But when he finally called a halt to their little parade, two men, three horses, he soon discovered that Cal had neglected to pack both tents.
Zeke had noticed that yes, Cal had a tendency to forget things sometimes and, upon discovery, would sayUmin that fearful, hesitant way, shrinking back, his gaze skittering past Zeke as if he imagined a blow or at the very least very aggressive shouting would soon be forthcoming.
That happened this time, as well. Zeke ran the scenario through his mind, where there was only one tent, and not two,and considered the intimacy that would create, all the while aware that Cal was watching him.
He responded, as he always did, that it didn’t matter and that, in this case, one tent was easier to set up than two.
As with an abused horse, it was always the kinder option to forgive and retrain rather than force. Besides, Cal never needed to be told anything twice. When Zeke showed him something, whether it was how to tighten a saddle or adjust the reins, Cal was quick to learn.
Zeke knew full well that Cal would never again forget to double check what he was packing into a pannier for a rustic ride through a canyon.
The only-one-tent scenario wasn’t the problem. Zeke knew he could control himself in any situation, but his heart was full of feelings and the wide open sky had taken the lid off his soul.
It took him all the way until they’d settled with mugs of coffee, cross-legged side by side, watching the night settle over the canyon, the lights of the stars sifting in and out of gentle rain clouds, before he felt he had a handle on things. On himself.
It was easier in the dark, anyhow, to get into the rhythm of closing down their camp for the night, checking the horses on the tie lines, making sure the fire was fully out, the small burner and can of butane stowed safely away. And even the flutter of his heart could be quelled as he showed Cal how to properly store his cowboy boots, because, as he could plainly see, Cal was nervous as hell.
About being so deep in the wilderness? About him? Zeke didn’t know.
A nervous horse, though, Zeke knew how to handle that. Focus on the horse.
So he focused on lowering his own heartbeat so the horse would have a chance to calm down. Got undressed in the darkand slid into his own sleeping bag, feeling the cool zipper along his arm as he settled on his side, facing Cal in the dark.
“The sleep pads make a difference,” said Cal, his voice shaky. “At least I didn’t forget two of those.”
“It’s easy to overlook something if you’ve never done it before,” said Zeke, keeping his words nighttime low.
“What’s that noise?” asked Cal. “Is the river rising?”
Zeke listened a moment, breathing with low, slow breaths, sensing Cal doing the same in echo.
It wasn’t the river, though there was a rise in sound, as though the rushing water was powering over the rocks with more force. No, it was the tip-tip-tip sound on the roof of the tent.
“That’s rain,” he said. “We should pull the boots in. The saddles and equipment will be fine because we covered those, but the boots?—”
Cal was up, unzipped the tent and, before Zeke could stop him, scrambled out into the rainy night.
It was hard to see, but Cal had only been wearing briefs and a t-shirt. The rain picked up, and by the time he came back into the tent with two pairs of boots clasped to his chest, he was more than a little soaked.
“You need to change before you catch cold,” said Zeke, sitting up in his sleeping bag. “Your shirt, at least.”
But even as he said it, he knew their extra clothes were tucked inside the panniers, and that there was nothing for Cal to change into. Already Zeke could hear Cal’s teeth chattering.
“Lay the boots on their sides, just at our feet,” said Zeke. “And here. Take off your shirt.”
Zeke stripped off his own t-shirt and handed it to Cal, and took Cal’s damp shirt and rolled it and placed it to one side. In the morning, it could be hung from a saddle to dry as they rode along, and in the meantime?—
“Put this on.”
“Um.”
“Cal.”
As Cal put the t-shirt on and then slid back into his sleeping bag, Zeke could sense his distress. He blamed himself for not thinking about the rain enough to consider the boots. But it was done now. And Cal would be warm at least, if only he’d stop fretting.
“I screwed up,” said Cal, a tad muffled.
“You didn’t,” said Zeke. He settled into his sleeping bag, into the fading warmth of it, the polyester slithering against his bare chest and back and arms like silk. Felt the soft brush of the bear scare against his skin. “I should have planned better about the boots.”
