by Nya Rawlyns
“Hey kiddo.” He looked around, expecting to see Janice and the two boys.
Anticipating the question, the girl chirped, “Ma’s coming. She wanted to say howdy to the preacher first.”
Marcus wanted to say, so do I, but instead muttered, “She better get in line.” Petilune smirked as if she got the joke.
“I was wondering, Mr. Colton...”
Distracted, Marcus peered out the door, trying to follow the slow procession of simpering women and the potential answer to many a mother’s prayers, knowing full well that dance card had filled long before he’d ever get a chance to test those waters.
Damn Josh Foxglove for kicking me in the gonads and waking me up to possibilities.
Speaking of...
Petilune persisted. “...and you could sit with us...”
Was that a question? Who was “us”?
On auto-pilot, he replied, “Um, yeah, sure. That would be nice.” Shocked to find himself holding hands with the youngster, he followed meekly as she led him toward the rear of the open area. He groaned inwardly. The view from ten rows back wasn’t going to afford him the kind of unreserved ogling he’d planned on after seeing the young man and all his spiritual assets.
You are so going to hell for this, Colton.
“Pet, sweety. Why don’t we sit closer to the front? We can hear better if we’re closer, don’t you think?” He swallowed, hoping he didn’t sound too needy.
Petilune shuffled her feet and blushed. “This’ll be better. Ma ain’t feeling so good today, so...”
Feeling dense, Marcus objected, “But you can’t see anything this far back.”
“I can sit in your lap.”
Oh right, that’s all he needed. Him, his lap and a monster boner from star-gazing at a twenty-something hunk of angel dust. That’s just what an innocent girl needed. Good old Uncle Pervie Colton.
Backing away, Marcus stuttered, “S-s-sit here and let me find you some cushions or something...” A kiddie seat, old phone books, a stack of over-turned kettles. Anything but his lap.
As he was rifling through a storage bin in search of a booster seat, a voice behind him asked, “You looking for anything in particular?” It was Josh.
It was embarrassing how much the sound of the man’s voice affected him. Excitement and dread mixed with a wave of lust and a really healthy dose of guilt turned his tongue thick and his throat dry.
From the porch, the squeals of young girls shouting, “Uncle Josh, Uncle Josh! Ma said to find you,” was punctuated with small bodies hurtling through space and being scooped out of thin air into Josh’s arms. He laughed and balanced the children easily against his broad chest.
“Guess I’ve been found.” To Marcus he said, “You know my favorite nieces in all the world.” He nodded to the ginger-haired girl with a mass of freckles on her nose and cheeks. “This here is Felicity. I call her Filly, but only if she gets all her chores done on time.”
The youngster blushed and buried her face in her uncle’s neck. She looked to be around eight or so, petite and fragile, much like Josh’s sister Becca. But looks were deceiving. Becca was tough as nails, a single mom raising two girls, tending to her own home as well as helping Josh with the riding lessons.
Josh jiggled the younger child. “And this one is Maudie. She’s planning on becoming reining champion on the circuit.” He winked at Marcus. “Or a princess.”
Maudie piped up, “I’m five. Uncle Josh gave me a pony.” She gave Marcus a measured look and came to a decision. “You could come ride with me if you like.”
Grinning, Marcus said, “Thank you, ma’am. I’d like that, but I’ll need for you to pick out a very special horse for me.” He had both Josh and Maudie’s undivided attention. “You see...” he paused, his voice falling to a whisper, “...I don’t ride so good, so I might need your help.”
The white lie came easy. It wasn’t exactly a matter of inexperience, but he hadn’t ridden since his rodeo days nearly thirty years in the past. He gazed at Josh while the girls made plans for Uncle Marcus to come to the ranch for a riding lesson.
Marcus asked, “Where’s Becca?”
“Getting a dose of disappointment.” Josh nodded toward the approaching crowd.
“How’s that?”
“The new reverend’s married with a baby on the way.” Well, shit... Talk about disappointing. Josh flipped his head toward the door. “Here they come. You want to sit with us?”
Double damn shit. Marcus grimaced. “Sorry, Petilune’s staked out a spot in the back. I suspect her Ma’s not quite recovered from last night. Besides, I want to ask a few questions about that date, if you get my drift.”
“Well then, good luck. And let me know, okay?” He moved toward the front and settled the girls in their seats.
Marcus joined Petilune, feeling thankful for the view. From his vantage point he had a good line of sight toward Josh’s profile. If the preacher wasn’t up to snuff, at least he could daydream. While he was waiting for the crowd to settle, he spotted an unfamiliar face lounging against the wall toward the rear entrance to the restaurant. It was a teenage boy—dark haired, dark eyed—and those eyes were drilling holes in Petilune.
Chapter Four
Courting
Josh nudged Marcus’ elbow. “So whatcha think about the new reverend?” He took a bite of hot dog and swiped at the ketchup and onions tumbling onto his newly minted beard. Muttering, “Damn it,” he tried balancing the overloaded plate and cup of beer in an effort to reach the pile of napkins weighted down with a rock.
Marcus grabbed a handful and stretched up to dab away the mess. “Here, let me get that for you.”
“Thanks.” Josh tilted his chin, letting Marcus fuss for a bit. It was oddly intimate, having the man touch him, especially around the scarring. It was delicate how he did it, taking care not to press or scrub like you would with a kid. Spitting on your fingers and rubbing away the stains, making a clean spot, then making it a joke and getting the kid to laugh. It was like Marcus knew it was more than a stain. It was a memory and a reminder of how, in an instant, your body could change and become different.
On his face the scars were raised and ridged, too whitish smooth to be natural. Inside it was even worse, because you didn’t get to see it, and if you couldn’t see it with your eyes then you saw it in your imagination. That made it a mystery and it took away some choices. Choices like him growing a beard to hide the scars, though he’d been coming around to the idea that it was maybe drawing attention rather than distracting from the disfigurement.
Why he cared was a puzzle he’d yet to solve. It wasn’t like he was anything to look at. But the thigh bone, the hip and the fake knee... Now those made the real difference, because seeing to his family meant he needed to be strong, to take on more than his share of the load. To give back for them stepping up and taking charge of his recovery, going the extra mile every single time, even when it cost them damn near everything.
Him still limping, still getting his sea legs and figuring out how to work around the stock without putting himself or anyone else at risk... that was the challenge. The pain didn’t help either. It wore a man down some days, made it less easy when his brain short-circuited without notice, or he failed to recognize triggers he’d already identified as putting him at risk.
Having Marcus set him off last night had been confusing as hell. It had been more than the touch, it had been how the man had shown compassion. His going off the rails made no sense then, still didn’t.
But now, here he was again, Marcus touching him, but that same spark of dread, that feeling of plummeting in freefall off a cliff? There was no inkling of that. Instead he found himself leaning into the kindness and appreciating it for what it was... something friends did for each other.
Marcus was scowling, intent on cleaning up the mess. Josh inhaled the man’s scent, the wash of barbeque and pickles and spicy salsa mingling with a shampoo fragrance and a hint of aftershave. He was muttering about t
he reverend.
“Not bad for a young’un, I must say. At least his version of hellfire and brimstone was tolerable.” He stepped back and tossed the napkins into a waste bin. “There. You’ll pass inspection now.”
“Thanks.” Josh nodded in the direction of the pavilion. “Him being hitched with his little lady expecting sure didn’t cool some jets.”
Reverend Parker Allen held court with a shifting phalanx of gaga teen girls ignoring the obvious, while their mothers and grannies took over seeing to the very pregnant Sara.
“What’s Becca think about all that?”
Josh chuckled. “About what you’d expect, though after what that asshole, Randy, put her through? Damned if I know why she’d want to get hitched again. I mean, she’s doing good by the girls, making a place for herself. Why rock the boat?”
Marcus raised his eyebrows. He looked like he was going to say something but was thinking better of it.
Josh grumped, “What?”
Shrugging, Marcus said, “Well, it ain’t always easy to be strong, you know? To do for yourself all the time? It gets lonely.”
“She ain’t lonely, she’s got me...”
Marcus sighed. “You’re her brother, cowboy. It ain’t the same thing. A woman’s got needs a brother’s not gonna satisfy.”
That hit Josh right in the gut, knowing how much he relied on Becca to be there for him and him figuring his doing all he could to be the father her girls never had was fair trade. Deep down he knew it was selfish, especially after how she’d cared for him when he was barely functional.
Marcus must have sensed what was running through his head at breakneck speed. But what the man wouldn’t see was how Josh recognized the rightness of what he’d said and the guilt that dogged him every day because of it.
His voice wavering, the look on his face painfully contrite, Marcus said, “Listen, Josh, I’m sorry. I spoke out of turn. It’s not my business...”
Marcus backed away, putting some distance between them, his face puckered with worry. Josh set his plate and cup down, grabbed the man’s arm and hauled him toward the parking lot. Marcus was his friend, and friends didn’t drive friends away just because they spoke truth you might not want to hear. Sometimes a man needed tough love to break through those blind spots.
The lot was nearly empty of people, except for a couple of the boys sneaking smokes or a quick kiss from a willing gal passing by. His old Ford was angle parked on the bank near a dry gully. He headed for that, only vaguely aware he’d linked his fingers with Marcus’ own, his big paw completely engulfing the smaller man’s hand.
Ignoring the tailgate that lay open in all its rusted glory, Josh yanked the passenger side door open and guided Marcus inside. When he’d settled himself behind the wheel, it occurred he’d maybe made things worse by hauling the poor man away from the festivities and sequestering him in the cab of his truck. As it was, he had no idea what he wanted to say, other than sorry, and it seemed stupid now... both of them saying the words, neither of them sure why the hell it needed saying in the first place, let alone knowing if the saying was going to help or hurt.
Marcus had glued himself against the door, putting as much distance between them as the bench seat would allow. It was tempting for Josh to sidle closer, to use his size to intimidate in order to make a pointless point, but the gear shift on the floor made that awkward. So instead, he laid his palm on the seat, extended just enough, like some sort of offering.
Marcus kept one hand on the door handle and one eye on the real estate protecting him from the tongue-tied madman behind the wheel. He croaked, “Is this an abduction?”
“Ab— What the fuck are you talking about?”
Visibly relaxing, Marcus said, “Well, you haul me away from the picnic, then stuff me into your vehicle without so much as a by-your-leave. What’s a person supposed to think?” The eyes that—for all the times he’d been around the man—seemed too often shadowed with sorrow now glinted with mischief. He was reminded once more of how the man could morph from stodgy storekeeper to naughty elf when whatever weight of sadness he carried eased up.
Maybe he wasn’t the only one with triggers lurking around every corner. It seemed like Marcus Colton and he were compatible opposites. He was on the okay side of things most days, getting by, doing what needed done. But then something would happen, and it wasn’t okay anymore. That made it tough, to go from tolerable to terrible and not have a way to stop it, let alone slow it down. So he managed it as best he could. It wasn’t a cure though.
But Marcus, he was on the other side of the spectrum. Though he didn’t know the man well, they’d had enough contact over the years for him to recognize a bone-weary soul who got by dogged with the kind of sorrow brought on by a profound loss. Josh wondered what it was like, to rise up out of that sorrow into the light, to sample the taste of joy, and then have it slip away because maybe you had no way to anchor it in place. To his mind, that might be far worse than the occasional downward spiral he had.
Was Marcus’ journey as unpredictable as his own? Was there ever a time when you earned the right to consciously choose how it would be? Or were they both forever chained to chance and forced to accept the bread crumbs fate liked to dish out?
One thing he did know, they both deserved the right to just be. And if that being who they were meant being friends, then he’d count himself damn lucky. He’d never planned on going through life with everyone his friend, but having Marcus as his friend? Yeah, that was good enough, better than good.
“You always think hard on stuff, cowboy, because that burning smell isn’t coming from the picnic.”
Josh blushed, the heat spreading to his ears. He didn’t like getting caught out in one of his endless loops of introspection. Folks thought he was peculiar enough as it was.
Scrubbing at the stiff whiskers on his chin, Josh stared out the window. When he spoke, it was like the words formed elsewhere, then came out of his mouth without him planning on the sequence or trying to have it make sense. Somehow he suspected Marcus would understand.
“I seem to be thanking you a lot, but somehow it don’t seem like quite enough today. I know we ain’t close... I mean, we don’t have history other than what good gossip and willing tongues can provide. But that’s not always what close means, you know?’
Marcus nodded his head. He too stared out the windshield, but he’d moved closer, his fist resting inches away from Josh’s hand.
“Thing is, Marcus, sometimes I don’t know how to be for Becca and the girls. My folks, before they got killed in that wreck, they took care of her. I was away, sometimes for a year or more at a time. I wasn’t there but it was okay. They were proud I was serving, proud I was doing what I wanted.” He set his lips in a tight line. The life he’d loved and lost wasn’t something he was comfortable talking about.
Marcus asked, “How long were you in for?”
“I was going for my twenty. Almost made it, too.” Almost...
“What happened?” Marcus spun on the seat, angling his body, preparing himself to listen.
It was a simple question, one folks asked all the time—some because of morbid curiosity, others because they cared. The rest were just polite and didn’t expect or want details that would make them uncomfortable.
Josh came at it sideways, knowing there were some triggers involved if he wasn’t careful. It wasn’t the circumstances or the description—that he could handle. All he needed was to take himself outside the event and narrate...
The sky had been hurtful blue, his pack heavy with gear. He’d been escorting a prisoner. It wasn’t even in an active zone. He’d been lucky, there in the back seat, as the front of the vehicle disintegrated. His prisoner had saved him, carried him to safety. He owed him. The soldier’s actions had been taken into account. They had dropped the sentence to involuntary manslaughter. That didn’t seem enough but karma was a bitch. One ended up still going to prison, the other went to hell.
“So you were a
n MP?”
“Yeah. Spent most of my time in the states. Did a couple tours in Germany. Actually, I never expected to be posted to a hot zone at my age.”
He shrugged and looked at Marcus. If he had to describe his friend’s expression, he’d call it interested, empathetic even, but without that false sense of sympathy that too often hinted at obligations that nobody wanted but you couldn’t avoid.
“How old are you, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Josh smiled. “Don’t mind at all. I’m thirty-eight.”
“So, what’d you have left?”
Josh could see the shopkeeper tallying up years of service and coming up curious. “Just four to go. I joined up after two years at community college getting my associate’s degree in law enforcement and corrections.” He twisted in the seat and fumbled for the small cooler in the rear. “Might have a couple cans of beer in here. Don’t know if they’re cold, though. You want one?”
Josh was parched. Usually he didn’t talk much. Somehow the man had managed to bring him out of his shell. Why it mattered he wasn’t sure, but so long as he was interested, it seemed harmless enough to shoot the shit and get to know one another better.
Marcus took the can and popped the top. He took a sip and muttered, “A little warm but not bad.” He took a few sips, then asked, “Why didn’t you just jump right into law enforcement? Why the Army?”
Josh thought about it for a few seconds before answering. It wasn’t the first time somebody had asked that question. He usually just talked about the benefits and training and how, when he got out, he’d be in a good position to have a career and not just make do. But that wasn’t the real reason...
“Ma and Pa had me lined up for the university, put aside money best they could. But you know how it is. I wasn’t smart enough, didn’t have any sports to fall back on for a scholarship, so I worked my way through community.” He paused and stared into the distance. The clouds were gathering over the ridge. He could smell the rain. They’d be hustling soon to put all the picnic stuff to rights.
