True to Mac's prediction, Jack's grandfather had banged on their door before the sky even started to grey.
"Let's get goin', boys! We're burnin' daylight!"
His heavy, boot clad step faded down the hall and clomped down the stairs.
Uncharacteristically, Mac just groaned and rolled over onto his stomach, pulling the pillow over his head when Jack flicked on the light on the nightstand between the narrow beds in the small room.
"Mornin', Sunshine," Jack grinned.
"No, it's not." One hand came out from under his pillow to wave vaguely at the darkness visible out of their window.
Jack sat up and swung his feet off the bed. He looked at Mac who was currently mostly just a lump under his pillow and blankets, save for one hand and a few tufts of blond hair sticking out.
Jack had known something was up the minute the kid had put his feet up on Jack's hospital bed a few mornings ago. Maybe this would be the moment he could get Mac to own up to exactly what was up with him, physically and otherwise. And if he didn't, if he got stubborn about it, Jack figured he could get in the way of Mac doing any real lifting out in the barn without being too obvious about it.
"You're usually out of bed before Pops, downstairs lurking around the oven, trying to be the first one to get at the biscuits and honey. What gives?"
Mac harrumphed and pulled his pillow closer, wrapping an arm around it. "Jet lag."
Jack got out of bed like that wasn't the world's most bullshit answer and grabbed his clothes and shaving kit off the dresser at the foot of his bed. "Since when do you complain about jet lag?"
"Mmmm," was the only reply.
Jack frowned for a second, then plastered his teasing grin back on in case Mac chose that moment to finally pick up his head. "Here I was expecting you to have half the chores already taken care of so you could cozy up to Nana and talk her into sweet potato pie instead of pumpkin for tomorrow, after you eat all the best lookin' biscuits."
"There's still peach left," he said into the pillow, but this time Jack could hear him smiling.
"Well, maybe that's what I'm having for breakfast."
Mac offered a hand gesture that was slightly less friendly than a wave, but snorted a laugh as he started pushing himself upright. He bit back a groan and his eyes flicked to Jack who's expression said he didn't notice. Once Mac was sitting all the way up, he flashed a grin. "Unless you want to be plucking the turkey all by your damn self, you keep your hands off that pie." He made a shooing gesture with one hand. "Hurry up so I can get in the bathroom, too, before Pops comes looking again. I'm not getting kicked out of the kitchen because somebody took all morning and I didn't get to shave."
Jack shook his head and turned to head down the hall. He had the bedroom door almost closed when he heard the creak of the old mattress as Mac stood, followed by a gasp for breath.
He was back through the door in an instant. "You okay, kid?"
Mac was holding his phone. It looked to Jack like maybe he'd just snatched it up off the nightstand. "Yeah, um … Apparently Nikki texted me last night. I think we've made up."
Jack raised an eyebrow and tried to keep it from being skeptical. "What did she say?"
Mac didn't look at him. At first Jack thought it was because Mac was just using his phone to cover being in pain on getting to his feet. Then one obviously embarrassed dimple flickered. "It's not exactly words…"
"What do you..?"
Mac"s free hand strayed to the back of his neck while he continued studiously not looking at Jack. "It's … you know … a picture."
"Oh, well then, I guess maybe you have made up." Jack chuckled at the way the younger man was blushing like a high schooler on a first date. "Just don't let Nana catch you sexting at the table."
"Jack!" Mac just flushed brighter and took a step to shove him out the door. "Go shave before we both catch hell for being late to the table."
Jack went, laughing to himself. But about five minutes later he realized he'd let his razor run out of charge and the adapter must be with his other toiletries in the room, so he hurried back down the hall to grab it. When he opened the door, he caught Mac in the act of putting on a clean shirt, clearly impatient to get down to breakfast. His back was mottled with bruises, which Jack wasn't altogether surprised by, because he knew his own was as well. Getting blown up would do that to a guy. But, startled at the sound of the door opening, Mac half turned.
"Jesus, kid!" Jack exclaimed, realizing he probably shouldn't have been surprised to see how bruised the rest of his partner's torso was either. But also realizing that if he said he knew it was an injury that was more than skin deep, Mac would know he and Steve had talked about him behind his back and, he'd be so pissed, the kid would probably hitchhike back to LA.
Mac just pulled his t-shirt the rest of the way on and slipped into his flannel. Then he turned and offered Jack a smirk. "Yeah, it's almost like we got blown up a few days ago, man."
Jack shook his head. "I guess, dude, but that looks like it hurts. Maybe don't go throwin' hay bales or shovelin' shit this morning or anything."
Mac grinned. "That mean you're offering? Because I'd much rather do tack room chores anyway. You know I love the smell of saddle soap."
Jack was suddenly happy he'd forgotten his razor adapter. Because now Mac knew that Jack had a sense he was maybe a little more hurt than he let on, but not that Steve had told him he had internal bruising. It made managing the barn stuff easier for him.
"Alright, but if anybody wants help with a saddle–"
"Don't start, Jack," Mac said, but it was mostly in an agreeable tone.
Jack might have said more then, but one of his favorite feminine voices in all the world called up the stairs just then.
"Jack Wyatt Dalton! Angus Henry MacGyver! Get yourselves to the table right this minute or I'm sending these biscuits to the neighbors!"
"Coming Nana!" Mac called brightly. But as he pulled on his boots he shot Jack a dirty look. "How the hell does she know my middle name?"
0-0-0
They'd settled into an easy routine by the end of the holiday weekend. Mac was still sleeping more than Jack was used to seeing, but other than that the kid really did seem as fine as he said he was. Despite the extensive bruising he'd gotten half a look at on Wednesday, Jack was starting to get the impression that maybe Steve had overreacted.
Besides, Mac wasn't pushing himself or offering to do any of the work that would have led Jack to believe he was being reckless with his health.
The closest he'd gotten was getting the Christmas decorations down from the attic for Nana when everyone else was busy unloading the new mare Pops had purchased. Jack thought the kid would insist on helping and he'd finally have to say something to him, but all it had taken was a word from his grandmother and the promise of taste testing her first batch of peanut brittle to get Mac out of his barn boots.
In the week's that followed, Mac seemed to relax in a way Jack didn't think he'd ever encountered before, even in their previous trips out this way. Maybe that's why Mac was sleeping more than he was used to. He was just comfortable in a way Jack wasn't used to. He thought the extended trip was one of the best things that could have happened to either of them. Then when Christmas week rolled around, they got a bit of snow and Jack didn't think he'd ever been happier to be there for a holiday. It looked like a postcard.
So when chores finished up and his grandfather suggested a ride in the snow, even Jack didn't think there was anything wrong with it. He was too happy to have finally reached the date on the calendar that said he could ditch his sling unless the shoulder really bothered. And he'd be able to start rehabbing it as soon as they got back to LA.
They had a hell of a nice time, too, even though it was colder than either Mac or Jack was really used to anymore.
"It ever snow in Mission City, kid?" he asked over his shoulder as another light shower began.
Mac, who was bringing up the rear on the trail, glanced up, a slightly dreamy expression on his face, almost like he was surprised to be spoken to. "Um … Snow?" He shifted in his saddle.
Jack looked at him a little more carefully, but almost rode right into a snow covered branch. He brushed it aside, but refocused on the trail in front of him. "Yeah, in Mission City," he said. "Like at Christmas?"
Mac seemed to focus more fully again. He nodded. "Usually, actually," Mac replied. "It's pretty far north and it's in the mountains."
"It never did snow much here. But I've always loved when it snowed for Christmas. I miss it sometimes," Jack said. "You ever miss home?"
"LA is home," Mac said almost curtly. Then, it seemed to occur to him that he'd been sharp with Jack for no reason, so he offered a small smile and said. "But if this were my home, I think I'd miss this, too."
Jack let Mac have his silence for the rest of the ride. He just caught up with his grandfather and talked about past Christmases, laughing and joking, and reminiscing. Every so often both men looked back at Mac riding quietly, talking softly with Trigger who was old enough to enjoy the slow pace his rider had set for them. Mac shot them a smile whenever he caught them looking, but neither one of them could miss that it was a little sad.