3. Bede

Chapter 3

Bede

I t wasn't a sure thing that Lenny had not taken a wrong turn because the white van was now going down a set of switchbacks that had what must have been at least a six percent grade.

In spite of this, Bede was distracted by the thickness of the green pine trees and the way the temperature dropped as they went down into the valley. He could see the there was a blue lake, and an enormous, gray ridge to the west that flickered in and out of sight.

Bede wanted to ask Lenny to roll down the window so he could smell the fresh air, but then that would mean Lenny's hands would not be on the wheel, and they very much needed to be, just then.

Steadily, the van trundled down the switchbacks before pulling into an opening in the trees and stopping at a round, gravel parking lot.

Two silver trucks were parked along one side of the gravel. Beyond that, between the thick forest of trees, Bede glimpsed what looked like a long sage-green tent, and a few small white-painted buildings. Beyond that were even more trees and maybe even a few more tents.

It looked pretty sparsely built up for a place that would, come the following summer, be charging four hundred dollars a night. Who would want to pay that much to sleep in a tent was beyond Bede, though Kell had assured him that the food was amazing, the showers swank as hell, the beds soft as clouds.

All of this was beautiful in theory, but it was just another landscape for him to traverse. Besides, the work he was going to be required to do would be, he was quite sure, backbreaking and never-ending under a blazing Wyoming sun.

Never mind. He could always leave. In fact, he planned on leaving just as soon as he could get himself situated and figure out where he wanted to head next. Except—did he want to go back to Denver to pick up his old life? Or maybe he would head out to the coast and the ocean. Or to Vegas and the never-ending party there?

Lenny parked the van, jumped out, and pulled open the sliding door. All of them, Bede, Toby, and Owen, blinked at the sun amidst the trees.

Bede shivered as he got out, not yet used to seeing the blue, tree-shaded sky that wasn't framed by a scrim of razor-edged barbed wire. After five years behind bars, he didn't know how long it would take him to accept freedom as a reality.

He didn't have two seconds to take a breath before a slender body barreled into him, wiry arms wrapping around him without even so much as a how-do-you-do.

Laughter rang in his ears, accompanied by a hug of such intensity that he was on the verge of shoving back, of using his brawn to fell his assailant to the ground.

But it was Kell who hugged him, dark hair spilling across his face, those old-soul eyes full of laughter. Up close. Holding onto Bede like there was no tomorrow. As though Bede was the one person in the world that Kell had most wanted to see. Had waited for. Would have waited for a good long time.

Bede didn't deserve such a warm welcome. When he'd befriended Kell in prison, it had been more for himself than for Kell's benefit. Anything Kell had gotten out of it had been a bonus.

As Kell pulled back, Bede could see that Kell was rested, well-fed, well-cared for. Sleek. He'd gained weight, all of it good muscle. Those green eyes of his were bright as emeralds.

For all the doubts Bede had about the Fresh Start Program, it certainly had done well by Kell.

"You're here," said Kell, breathing the words out like a song of joy.

He took his arms from around Bede's neck, though his hand trailed on Bede's t-shirt, fingers tightening for a quick second before letting go.

"Sorry," Kell said to the gathering at large. "I know you got protocols and stuff. I just couldn't resist." But before Lenny could pick up his clipboard and have someone sign for them, Kell pointed. "That's Marston. Marston, this is Bede. I told you about Bede, how he protected me. Remember?"

Marston, the man of whom Bede had heard so much from Kell, was a blond-haired, steely-eyed, hard-jawed giant standing guard.

Marston did not come forward to shake Bede's hand, but only scowled. Like he knew all about Bede and didn't care for the kind of man Bede was.

Well, Bede didn't blame him. In spite of Kell's glowing comments about Marston, Bede had his doubts, and was now pretty sure, by the size of him, that Marston had taken advantage of Kell.

Kell reached out, like he wanted Marston and Bede to shake hands and bond right then and there. Kell even went as far as to go up to Marston and tug on the sleeve of his long-sleeved shirt, like he'd tugged on Bede's shirt.

In that moment, as Marston looked down at Kell, his face softened, just like butter in a hot pan. His eyes were half-lidded, a tender glint there, and his mouth curled into a smile along one corner.

Bede's people-reading skills kicked in. Soppy in love, that's what Marston was.

None of this completely changed Bede's mind about Marston, but it was easy to see that Marston would kill or die trying to protect Kell. Move heaven and earth. Whatever was called for. With Marston looking out for him, along with his own sensible self, Kell would be fine.

The only thing standing in the way of Kell's continued safety and happiness was, of course, Bede himself, at least according to Marston's glare, sent Bede's way. Which meant that one thing Bede needed to do was convince Marston that he was harmless.

Whether or not he could manage that Herculean feat was another question, but he had the rest of the summer to do it. It was either that or he could challenge Marston, and the two of them could get into a beat-down with the watching crowd declaring the winner. Which would be Bede, of course. All of which would upset Kell.

Bede sighed and shrugged his shoulders. A sure sign in the prison yard that while a fight was not out of the question, he personally was backing off. For now.

Maybe Marston knew prison-speak, or maybe he'd been affected by Kell's bubble of joy as he'd greeted Bede, but he seemed to back off, as well.

"Let's get this paperwork done," said Lenny, tapping his pen against the metal clip on the clipboard. "Then I can be on my way."

The mood of the group shifted, and Bede looked around as Lenny shuffled through the papers on his clipboard.

In the middle of this, as Bede waited for his new life to begin, a man came walking through the woods in the swirl of a breeze, longish hair lifting.

He was dressed much like Marston in dusty blue jeans, work boots, a snap button shirt in pale blue, which gave Bede the impression was a sort of uniform in the valley.

The man was whip-thin, lanky, and as he came up to the group, he wasn't smiling. Which made Bede want to crack a joke, because, man, what did this guy have to be unhappy about?

His gray eyes cast a wide glance, narrowing as he looked at the three of them: Bede, Toby, and Owen. Like he could spot an ex-con at a mile's distance and didn't quite care for the view. Had he been on the parole board, he would not have given any of them the green light to walk free.

All of this was in his gaze, the way he lifted his chin and looked down his aquiline nose at them.

"This my group?" the man asked, as he pushed a long lock of hair back from his face.

"You Galen Parnell?" asked Lenny, looking up from his clipboard.

"That's me."

Galen's lips barely moved as he spoke, and he looked away as though he'd seen what he needed to see and wasn't impressed. He took the clipboard from Lenny, signed it, and handed it back in utter silence.

It was hard for Bede to get a read on a man who held himself so tightly, like he was standing behind an invisible barrier so nobody could get through.

Again, Bede had the rest of the summer to figure Galen out, which was key, because it looked like the guy was now in charge of him. That is, unless Bede simply up and left the valley. Which he could do.

"See you," said Lenny. He got into the van and drove away, chugging up the switchbacks, disappearing into the pine trees with a flash of white and a sparkle of sun off the chrome bumper.

"Thanks for being part of my welcoming committee," said Galen to Marston and Kell. It was acknowledgement and dismissal at the same time. "But I better get to it."

"See you at dinner," said Marston, tipping his chin at Kell as if to say, We're not wanted here .

With a wave, Marston and Kell walked across the parking lot and into the woods.

From his and Kell's phone conversations, Bede knew that Marston and Kell made signs and were setting them up around the compound. Digging holes. Pouring cement.

Was that just a two-man job, or could Bede bribe someone to be put on the same team as Kell? On the other hand, Galen didn't seem like he'd be pleased to do anybody any favors.

"You're my team," said Galen, as though he didn't like the idea of it very much. As though he didn't want anything to do with ex-cons.

Bede had seen expressions like the one Galen currently had. The tight scowl, the sneer of disdain represented by a flare of his nostrils.

"I'm Galen Parnell, and you are?"

"Toby Thorne," said Toby, with his hand to his chest, like there was another Toby in the group and he wanted to make sure Galen didn't confuse him with somebody else.

"Owen Feeney," said Owen. He had a smile like a guy who would promise to redo your driveway, get you to sign on the dotted line after paying a hefty deposit, only to never show up.

"Bede Deacon," said Bede, without waiting for Galen to look at him.

"Bede?" asked Galen sharply, looking up, gray eyes snapping. "There's no Bede on my team." Then he paused, as if reconsidering. "Unless Bede is short for Obadiah."

"That's right."

Bede smiled at Galen, half on the verge of daring him to make something of it. To insist that Bede go by his full and given name, like his teachers used to do back in school. Like the prison guards would sometimes do, just to mess with him.

Galen glared at him as a bit of wind lifted his brown hair and tossed it in his eyes. He used long fingers to pull the hair away, then glared at all of them, as though they'd been causing problems all morning and he'd had just about enough.

He'd be pretty if only he'd smile a little. If only he'd relax those shoulders a little. With those eyes and that sweep of hair, Galen would have been in high demand in the prison yard.

Bede shoved those thoughts away. The last thing he needed was to be distracted by a pretty face. He'd held onto his emotions for the last five years while behind bars, even as he'd looked at the other cons or the guards.

One man had nice shoulders, like Winston had. Another one had long eyelashes, dark, spiky. Like Winston had. Whispers of the past, a love long gone. Chasing him through the hours and days and years like ghosts across the shiny, well-mopped floors of the corridors of Wyoming Correctional.

This guy, this jerk off, was nothing like Winston, who could tease a laugh out of Bede in a heartbeat.

Bede couldn't remember the last time he'd even smiled, and this guy was now in charge of him, could try all he wanted and never succeed. Not that he would try. Not that Bede wanted him to.

Galen remained unsmiling and hard to read as he looked them over once more and took a long hard breath, like they were all on his last nerve and he had no idea how he was going to make it to the end of the day.

"I'm your team lead. You work for me now." Galen paused, looking over their shoulders at the rest of the compound, like he was searching for something he'd forgotten to do or say. "I'll take you around, give you a tour. Show you your tents, where you'll be staying. Then you'll have a chunk of time to get settled, and you'll meet me in the mess tent when the dinner bell rings. Got it?"

The three of them nodded, with Toby looking to Owen as if to make sure that was the right kind of response.

Galen took them on the tour, a stiff set to his shoulders, squinting at them as the sun speared through the trees. Like he'd forgotten his hat and, only just realizing it, was blaming them.

His voice didn't reflect any anger, though, and seemed to stay level as he led them along paths through shimmering green forests, where the air was fresh and bright and breezy, smelling like pine and other good things.

Galen showed them the green canvas mess tent, which looked fairly ordinary, just a bunch of tables, some standing fans, and a small area that looked like it was trying to be a home office. There were books on the shelf that grabbed Bede's attention, but Galen didn't give them any time to pause.

Then Galen showed them the white first aid hut, and the hut where they could do their laundry.

He showed them the showers and the toilets, which were just as Kell had described them and as fancy as anything Bede had ever seen.

Then Galen took them down to a shining blue lake that just about took Bede's breath away, in spite of himself.

The thing he'd missed while being in prison was being able to submerge his entire body in water. Prison showers were unsettling affairs with half-ass water pressure and not enough time to relax.

He couldn't imagine that permission would be given to go swimming, but his skin, his soul, was already aching for it because being surrounded by cool, fresh water sounded way better than just about anything else.

"This is Half Moon Lake," said Galen, his arm stretched out, pointing, staying that way like he was posing for a statue that might be made in his likeness.

His hair lifted in the breeze, and his gaze was long, as though he wanted nothing more than to leave them behind and go for a swim, or a long walk around the lake, anywhere but where he was.

"There's a dock down that way. Sometimes we go for a swim, like in the evenings, after work is done. We might get canoes or kayaks before the summer is over."

Feeling a surge of interest, Bede almost let his jaw drop in astonishment at the idea that they could go swimming. That he could finally, finally , get clean all over.

There was no way he wanted anyone to know what he was feeling, so instead Bede asked, "What kind of work?"

Blinking, Galen turned to him, a furrow of a frown across his forehead, like he'd forgotten who Bede was or why he was there. With a quick sigh, he slid his hands into the back pockets of his blue jeans.

"We're mostly going to be digging up knapweed, which is a real hazard, though that may change later. Then I'll be giving you riding lessons." He paused, as if considering whether or not to share more with them. "There was talk of us building a few yurts on the other side of the river."

Yurts? Was any of this for real? Bede was not a carpenter, that was for sure. Or a cowboy. He belonged in Denver, where the city streets were as familiar to him as his own skin.

"What's a yurt?" asked Toby. Owen elbowed him. "Hey! I wanna know, is all."

While Galen explained what a yurt was, Bede watched him.

Galen seemed patient, not at all troubled that Toby was a loser who didn't know any better than to reveal his ignorance.

His face softened as he went into teacher mode, the way some of the aids in the prison library would. As if it was their dream to explain to a convicted felon how to use Microsoft Word.

Well, if Galen was one of those do-gooders who imagined they were one of God's angels, sent to help sinners repent, then Bede wanted nothing to do with him. He was a sinner, through and through.

"Come up this way," said Galen to the three of them, yanking Bede out of his reverie.

Galen took them up another path to a wooden paddock, beyond which was a long wooden shed. Beyond that was a wide space that seemed to go on forever.

"There are horses in the field, beneath those trees by the river." Galen pointed and Bede looked, though all he could see was the wide expanse of half-bitten grass and beyond that, more trees.

"We use the paddock here for lessons, to teach horsemanship," said Galen. "We'll get horses in that are being traded and sold. At some point, we'll be asked to help feed and groom and water, as needed, so be ready."

They started walking again, going back in the direction of the main camp, along a path in the high grasses and past a row of tents. These tents were of the same green canvas as the mess tents, but they were smaller, more compact. They were almost hidden in the trees.

"I'm the fourth tent along," said Galen, pointing but not stopping, taking long strides, always moving. "If you need me, I'm always around, but you can stop by my tent if you have to."

Galen plowed back into the thickness of the trees, with the three of them trailing behind.

Bede knew he'd figure out his way around, eventually, but currently he felt as though he was trapped inside woods thick enough for Hansel and Gretel to get lost in. The smell of warm pine was almost overwhelming, but it was spicy and alluring, and Bede found he actually liked it.

"This is you, Toby and Owen," said Galen as he stopped and pointed up a small path, shadowed pine branches.

"In there?" asked Owen, peering at the tent in the middle of a copse of trees.

"Yeah, this is your tent. Tent number twelve."

With a hard sigh, Galen led them to the wooden platform and up the stairs to the tent. The opening flaps were tied back, a yellow canvas rain fly stretched over the top of the tent.

All of them clomped onto the platform, crowding it, then Toby and Owen slid inside the green-tinted semi-gloom.

Bede stuck his head in to look, the smell of sun-warmed canvas all around him.

"Those boxes hold your gear," said Galen, pointing again. "You need to unpack and check the list that's included to see if anything's missing. You'll get cowboy boots and a hat later this week. After two weeks, you get a cell phone, with six months of data on it."

Standing perhaps too close behind Galen, Bede looked over his shoulder and watched as Toby and Owen opened their assembly of cardboard boxes and started going through them like two kids on Christmas morning. Socks flew, underwear too, and snap-button shirts that landed at ragged angles on the two cots like murdered bodies.

Galen turned to Bede, then jerked back as if startled at Bede's closeness. Bede just smiled at him, always a good power move in a prison yard.

"I'll show you your tent," Galen said, brushing past Bede in haste.

"Am I on my own?" Bede asked, just realizing this as he followed Galen through the woods.

"Yeah," said Galen, not turning around as sunlight sparkled off the gold in his hair.

Bede could hardly believe it. He'd lived with Winston forever, and then had shared cells with different men in Wyoming Correctional. He'd not been alone, on his own, for years and years.

It would be all kinds of weird to sleep alone in the middle of the woods, but it might be cool, too. If he didn't get eaten by bears.

But rather than express any of this to Galen, who probably wouldn't give a fuck, Bede followed silently, a cool breeze all around him, cooling him even as they went in and out of patches of hot sunlight.

They were well and truly in the middle of the woods by the time Galen slowed down and showed Bede his tent. Which was the same size as Toby and Owen's tent, but wasn't so buried in a clutch of evergreens. A little bit of it poked out from between the branches, like it wanted to be found.

"This is you, tent number eleven," said Galen. "You might get a tent mate in the coming weeks, or you might not."

Galen sounded like he very much didn't care. Like the prospect of babysitting three ex-cons for the rest of the summer while they did their parole was some kind of punishment he very much felt he did not deserve.

"Will I get eaten by bears?" Bede asked, meaning it as a joke, even though the last thing he wanted to do was create any kind of rapport with this guy, who obviously hated all ex-cons, on sight.

A snort, half-derision, half-amusement, escaped Galen, and he put the back of his hand to his mouth, like he'd not meant to respond to the joke Bede had not meant to tell.

"You likely won't," said Galen, as if doing his best to be stern and gruff, rather than amused. "But who's to say? Anyway." Galen stepped back and waved Bede into his tent. "Unpack. Shower. Change out of those prison clothes. When the dinner bell rings, come to the mess tent. Do you remember where that is?"

"Sure thing," said Bede, casual, dismissive, erasing any joy in the moment. "See you there."

As Galen walked off, Bede stepped up on the wooden platform, pausing before stepping into his very own tent.

What an astonishing thing to find in the middle of the woods. A secret hideaway. The following summer, as Galen had explained, rich city folks would be paying at least four hundred dollars a night, so he might as well live it up while he could.

There was no security on the tent, which anywhere else would invite thieves. But the lack of it indicated the lack of need for it. Like everybody was trustworthy or some shit. They probably were.