“Margherita pizza,” he said. “And don’t forget to take some salad, too.”
In prison, Kell would have told anybody who’d made such a suggestion to fuck the hell off. But this was the valley, and besides, there was kindness in Marston’s eyes when he said this. And he didn’t seem to mind when Kell trailed after him as they sat down.
Genial dinnertime conversation ensued as they all chowed down on the amazing meal, but all Kell could think of was that while he’d been talking to Bede, he’d neglected to describe just how handsome Marston was, with those hazel-blue eyes, that strong jaw. The curl of dark blond hair beneath his ear. How strong and broad his hands were.
How dense his thighs were in those blue jeans he wore like a second skin. That long stride that ate up the ground, effortless and confident. And how quiet he was, still and watchful. And how few smiles he had for anyone other than Kell.
Gabe asked Marston something about how it was going, and this time, Kell paid attention.
“I finally figured out the right jig angle to use on the edge of the signs,” said Marston, licking a bit of cheese from his thumb. “I could do it by hand, of course, but it’s already taking longer than it ought.”
“He sounds like a picky bastard,” said Jonah, shoving half a piece of pizza into his mouth, much to Royce’stsk tskingdismay.
“He is picky,” said Marston. “But he wants me to tell a story about the valley with those signs. That the signs and the valley have been here a long time, and that there’s history behind them. Hence, the signs need to look rustic and handmade.”
“So cutting first, then the edging, then carving the words?” asked Gabe.
“Right. I’ll carve, and then I’ll wood-burn the edges,” said Marston. “That’ll seal the wood a bit, help maintain the integrity of the words.”
“Where the hell are you doing any of this?” asked Jonah.
“I’ve got a workshop in the woods,” said Marston. “There’s a canopy set up a couple hundred yards beyond the fire pit.” He paused a moment while he crunched on a crust. “It’s nice there. Quiet. A breeze from the lake.”
Kell had a sudden, fierce desire to see where Marston worked. To see the canopy. To sit and watch Marston make those signs.
“Maybe you could show us sometime,” said Kell. He made himself keep Marston’s gaze when he looked up. Made himself straighten up because he meant it.
“Maybe that could be arranged,” said Gabe in an odd way as he looked at Kell, studying him. “Now, who’s up for a campfire tonight?”
Everybody raised their hands, which meant that Gabe was right about the fact that it never got old. Kell raised his hand, and held his breath until Marston raised his, like a little kid who doesn’t want to go on a field trip but who doesn’t want to get left behind either.
Chapter13
Kell
After dinner, everyone scattered, including Marston, which left Kell alone with Wayne, who seemed to trudge beside him grudgingly as they went back to their shared tent.
“So today was hat and boot day?” asked Wayne, as he stepped onto the wooden platform, unzipping the tent flap and holding it back for Kell.
“Yeah.”
“Why aren’t you wearing them?” Wayne asked.
“I thought I’d save them for good,” said Kell, thinking of the times, the many times, he’d been grateful to have saved even a single rubber band so he could secure the bag of peanut M&M’s he’d stolen for his supper.
“Now is good,” said Wayne, sounding very wise. He plonked himself down on his cot with a gusty sigh. “Show me.”
Hesitation jerked through Kell at the thought that Wayne would just take the hat and mangle it, or take the boots and stomp on them. He made himself still that thought because if that did happen, maybe Wayne would get banished from the valley and Kell would have the tent to himself.
But Wayne didn’t do any of those things. Instead, when Kell handed over his new hat, Wayne didn’t smash or mangle it, but handled it by the edges, rather reverently, turning it this way and that, making an approving face, like a wine steward inspecting a rascally vintage.
When Kell handed him the boots, he actually smiled, taking the right boot out of the box, his fingers lingering almost lovingly over the embossed pattern.
“They’ve dyed this inlaid leather a bit green,” said Wayne. “Verdant, as they say.”
Having no idea what that word meant, Kell nodded anyway as he took the boot back and sat down with the box in his lap.
“Anyway, just wear the boots, any chance you get, to break them in,” said Wayne. He bent to reach under his bed and pull out his boot box, then pulled on his shiny black, pointy toed cowboy boots. “Mine have a stacked heel. The point is, you need to make them look like you’ve owned them forever. No sense saving them, either. The leather will just rot and dry. Now.” He got up with a hearty slap to both thighs. “I’m going to go shave and put some cologne on, because you never know when some cute dames might show up.”
