Soul groans, his body aching as he rolls onto his back. His fingers find soft grass as he stretches.
Was he outside?
He gives up on opening his eyes to investigate further, they feel as if there is sand in them. He doesn't feel alarmed at being outside though.
Sleeping is difficult sometimes. The bed is too soft, the sheets too crisp, the house too quiet. This is not normally a problem for most people, but when you grow up sleeping on the ground in a pile a buffalo hides, a bed doesn't always feel like home. Sometimes, when it's really bad, he would slip outside and curl up in the prairie grass to sleep, under the stars, cradled in nature's embrace.
Something warm wriggles against his side, Soul braves a quick peek and spies the patchwork colors of that Indian mutt. He wags his tail, his head stretching out to rest his wet nose against Soul's belly.
Somewhere close by a prairie quail clucks to her covey, signaling Soul as a threat. Animals, people, they were all wary of him without reason. Except for this damn dog.
Soul cracks a tired eye open and sees the sky, still touched by night, but with a fine dusting of pink around the edges. It's not far from sunrise, he's slept in. He has chores to do. His mind is fuzzy, thinking in broken fragments. His head hurts, and there's a rock poking him in the back. He inhales slowly, taking in the cool morning air, but it is overpowered by the smell of stale booze.
"What the hell?" He asks sitting up, wincing at the stab of pain in his temple. The smell of alcohol is coming from him. His clothes are rumpled, his breath smells of fumes, and there's a bottle of whiskey carelessly discarded in the grass.
The flea-bitten cur cocks its head to the left, dark eyes knowing, obviously judging him.
Soul lowers his head into his hands and groans, everything coming back to him.
"Fuck."
"No thank you, you're not my type." Soul nearly jumps out of his skin as Justin's voice teases him.
It was very rare that anyone could sneak up on him like that, it just went to show how messed up he really was over the situation. His razor-sharp reflexes dulled by the remnants of whisky and... something else? Grief?
Soul shakes his head then glares up at the lanky cowboy now standing in front of him. How had Justin even found him out here? The ranch was at least a few miles away.
"What do you want, traitor." Soul growls, instantly regretting the action as it sends his head reeling.
Justin smirks like he can sense his discomfort, and shoves a tin cup in his hand. The cup is steaming hot and smells of freshly brewed dark coffee.
Soul inhales deeply, his overloaded senses slowing a bit at the comforting scent.
"You're still not forgiven." Soul mumbles as he presses the cup to his lips and takes a sip.
"Have I done something wrong? I didn't think I required forgiveness this morning." Justin quips, hunkering down on the ground next to him, stretching his long legs out and crossing them at the ankle.
Soul shoots him a disbelieving look.
"You fucking lied to me. You all did. Like it was no big fucking deal."
He hates himself for how pitiful he sounds, how strained his voice is, and how much his heart aches.
Justin is quiet in thought, his eyes scanning the prairie, taking in the sky and the grazing cattle dotting the gentle swells. Justin exudes a peaceful presence, comfortable in his own self and his surroundings. Soul has always admired that about him. Right now though, all he can feel is unbearable envy. What he wouldn't give to feel safe in his own skin.
"We never said it out loud because it wasn't our secret to tell, that was between you and her."
"That's besides the point!" Soul grates past clenched teeth.
"Is it? Or is it because you're hurt?" He asks softly, ruffling the pup's fur with a small smile.
Soul sighs and shakes his head, his heart thrumming painfully in his chest.
"I'm so fucking hurt. I thought we had trust and understanding. I thought there was loyalty and no secrets between us. I thought we were friends, family even, but I was wrong." Soul laments, an angry sigh escaping his lips.
Justin pins him with a keen look, his eyes much older and wiser than he is. "You're hurt and angry, you feel betrayed, but this isn't about us though, is it? It isn't me or the men who are causing you this sense of grief."
Soul's shoulders slump under the truth of his friend's statement. He wasn't mad at his men, hurt maybe, but not truly angry. His wild emotions have nothing to do with them and everything to do with a sassy green-eyed she-devil.
Justin glances at his oldest and dearest friend, seeing his expression drawn in agony, but not over any physical pain.
"Being angry about it won't solve anything."
Soul looks into the depths of his cup like it holds all the answers to the universe. The steaming swirls reveal nothing to him. His thoughts turn to miss Albarn, how he used to tease her about how much sugar and cream she put in her coffee. Suddenly the coffee feels very bitter in his stomach. He sets the cup down next to him and twists his hands in the long grass.
"What am I going to do?"
"About what?" Justin asks, casually sipping from his own cup.
Soul glares at him. "You know damn well what I'm talking about."
Justin's voice is placid, like the ripples on a calm lake.
"Anger never solved anything. Especially when it comes to women."
"What would you know about women anyway?" Soul snaps.
"A lot actually, I had the sweetest, most gentle woman once." Justin sighs, his eyes far away, seeing another time and place.
Soul cringes inwardly, kicking himself for being so thoughtless. Justin never spoke of his late wife, ever. Soul's self-loathing and anger only deepen at his careless mistake.
"I'm the one who was lied to, shouldn't I be allowed to be angry about this?" Soul, whispers raggedly.
"It's alright to feel that way, just don't forget, you're not the only one hurting you know. She's been walking around, eyes red-rimmed and swollen. You disappeared, and she's been worried sick about you."
Soul tears his fingers through his hair and groans, all his pent-up emotions spilling out in that one sound.
Justin pats him on the back once, then stands.
"Come home, hear her out. Put your big boy wranglers on and cowboy the fuck up. Make things right, and fix your friendship."
Soul looks up at him, eyes wide in what Justin could swear was almost panic.
"Is there a friendship to even fix?" Soul chokes out.
"God, you're dumber than a bag of rocks sometimes boss." Justin half laughs and shakes his head. "What do you think? Friendship has nothing to do with gender."
Soul opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Justin's words ring true, and there's nothing he can say to change that.
"Just fucking talk to her!" Justin throws over his shoulder as he heads in the direction of the ranch. Soul watches him as he goes, the green grass bending as he cuts a path through it.
The wind rustles through the bends and valleys, singing the song of the prairie. Lonely and yearning. Just like his heart.
He closes his eyes but all he can hear is the sound of her laugh, and the warmth of her smile, only it's more feminine than it used to be. Soul throws his head back and howls at the sky, anguish echoing back. The corner of his eyes feel wet, and the mutt who had decided to stay by his side whimpers in response. Soul blindly reaches out and pats his head, extending comfort when he himself feels none.
Why was he so torn up by this?
This was not new, countless people had deceived him in the past. He had learned not to care. No matter what they said or did though he would never let it get to him. It was easy to brush off the hurt now, to ignore the pain.
But this time...it was different.
He had let her in. Against his better judgment, he had let her get too close, even as the voice in the back of his mind, the part where his instincts were held, screamed not to. He had believed her, he had accepted her, trusted her, told her things he had never spoken of with another. Their long rambling conversations, late-night walks, and shared company had softened him.
Soul clutches at his chest, his breathing becoming labored.
His heart is twisting to pieces.
She had deceived him so easily, so completely. Did she feel regret for her actions? Or did she revel in the chaos of his mind?
Did she even care about him? Or was all of it a lie? She had so easily smiled and called him a friend, was that a fucking lie as well? What was real and genuine, and what was fabricated?
His head pounds a hard tempo and his heart beats a heavy and painful rhythm. He has so many questions to ask her, answers he desperately craves. But the thought of seeking her out, of facing her again, with her pretty eyes and her terrible lies, he doesn't have the willpower.
His knees are shakey just thinking about standing in front of her, having those misty greens devour him whole.
Miss Albarn's face, haunts him. The last time they were together, her face had been so sad, and terribly feminine. Beautiful even.
The thought makes him want to hurl.
Soul collapses on the grass, his face upturned to the sky. The mutt curls up against him again and Soul tangles his fingers into his soft warm fur. Salty bitter tears come unbidden and Soul drags the pup to his chest, clinging to the wriggling animal for dear life.
He would go find her, he has to. He needs to know for sure, but only after his eyes dry, he wouldn't let her see him cry. See how she's shattered him.
So for now, with only the dog as his witness, he allows himself this moment of weakness. He cries silently under that big blue Texas sky, for the best friend he has lost, and for the woman he doesn't know.
"You can borrow a few of my dresses if you'd like? Until we can get you to town and get you your own?" Tsubaki offers, her voice overly cheerful as she kneads dough for biscuits, in a room that severely lacks anything remotely cheerful.
Maka looks up from the charcoal sketch she has been working on all morning, and takes in Tsubaki's height, small waist, and curvy physique then glances down at her own flat form with a strangled chuckle. Her offer was made out of kindness, but there was no bloody chance one of her dresses would fit.
"Thank you, Tsubaki, but I've been wearing trousers for so long now that it would feel very odd to dawn a gown again. Plus I rather enjoy wearing men's attire. It's very freeing."
Tsubaki shakes her head but makes no comment.
"None of the cowboys have given you any trouble have they?" Tsubaki asks lightly, dusting her rolling pin with flour.
"No, just one particular cowboy is giving me grief." Maka sighs.
A red eyed, cantankerous cowboy.
The few men who had not known, the ones she didn't have a personal relationship with, had looked shocked but not angry after her untoward announcement. They seemed more curious than anything. Most of them hovered close by when she walked outside, but they didn't offer comments. Quite a few didn't seem surprised at all, which led her to think that maybe she hadn't been hiding it as well as she'd thought.
"My secret is out now, but I don't want anything to change. I want to live and work the same way I have been. As a man," Maka admits quietly.
It's been on her mind, but it's the first time she's said it out loud.
"Do you honestly think Soul would let you get away with that now?" Tsubaki asks gently with a tinge of warning there.
Maka rolls her eyes to the ceiling at the mention of his name. The first day she had been brokenhearted and worried sick about him. Now she just felt pitiful and the sensation of something hot and bitter weighing heavily on her stomach.
"I do not care a spec what that blighter says. I will live my life the way I see fit." Maka proclaims indignantly.
Tsubaki bites her lip, to keep from smiling. "I don't know what a blighter is, but I'm sure it fits him to a tee. Just don't forget, he's still your guardian until your uncle returns. Respect is due, whether he's wrong or not."
Maka sighs and places her forehead on the polished kitchen table scattering her charcoal pencils, knowing Tsubaki's words ring true.
"Do you think he'll forgive me?" She asks quietly, turning her head to the side.
"I don't know for sure hun, but I do know it's going to take time, for the both of you to see eye to eye," Tsubaki says firmly, dusting her hands on her apron.
"Why don't you go down by the river and draw?" Tsubaki suggests, noticing Maka has barely touched her new drawing supplies. "Maybe you'll find more inspiration there, and some fresh air will do your spirits good."
Maka looks down at her new art supplies, pencils, brushes, paints, papers, and a leather satchel to carry it all. It was a beautiful gift, one that Justin had placed on the table for her at breakfast.
"We all chipped in for it. Call it a welcome to the family gift." He said quietly, then left without another word, two coffee cups in hand. Her heart, despite its troubles, swells at the memory.
"You're right Tsubaki. I'll be back in time for lunch," She says brightly.
Tsubaki chuckles as Maka grabs up her supplies and flies out the door.
Maka climbs the snake fence that borders the pasturelands around the ranch. She walks until she hits the river, then follows along the bends, but after a while, the bank steepened and the trail veers off into a stand of larches and yellow pines. The pine-spiced wind shrills through the treetops. The sun floats across a hazeless sky washed in nameless hues of blue; It guilds the windswept grass with shimmering light.
A meandering line of willows follows the river casting gentle shade onto water that rolls and dances by. Maka sits by the water's edge, removing her boots. She leans against the trunk of a twisted willow, the bark from the tree digging into her back in a comforting sort of way. She submerges her legs in the river and pulls out her notebook full of blank paper.
Places like this, little pieces of heaven on earth, she wants to put them on paper, so she can remember them always.
Deep down she hopes that this place will continue to be her home and not a just a distant memory one day.
Soul moseys along the trail leading home at a leisurely pace, dreading the confrontation he knows is no longer avoidable.
He doesn't know what to say to her, or even what to do with her afterward, but they sure as hell had a lot to hash out.
As he walks he closes his eyes and breathes deeply, letting the earth and the sky sink into his bones. He loved this land. Loved its wildness, and the sad, sweet, lonesomeness of it. The way the pines and cottonwood trees latched onto the wide and empty sky. The way the sun dusted the buffalo grass with gold. The way the thunder echoed during a storm, the sound of rain on the tin roof.
Soul pauses on the rise that overlooks the dip in the valley that shelters the house, barn, and pasture land of Forsaken. The Timothy grass was tall and ripening; he could smell its sweetness in the wind. They would cut it in a month and bale it, to save over the long winter to feed the livestock. He had been eager to teach the kid how to sling hay, now, it makes his stomach flip at the thought.
If on cue, he spies a slender figure fleeing the house and cutting across the field towards the river. Soul's heart lurches, recognizing that golden hair blazing bright in the early morning sunshine.
Cheif spies her too, obvious by the excited whine he makes. He might have stayed with Soul the last few days, but the pup was infatuated with her.
"Go on, git." Soul groans, his own voice sounding almost as pitiful as the pups whimpering.
The mutt doesn't wait to be told again, instead tearing across the field, eager to see his master. Soul's feet hesitate for a split second before he follows suit. His body feels wound tight, every step putting him more on edge. He loses sight of her as she enters the tree line, but he isn't worried about finding her. He's spent his whole life perfecting his tracking, and even a blind man could follow her clumsy boot tracks on the soft river's edge.
His boots make no noise on the pine straw as he stealthily tracks her progress down the river.
He finds her at last, sitting in the shade of the river, muddy boots thrown to the side, pants rolled up to the knee, wearing his old hat he'd gifted her, yet she still had the air of a lady about her. He can't help but watch her, seeing her with new eyes. She has the kind of looks that went with rustling silk, ballrooms, and soft music. She was a mix between summer and winter; hair the color of August wheat, and eyes the color of the moss that grew in the shaded parts of the river. Dense, dark green. Her skin is pale, her exposed calves milky soft. Her slender frame, small feet, and hands; bones that seemed as fragile as a film of spring ice.
Yet here she was, seemingly in her element, neither belonging here with her starchy English ways, but neither out of place with her wild hair, and her face slight pink from sunburn.
She is drawing madly away and hasn't noticed his presence. He looks to see what has her so enraptured and spies across the river a towering bull elk, his magnificent head dipped low, drinking from the rushing water.
Soul pauses, surprised, for they liked to feed on river plants, you usually didn't come across them this low in the valley, especially not this time of year.
Her hands fly across the page, her eyes dancing, trying to capture the beast on paper. Her lips are lush and wet and parted as if in passion.
The elk probably catching their scent, lumbers off splashing through the river. She sighed happily as she watches it leave.
The stupid mutt is curled up blissfully in her lap, his tail wagging at the sound of her breathy sigh, hanging onto her every movement. Soul feels much like that mongrel, like he could easily watch her forever. Soul feels an angry twinge as the thought occurs and tears his eyes away from her. He shouldn't be watching her like this.
He takes a step, his foot coming down on a dry twig. He does this on purpose, the sound shattering her quiet moment. She whirls, a hand pressed hard against her breast. She stares at him, her eyes wide and confused, and then he sees recognition dawn and, with it, anger. Her breath shudders in her throat, but her voice is cool, controlled.
"You smell worse than you look."
He says nothing, just coming right at her. She watches him come, her eyes growing wider, her nostrils flaring. She wasn't scared, she was challenging him. She jumps to her feet, ready to meet him head on.
He stops when only a hand space separates them. Her face is pink with sunburn, freckles splashing across the bridge of her nose and down her cheeks.
He knows he's disheveled looking, standing under the Texas sky, eyes more red than usual, bloodshot to hell from drinking. His alabaster hair is a mess, he can feel sprigs of grass sticking out at odd angles. He has two days' worth of stubble shadowing his cheeks.
Maka visibly bristles at the sight of him.
A charged silence crackled between them.
She tries to sidle around him. He blocks her way. She sucks in a little gasp at his audacity.
"Walk with me?" He grunts, more caveman than cowboy.
Her face pinches, that crease between her brows forming, signaling she is about to dig her heels in.
She looks stormy, like the itch to tell him off is on the tip of her tongue. No doubt to make him suffer like he has made her the last few days. Her mouth pulls like she is just about to say no, but then she surprises him and nods her head yes.
They walk quietly, with no real destination in mind. He feels silly for asking her to walk, not knowing what good will come from it, but it's familiar and slightly comforting. They used to do it all the time, rambling conversations on long walks, but that was before everything changed. He shortens his strides, to match her pace for pace, their boots cutting a swath through the grass.
They come to a low fence, he climbs the rail first and reaches out for her satchel and drawing book. She passes them over the fence without protest and then begins to climb herself. Without a thought, he holds his hand out to help her over. And she, also without thought or hesitation, gives her own hand into his keeping. For a moment so brief he wonders afterward if he had imagined it, they look into each other's eyes, and an invisible coil of lightning wrapped itself around them. He feels the fire of it through all of his skin and bones, through his very breath. She is safely on the other side of the fence, but he still has hold of her hand. Her skin is warm and covered in charcoal smudges. Her palm is rough, too rough. He turns her hand over, seeing the pale patches of calluses marring her flesh. Signs of a hard worker. Proof that he had worked her too hard the last few months. He had tried so hard to make a man out of her, and in the process had forced her to do things she should have never had to endure.
She tilts her face up to him, her eyes that study him, are still and deep as a mountain lake. She looks at him for so long that he can feel his cheeks growing warm.
"I didn't know." He says, his throat gritty.
"I know, how could you?" She breathes, her frown only deepening.
Fuck, of course he didn't know, because not a single damn person clued him in. He looks at her now though, seeing all the signs that were there, that he had clumsily missed. Her expressive face, often rosy with a blush, her passionate personality, and her tendency to be fiery and wear her heart on her sleeve. He shuts his eyes and bites his tongue, stifling a groan. What a damn fool he has been. He opens his eyes and pins her with a glare, only to regret it instantly. There's a dusting of charcoal on her cheek, and his had twitches uncomfortably. Before he would have laughed and wiped it off the kid's face, teasing him mercilessly. Now though, he doesn't know what to do with his hands. Touching her doesn't seem to be the right thing to do anymore. And it makes him a little sad that the easy affection and familiarity can no longer exist between them. It also makes him feel sick, remembering how many times he had touched her in the past. He lets loose a humorless laugh as every touch, every seemingly innocent pat, every inappropriate sentence that has ever left his mouth comes flooding back to him. He'd swatted her on the rear, grabbed her leg, wrapped his arm around her, and shared whisky with her. Sent her down a God damned well headfirst. God, he'd even talked to her about sex. Soul's face burns with shame, he averts his gaze, he can't even look at her.
She cocks her head to the side and regards him with those clear knowing eyes.
"It's not your fault you know. I brought it all upon myself, even starting that fight was my own doing."
God, he'd forgotten all about their fight. He'd fought her like she was a man. Bruised and bloodied her like it was natural. If Stein didn't pumble him on the spot when he returned, he'd probably do it himself at this point.
"I bloody deserved that ass-whoopin'. You shouldn't blame yourself." She continues, not seeming to notice his internal struggle.
"Ugh, don't curse like that." He grits out, hearing her swear like one of the cowboys. He had shamelessly encouraged that habit as well.
She looks at him, her eyes flashing emerald fire. "You can not control what I choose to say."
"Is that a fact?" He grates, trying to keep his own temper from flaring with hers.
"It damn well is a fact."
"Don't say damn." He barks, as she pushes his buttons further.
She looks at him square and steady, tilting her chin up slightly before she utters a long and drawn-out, "Fuck."
The brassy woman doesn't even have the decency to look ashamed, if anything she looks rather proud of herself, which only infuriates him further.
"If you don't watch that foul mouth of yours I'll bend you over my knee and tan your hide." He threatens, poking a finger against her collar bone for emphasis. It's a threat he's used a hundred times before with her. This time he sees the blush staining her cheeks and regrets it instantly. She looks away, clearly shaken, and he scrubs at his face with a frustrated hand.
"Why?" He asks finally, trying to keep the growl from his voice.
"Tell me the truth, why you felt you had to lie to me."
She draws a sharp breath. Her eyes almost pleading to be understood. Her hair is unbound and wild as she shoves it back away from her face.
"It's a long story." She whispers.
Soul tears his eyes away from her, taking in their quiet surroundings, trying to draw out some of that peace and tranquility that only nature can provide.
"I've got nothing but time. Start talking, ma'am."
Authors note:
Howdy, I hope everyone has been staying safe and healthy these last few months! So sorry about the delay in getting a new chapter out, but I've been rather busy on the farm and getting the spring time crops planted has been a never ending endeavor. One that I dearly love though 3
Thank you to everyone who reached out to check in on me, who have left comments and kind words of encouragement, you guys are the reason I love writing so much. I feel there is no better community than those who love to read and write.
This chapter was so long that I ended up splitting it into two chapters, the second half should be published in another week, so keep an eye out for that. With all the emotions, inner turmoil, and their long over due talk I wanted to make sure that I didn't rush this chapter and gave it room to breathe.
Once again thank you for your continued love and enthusiasm for this story. I hope you enjoyed the chapter!
Much love.
-Sammy921