart, had recognized the now in his being there, without a single thought to the past, or to the future.
Witch nudged her, "Go to sleep, you silly horse." Sam said, whispering into her mane. "Tomorrow's coming."
Witch flicked her tail, "Is that so?" Her sarcasm was easily discernible. "You seem chipper."
"Witch." Sam whispered, "Can you keep a secret?"
"Must I repeat myself? I lack verbal skills, Girl, and yet you persist in believing that I will blather on about your business if given the slightest opportunity. Had I the ability to speak, I assure you your love of that Elvis fellow would be the last thing I would waste my breath on." Witch ripped up some grass, and Sam moved to allow her to graze. "I might as well eat if you're going to keep me up, you silly child."
"Witch, how do you know, like honestly know, if a guy likes you instead of just...?" Sam asked, "I've got to figure that out." Their relationship was so much more than it used to be, or so she hoped. They'd worked for their relationship like they never had before, and Sam couldn't help but wonder if he was starting to feel the feelings that had never truly faded for her. They were friends, again, sure, but there was more. Sam knew that the more would come, one day. The thought of him not being there was still painful, but not because Sam didn't know what she'd do without him. She had that figured out, down pat, squared away. She knew, and she wanted to choose something else.
"You simply must be trying to pull the wool over my eyes. I assure you, I am no sheep." Witch blew out a breath, "And yet, you lack the skill to lie to anyone but Him with any level of skill. What are you, a yearling? The absurdity of your question will not do. This will not do at all."
"I know." Sam replied, "It's silly, right? I just can't help but wonder...what would happen if..." She trailed off, "Look at me, talking to a horse." She didn't get to choose their past, choose that he had hurt her, but she had chosen him to be the person that she'd opened herself to the possibility. She had opened herself to pain, with him, only to shut off everything else when it happened. If she was going to be open to all of the pain tomorrow could bring, she figured she had a right to be open to all of the joy, too. She couldn't help but wonder, sometimes, if she and Jake could make something out of what they had.
"Yes." Witch huffed, "And yet, you never listen. Begone with you. I must acquire a decrepit squeaky toy and some battery acid before dawn."
"Have a good night, Witchy." Sam replied. She laughed, despite the confusion churning within her. Like the mix of pain and joy, life couldn't be boiled down to one emotion or the other. It wasn't all one or the other. Often, she'd found, like when she and Jake learned to fight, that there could be moments of joy within pain. Who was to say that the opposite wasn't true? She didn't have the right to cut out the potential for joy from her life because she was hiding from pain. A life of nothing was just that, nothing.
She wanted more than nothing, even if the something hurt. She knew that something was a long time in coming, and she was okay with waiting longer still. Who knew if this was her mind making up romantic fluff where nothing truly was? She was open to the possibility and that was what mattered. If it never came, there were still things to be found by looking for the chance.
In that way, Sam knew that she'd made the right choice not to fall into his arms that long ago night. Waiting had given them a shot to grow up, be their own people, develop who they were and ought to be without each other. They weren't the same people they'd always been. Boomer had forced them to work together, figure out new things, navigate waters that should have terrified her. They knew the worst about each other. She knew that he was liable to shut down. He knew that she would get angry and push him away with hateful words and avoidance behaviors. From that, she wasn't sure where this was going, or if it would ever really go anywhere, but if she was looking for it, who knew what else she might find along the way?
All alone at the end of the of the evening
And the bright lights have faded to blue
I was thinking 'bout a woman who might have
Loved me and I never knew
You can spend all your time making money
You can spend all your love making time
If it all fell to pieces tomorrow
Would you still be mine?
Take it to the Limit, The Eagles
I'm amazed at the response this has gotten. Amazed. I started writing this story because I was annoyed with my own way of writing. They always seem to work it out pretty quickly and fall in love, and I started to wonder if there was any realism in that kind of romance. Sometimes, the best things are the things you have to work at.
I was going to end it with this chapter, but Witch has spoken, and she's not comfortable with the idea of ambiguity in an ending. She wants her foal. Boomer wants to save his chew toy. I'm too scared of her battery acid not to bow to her wishes. So I edited to add one more chapter. If this feels choppy, that's why. You may have to come up with your own theory about which moments happened in what order, if I didn't tell you outright.
I grew up with dogs just like Boomer. I still say "Nein!" when a dog is naughty, and they look at me like, "Yo, I ain't trained in German!" But anyway, I think so often with K9s, people forget that they're dogs, if trained towards a certain way of being. They're trained, and need highly skilled handlers, but they aren't killing machines. When they go home, they like their chew toys just as much as anybody, even if you do have to spell words like "W-O-R-K."
Opal: Yeah, sometimes, you grow up a lot in single day, and you wonder how on earth you functioned without that realization. For me, that stuff usually centers around books, but yeah.