Bede smiled at him, and even winked before turning to walk along the path by the lake, slipping into the dark trees like a ghost returning whence it had come.
Leaving Galen with his heart beating hard, not only that he’d imagined Bede might kiss him, but that he might welcome it.
In the morning, he’d have to deal with the fallout of their encounter.
But later. For now, he strode to the end of the dock, stripped down to his skin, and dove in.
The dark waters of the lake covered him with cool, silken layers, delicious and silent, and he swam underwater for a good long way before he surfaced through the glassy surface.
Keeping himself afloat by the barest movement of his arms and legs, he looked up at the stars in all their stillness. And let his mind go still.
Air and liquid pooled together in a sweet embrace for a good long while, slowing his heartbeat, cooling the flush from his cheeks. Then he shivered. Maybe it was time to get out.
Slow strokes brought him to the ladder on the floating end of the dock, and he hauled himself up, dripping. He had no towel, but his cotton shirt served the same purpose, and when he was dressed, he slipped on his socks and laced up his boots and slowly made his way through the darkness to his tent, and made a mental list of what he needed to do.
First, he needed to snag a meeting with Gabe and get some advice on how to better handle his team. Sure, at the end of his first week, things were improving, but he wanted to stay on track with that and not falter at his job of being team lead.
Second, he needed to figure a way to keep the relationship between him and Bede strictly platonic. To find a way to pretend that nothing was happening between the two of them. Brush it off as an odd flicker of interest.
Third, he needed to pretend to hell and back that he simply did not care to know Bede better. That the laughter shared between them and long moments of friendly camaraderie were just that. Moments in passing. Not worth paying more attention to.
In his tent, he traded his lake-dampened clothes for clean boxers and a t-shirt, then brought out the stack of folders from the low shelf, found Bede’s and thumbed through it.
His attention slid across the prison intake photos showing Bede in all his bad-assery-ness next to the text. Galen had scanned most of it before, but now read more slowly.
Raised by an aunt in a bad neighborhood, Bede had fallen into crime by circumstances not of his own making. But then he’d risen to the top of his game, shipping and selling drugs. Until the shootout.
Galen knew all of this. So what was he looking for? There it was. Winston Ludlow, the member of Bede’s team who had died in that shootout.
Galen already knew this, but now he also knew that Winston was important enough to Bede that Bede’s impulse had been to throw away a pair of much loved boots because they reminded him of Winston.
Slapping the folder shut, Galen put it back on the shelf. Then he sat on the edge of his cot, forearms propped on his thighs, hands dangling.
He knew he needed to get some sleep. The night was still warm, making him glad that he’d taken a dip in the cool lake. Unless it rained, which didn’t seem likely, the following day would be hot as well.
And in the morning he found out he was right. The sun rose over the trees like liquid gold, and after breakfast, Galen took his team all the way to the bridge to start hacking away at the knapweed.
Right away, everyone was dragging their heels, large patches of sweat appearing along their backs and beneath their arms inside of ten minutes.
Even Bede was dragging, probably due to the aftereffects of smoking pot, but also because, even in the shade, it was too hot.
Bede was not only dragging, he looked ragged, as though he tossed and turned all night.
They worked for a while, but Galen knew what the guidelines were for the weather. In winter, if it was below freezing, you didn’t work your team. In summer, if was above a certain temperature with a certain dew point, you pulled your team off the job.
Galen didn’t have his phone with him to check the exact measurements, but he was just about to call a halt to work when Gabe stepped into the clearing beside the path. He was wearing his cowboy hat, and beneath that, a short-sleeved t-shirt, and probably the thinnest blue jeans known to man.
“What’s up, Gabe?” Galen asked, going over to him. “I’m just about to call a halt.”
“Good,” said Gabe. “That was what I was coming to say. Early lunch. We’ve got fans and misters in the mess tent. This afternoon should cool off, but be sure to add extra breaks.”
“Can do,” said Galen.
He wasn’t surprised to hear the groans of gratitude and the pleased expressions on the faces of his team. He led the way in propping their tools against the supply shed, and then to the mess tent. There, as he stepped into the coolness of the misters and tall fans, he breathed a sigh of relief.
Maybe, now that he wasn’t so hot, he could figure out what he needed to do. To make a plan and to stick to the plan. Full speed ahead. That was the ticket, right?Right?
But, really, he had no idea. Hearts were fickle, including his own.
