His Country

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Five years later

Leather creaked as Aiden tightened his grip on the whip. He clucked, waving the coiled whip in his hands as he pressed the cattle forward. Lumbering creatures, they brayed and grunted as he shuffled them toward the open gate. Yips punctuated the low mooing, a flash of brindle as Sugar shot through thick legs, nipping the stragglers with quick snaps of her jaws.

A chill whipped across the fields and Aiden shivered under his layers. With his free hand he zipped his jacket up the rest of the way, dropping his nose into the stiff fabric.

Dusk was setting as he moved the herd. His bones ached in the way that promised he wouldn’t have to worry about falling asleep tonight. Sugar got the last of the stragglers through the open gate and Aiden sidled Eagle through after them. Grimacing, he dismounted, landing on toes that had been frozen solid for the last two hours. It felt like they shattered the moment he hit the ground. Forcing his legs to move through the pins and needles, he lifted the gate and settled it back into place.

Eagle snorted disdainfully, cocking a back leg to rest while Aiden coiled the chain through the fence post. The dark gelding always had an opinion. It was part of the reason Aiden liked him. Born in the middle of a lightning storm, the leggy bay with four white socks had taken all of ten seconds to stand. Never even waiting for his mother’s gentle push, he had taken one look around and had been thoroughly unimpressed.

Not many people wanted a horse with an opinion. But Aiden liked him. Witness to his dark nights and drunken ramblings. Silent in his judgement, which is more than Aiden can say for most.

He got the gate locked and didn’t bother to remount. Darkness was falling and he’d set up camp here. Sugar returned, tongue lolling as she dropped into the crispy winter grass. Her pants were the soundtrack to the evening. A prelude to the night symphony that would begin once darkness fell over the mountain.

Pulling his tack from Eagle, he ran a gloved hand across the sweat marks left behind. Even this early in the season Eagle had already grown a thick winter coat several shades darker than his summer. Almost black in winter, his eyes the only brightness in the gloom. He tolerated Aiden’s ministrations before huffing. He knew their routine and Aiden was taking too long.

Normally he hobbled the gelding, but they’d camped here before. Close to a small spring, still lethargically burbling in the dry season, the gelding wouldn’t go far. Not from Aiden or the cattle. He let Eagle drop his head to the short grass and begin ripping at it with his clever lips.

Near the spring was a stand of trees. Already dead, it wasn’t hard to find some small twigs and leaves dry enough to catch. It wasn’t much, but it would do for a fire. With a practiced hand and the help of a lighter, he got the small blaze going. Too tired to cook, he settled for a protein bar and a cup dipped in the spring when Eagle ventured over to drink.

Sugar ate his remaining protein bars. He probably wasn’t a great dog owner, but Sugar seemed healthy. Her sleek brindled coat was shiny despite the darkness. A mediums sized dog, her breed was undetermined, but she was faster than a whip. Her parents were probably a mix of farm dog and stray, he found her in a small cage outside a feed store in northern Oklahoma. The dog eared carboard sign said Free. He had no business owning a dog when he could barely take care of himself, but he’d taken her anyway.

Maybe a small piece of him had wanted a companion. Or maybe he just knew what it was like not to be wanted.

Aiden didn’t really have to train her. Instincts took over the moment he stuck her behind a herd, and she’d proven herself useful to every ranch owner he’d worked for since.

She sidled up next to him, dropping dramatically and sharing body heat. He scratched her ribs and chuckled as her back leg kicked. She’d grown up strong—wiry, ears always swiveling, always on alert.

Aiden had only been out for a couple days. Peaceful days. The cattle were enjoying the final days of reasonable weather before winter came. He camped rough as he herded them across the acres. The other hands hated it, but Aiden preferred the chilly mountainous Montana air to the stench of people. Days of silence interrupted only by his grunts to the cattle and call for Sugar to leave some poor rabbit alone.

He tipped his ball cap and looked up at the clear sky. It looked a lot like all the other skies he’d seen. Pretty and big. If he looked north, he’d see the craggy peaks of mountains eating their way up the starry sky.

This was as far north as he’d ever been. It didn’t get this cold in Texas.

They called it God’s country, too. He figured God’s country was a singular type of place, but it was as changing as the people who named it. That’s the trouble with traveling—eventually you learn that its all the same. Different shapes, maybe, but the wind still blew. Rain fell. The sun was hot. Cattle were dumb. The land was unforgiving. People were worse.

And Aiden was here. Sitting in the middle of it all, same as he ever was. One boot in front of the other. Never looking too far ahead.

He didn’t take off his boots, just crawled into his sleeping bag with Sugar shuffling in beside him. Hat pulled over his face, he didn’t think about the stars overhead or the rustling in the trees. He just slept.

Grey sunlight pricked at his lids, and he sighed as it chased away the last vestiges of sleep. His hat had fallen in the night, and he could feel cold dew littered across his skin. With a groan that sounded explosive after the silence, he sat up. Sugar was long gone, no doubt after something better to eat than his chalky protein bars. She’d be back before he packed up.

Eagle flicked an ear at him as he crawled from his sleeping bag. He should have set up a tent, but no one said Aiden was smart. The fire died in the night and had it been later in the season, he no doubt would have frozen to death. Wouldn’t be a bad way to go, he thought as he kicked the makeshift fire aside and went to get some more water. It was frigid, hitting his teeth like cement. Forcing himself to swallow, he eyed the sun and calculated if he could get back to the bunkhouse before breakfast was over.

Rolling J was a decent sized ranch. Mostly cattle, it was hundreds of acres of pristine, Montana wilderness. Aiden found himself spat out at the gates four years ago, a little road weary and worse for wear. Frank Taylor wasn’t the most personable boss he’d ever met, but he liked his straightforward orders. An imposing man who looked like he could be anywhere from forty to someone who witnessed Moses building the ark, he ran the farm with the keen eye of someone who was used to learning how to do things the hard way.

His wife Carol was his complete opposite. A waifish woman with an unpleasant demeanor, she flittered about the ranch with lofty ideas that never quite seemed to work out right. Against his better judgement, Frank tended to acquiesce to whatever his wife demanded. He’d always twitch his mustache and say, “Well, she went to college.” as his reasoning.

She was a large part of why Aiden took to the mountains whenever possible.

Some birds tweeted their morning call and he took it as his eviction notice. It didn’t take long to break his little camp, tacking it all back on Eagle and swinging into the saddle. The cattle he’d brought would spend the winter in this smaller pasture, closer to the heart of the ranch where it would be easier to check on them and supplement feed to keep them warm.

The pastures up in the hills would take the winter to heal. Cattle was hell on land. Come summer the grass would be vibrant, healthy, and he would start the whole thing over again.

Eagle picked up his pace as he headed toward home. A warm stable and some good hay was the only motivation he needed. Aiden was loose in the saddle, letting Eagle pick their trail. He was sure footed. Smart too. The kind of smart only an animal can be. He knew when a trail was treacherous, ignoring Aiden’s urges and finding a new way around. He trusted Eagle’s opinion far more than his own.

Sugar joined him, tail wagging as she licked her chops. He didn’t even want to know what she’d gotten into.

They followed the sun. Aiden knew the way. He’d done this every year since arriving, and routinely repaired fences up this way. Anytime he could get out for a couple nights, he took the opportunity. There was a kind of lull to riding like this, relaxed without a worry, a destination with no real timeline to get there. The kind of ride that encouraged his mind to drift. He didn’t let it.

Instead, he focused on how the sun sparkled against spider webs. Moisture from the night clinging to gossamer strands draped haphazardly through the branches above. He wondered if the spiders knew they were going to die. If the upcoming cold was like the deathly hand of the reaper, icy fingers extending closer every day.

Maybe the spiders knew, they just didn’t give a damn, and kept spidering along.

Aiden could respect that. It’s how he lived his life. He worked until he couldn’t, then moved onto the next place. Rolling J was the only place he’d stayed at for long—partly because he liked the work, partly because they could afford to keep paying him. It wasn’t an easy life, but Aiden hadn’t ever chosen the easy route.

He didn’t own a cell phone. The last time he’d spoken to his mom had been when his dad died. It had been in the middle of the busy season, and she didn’t ask him to come to the funeral. He wouldn’t have gone even if she had.

The man they buried wasn’t his father. Although truthfully Aiden couldn’t say who his father really was. That first letter from the bank came a few months after he was born, and with it the clink of a whiskey glass against his father’s teeth. That first finger of drink was like the beginnings of cancer. With every missed payment and every chunk of ancestral land his father had to carve out of himself to keep them afloat was another tumor. Spreading until there was nothing but malignancy and whiskey on his father’s breath. They buried him a few years later, but really, he died the day the bank foreclosed on the ranch.

After his death his mother moved to San Antonio. She liked it. At least she’d said so in a he didn’t respond to.

What was left of his family shared just enough words to be considered in contact. He’d known what he was doing the moment he put Texas in his rearview mirror. If his mother felt anything but strained indifference toward his leaving, she never said.

When he was a little deep in the moonshine, he could almost acknowledge the big gaping hole in his chest. The one that whistled when the wind whipped off the mountain. The one that grew a little bigger every time he went into town and saw couples holding hands or a father teaching his kids how to tie their shoes.

Like a bleeding wound he refused to treat, because bandaging it would mean it was there at all. And ignorance was bliss.

Aiden had never been close to bliss, but he was closer than he would be if he looked inside a little too closely. At wounds that festered rather than healed.

Morosely, he forced himself to whistle. Anything to break up his tumultuous thoughts. By the time the barn was in sight, he felt fine.

Sugar disappeared the moment they got in the gate. No doubt on the prowl for something good from the kitchen. With a lazy hand he rode Eagle into the barn.

One of the oldest structures on the farm, the differences in wear in the wood was like a map of its lifespan. With one corner of the roof sagging, patched with tarp and the feeble hope they could replace it before the next big storm. The smell of wood and hay always lingered thick in the air and dust danced in the beams cutting through the darkened interior.

The horses were kept out most of the time, but a couple of box stalls were nestled in the back of the loft barn. He dismounted and took his time to get Eagle settled. Aiden gave him a good curry checked his feet and shoes, then rubbed liniment into his tendons. By the time he was done, Eagle was tired of his fussing. He let him into the stall for some hay. The sound of content munching followed him as he put up his saddle and bridle.

“Back already?” Isaac asked with a soft grin, hands full with three boxes,

“Seems like it.”

Isaac was never put off by Aiden’s gruff responses. All smiles, he was the only other full time ranch hand. He helped a lot with the tourist side of things. Dark hair pulled back in a stringy ponytail; he looked younger than his years. Aiden thought he came from down south, Louisiana maybe, but it was just a guess. He’d never asked.

“Just in time,” he grunted as Aiden took the top box off, peering inside. A heap of frilly looking lace stared back at him.

“For what?” he asked, already knowing he wouldn’t like the answer.

“The boss has some friends coming in.” Isaac set the boxes down in the corner, shaking circulation back into his fingers. “Family friends or something like that. They want to get married here.”

Aiden made a face. “Have fun with that.”

“It’s going to be all hands-on deck.”

“Fuck that. I’m not touching that shit.” He dropped the box like it had personally offended him. “Not my job.”

“Your job is what I say your job is.” Frank’s voice rumbled through the barn. There was an edge to it that made Isaac flinch, but Aiden just glowered at him.

“I didn’t sign up to be a wedding planner.”

“As if you could.” Frank waved his hand like the thought was ridiculous. “But this is important to Carol. So it’s important to me.” Frank’s eyes were dark and deadly. The only light coming into the barn was from the open barn door and from between the poorly fitted slats. Even in the low light, Frank was intense.

“Sounds a whole lot like not my problem.”

Frank tolerated Aiden because he was good at what he did. But there was a line and Aiden could tell he was getting dangerously close.

The two men stared at each other, neither willing to back down and neither willing to escalate the fight. Jaws clenched, hands fisted, they battled silently. Isaac stared between them, mouth opening and closing like the poor confused guppy he was.

Frank broke first. “Just…help move shit around and then make yourself scarce the day of.”

“Done.”

And he was gone, brushing past his boss with a tip of his hat. The smell of cooking bacon was calling him, and Carol would give it all to Sugar if he didn’t hurry.

Unloading hay was as familiar as it was mindless. Aiden had been tossing hay bales since he could wiggle his chubby little fingers under the twine holding them together. There was rhythm in it. Bend, grab, lift, pivot, toss. All while blinking against the onslaught of dust in his eyes.

It was the kind of job you had to get lost in. The bales fading away until it was all one blurry collective made up of individual movements. He wasn’t sure how many he’d unloaded or how many he had left. It didn’t matter. The hay had to get unloaded and he was the one doing it.

The truck dipped under him as he dragged a bale off the pile, twisting to toss it into the barn. As monotonous as the work was, there was satisfaction in seeing a barn full of hay. A sort of security in knowing that the animals would be fed.

Dropping to sit on the edge of the truck bed, He exhaled dust, looking down at his aching hands. His fingers were curled, throbbing where the twine bit into the creases. It was a latent kind of pain, one that he’d known for as long as he could remember. Back then it didn’t matter that the bales weighed almost as much as he did.

Excuses didn’t put food on the table.

Flexing his fingers, he tried to get the blood flowing again. The truck was parked in the barn, but the sun was streaming in through the open door. Sitting up, he lifted his ratty ball cap to run his fingers through his hair. It was getting longer than he liked. Ash brown curls tickling his ears despite the near permanent crease from where his hat sat. He’d have to cut it soon.

Brushing some of the dust off his hat, he settled it back on his head. At some point it had been white and green with the name of the local feed store stitched onto the front. Time had replaced it with sweat and dirt.

Now that he’d taken a break, Aiden was surprised to find he was almost done. He wasn’t even supposed to unload the hay this morning. They didn’t need the truck until tomorrow. But he’d been irritated and needed to work it out before he did or said something that would get his ass kicked back across the Mason Dixon line.

“You just don’t believe in love,” Isaac had said around a mouthful of biscuit that morning.

It was an innocuous response to Aiden’s bitching about all the work they’d been doing to get ready for the wedding. Said with all the innocence of someone who only shallowly knew Aiden as the grumpy farmhand that he shared a bunkhouse with. He didn’t mean anything by it. But it had poked that wound Aiden refused to acknowledge, just enough for it to flare up and remind him it was still there, festering under his crude attempts to bandage it with denial.

The problem is that Aiden knows love exists. He knows two people can be so inexplicably tangled that to know one was to know the other. Denial is easy. He could pretend something didn’t exist, so it didn’t hurt when he didn’t have it. But he’d seen it in the way he looked at him. Seen it in gentle touches between classes, a soft kiss on a forehead in the middle of a busy movie theater, or in the soft smiles on a front porch at the end of a date.

And he’d seen it on a day like this. When his hands ached, and his hat was slipping down his brow. It was when he was dusting hay off his hands that Everett had dropped onto the tailgate and fiddled with his hands—those big, priceless hands he couldn’t afford to hurt on something like tossing haybales.

He’d looked up at Aiden with determination. “I’m going to ask Billy to prom.”

It was a bold statement. Up until then they’d been two boys whose looks lingered just a little too long. Nothing for the church biddies to latch onto. After all, Everett was a good boy. He played football.

But if he took Billy to prom, it would be like a a sign on both of their foreheads that they were different in a town that hadn’t changed since the day the first brick had been laid.

Judging by the look on Everett’s face, he knew exactly what he was doing. He knew the risk he was taking. Yet he was going to do it anyway. Because it was worth it. Billy was worth it.

“What do you think?” he’d asked like Aiden’s opinion really mattered.

Swallowing past the dust in his mouth, Aiden had simply grabbed the next bale. “None of my business.”

Everett knew him well enough to know that was as rousing of an endorsement he was going to get. He’d smiled so happily, so prettily, that Aiden nearly dropped the bale he was hefting to the top of the stack.

No, Aiden knows love exists. He knows it exists like he knows planets revolve around the sun or that it snows at the beach. It’s a truth that he’s been so close to, if it were a flame, he would have felt the heat but never experienced the burn.

Billy and Everett went to prom. They danced under cheap streamers and looked so in love cruel words died on bigoted lips before they ever reached them.

Aiden didn’t go. He had to help his dad fix the pump.

Shoving himself to his feet, he reached for the next bale and let the weight of the hay dig into his fingers. With a grunt he pulled it against his hips before using his body to throw it up into the stack. He let the smell of fresh hay and the monotony of motions clear his mind of memories. What Isaac said didn’t matter. The secondhand suit hanging in his closet that he never got to wear didn’t matter. That town didn’t matter. The wedding didn’t matter. Carol didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting this truck unloaded.

Aiden threw another bale and ignored his aching body.