32. Galen

Chapter 32

Galen

T he most glorious thing about Bede spending the night in his tent was that because it was Sunday, they could laze for a bit before getting up to go have breakfast. Sensibly, under the idea that the two of them could keep their relationship a secret, Bede got up to head back to his own tent.

Galen sensed a kiss on his cheek, that the sheet and light cotton blanket were drawn up over his shoulder. That the tent flaps were zipped shut. And then Galen could just drift back into sleep, sound and restful, the kind of sleep you might get when you knew there was nowhere for you to go or be. Or anything.

On Sunday, Galen tended to his laundry, and waved at Bede when he went to the mess tent for lunch.

They sat together. Of course they did.

Bede, who was glowing and flushed, had smiles for Galen and anyone he happened to talk to. But he was discrete. Didn't say anything about anything, not even when he ran up to the buffet line and brought back extra mayo for Galen's sandwich without being asked.

If Galen was being romanced with the purpose of getting back into his bed, er, cot, he was fine with that.

And then, that afternoon, they went to Galen's tent and fooled around like two teenagers and school had just gotten out for the summer. Heavy make out sessions. Handjobs. Blowjobs.

This lasted until they were worn out, which was right before dinner, when Bede crawled off to get a shower, and Galen slept until dinner, and the two of them grinned at each other like loons. Galen had never been demure, by any means, but this was more fun than he'd had in years.

On Monday, he woke up alone and sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the cot.

It was back to reality. Back to work, because he had stuff to do to earn his keep.

He needed to gather his team and start on the task of raking the paddock and the nearby field. Then he needed to check fence lines and make repairs as needed. Maybe Bede could help him with that.

They spent the morning in the paddock, and though Toby complained about raking horse manure by hand, it was only one time, and though Owen complained about having to haul the manure away in a wheelbarrow, they both pulled together and did the work he asked of them.

Meanwhile, Galen and Bede walked along the fence line, which was barbless cable strung between treated wood fence posts.

In the wintertime, the cable would draw tight in a freeze, and not need tightening. But in the summer, the metal warmed up enough to sag between the poles, and a hot day was the perfect time to tighten them.

Galen made a mental note of where the cable sagged, and how many tension hooks they'd need.

"We can work on this project this afternoon," he said to Bede, almost absentmindedly. He was so comfortable with Bede now, it was like working with a friend, and his orders were more like suggestions.

The sun was straight overhead by the time he figured they needed to head to the mess tent and get some lunch, but Bede stopped him, dragging him between the cables to the shade that was on the path right next to the lake.

He'd had enough of work, it seemed, and pulled Galen close and took his cowboy hat off to lie gently in the grass.

Bede's own hat fell off as he kissed Galen, unnoticed as he clasped Galen's head, twining his fingers through Galen's hair as if he meant to soak Galen in with every touch.

"Someone will see," said Galen, mumbling, his mouth moving against Bede's mouth.

"Who gives a fuck," said Bede, his voice as breathy as if he were reciting poetry.

The idea of Bede reciting poetry, let alone reading any, made the laughter bubble up inside of him, and when Bede asked, he shook his head and clasped Bede's hands in his own.

"I'm sure we'll finish early today," he said, and then turned his expression into puzzlement. "I wonder what might occupy my time work is done today. I wonder, I wonder."

Bede kissed him again and scooped up the hats, carefully placing Galen's on his head, not forgetting to tip the brim in a jaunty way.

"I'm sure we'll think of something," he said as he put his own hat on, but in a foolish way, tipped to the back of his head in a way he might if he were a new greenhorn of a cowboy. Then, just for the flavor of it, he drawled, "Shucks, I have no idea!"

"You're a riot," said Galen, but his smile felt like it went all the way through him. "Let's break for lunch. And then after, we shall see what we shall see."

It was easy to gather his team as the day was stiflingly still, too hot to do much more. At lunch, Galen rehearsed in his mind how he would propose a short trip that did not include Toby and Owen, but would consist of him and Bede. And then scolded himself for excluding half his team.

Then the phone in his back pocket vibrated, and when he answered it, it was one of his tenants, Mr. Dana Conners, to be exact. His voice sounded strained, so Galen excused himself to take the call outside the mess tent.

"What can I help you with, Dana?" he asked, fully expecting the problem to be with the sump pump or the pigs that had escaped from the farm next door.

"Hey there, Galen," said Dana. "Look. We hate to do this, but we've gotten a spot at a dairy in Provence. They're providing accommodations and training and everything. We won't be staying in Wyoming. We'll pay through the end of July, but we leave for France almost immediately."

"Uh." Galen's jaw dropped. He felt cold all over.

He'd been counting on the rent from the Conners to help pay his tax and medical bills. They had a month-to-month rental agreement, with a hefty deposit, so they could leave. But without the August, September, and October rent, Galen would be so far behind there'd be no catching up.

Both the hospital and the IRS had already given him extensions. He didn't think they'd be willing to give him anything more.

"Is there any chance you'd change your mind?" he asked, pretending his voice wasn't on the verge of shaking.

"No, I'm afraid not. Carol is set on going to France. Little Connie can learn to speak French, too. So many wins there."

Galen didn't know anything about kids, so whether Little Connie could learn French, whether it would benefit her at all—complete unknowns.

"You'll lose your deposit," he said, flailing.

"Yes, we know," said Dana. "You keep it. We've really enjoyed your farm, but this is the best decision for us."

Galen said goodbye and ended the call with his thumb. Then, feeling numb all the way through, he went back to lunch. He wasn't going to mention anything, because nobody could help him, though Bede looked at him strangely.

"You okay?" asked Bede.

Of course, he would ask. Just a few moments before, Galen had been batting his eyelashes at Bede, and giving him flirtatious nudges with an elbow to Bede's ribs. Now he felt like stone, flat and cold.

"Yeah, sure."

Trying on a smile for size, Galen focused on finishing his meal, mumbled something about needing to check on supplies, and quickly took his tray and plates to the bussing tub.

In the back of his mind, he knew he should try to fake it just a bit better, perhaps even stay in the mess tent a moment or two to ask Bede about his job application form, and if he had any questions before he handed it in to the counselor.

Galen shouldn't have rented to the Conners in the first place, but any twinge of doubt had been overruled by the idea of having the farm being active for half a year because that would give him six months to figure out what to do next. Only he'd barely had three months of that kind of freedom. And now he was without any other solutions.

"Everything okay?" asked Bede, coming up to Galen as he stood in the middle of the path, unable to decide which direction he was headed.

Unsure what to do with the sweep of relief at Bede's arrival that seemed to obscure all of his worries, Galen let himself be caught up in Bede's energy.

Since the team leads and parolees were still piling out of the mess tent, Bede didn't kiss him or even touch him. Which was smart. Even if someone suspected what Galen and Bede were up to, it didn't mean that Galen wanted to put himself on full display, or answer any questions that he himself didn't know the answer to.

"Sort of," said Galen, scratching the back of his neck. "But I'll figure it out. Eventually."

Figuring it out on his own had been something he'd been doing since his dad got sick. Signing those hospice papers had been like taking the weight of the world on his shoulders, and the responsibility for the farm a stone around his neck. And now, once again, he felt it, that weight.

Which, somehow, when he was around Bede, now that he wasn't looking down his nose at him, had seemed to grow lighter. Less burdensome.

"No, talk to me. You don't look good."

"What?" Galen turned to focus on Bede, on his insistence that Galen talk to him, drawn in by that energy and care.

"You're all gray around the face." Bede made a gesture, drawing a circle around his own face. "You can tell me. Look, I don't know anything about anything, right? But I can listen."

Had anyone two weeks ago told Galen that he'd be grateful to unload his troubles by talking to an ex-con, he would have laughed in their face. But the Bede described in the folder Galen had in his tent, with a list of his crimes as long as a man's arm, didn't seem to be the same Bede standing before him now.

The image of Bede in that intake photo, dark, tattooed, and snarling, seemed a far cry from the flushed, tattooed, yes, and handsome man who reached out to tweak a curl of hair behind Galen's ear.

He was a sucker for that touch, the intent behind it. The way Bede's dark blue eyes tracked him, like a faithful beast simply waiting for its orders to attack Galen's enemy, regardless of from which direction they might come.

That Galen could think such things, all without proof. All based on his gut, and the way his body reacted, half-leaning in Bede's direction. Half-wishing it was night so they could go to Galen's tent and pound out their differences on that solid iron cot. And maybe get in a swim. Alone. Just the two of them.

None of that could happen until he got all of this sorted out. He reached to touch Bede, then after trailing a finger along Bede's strong jaw, he shook his head.

"I've got to go to the farm, take care of some business," he said.

"Did the cows get out?" asked Bede, the corner of his mouth lifting in a grin, as if to welcome the idea that any of this was a joke.

"Yeah, something like that," said Galen. "Look. You guys have the rest of the afternoon off. I'll be back by dinner. And then after? Maybe a swim, just the two of us?"

"Yes," said Bede. His eyebrows flew up, and that smile widened. "I'll keep an eye on those dimwits, no problem."

"Dimwits?" asked Galen, trying not to laugh at this.

"Lunkheads, then," said Bede. He spread his hands, like he was making a huge concession. "Definitely lunkheads."

Shaking his head, Galen had to force himself to go, had to march himself to the nearest silver truck and drive up Highway 211 to the farm, which was just above where Chugwater Creek and Threemile Creek met.

The Threemile gave the farm enough water to grow lavender and support goats and bees, creating a good place, a sturdy farm that had been enough for him and his dad. But none of it was enough for the Conners family, evidently.