It’d been a long time since he’d felt a connection like this, and Zeke didn’t count. Zeke had been a distraction, a handsome-eyed, steel-jawed distraction who had summarily and politely sent Galen packing. And anyway, Zeke had been straight and Bede was—not.
Anyway, he shouldn’t be thinking like this. He had a responsibility to all the men on his team, Bede included. Which precluded mooning after Bede’s silky tan skin, the curl of his bright smile. The sweet way a bit of hair was now stuck to Bede’s forehead, a tumbled plaster of hair that Galen’s fingers itched to push back. To make Bede more comfortable. To get Bede to smile at him.
Nope. He needed to move away, and fast.
“I’ll see how Toby and Owen are getting along with their applications,” said Galen, standing, pressing his palms to the surface of the picnic table, untangling his legs from the attached bench seat.
“They’re probably goofing off in the mess tent,” said Bede.
“Yeah,” said Galen. “Well, I’ll see you at the equipment shed in about half an hour. Yes?”
“Sure thing, boss,” said Bede. The look he gave Galen seemed to contain a whole lot ofWhat ifquestions. Then Bede tilted his head back, eyebrows rising. “And I can just make all this stuff up?”
“Yes, you can,” said Galen. “It’s just an exercise to get you thinking. Not a real application.”
With a nod, Bede’s attention turned to the clipboard, and now Galen’s eyes focused on the back of Bede’s neck. The rough edge of his hairline, as though Bede had cut it himself, doing a blind trim, because there was no one to ask for help. No one he dared ask.
Galen swallowed the sudden tightness in his throat, undone by the rush of empathy. Not something he would have felt at the beginning of the week, but something he was sure feeling now. What he did with that feeling was totally under his control. Wasn’t it?
Chapter 22
Galen
On Sunday morning, a frantic call had come from Mr. and Mrs. Conners, the tenants on the farm, who said the pump on the well wasn’t working, and they couldn’t do their laundry.
They didn’t know, or perhaps wouldn’t have cared, had they known, that Sunday was Galen’s day off. He’d wanted to sleep in, get in a swim, a nap, and catch a movie in the mess tent that night. And maybe get some time to process his feelings for Bede.
Privately, since the couple and their little girl were so keen to live green, Galen thought they might have taken their clothes to the crick and pounded them clean with a rock, right?
The farm was up Highway 211, just at the bend where Threemile Creek intersected with Horse Creek. Which meant he could go, take care of business, and get back to the valley before lunch.
When he got there, he could see that the door to the pump house had been left wide open.
The small shed around the pump was there to keep the wind and rain and sun out so the mechanism wouldn’t rust, and so the wires wouldn’t get damaged. It’d worked for years when his dad was alive.
“Gosh,” said Mr. Conner when Galen explained it to him. “We saw that it was open, but we didn’t think it would matter.”
Ignoring his own flare of irritation, Galen discovered the trouble was that the power cord to the irrigation pump had shorted out, so maybe a rodent had nibbled on it.
It took him only twenty minutes to fix, but he’d spent an hour and a half spent driving to and from the hardware store in Chugwater, where he grabbed some lunch.
When he got back to the valley, later that afternoon, it was with a rush of gratitude as he carefully made his way down the switchbacks, in among the shadows between the tall pine trees, the air smelling brightly of the lake. Granted, they could have used some rain, but it was a beautiful day, just the same.
As he made his way to the mess tent, much of the valley was already there, taking advantage of the two standing fans that blew the air around in a casual way. The tables were set up for dinner and the amazing smells drifting out from the kitchen made Galen’s belly sit up and take notice.
His eyes were drawn to Bede, who was sitting at the long table on the left side of the tent, closest to the buffet tables. Beside him, Kell, his mouth wide with a smile, was chatting a mile a minute. Marston was on Kell’s other side, keeping a watchful eye, but for once, he seemed content just to be there.
At one of the other tables, Jonah and Beck, his green Army duffle bag close at hand, as if for an imminent departure right after dinner, were talking loudly. Beck’s eyes were glassy. But then he’d probably been smoking pot all weekend.
Stepping into the mess tent to join the vigil before dinner, Galen did his best to make up his mind whether or not he should sit next to Bede.
Of course he could sit anywhere, but if it was near Bede, across from him, say, then they could take up their conversation from the day before. And Galen could find out how theapplication had gone, and did Bede have any questions? Did he need any help?
And yes, if he asked Bede that question, he should ask Toby and Owen if they needed help also—but that’s not what he wanted to do. Any conversation with those two would be stodgy and dull. Except he was their team lead and shouldn’t be making these kinds of judgements. Right? Yes, exactly.
Except what he wanted to do was sit with Bede.
“Hey Galen, got a minute?”
