He leaned forward and touched his forehead to Cal’s. Then pulled away, not allowing himself to tremble with denied want.
“Good morning,” he said. “We need to get going. I mean—” He took a breath. “We could mix up some oatmeal over the stove, but if we take care of the horses and then have beef jerky and water on the go, we can get to those mustangs by mid-morning. What do you say?”
“I say let’s go.” Cal cleared his throat. He stirred in Zeke’s arms, as if he meant to slide out of his sleeping bag and into his clothes. But he stayed right where he was.
“You have to know,” Cal said.
“Know what?” asked Zeke.
“This is the best, the very best time I’ve ever had in my whole life.”
A stillness followed those words, as though they were in a church, the words a prayer.
“I agree,” said Zeke, feeling vulnerable and safe at the same time. “I didn’t know how stuck I felt until we started riding out yesterday.”
“Stuck?” asked Cal. He licked his lips. He needed water and Zeke needed to stop this intimate moment before he full-on kissed Cal. “But you can go anywhere. Anywhere.”
“Obligations, you know,” said Zeke. “They might be self-made, but they can hamper a man.”
Outside of the tent, the horses nickered, as if they sensed their human companions were awake and fully able to deliver salt and oats and, perhaps, horse cookies.
“We need to get going,” said Zeke.
“I know,” said Cal. He brushed his forehead against Zeke’s once more and took a deep breath.
They got going. It was painful, but they did it, getting dressed, pulling on boots drug out from the bottom of the tent.
Cal found his slightly damp t-shirt and, struggling with the exchange, he gave Zeke’s t-shirt, body-warm, back to him, while Cal pulled on the damp one.
Zeke opened his mouth to protest the exchange, thinking he could wear the damp t-shirt, but the sight of those bruises, no longer fresh, that peppered Cal’s neck, his waist, stopped him. When he found out—not if, butwhen—who had made those bruises, he would most certainly be up for some violence.
He closed his eyes. It was so easy to care for Cal, to want to protect him. So easy, even as his eyes tracked Cal’s movements as he pulled on his cowboy boots, and slithered out of the tent, to imagine that he was the kind of man Galen might ask out and, after, to ask for more.
Chapter 19
Cal
They rode along the Yellow Wolf at a brisk clip, following the narrow trail between the riverside stones as the canyon widened and narrowed, the sound of the river rising and falling, echoing against the old stone walls.
The horses seemed to sense their excitement at reaching journey’s end, their manes fluttering, ears pricked, their tails dancing gaily in the breeze from the river.
Cal had never done anything like this in his life. Excitement buoyed his heart until he felt like he was leaping over the edge of the known world just about every other minute.
The only thing that grounded him to the earth was the sight of Zeke, astride Flint, the lead to Dusty’s halter draped across his thigh from where it was wrapped around the saddle horn.
Zeke had suggested that Cal take the lead for a time, so he might get used to it, but Cal said no. It was better this way. Better to watch and learn and absorb.
He’d not been lying when he’d said that this was the very best time he’d ever had in his life, though the words felt inadequate to the reality of it. How safe he felt, even though every nerve seemed to be on alert for danger in this wide-skied place, the river rushing always, water pounding over rocks, a hard, coolbreeze gusting down from the tops of the canyon every now and then.
It was Zeke who made him feel safe, with the rifle strapped to his saddle, his straight back, and broad shoulders. The way he looked, always, around him, and turned his head to check on Cal.
“Are we going too fast for you?” he asked at one point.
“No, I’m good,” said Cal, but what he’d wanted to say wasI’m good. Let’s go fast. Faster. Let’s race time.
There’d be no time like this again, and when he got back to the valley, the memory would shine like jewels in the dark. Just the horses, and him, and Zeke. The wild sky above them a blazing blanket of blue. Zeke’s sturdy back ahead of him, neck tan beneath the stiff curl of dark hair, leading the way.
When Zeke and Flint led Dusty up a short rise, the canyon walls seemed to spread apart, a curtain of stone, but Cal didn’t expect what awaited them on the other side of the rise. A slope that led down a steep hill, the path cutting in switchbacks to the bottom of a green, pine-tree lined valley.
