“Today, we need to fix up the shed, add a few two by fours to hang saddles and tack on. Maybe build some bins or shelves to hold brushes and tools and whatnot.” Marston ducked his head, feeling like he was sharing something special with Kell. “But I can take you out there, if you like.”
“Now?”
“Let’s go.”
Marston tipped his head to one side to indicate the direction of the pavilion.
“Thanks, Gabe,” he said to Gabe, as if Gabe had done him a huge favor, rather than the other way around.
“Happy to help,” said Gabe, going along with the ruse. “Let me know if you fellows need anything, and also when you’re going to be able to do those riding lessons.”
“I will,” said Marston. “Once I get the shed set up, it’ll be easier to facilitate.”
“Sounds good.” Gabe gave them both a goodbye nod and stepped down from the wooden platform, toward the team of parolees waiting for direction in that morning’s task.
“It’s just you and me,” said Marston. “This way.”
The pavilion was beyond the main compound, past the fire pit and the picnic tables, deep amidst the trees. Beyond the small clearing where the pavilion stood was the new pair of wooden footbridges that spanned the slow-moving creeks and led to the willow grove and the sloped path that led to the ridge.
Pretty much everybody in the valley was occupied elsewhere, at least most days, so Marston had the view of the lake and the ridge and the blue sky all to himself. At least until that day, and the change was a welcome one.
When they stepped into the clearing where the pavilion was, Kell stopped, a gasp escaping him.
“It looks like we’re at a Ren Faire,” said Kell. “Or just about. All it needs are flags flying.”
“That’s what I think, every time I see it.”
This was Marston’s own private corner of the world, but in that moment, it was Kell’s, too. Maybe, in spite of the fact that there was an untapped well of desire lurking just below Marston’s skin, he could make this work the way Gabe had intended, the way it ought to. With him giving Kell some time to build muscle and strength, time to learn, time to simply be without having to struggle to keep up.
“Let me show you the setup,” he said. “Then we’ll get to work on that shed.”
Leading Kell into the shadowed coolness of the white tent, Marston showed Kell the layout of the tent, the location of paints and stains, the jigsaw and the mitre saw, the main worktable, and, of course, the pile of wood waiting to be made into signs.
“I know what signs need to be made,” he told Kell. “And had gotten a start, but then I needed more paint, and got an updated list from Royce.” He laughed a little as he held up the hand-written list. “The Latin names were in this curly cursive that I just couldn’t read. And here.” Marston held up the manilla folder, open in his palms. “These are the maps of the valley, so we can plot the locations of the signs.”
“Why don’t you do this online?” asked Kell. “I mean, it’d be easier to do updates, right?”
“It would be.” Marston nodded as he put the folder on the table and put a rock on top of it. “Internet is spotty in the valley, which I suppose will be fine if you’re wanting to get away from it all. But in addition to that, this is a dead spot. No phone, no internet, no bars.”
“It’s like stepping back in time,” said Kell, but his smile told Marston that he didn’t seem to mind this idea. “What will we do first?”
“I’ve cut all the signs I think we’ll need,” said Marston. “That’s the big pile here, but we might need some signs to be even smaller. Like, say, for example, we find a patch of ground where Wyoming Townsend Daisies regularly grow. We wouldn’t want a regular sign, as it would out-size the flower. We’d want something visible, but smaller. You see?”
The interest in Kell’s eyes, the bright sparks, told Marston that Kell was ready to go to work on the signs right then. But first the shed, which needed to be done before riding lessons could begin, so he led Kell to where Jasper and Ellis, from the guest ranch, were currently in the small wooden paddock working on trimming and shoeing the hooves of some newly arrived horses.
A small band of horses had gathered in the pasture, their heads over the wooden fence, watching the shoeing with interest. With a friendly wave, Marston took Kell to the shed, and they began to work, removing everything from the shed, laying the items carefully along the fence line: saddles, bridles, grooming supplies, bags of grain and special feed, the clipboard indicating what had been used and what needed resupplying. There was also a quantity of loose hay that had blown in, and spider webs, as well as a cluster of wasps along the roofline.
“We’d normally get Jamie out here to handle that,” said Marston.
“Who’s Jamie?” asked Kell as he dragged the last bag of feed out of the shed.
“He’s the head groundskeeper up at the guest ranch,” said Marston, grabbing the other end of the bag, lifting it together so they didn’t kick up quite so much dust. “He has the right tools to take care of it. Some kind of special spray that doesn’t smell and won’t upset the horses. Maybe we should head up to the ranch and see what he could loan us.”
The most amazing thing about working with Kell was that it felt like a whole lot less effort than it ought to have. Having someone at his side, hopping into the silver truck with him, trundling up the switchbacks to the ranch, felt a bit like magic. The kind of magic he’d felt when he’d first gotten the job at the guest ranch, only this felt personal. Like a gift from the universe sent straight to him.
Marston ignored how Kell brushed close against him when they stood outside the barn, guests milling around as Jamie patiently explained how to use the sprayer, how to operate the valves.
“Just wipe the nozzle when you’re done,” said Jamie. “Otherwise it gets sticky.”
