Chapter Four

He remembered Thanksgiving when his father appeared at his front door, a basket of leftovers in hand.

“Your mother missed you,” was all Father said.

Owen would have apologized, but he couldn’t find the words. He took the basket, doing his best not to cry. “Thanks for this. Tell her I said...” His voice faded. He had nothing to say.

Father only nodded, taking his leave as quickly as he’d come.

Setting the basket aside, Owen went to the window. Father had come by horse-drawn sleigh, and now that he was paying attention, Owen could hear the jingle of the horse’s bridle and the crackle of the sleigh’s runners over snow.

They must have had eight or so inches, though Owen couldn’t remember the storm. All the days bled together, a blank canvas where his life was reduced to little more than acting on instinct. He’d kept himself alive, though he was starting to forget why he bothered.

If he thought about anything at all, it was the sound of bombs and machine-gun fire, and the pain of losing another friend.

He’d lost more than a few over those eighteen months. Gunfire, poisoned gas, despondence. One man had spent so much time standing in the trenches, cold water up to his ankles, that his feet had turned black, his toes staying behind when they removed his boots. They’d taken him to hospital, but by then the poison was in his blood and he’d died anyway.

Still, if nothing else, his father’s visit prompted Owen to pay more attention to his surroundings. The next day, or maybe the day after that, he heard another sleigh. They’d had more snow, deep and powdery, so all he’d heard was the dull thud of a horse’s hooves and the rattle of its tack.

Father must be returning. Owen gave himself a sniff, unsure how long it had been since he’d last bathed. His cheeks itched with new growth, and on the way to the window, he raked a hand through his unwashed hair.

At least it had been clean once this week.

Standing to one side of the glass, he peered out. The horse was a Morgan, its thick winter coat a deep brown with a black mane and tail. Father’s horse had never looked so elegant.

The sleigh wasn’t Father’s, either. This one was a two-seater, painted a deep cherry red. And Father didn’t have the reins.

Jeremy Abbot did.

Before he could lose his nerve, Owen hurried to the front door and poked his head out. He had to squint against the glare of the sun off the snow, or maybe it was the glare off Jeremy’s smile. “Hullo,” Owen huffed, shivering, but not because of the snow. The man had gone from Abbot to Jeremy between one heartbeat and the next, though Owen blushed at his own presumptuousness.

“You’re not an easy man to track down.” Jeremy’s words made Owen smile, something he’d lost the habit of.

“How did you…?”

“Asked around town. The grocer pointed me to your father, and he pointed me here.”

He’d gone to some effort. Owen should invite him in. He steeled himself against Jeremy’s scorn when he saw the pitiful state of the cabin. He gave Jeremy a helpless look, which made the man’s smile brighten.

“Grab your coat and I’ll take us for a ride.”

Owen blinked. “A… ride?”

“Sure. There must be something around here worth looking at. If nothing else, we can head out to Brownsville and find a place to have a whiskey.” Something must have crossed Owen’s face because Jeremy added, “You do drink, don’t you?”

“I do.” And he even had a few dollars left from the last time he’d withdrawn money from his bank account. He had some savings, mainly because there’d been no place in the trenches to spend his Army pay. “Not someplace too crowded.”

Jeremy’s smile took on a touch of sympathy. “No place too crowded.”

Owen nodded, patting his trousers to find his wallet. “One minute.”

He ducked inside, reaching for his coat. He wished he had a muffler the same bright red as the sleigh, something that would make him less drab. He buttoned up and pulled a knit cap over his unruly hair, feeling like a guinea hen off to ride with a peacock.

His morning fire had burned low, so he covered the coals with ash and headed out. Climbing into the sleigh, he smiled again. This time the muscles felt less rusty, as if he might remember this feeling. Excitement? Happiness? Cheer?

He was still sorting it out as he climbed into the sleigh. A heated brick had been placed right where he’d put his feet, and Jeremy offered to share the wool blanket draped across his lap.

“Thanks,” Owen said, settling in. “I’m glad you…did this.”

“Oh, I figure this way you’ll owe me a favor.” Jeremy gave him a sidelong glance. A flirtatious glance. The kind of glance that sent a spark of heat from Owen’s belly to his prick.

“One I’ll gladly repay.” Owen straightened in his seat, feeling more like the man who’d gone off to war, not the shell who’d returned.

Jeremy didn’t ask for directions, so Owen was content to simply ride along. The narrow lane branched off, so they didn’t pass his parents’ house. Instead, the horse trotted along at an easy pace. Something in Owen’s chest loosened, something that had been tight for a long, long while. As fortunate as he was to have the cabin, and as kind as his parents were to leave him alone, riding with Jeremy made him feel just plain lucky.

“How did you end up in Springfield, of all places?” he asked, marveling at fate’s quirky gesture.

Jeremy guided the horses with a practiced hand. “Family’s from Boston. My father’s a lawyer who married above himself, and Mother’s French, which is how I ended up with those rooms in Paris. I came home when the war ended and, please don’t think less of me, I immediately got caught up in a fairly embarrassing situation. Father suggested I take myself elsewhere for a while. Sullivan owed Father a favor, so here I am.”

He spoke with a mix of defiance and vulnerability, as if it mattered what Owen thought. “Don’t know that I’m one to throw stones,” he said. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

“Good.” Jeremy nodded quickly. “That’s good.”

They shared a glance, and Jeremy’s smile returned to its former glory. Owen even chuckled, a sound so unusual it seemed to rattle in his chest. They skimmed along the top of the snow, passing farms, the utilitarian buildings all frosted with glittering white. Owen was warm, the air was crisp, and Jeremy was just as handsome as he remembered.

“What about you?” Jeremy kept his tone gentle, his smile warm.

“I came home after Armistice, too. My gran said I needed to go to the forest, so I’ve been staying in the cabin ever since. There was so much noise, you know? The quiet helps.” The honesty of his response surprised Owen, but he didn’t try to take any of it back. This was a day for new things.

“I’ll have to find some work when my military pay runs out,” he continued, feeling his way. He had only the vaguest notion of the kind of work he’d once wanted to do. “Something with my hands, I guess. I’m not much good for anything else.”

“And you are good with your hands, as I recall.” Jeremy kept his eyes on the road ahead, but his smirk made it plain he felt the heat of Owen’s gaze.

Days of solitude must have loosened Owen’s tongue. “Spending the night with you was the brightest light in all of my time in the Army. You have no idea…”

“Oh, I saw enough”—Jeremy bumped Owen with his elbow—“to be grateful I’d studied the law. And since we’re speaking boldly, I’ll confess that the night we spent together meant more to me than you perhaps realize. I knew at a glance that you have the strength I needed.”

Owen didn’t know what to say to that exactly. “Thank you.” His voice was gruff, his words insufficient. He’d never considered himself a particularly strong person. His life was divided into segments. Childhood, those blurry days spent in the woods or helping Father with the farm. School, when he didn’t trouble himself over anything more important than his chores and his assignments. The war, when he did his best not to think at all.

And now, this state of uncertainty, a grey, cloudless nothing.

Jeremy nudged him again, and they shared a quick smile. Perhaps he’d found a hint of sunlight after all.

They rode along that country road until the sun began its descent, and Jeremy had to turn back in order to get the horse stabled before sunset. The cabin, when they reached it, had grown smaller and meaner since they left. Jeremy guided the horse to stop out front, and Owen turned, hand extended as if to shake.

Jeremy clasped his hand and pulled him in for a kiss, a quick press of lip to lip. Surprised by the gesture, Owen let him, although he rarely kissed men on the mouth. They paused, still close enough to cause trouble if anyone were to witness their display. For a heartbreaking moment, Owen realized he should invite Jeremy in. The very thought caused him to stiffen.

As if Jeremy could read Owen’s mind, he eased back in his seat. “This has been a lovely afternoon, but I think we should end it here.”

Owen nodded mutely.

“You see, I would like to get to know you properly and see what comes of our friendship.”

Another mute nod, though this time Owen’s lips twitched into something like a smile.

“I’ll be back next Saturday, then, and this time we will stop in Brownsville for that whiskey.”

To that, Owen grinned.

He gave Jeremy’s hand another squeeze and climbed out of the sleigh, standing by his front door until horse and driver were a blur of cherry red, fading into the gathering dusk.