“I really am sorry,” Jack said now. “I guess I got excited about being able to help Mabel, since she bakes for us all the time.”
“And excited to have a dog around,” Morgan said, though he didn’t seem upset about it the more they talked. “But it’s not sleeping with us.”
“You got it,” Jack said. Then he moved close to kiss Morgan, and the quarrel ended. Even if it had started right back up the second Mabel and Young Tommy left, and Morgan was stomping into his office as though paperwork was the only nice thing that was going to happen to him that day.
Jack watched him go and put Mister Rocket gently down in the landing, closed the door to the store, hefted the tote bag and went up the stairs, making kissy noises so the dog would follow him. He wasn’t sure how Mister Rocket would handle being in a new place without his familiar human, but Jack figured if he acted like this was normal, then Mister Rocket would, too.
Once in the kitchen, he laid out the dog bowls, filled the water bowl, placed the tote bag on the counter, and grabbed a treat from the packet. He sat at the kitchen table and, with a quick pat to his knee, Mister Rocket was in his lap, a warm weight, panting happily as his claws dug into Jack’s thighs.
“Now you be good, Mister Rocket,” Jack said, giving the dog the treat. “You won’t be able to go into the store because the door is closed, and don’t go into Morgan’s office, either. Okay?”
He sat there for a good while, petting the dog, and enjoying the warmth of the kitchen, and the sunshine streaming in through the windows over the sink. Sometimes he felt rather like he’d been a wild dog, quickly tamed by warmth and food and, especially, Morgan. His touches. Those kisses. The intensity with which Morgan looked at him. As though Jack was his whole world.
This was his life now, and it was very good.
The feed and grain was experiencing what Morgan called a soft launch. The store was open and ready for business, even though it wasn’t very busy yet. There was a string of jingle bells on the front door now, and it was Jack’s job, when the bells rang, to go down the store to wait on the customers, when they showed up.
Often, Jack thought it really wasn’t necessary because everyone in Hysham was so honest, they could take what they wanted from the shelves. They’d probably either leave money on the counter and not ask for change, or write an old-fashioned check, or leave a scribbled note that they’d pay later. But, when he’d mentioned this to Morgan, mostly joking, Morgan had laughed but figured it’d be better for someone to be in the store, in case the customer needed help.
This discussion had then led up to a talk about Jack’s salary, a few nights earlier as they sat at the kitchen table after dinner.
“If you paid me, wouldn't that make me your kept man?” Jack had said, his hand to his chest as though shocked.
“I will keep you,” Morgan said sternly. “I will keep youforever. But.” He shook his head. “If you work in the store, you will be paid for that work. If you make a delivery, you get paid for that. I don’t want you working for free. Youdeserveto get paid so you can have your own money, and also, I’m putting the household budget in your hands. So you need your own bankaccount, and I’ll set up an account for the house. You and I will both have access to that, but you’re in charge of it.”
“Oh,” Jack said, a tad overcome. “A joint account? Are we married?” He was trying to make a joke out of it, but Morgan blushed hard.
“Soon as I can manage it,” Morgan said, giving Jack a side-eye glance. “You’re horrible at letting me surprise you, you know that, don’t you?”
At that, Jack had gently slid into Morgan’s lap, hugged his neck hard, and kissed Morgan all over his face.
“I wanted us to get married in the Grange once I had it rebuilt,” Morgan said, his eyes bright, his arms slipping around Jack’s waist. “But that’s going to take too long, so even though I’d like to get down on one knee, and I can’t, but—will you marry me?”
“Of course, yes,” Jack said. At which point, Morgan had pulled from his jean’s pocket a black velvet box. With both hands around Jack’s waist, Morgan had opened the box with a flick of his thumb and held it aloft. The ring was a beautiful gold band with three stripes and polished smooth.
“That green one is moss, the silverish one is tungsten, and the brown one is a special kind of wood from Hawaii,” Morgan said, pointing at each band in turn. “When I saw it online, I thought of you and all your travels.”
Jack could only bury his face in Morgan’s neck and peer from beneath Morgan’s chin as Morgan slipped the ring on his finger. It felt cool and heavy, the gold glittering in the overhead light, the moss band and the wood band absorbing that light.
“So you said yes, right?” Morgan asked, his voice low and a bit growly.
“Yes,” Jack said. “But what about you? You don’t have a ring. I need to get you one.”
Morgan shrugged as though he was about to say he didn’t need a ring, but Jack kissed his neck and pulled himself up so he could look Morgan in the eye.
“I’ll find you one,” Jack said. “Say—how did you know my size? This ring fits perfectly.”
“I measured your finger in the night.” Morgan’s blush crept up his neck and curled behind his ears. “With a string. You never woke up.”
Jack shook his head and held up his hand, admiring his new ring while feeling very much adored.
“What’s your ring size, then?” he asked.
“Ten,” Morgan said.
“A very manly size,” Jack said, laughing as he kissed Morgan’s cheek.
Now, in the warm mid-morning kitchen with Mister Rocket falling asleep on his lap, Jack looked down to look at the gold band and its three stripes on his ring finger. He used his thumb to push the ring around and around, then let the weight of the band settle against his skin.
