11. Bede

Chapter 11

Bede

H olding the new boots in the small space of time between hard work in the hot sunshine and a rustic meal fit for a king in hiding brought back all the memories Bede had been holding at bay for five years.

Winston would have bought him a pair of boots like the ones he held, dark blood red and soft as butter. Sophisticated. In keeping with a drug dealer image. They were boots that could have been worn in a five-star restaurant. Winston had good taste like that.

It was as if the soft yellow work boots had cracked his armor, making him swoon with delight. Making him feel pleasure at the thought of wearing them. Now, the blood red boots were the battering ram, pushing through the final breech into his locked-up heart.

He'd have to hold those memories back a while longer because Kell came tromping up the steps, alone, for once, a big smile on his face.

"I heard boot and hat day got moved up for you guys, and I came to see."

Kell plopped down next to Bede on the cot, picking up the new straw hat and trying it on for size. It was too big, so, with a smile, he put it back down again and reached for the boots.

There was only one person living on the planet who could have done what Kell had just done, shoving his way into Bede's space without Bede minding.

All of his feelings about Winston and the love they'd shared, now gone forever—all of this rippled through him. But he swallowed it all down as he handed the boots over to Kell. He remained focused on Kell so that he would never suspect how close Bede was to the edge that threatened him with a tumble into a dark abyss from which there was no return.

"These are nice," said Kell, turning the leather boots this way and that in his hands. "Marston and I have matching boots." With a laugh, he added, "Not on purpose. I just happened to pick out the same boots he had." He arched his neck. "We're very cute when we both wear our matching boots."

"You're cute anyway," said Bede, taking the boots back, rubbing the leather with his fingers, tracing the seam where leather met sole. "My team all got matching straw hats."

"Oh, yeah?"

A bubble of amusement, a glowing glittery thing, swirled inside of Bede at the memory of the visit to the ranch's store, where Toby and Owen had acted more well-behaved than he'd ever seen. Where Maddy, a no-nonsense woman if ever he saw one, had treated all the parolees like they were regular guys. And where, of all things, Galen seemed to have pulled the stick out of his ass and relaxed for once.

More than that was his pleasure at the memory of all three of them picking out straw hats to match Galen's straw hat, and the disbelief on Galen's face, that secret flush to his cheeks as he tried to hide his pleasure.

And how fun it would be to tease Galen about the matching hats in the days to come. To see the laughter in those gray eyes.

All of this, the joy, the bubble, the anticipatory pleasure, faded as Marston appeared on the wooden platform outside the tent, taking Kell's attention entirely.

"Dinner bell's just about to ring," Marston said, then, looking at Bede, asked, "You coming?"

That was Marston being polite. Which seemed to be the way things would go, now that Marston was over his jealousy of Bede.

Which didn't make him any less protective for, hand in the small of Kell's back, he led Kell away to the mess tent.

At the mess tent would be the most amazing food, and that wasn't just five years of horrible prison muck served on plastic trays masquerading as food, talking, no. It was, quite simply, good and hearty and filling food, in all the best ways.

Bede should go to dinner. Pull himself away from the buttery boots and thoughts of home, a home with Winston that simply didn't exist anymore.

Those suit you, he heard Winston's voice say. You should wear them to dinner .

That voice. Quick, with rippling hints of the east coast whence Winston hailed. A city boy, finding a life in the grown up cattle town of Denver.

Bede's eyes grew hot, and he scrubbed at them, pushing the boots away as he stood up.

To distract himself, he picked up the straw hat, and turned it around, fingers gentle on the brim. It was a very simple hat with a tooled leather band and matching arrows cut out on each side.

The crown was folded in a way he'd been told was a cattleman's fold. Which made it easy to pick up the hat between his fingers and put it on his head.

The image of Galen laughing in surprise when he'd selected a hat for himself only to find out that all three ex-cons on his team had picked out the exact same hat made Bede feel more like smiling. Like laughing again.

He'd almost heard Galen asking himself whether it might be a good team-building move to break down and say yes to the hat. When he had, placing the hat on the counter with the others, a little cheer had gone up, Toby and Owen crowing and fist pumping as if Galen had just come over to the dark side.

Standing by the silver truck as he demonstrated how to properly wear a straw cowboy hat, Galen's guard had gone down even further, like he was with his good buddies and showing them all how to be that much cooler, and looking pretty adorable himself.

Then he'd looked up and probably realized what he was doing, acting all nice instead of like some guy with a pole shoved up his ass, and got serious, clicking on his key fob in his pocket and waving them to get in the truck.

Bede had grabbed shotgun just to see what it would feel like to be up front in a moving vehicle, and a pretty nice vehicle at that.

Galen had driven up the road to the ranch, rather than going straight back to the valley. Galen had said, for reasons of his own, I'll give you a quick tour of the guest ranch. Might as well, long as we're up here . Casually, like they were all friends on an outing, rather than one team lead and three parolees, one of whom was a dangerous drug lord.

Up close, in the confines of the truck's cab, Galen smelled amazing, his scent pulling Bede in, though he stopped himself, and asked if they could roll the windows down. Galen agreed, and the bright breeze flew into the cab.

The dirt road went in and out of clumps of green-leafed trees, over a stone bridge, and finally along the middle of the main compound. With a dining hall on the left, cabins on the right, and a barn and paddock up ahead, Bede could see it was a posh place, even more lush than the valley.

Most notable was the wide, glassy river that separated the ranch from the empty green prairie that seemed to go on forever. Not that Bede could see all of this at once, the place was huge. Spread out. Verdant, with plenty of shade and places to sit between activities.

As they drove back down the road, there were ranch hands out in front of the large wooden lodge, stringing up lights. Other ranch hands were rolling out what looked like oak barrels full of ice.

"What's that for?" asked Toby, pointing, his arm jutting out from the rolled-down window in the back of the pickup cab.

"It's for the Tuesday night dance," said Galen. He slowed down so they could all get a good look.

Bede figured that if you were a guest at the ranch, you got to go to the dance. But if you were a parolee, even if you had new boots, you wouldn't be allowed anywhere near any good law-abiding guests, regardless of your ability to do the two-step.

Swallowing the sour taste in his mouth, Bede stayed quiet all the way back to the valley.

Before prison, he and Winston had talked about taking country line dance lessons together. They would have learned the two-step, and Bede could have gone to one of those Tuesday night dances. The crowd would probably be small and friendly, and those lights he'd seen being strung up would at just the right warmth and brightness.

He'd never been one for going to popular clubs. There were just too many people he didn't know. Too many chances to bump into the kind of people he never wanted to bump into. Other drug dealers, for example.

He didn't imagine that parolees would be invited to that dance, but now, sitting on his cot, his boots in his hands, he changed his mind. He might not be able to go to the dance, but he'd sure as hell wear the boots.

Quickly unlacing his work boots, he slid the new cowboy boots onto his feet. Standing, the boots felt sturdy and new, and in them he was ten feet tall. Then he put on a clean shirt, snapping the buttons closed slowly, one by one.

Had Winston been there, he would have whistled at Bede, and, with his eyes, told Bede how good he looked, and that Winston might actually prefer it if they didn't leave the tent. That they go back to bed and rumple the bedclothes.

But Winston wasn't there, so Bede walked to the mess tent by himself, his new boots leaving tiny triangular toe prints in the pine cones and dust.

Along the way, he swallowed hard and then swallowed again, sweeping his hair back from his face, straightening his back. Hardening his heart against memories of Winston and the future that they would never have.

He couldn't let anyone know, not Kell, not Galen, not anyone, how he felt as though he was being torn through by rotating blades. It was a new world, and he needed to either shrink into a ball of nothingness, or march right on into it.

In the buffet line in the mess tent, he barely knew what he grabbed from the steamers, and when he sat down at one of the long tables with his tray of food and began eating, he could barely taste it.

And when Galen spread his hands wide, Bede could only blink at him, confused by what he wanted.

"Where's your list?" Galen asked. And then added, "Of books."

"It's in his pocket," said Kell, giving Bede a soft elbow. "I saw him put it there."

Bede took a moment to silently pull out his list, folded and double folded, a little jagged around the edges where it'd been torn from the tablet. He gave the piece of paper to Galen without looking up.

It didn't really matter what books were ordered for the library, but it was important to make sure nobody knew how shook he was inside. How he'd kept up a barrier for five years and now it was crumbling. All because of a stupid pair of boots that Winston would have loved to see him wearing.

Maybe he'd throw those boots in the lake and say he lost them.