Marston was fighting over territory that he didn’t need to defend, but in spite of that, Bede wasn’t about to back down, not to some lunkhead with delusions of power.
“You want to throw your weight around, buddy?” Bede made a wide gesture. “Come at me.”
He couldn’t give a shit how much damage a fight would cause the other guy, though he did sense Kell at his side, urgently tugging on his t-shirt. But Bede wasn’t about to be pushed around by some guy who’d obviously never had a hard day in his life?—
“Hey now.”
Inside of a heartbeat, Galen was between them, his back to Marston, the lesser threat, his hands on Bede’s chest.
Bede was about to grab Galen and use his weight to send both of them tumbling to the ground, their asses in the dirt, when he saw Galen’s expression. He was dead serious, his mouth in a thin, grim line.
“That’s enough,” said Galen, quite low, as though utterly confident how much weight his words had. Which they did, more weight than either Bede or Marston’s muscles and anger. “Quite enough. We don’t act like that here. Now what’s the problem?”
All of this washed over Bede as he teetered on the edge of a fight where he could let off steam.
Utterly astonished at Galen’s lack of fear, and somewhat mesmerized by the pink flush in those cheeks, the sweetness, the prettiness, contrasting with the sternness in those serious gray eyes, Bede let himself be stilled.
“He went and moved Kell into his own tent,” said Marston, mouth barely moving, eyes still drilling into Bede’s. “Like he has a right to make those kinds of decisions. Plus, if you’d read Kell’s file, you’d know what a bad idea that is.”
“What difference does it make?” Bede jerked his chin in Marston’s direction, dismissal and threat all at once.
Marston lunged at him, pressing Galen between them. Galen, on a step lower than the top of the wooden platform, was smashed against Bede’s chest, his hands clawing at Bede’s t-shirt to regain his balance.
Bede felt a huff of warm breath, the whisper of a curse, and looked down to see the disbelief in Galen’s eyes. The anger and resolution.
“Up you get,” said Bede, grabbing Galen’s upper arms to tug him to one side so he could get back at Marston.
But Galen held his ground and reached to push them both back at the same time.
“I said that isenough.” He glared at both of them. “Bede, you should have asked Gabe. He’s the one who decides what tent each parolee is in. Besides—” Galen paused to take a breath. “Wayne’s always wanted his own tent, and Bede and Kell are used to being roommates. Maybe this is a good idea. What do you think?”
There was a very long pause as Marston thought about this, then he looked at Kell, who smiled and said, “I think it’s a good idea. I’m happy to be rooming with Bede.”
“Okay?” asked Galen.
“Okay,” said Marston, though he still looked like he was on the edge of being riled up about it.
“Now. Everybody, it’s dinnertime, and I, for one, am starving.”
Out from the woods came a group of men who looked as though they’d just washed up, were expecting their suppers, and who wouldn’t stand for anyone getting in their way. Half of them looked like they’d done hard time, and the other half looked like butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths.
Bede had not thought about the other parolees in the valley, other team leads, but of course there would be.
They came up to the wooden platform of the mess tent as if they wanted to mount the steps. Only Marston, Galen, and Bede were still there, in the way, fists clenched, jaws jutted.
“Is there a problem?” asked the man in front, quite calmly. He looked blocky and strong, and didn’t seem at all worried about what was going on, confident that he could stop it.
Bede didn’t want another argument. He only wanted a hot meal and a time to lie on his cot and stare at the canvas ceiling of his tent before figuring out his next move.
Marston froze too, and the two of them looked each other in the eye. Marston shook his head. Bede nodded. A truce then. At least for now.
“Just an issue about who’s bunking with whom, Gabe,” said Galen. “We moved Bede and Kell together, leaving Wayne on his own, the way he’s always wanted. It’s under control now.”
“Good,” said Gabe. “Now maybe we can put that aside while we have our dinners.”
Maybe Bede should have asked for permission to move Kell into his tent. But he hadn’t, and it was too late now and Galen hadn’t objected. He’d even approved of the change. Which was crazy. Guards in prison would come down hard if they felt their authority had been challenged in any way. But not Galen.
Bede’s body shuddered into stillness as he and Marston stepped apart and let the group of men climb the steps into the mess tent. It might have been nice to have that fight and let off steam. On the other hand, whatever was cooking smelled amazing, and there would always be other chances to go toe to toe with Marston, if he had to.
