7. Galen

Chapter 7

Galen

G oing back to the hay bale, Galen reached for his jacket, almost bumping into Bede, who gave Galen a quick glance, then laid his own jean jacket next to Galen's on the hay bale.

"I can't tell whether I'm hot or cold," Bede said, as he sat down on a hay bale one over from the jackets.

Galen sat on a hay bale on the other side of the jackets. He was close enough to the fire to feel its warmth but far enough away to feel like he was in the shadows, so he could watch without being seen.

Bede showered and shaved and changed out of his prison garb and into the uniform of the valley: blue jeans and blue chambray shirt.

Firelight flickered off the curves and angles of the circle and triangle tattoos on one side of his neck. Galen had noticed them before in the photos in Bede's file, but now they were up close. Quite fresh looking and visible.

With dark hair sleek against his head, and a freshly shaven jaw, Bede looked just about as dapper as a man could. As if he'd not just spent the last five years in prison for making and selling drugs.

Maybe Bede didn't realize Galen was studying him, didn't know that Galen could see, quite clearly, an odd vulnerability in Bede's expression as he cast his gaze over the fire pit.

It was an ordinary setting of a newly built campfire, a few men hovering over the growing flames as if trying to be helpful when only one man was needed to tend the fire and another man to lay out the supplies for making s'mores.

To Bede, after five years in prison, it must have seemed like he'd landed on the moon or found himself in some faraway, unknown country.

Galen watched Bede settle forward, elbows on his knees like a man who has arrived early for a meeting and doesn't quite know what the meeting was about. The cloth of his shirt along his arms pulled across muscle.

Galen tried to look away. It wasn't right to stare, even if he couldn't be seen staring, but Bede, in the glow of the firelight, seemed transformed. From the top of his short-cropped dark hair gleaming in the firelight to the new boots on his feet, he was a new man.

Slowly, he sat up and rolled up the sleeves of his blue chambray snap-button shirt. An ordinary garment, pale blue against the tan of his forearm, veins leaving long thin shadows that trapped Galen's eyes.

Zeke had forearms like that, long, densely muscled. Casually indifferent to his own prowess, it seemed, when he'd cross his arms over his chest, and now Bede was doing the same thing. A shift of his head, dark eyelashes catching the light, a sheen of moisture on his lips. A flash of teeth as Bede took a breath.

Galen looked away. Hard. He'd just about succeeded in keeping his gaze pointed in the other direction when he heard Bede laugh under his breath. And had to look again.

Blaze was passing out roasting sticks and holding a bag of marshmallows, and Gabe was passing out chocolate bars and graham crackers.

Bede was taking the items like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Then he looked right at Gabe and said, "What am I, a ten-year-old kid?"

It wasn't funny, but it was. The way he said it, low, his voice burry soft. Self-deprecating in a way that surprised him made Galen feel he could just about picture how Bede might have looked as a young boy. Gangly legs. Wearing a striped shirt, for some reason. Just about as cute as a cut button and ready to laugh. Smiling because he was going to make Galen laugh, too.

Galen snorted in spite of himself, surprised at how easily Bede made him laugh when, in reality, he wasn't even trying. And then thought about the last time he himself had roasted a marshmallow for a s'more. Ages ago. In another life. At summer camp. Once. Long ago.

"It'll be too sweet now," said Galen, unable to stop himself from responding, though he did have an unexpected impulse to share memories of summer camp.

"No, it won't."

He wasn't expecting a reply, but Bede sounded so sure, like he knew he didn't have to convince Galen at all, because it wouldn't be too sweet. It would be perfect.

Filled with a warmth that he couldn't tie down or dismiss, Galen pushed the marshmallow onto the stick and leaned forward to roast it.

The flames were dancing about, too high in places, too low in others. The coals were too young. Not quite right for roasting yet, quickly sending the marshmallow to brown in some spots, leaving it white and raw in others.

Gabe must have been watching because he came around the fire and poked it. Made the flames behave.

Galen tried once more, shifting on his hay bale, focusing on this task like it was his job. Ignoring Bede doing exactly the same. In echo.

Around the campfire, the other ex-cons did the same. And now they were a tighter circle, on hay bales, in Adirondack chairs, leaning forward, joined by the glow on faces, firelight flicking, keeping the shadows at bay. Just about, but not quite, transforming them from parolees into men settling in for an old-fashioned campfire after a long, hard day's work.

Galen had forgotten how this felt, but then, his summer camp days were years in the past.

Was the bonding by firelight on purpose? Some plan of Gabe's? Or was it just happening because that was the nature of fire, with memories of times gone by when evenings by the fire created a connection between those who gathered around it.

In the corner of Galen's vision, Bede was limned by the firelight. Focused on his s'more. Assembling the melted chocolate, taking the golden-seared marshmallow between his fingers. Making that sandwich.

Then Bede bit into it, eyes half closed, long shadows from his eyelashes dark on his cheeks.

His face was flushed from the warmth of the fire, the rush of sugar. Shoulders bunching beneath the pale blue shirt as he leaned forward, he was half crouched like he was preparing to spring up and dance around the fire.

Galen made himself look away. It was as if the campfire had cast a spell, and now he was inside of that spell, having thoughts that raced around inside of him, tightening his belly, his thighs.

"Your marshmallow is on fire," said Bede in a smoky, soft voice.

Unsettled by Bede's closeness and the gentle interaction between them, Galen quickly blew out the circle of gold light around the end of his stick. His marshmallow was practically melted, but it was perfect.

He assembled his s'more and chomped into it, all the while studiously ignoring that Bede was watching. He had to lick his lips free of melted chocolate and followed that by placing the backs of his fingers to his mouth to catch strings of fast cooling marshmallow.

"Do you want another?" Gabe called out, still industriously handing out supplies.

"No thanks."

One s'more was enough. Sitting so near to Bede was enough. Watching the muscles flex in Bede's powerful forearms was quite enough. Watching Bede lick his lips was more than enough.

His whole body went still as his mind attempted to process the signals being sent out from somewhere inside of him. Interest. A bit of desire. The idea that his loneliness might be met with companionship.

All of which was ridiculous. He was a team lead to the men placed in his charge. He could not afford to mess that up by having feelings—or whatever this was—about Bede, of all people.

Confusion warred with a sudden spurt of decisiveness.

He could leave, though it would look strange if he leaped up and stormed out of the circle of warmth to go sit in his tent by himself.

He could quit the program, but then where would he go? There was no job for him up at the guest ranch, though he supposed he could beg Leland to find him something.

There were also the renters ensconced at the farm, so he couldn't go back there. It would be hellishly cruel to evict them, besides, and he couldn't afford to return their deposit, anyway.

There was nothing for him to do but to stick it out till the end of summer. Earn his pay by being professional about every aspect of every single day. Galen just needed to get a grip.

Kell came up to Bede, smiling, a smear of chocolate on his cheek that he wiped away with the cuff of his snap-button shirt. Kell settled on the hay bale next to Bede, and then Marston came up to Galen and gestured that he wanted to talk to him.

Curious, Galen followed Marston a little way into the trees, which were lit by firelight, but embraced with a thin cloak of cool darkness.

"What's up?" asked Galen. Maybe they needed him to go to the mess tent for more supplies, which would give him a chance to walk it off. Straighten himself out.

"I just wanted to say—" Marston stopped, and seemed to shake himself. "I wanted to apologize for earlier. It was uncalled for. I talked with Kell, really talked with him, and he explained everything. About him and Bede. It won't happen again."

Galen wasn't really surprised that Marston was man enough to apologize. He'd met Marston the summer before, worked with him a few times. Marston was a bit of a dark horse, but a decent man.

"You love him," said Galen, the words slipping out. "You want the best for him. You're looking out for him."

"I do and I am." Marston looked at his feet for a moment, the long shadows cast by the flames shifting around him. Then he looked at Galen, straight on. "I might be a little bit of an asshole sometimes, but I didn't mean to cause trouble."

"It's all right," said Galen. "Thank you for the apology."

Together, they looked back at the campfire where Bede and Kell were sharing space on the hay bale. Kell was talking, his face animated, hands moving.

Galen could barely hear what he was saying, the silence in the forest all around was so deep. In response, Bede had his shoulders lowered, head dipped down, eyes focused on Kell. He's like a brother to me .

Then Kell jumped up, gesturing with his hands. About what, Galen didn't know, but Kell just about tumbled into the fire. Bede's arm reached out, steadying Kell with a gentle hand. Protective.

Marston believed what Kell had told him about Bede. Kell, who was a sweet, smart kid, was laughing with Bede like they were best friends. Bede's low laugh eased over to Galen, and for a moment, everything seemed normal, like Bede was a regular guy, and Galen wasn't surrounded by parolees.

There might be something good in Bede, then. Unseen. Below the surface. Or was this another example of a criminal being made docile in certain conditions?

But that couldn't be it. Bede, as well as the others, could leave anytime they wanted. They chose to stay. Chose to participate in the ancient ritual of gathering around a blazing fire. Chose to participate in roasting marshmallows and making s'mores and eating with the joy of little kids.

All of this was part of what Gabe and the others had told him on Sunday. About having a little empathy and giving it a chance.

Still, they hadn't mentioned that Galen would see Bede in the firelight, skin glowing, sparks of joy in his eyes as he talked with Kell. Well, listened mostly. Sparks that he might have wanted to hide had he known how obvious they were.

Galen pulled his attention away.

It would be better to focus on the job at hand, on the work that needed to get done that summer, and to pull himself away from the connection between him and Bede that would be so easy to form.

In another life, they could have been friends. In a different summer, when he wasn't responsible for his team, and Bede's presence didn't make him want to respond in inappropriate ways.

Which meant that he needed to do his best to act naturally.

"I think I'll have another s'more," said Galen, mentally hitching up his overalls. Not that he needed more sugar, certainly. But it was warm by the fire, and it was nice to be sitting still, watching deep gold, dark blue flames leaping about. Amidst a circle of men, connected by something so simple, so ancient, as a fire.

Kell returned to Marston's side on a hay bale a little way back from the fire pit. As for Bede, he was staring into the flames like he was looking for a secret wish he'd long ago lost track of.

Galen distracted himself by creating a list of what needed doing. What Gabe had asked the team to take care of.

The issue of knapweed was at the top of the list. The weed was creeping into the compound from the east, and a little bit from the west, where the wind had carried the seeds.

BLM and the forestry service used chemicals to get rid of the weed, but Leland didn't want that in the valley. Everything had to be non-toxic?—

Galen looked up, his gaze caught by movement.

Bede had left the light of the fire and was walking into the woods, alone along the path that led to the tents, hands at his sides, sleeves still rolled up.

"Is he going without a flashlight?" asked Galen aloud. "And he forgot his jacket."

"I'll make sure he's okay," said Kell, jumping up to grab the forgotten jacket. Behind him, Marston gave Galen a nod, and lifted his hand to show that he was prepared to follow Kell.

"Thanks," said Galen. "Make sure he brings his flashlight next time."

As the silence settled, Galen turned it over in his mind. That he'd been worried, sure, that made sense. Bede was one of his team, after all, and it was his duty to look after each one of them.

Across the fire pit, Toby and Owen were chucking back s'mores like two men who had no concerns about tomorrow. They both had flashlights tucked next to them on their shared hay bale.

Maybe once Kell told Bede he'd need a flashlight, he'd be back to join the campfire. But he never came back, even though everyone sat around the fire for another hour until it got truly dark.