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 lightaround 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 wasmorethan 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.”
