Silent Heart

by Amy Lane

  He was dozing slightly when he heard Preston kicking dirt on the embers, and he shifted slightly as Preston came to the bedrolls and took off his boots. They used Damien’s duffel as a pillow, and it wasn’t until Preston positioned himself as the big spoon that Damien realized how much he’d depended on the idea of that big, solid body behind him. At their feet, Preacher whuffled and curled up near Damien’s knees, and Damien gave half a laugh.

  “What?” Preston asked, hand snugging around Damien’s stomach.

  “Think Preacher’s going to be okay with me in his spot?”

  “Keep feeding him sausage,” Preston said with a yawn. “He’ll love you most.”

  No. Preston would always be that dog’s person. But as Damien listened to the unfamiliar sounds of the forest around them, Preacher’s solid weight, Preston’s warmth at his back, even the horses dozing contentedly near the water, gave him a strange sense of contentment, one he hadn’t had since he was a child. His parents had loved him then, or he’d believed so. He hadn’t seen the way that love lived and died by his grades, by his performance in swimming and polo. He hadn’t seen the way his life had been scripted, his parents’ approval the carrot on the end of an increasingly longer stick.

  The look on his mother’s face when he was twelve and told her he wanted to take out another boy in school had changed all that. The fights he’d had with his father about entering the armed forces so he could learn to fly had done the rest.

  Here, under the open sky and the diamond-bright scattering of a million stars, he felt warm and sheltered.

  Loved.

  Which was usually a scary word when he was hooking up with a lover. Except Preston didn’t put things in terms of emotions. He put things in terms of actions.

  The action he wanted was to keep sleeping with Damien until they found a way to make the relationship work. It was such a simple plan, but the rewards… the rewards were Preston, his hands on Damien’s skin in comfort, his no-bullshit conversation forcing Damien to stop screwing around and get to the point. And at the end of the day, it was Preston at his back, making him feel sheltered and warm for as long as they both shall live.

  As Damien closed his eyes, he realized he could work toward a goal like that.

  DAMIEN wasn’t sure what woke him first—the shifting of the horses, the roar of the water, or maybe it was a vibration in the earth.

  All he knew was that one minute he was asleep, the pain in his leg faded, Preston’s solid warmth the only security he needed, and the next minute, he’d scrambled out of the bedroll amid Preacher’s frantic barking.

  “What?” Preston demanded as Damien checked his boots for critters before sliding them on and fumbling with the laces. “What? What is that noise?”

  “The river,” Damien muttered. “I can hear the river. Gather the stuff. I’m getting the horses—”

  At that moment, Chewie and Sunshine came cantering out of the trees, because Damien hadn’t tied them. “Load Sunshine,” he said. “Settle Chewie’s saddle. I’ll be back.”

  He ran by starlight, mostly, glad in a way that he and Preston had refrained from breaking out flashlights. His vision was better in the light from the sky, and he could see the shadows of the trees in stark relief. SnakeEyes gave a rather frantic nicker, and Damien increased his pace. He didn’t care how nasty the horse was, whatever was happening—

  The roar of the water rolling down the hill cued him in first.

  It was coming, like a wall, and as he skidded to a halt next to SnakeEyes, he shouted, “Preston! Hook up the travois and get everybody to higher ground!” before going to work on the reins he’d tied around a young tree. The mare didn’t help him, not in the least. She tossed her head and pranced like a diva, until Damien pulled the Leatherman from the pouch he’d worn—even to bed—and used it to part the leather so he could undo the knot. He hissed at the shock of the cold as water started rising, up past the river bank, past his ankles, as he worked on the damned leather.

  Finally it was free, and he swung up on the frantic horse’s back, legs stiff from the chill, urging the mare to run, to swim, to leap over the rising water, because if they didn’t get clear of that surge coming down the hill—

  He looked under his arm and smacked SnakeEyes on the ass with what was left of the lead.

  The water crashed through the trees not twenty feet behind them.

  In a burst of speed worthy of a champion, SnakeEyes blew through the clearing to the camp, which was blessedly empty.

  They’d camped in a small depression before the trail they’d been following continued to gain altitude, and Damien urged his mount up the hill, fast, faster! The water thinned around the horse’s ankles, then became a splashing under her shoes.

  Right when he started worrying about where Preston had gone, the ground under her feet was puffing dust. He rounded a bend in the road just in time to watch Preston go flying off Chewie’s back.

  Preston landed on his face, his palm out to shield him, his shoulder taking much of the momentum, and his loud cry of “Ouch! Fuck!” drove Damien to his side.

  “The hell?” he snapped, sliding off SnakeEyes’s back and keeping her cut reins in his hand. “Preston, are you okay?”

  Preston was struggling to sit up, but his wrist obviously pained him. Preacher whined and licked his face, and Damien could see his nose was streaming blood—not to mention the shredded skin on the bridge of it.

  “Nose looks broken,” he said softly. “Here, Preston, let me check. What happened?”

  “I didn’t tighten the saddle cinch enough,” Preston mumbled through his streaming nose. “The saddle started to slide down, and I dropped the reins and grabbed his neck.”

  “And he stopped,” Damien said, because that’s what horses did when they thought they were losing their rider.

  “And I couldn’t hold on,” Preston finished miserably. “Damien, I left your saddle and the bedroll at the site. I’m sorry. The water was coming and the horses were panicking. I got our duffels and the food, but….”

  “It’s me and the saddle pad for the rest of the trip,” Damien concluded. “It’s okay, Preston. You did great. You got everybody clear of the flood; you saved the supplies we’re carting in. Don’t worry, man. I’m not mad.” God, in all that chaos, Preston had led two horses and himself to safety. The loss of the saddle would hurt—not to mention the heavy-duty medical supplies like oral antibiotics and injectable steroids that had been in the saddlebags—but not nearly as much as the loss of the horses.

  Or Preston.

  Preston nodded and closed his eyes, rocking back and forth gently to calm himself, holding the wrist that had blocked his fall at an angle. “I saved my duffel bag,” he said. “My tablet’s okay. My puzzles are okay. I have clean socks for tomorrow. I have a clean shirt for tomorrow. I have treats for Preacher for tomorrow.”

  It was obviously a ritual of sorts, to calm himself down, and Damien let him do that while he went to Sunshine to settle her and gather some gear. He came back to Preston with the first aid kit, and took some time wiping the gravel out of the scrapes on his face before putting ointment on, hoping he got everything in the dimness of starlight.

  By the time he was done with that, Preston’s nose had stopped bleeding and he’d stopped rocking himself, which was a good thing.

  “Okay, I’m going to wrap a bandana around your wrist, okay?”

  Preston nodded and yelped, and Damien grimaced. “Hold still for a second,” he said softly, pushing his thumb along Preston’s neck and collarbone on the side that had taken all of his weight. He hit a swollen spot and Preston let out another bark of discomfort.

  “That’s your collarbone,” he said grimly. “Here—very carefully give me your sore wrist first.”

  Preston held out his corded forearm, his jaw locked at an angle as he dealt with the discomfort. Damien jerry-rigged a makeshift bandage using his bandana and the safety pins from his personal kit, and then pulled an ace bandage from the fir
st aid kit he’d gotten from Sunshine.

  “What are you doing with that?” Preston asked dolefully. He was obviously in pain and trying to deal, but Damien gave him a solid squeeze to the knee before he answered.

  “I’m going to wrap a figure eight around your shoulders, to keep them back, and then a sling for your arm, so you don’t aggravate your collarbone. It’s going to hurt, but the bandage will help, okay?”

  Preston nodded. “I’m no help at all,” he moaned.

  “Yeah, well, I’ve been there. I can tell you that just hanging in there and letting me treat you without complaining is a big plus, okay?”

  “Okay,” Preston muttered. “I won’t complain.”

  Damien laughed. “You will too, but you’ll also do your best, so that’s okay too. Sometimes complaining helps pass the time.”

  “It’s my brother’s favorite hobby,” Preston said darkly.

  “Right? If bitching was an art form, Glen would get paid for making masterpieces, right?”

  Preston breathed deeply as Damien put pressure on his shoulder. “If whining was a science, he would have discovered new life forms,” he said, obviously enjoying this game.

  Damien used to love games like this too. Like a blow came the memory of Glen telling him they were spending the weekend at the pool, getting drunk enough that Damien would finally fight back again, and the frozen feeling on Damien’s face as he tried to smile and say “Sure.” He swallowed and hoped Glen’s ears were burning, because Damien needed a chance to play like this with his friend again. “Exactly. If kvetching was a profession, he’d be a billionaire.”

  Preston laughed at that one. “You know what he’d say to that, right?”

  “He’d be damned if he got good at anything that made him rich?”

  Another laugh. “Is that why you guys started the business? So you’d get rich?”

  Damien paused. “Here, lift your arm,” he said, and then finished securing the figure eight around his shoulders. “We started it so we could work with our brothers,” he said after a moment. The three of them, doing the things they loved—that had been the plan. “So we could have fun doing something we loved and still help people.”

  Preston took a deep breath. “You’ll love it again,” he said softly.

  Damien was glad they weren’t looking at each other. It meant he didn’t have to look away. “I’m so afraid I won’t.”

  Preston tried to lift his good hand and winced when he realized that was his bad shoulder. “You will. If Preacher bit me, I’d be afraid, but I’d still have to love dogs.”

  Preacher stuck his head between them and licked Preston’s face, like just hearing the idea that he could bite was upsetting.

  “Then I’ll have to love it,” Damien said lightly. He’d grabbed one of the towels from Sunshine’s pack and used his knife to split it into a giant triangle. He finished the sling and gently immobilized Preston’s arm against his chest and then looked around and took stock.

  They could hear the flood rushing in the lower level of their camp, but the water hadn’t even snuck past the bend in the narrow trail. The horses were moving restively, and SnakeEyes was wet and shivering.

  “Okay,” Damien muttered. “Here’s what I’m going to do.”

  He pulled off Chewie’s saddle, which was hanging sideways and starting to freak the horse out a little anyway. When he was done he propped it up against a tree and helped Preston out of the road, setting him against the saddle like a chair back. Another trip to pull the horses all together, this time tying Chewie to a tree and hoping SnakeEyes was enough of a herd animal not to take off until he fixed her tack, and he grabbed one of the beach towels and rolled it up behind Preston’s head. He snagged Preston’s duffel from the middle of the road and pulled out his tablet and the battery and handed them to Preston. He could almost hear Preston’s sigh of relief through the soles of his boots as Preston escaped from the pain and the confusion of the night into his comfort zone.

  He unpacked Sunshine again, giving thanks that Buddy knew what he was doing. The towels, water, and food were easily accessible in their own packs, and each pack attached to the pack saddle with a minimum of fuss.

  The horses settled and accounted for, he grabbed the one bedroll that had been hastily thrown over Sunshine’s neck and limped over to Preston, tapping his feet respectfully.

  Preston looked up after a moment, and Damien said, “We need to try this again.”

  Preston turned off the tablet and put it in the case in his duffel, and Damien spread the bedroll out from the saddle like the saddle was the pillow in the bed. Damien added the duffels that Preston had dropped when he’d fallen off Chewie and helped Preston settle down again for whatever sleep they could get.

  “Wait!” Damien muttered, and grabbed the painkillers from his waist pouch. “You have the rest of the water?”

  Preston nodded soberly and washed down the ibuprofen, and then patted the space next to him gingerly, careful of what was probably a break in his wrist.

  “Your leg hurts,” he said.

  “Well, yeah, but you’re the one with the broken wrist and collarbone,” Damien said, sinking down carefully, leg extended. His shoes and socks were wet, but he wasn’t ready to kick them off quite yet. For a moment, he simply sat and shivered, until Preston leaned against him.

  “This is the second time I broke bones falling off a horse,” he muttered.

  “I’m sorry, baby.” The endearment slipped out, but Preston didn’t seem to notice.

  “I think you’re right—they’re like really fuckin’ stupid dogs.”

  Damien laughed softly. “I think that’s a prejudice you’ll never overcome.” Preacher made his way to Preston’s other side and whined softly, nuzzling the arm in the sling. Damien reached over Preston’s body to reassure him.

  “You still love them,” Preston said, nuzzling Damien’s hair in the same way Preacher was nuzzling his arm.

  Damien thought about SnakeEyes and her determination to get clear of the flood, of the way her muscles bunched beneath his thighs. He thought of Sunshine’s sweetness and Chewie’s amicability, and how that afternoon, all three of the horses had about become their love slaves when they’d been given apples and apple cores as a treat.

  “I really do,” he said, watching the three friends touch noses to flanks and hindquarters, reassuring the others that all was well.

  “We can get a horse for the ranch,” Preston promised, nuzzling Damien’s temple. “We can get two. Instead of quad-runners. You can teach me to ride on your days off. We can run the dogs across the fields. You could be happy.”

  Damien’s eyes burned. Preston was hurt and scared, and to him, he’d just been betrayed by a thousand-pound idiot dog—again. But he was willing to give horses another chance if it would lure Damien to his ranch.

  He turned a little and captured Preston’s mouth briefly, careful of the broken nose, knowing they were both cold and frightened and still shaky from the adrenaline comedown, but wanting the earthy animal taste of him. He pulled back and said, “I could be happy without the horses, you know. If you and me could make it work, that would be all I need.”

  Preston let out a sigh not unlike Preacher’s, as the dog flopped over Preston’s thighs. “We should maybe get the horses anyway.”

  Damien laughed softly. “You’d be enough,” he said, his voice so quiet he wasn’t sure Preston heard him.

  But Preston kissed his temple, and Damien rather thought he had.

  He’d have to get up and take off his shoes, make a proper camp, double-check on the horses—he knew that. But his eyes closed, and he was warmed enough by Preston’s body to be comfortable.

  He woke up at dawn the next morning when one of the horses whickered, and sat up from using Preston’s chest as a pillow to look around frantically, wondering what had happened when he’d dared to close his eyes.

  Nothing. The horses were still gathered together in the chill of the dawn, near the biggest oak
tree off the path. SnakeEyes was still missing a saddle, Preston was still injured, a couple of lovely black eyes blooming over his broken nose, and they were still fucked.

  Preston gave a little grunt in his sleep, and Damien touched his chest and rubbed, amending that last part. He was grateful Preston had been able to forget about the pain and the panic of the night before. Grateful he’d escaped the water, and that neither he nor SnakeEyes had sprained or broken anything in their mad dash through the trees to the road.

  Painfully, because his leg had frozen up overnight, Damien stretched out and rubbed Preston’s chest just a little bit harder.

  “Preston? Buddy, you awake?”

  “I liked ‘baby’ better,” Preston slurred.

  So Damien tried it out, now that he wasn’t panicked and worried. “Okay. Preston, baby, are you awake?”

  “I am now because you woke me up,” Preston grumbled. He made to sit up and yelped when he put too much weight on his wrist. “Shit.”

  “Yeah, okay. I need you to close your eyes for a minute.”

  Preston glared at him unhappily. “Why?”

  “Because I’ve got to get up to help you up, and me getting up isn’t going to be pretty. It’s embarrassing, and I’d rather you not see.” He said it matter-of-factly, but his shame was acute.

  Preston’s glare got worse. “Are you shitting me?”

  Damien tilted his head back and tried stretching his leg again. Augh! Everything hurts. “No. Not shitting you. Please, man, you gotta let me have my pride.”

  “I can’t move either one of my arms,” Preston muttered. He tried to wrinkle his nose, but the scrapes on his face had set overnight, and his scowl actually bled. “You are literally going to have to wipe my bottom for me until I get a cast for my wrist. I want to see the show!”