His Country

Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Carol’s special guests arrived a week later. Aiden only took note of the day when a sleek sedan pulled up the shady gravel drive. The black finish reflected the mid-morning sun, looking wholly out of place beside all the trucks parked out front of the ranch office. He didn’t wait for the guests to get out, he heard Carol shrilly welcoming them from outside the office and took that as his cue to get moving.

Nothing was worse than dealing with Carol wearing her Customer Service Mask. Aiden shivered at the thought and scrambled past the office, head down.

Satan’s Merry band of Fuck Wads needed to be taken care of. Unfortunately, that meant feeding them rather than sending the goats off to the closest BBQ. He took the long way around the barn, through the paddocks, and out back to where the goats kept their coven.

The hoop building was long and narrow and had at various times been used for pigs, dogs, and rabbits. Old cages were piled haphazardly in the corner, rusting despite the dry barn. Individual stalls were fastened to the walls, but they were all open now, letting the goats intermingle and steal each other’s feed.

Most of the goats were still too young to be let out without supervision. After winter, when they’d grown big enough not to be carried away by a bird, they’d get put into a big pasture where they could practice witch craft or do whatever it was goats liked doing. Far away from Aiden.

The goats were another one of Carol’s projects. She saw a baby goat at the feed store and decided they just had to have them. They probably were cute to someone who didn’t have to stare into the soulless void of their eyes.

Ugly horizontal slits watched him as he fed them. They baa’d all cutely while they scratched pentagrams in the floor. He sneered at a baby that had the audacity to head butt his leg affectionately. Isaac was supposed to be caring for these things—he wanted to make goat milk, cheese, and soaps from their poisoned milk. It was another avenue of revenue Aiden quite literally didn’t give a fuck about. But he was on lace duty, so Aiden was forced to consort with demons.

Which was only slightly better than dealing with whatever fuckery Carol needed lace for.

Carol was one of those people who smiled like she had a secret. She took one look at Aiden and smiled so big her stupid doe eyes crinkled. Aiden figured the waifish woman was a lot like these goats—all cute until they were chasing you up a tree.

Thankfully, they didn’t interact much, but every time they did Carol insisted on being friendly. Not in the way Isaac did, which was his default setting, but like she was making a contact. Someone she could exploit in some way later.

Mrs. Taylor had never done anything to him, but there was a little too much going on behind her smiley eyes for a dumb hick like Aiden to understand. On a good day, he didn’t know his ass from his elbow. And he so rarely had good days.

Yawning, he dropped the last of the alfalfa to a heavily pregnant goat that ignored him. He wondered if she gave birth or if her demonic hellspawn clawed their way out of her like some kind of murderous birth ritual.

Isaac stuck his head around the door. “Hey, can you call Sugar?”

“Why?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the goats.

“Carol doesn’t want her jumping on the guests.”

He made a face. “Tell them to get off a fucking farm then.”

Isaac made a face like he was absolutely not going to say that. “Please?”

“She lives here.”

“Man, I’m just doing what I’m told. Don’t bite the messenger.”

Rolling his eyes, Aiden climbed out of the goat pen and followed Isaac out of the smaller barn. It was chillier out in the open and he stuffed his hands into his pockets. He could feel some old coins, his knife, , a couple of peppermints, and loose hay tickling his fingers as he pressed his lips together and whistled for his dog.

He could hear her soft whine of excitement before he saw her, a blur of dark fur and wagging tail. She skidded to a halt in front of him. Aiden scratched at the base of one pointed ear, smiling as her eyes went hazy.

“I guess these people are famous,” Isaac mentioned, gesturing toward the back of the office. It was above them, up the little hill the farm was bult into, and he could see shapes moving past the windows.

“Fantastic.” He focused on petting Sugar. He didn’t want to tie her up or lock her in a stall for the day.

“Yeah, like super rich. I guess Frank grew up with their folks? Or something like that.”

Aiden must have looked vaguely interested because Isaac continued. “They want to hold their wedding here. Even though they could invite like…a million people they only want family and friends. Something intimate.”

None of that mattered, Aiden wouldn’t be there anyway. Frank told him to make himself scarce and he would. Especially if these assholes didn’t like Sugar.

“I’m going to check that colt,” he informed Isaac, turning on his heel to follow the drive down to the second horse barn.

They had a small breeding program on the farm. It might be Aiden’s favorite part of his job. Picking the lines, training the young horses, choosing which got sent off and which they kept. Frank said he had an eye for it. It came from his mom. She used to show horses when he was a kid. Aiden could remember her spending hours in the barn, braiding their manes and bathing them until their white marks gleamed. It was the only memory he had of his mother smiling.

She had to sell them when the farm started struggling.

Their most recent troublemaker was a big bay yearling. Normally they all lived in a big herd in the back country. A massive paddock with hills, valleys, and gravel to help strengthen their growing legs and hooves but the idiot managed to slice his leg open on God knows what. Aiden had to corral him so he could treat it. The wound was healing nicely but kept threatening to turn to proud flesh on him. He’d been wrapping and treating it twice a day. The colt hated it. Threw himself up against the round pen panels in a desperate bid to get back to his herd.

Aiden climbed the fence, dropping into the corral with a huff. The colt snorted, twitching its short tail his direction.

“You gonna be like that?” he called as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a peppermint. Crinkling the clear plastic wrapping, the colt’s head popped back up. “That’s what I thought. C’mere, sweet tooth.”

The colt held out for a couple more seconds before crowding him, snuffling into his hand faster than he could open the sugary treat. Shoulder bumping into Aiden, he crunched through the mint. Before he’d even swallowed, he was looking for more, frisking Aiden with his big lips.

“Careful or your name is going to end up Fatty.”

Ignoring him, the horse continued searching. Sugar whined and paced from outside the pen, ready to herd the young thing at the first movement. They both ignored the dog.

Aiden ran his hands along the yearling’s scrubby winter coat. Living out, his dark burnished bay coat had burnt into an ugly orange. But all the time spent in the Montana hills had made the colt strong. Legs straight, hooves solid, and shoulders defined. He was going to be a nice one. Provided he didn’t keep slicing himself open.

Growing bored, the yearling moved back to his hay. Tossing it aside as he looked for something better under the pile.

Always looking for something better.

Aiden wanted to caution the young thing. Tell it to be more concerned with what’s under his nose than what’s in the future.

Sugar barked at the crunching of feet on gravel and the indistinct murmurs of conversation. He groaned and wondered if he could get away with hiding behind the colt.

“We have a modest breeding program here. Mostly for personal use, but we do sell some of the babies.”

Foals, Aiden mentally corrected Carol without turning around.

“This is our latest batch of weanlings?—”

Yearlings.

“This little gelding is one of our finest?—”

“Oh for fucks sake,” Aiden swore, turning on his heel. “He’s a colt. A yearling, colt. If you’re gonna talk out of your ass, do it fucking right,” he griped, knowing if Frank was around he’d be in for an ass chewing.

Carol stared at him from outside the pen, her body bisected by the rusted pipe fencing. “Excuse me?”

“I said?—”

“Aiden?”

There was a time when Aiden was sleeping out. It was summer, hot as hell, and he had forgone a sleeping bag. When he woke up a rattle snake was looking right at him, forked tongue flicking his nose and tail shaking. The fear that coursed through him that time took a good five years off his life.

But the sound of his name in that voice? That was the fucking scariest thing he’d ever heard.

He didn’t need to look. Didn’t need to question it. He’d know that voice anywhere. The soft lilt of amusement, the way he glossed over the syllables in his name like he was too excited to say his name properly, eager to get out what he had to say.

Swallowing, he let his eyes drift from a shocked looking Carol to see Billy clinging to the bars of the pen, long fingers wrapped around the rusted pipe. His lips were parted in surprise, light eyes wide.

Billy.

He’d barely allowed himself to think that name. Not in five years. Anytime he thought of the boy it was always a blur of emotion. A promise. Of rain. Thick smoke coiling off a fire that reeked of gasoline. Flames dancing in blue eyes.

Time hadn’t ravaged Billy. He was still lovely. Face smooth, cherry chestnut hair a little longer. All vestiges of youth had disappeared. The last he’d seen of Billy he’d been a boy—grinning over at Aiden as they parted to go to their separate closes, promises to celebrate that night hanging in the air between them.

That boy wasn’t looking at him. The man looking at him with a wobbling lip, confusion and hurt in his eyes was a stranger. One of Aiden’s making.

“I finally found you,” he whispered, barely louder than an easy breeze through the spindly branches of a tree plundered by winter. Any harder and they’d snap clean off. Like Aiden might snap.

Which probably wasn’t wrong. The last Billy had seen of Aiden had been his back retreating down the hall. Not a word. He’d left the crappy cell phone he bought with his first FFA pig on his bed and disappeared.

The yearling nudged his hand, trying his pockets again. He let his fingers trail across its wiry mane. Dust coated his fingers. It grounded him.

He huffed. “I wasn’t missing.”

Billy’s eyebrows crashed together. “Not missing? Aiden you?—"

“Left. It’s what people do.” He shrugged, feeling anything but nonchalant. His muscles were so tense he could feel them trembling, the desire to run until he couldn’t breathe buzzing under his skin like a plague.

Inevitably, his gaze skipped past Billy to the pair of eyes he wanted to hate. Eyes he wished he could remember causing him so much heartbreak. But Everett had never done anything to him. And somehow that made the pain crushing him so much worse.

Everett looked better. He was bigger. Rivaling even Frank. Aiden supposed a football career would do that. The first out NFL player. A legend. His blonde hair whipped around his face as his skipped over Aiden to look at Billy.

He still looked at him the same.

Aiden felt the air punch from his chest. That shouldn’t hurt so much. He should be used to Everett looking through him to see Billy. Who wouldn’t?

But fuck it if it didn’t still hurt.

Shame pricked at his eyes and he swallowed it down.

Shaking his head, he patted the side of the colt, silently thanking him for standing with him. He moved to the rail, climbing over and dropping down a few feet from Billy.

“Congrats by the way,” he rasped, hating the way his voice sounded.

Sugar ran to his side. He scratched her ear and ignored the way Everett stepped forward, getting between Billy and the dog. Or maybe between Billy and him. Aiden felt a vicious sort of satisfaction curl in his stomach.

Carol was watching them with her shrewd little eyes. Aiden wanted to cut them out. Flick them down the hill.

He just nodded at them both. “Have a good one.”

With Sugar by his side, he forced his head up, walking up the hill back to wherever the fuck was away from here.

“Aiden.”

Everett’s voice was like a gun loaded with a thousand memories best forgotten. Blown apart like buckshot. How many times had Aiden imagined him saying his name in that voice, whispering it in his ear like a prayer? Like something worth saying.

He had settled, taking the name when it was said quickly to get his attention. Brusquely, without consequence. Falling from lips that didn’t care what it sounded like.

And that was fine.

He was fine.

Waving over his shoulder, he continued unhurriedly. He wanted to cling to whatever dignity he had left.

Head down, he focused on his feet. One boot in front of the other. Breathing even.

He wanted to hate them. Wanted to blame them for everything, but the truth was that Billy and Everett had done nothing wrong. They didn’t betray him. They didn’t intentionally hurt him. They didn’t do anything but fall in love, find happiness, and a future.

With his head down he didn’t see the person he bumped into. Hands grabbed him like he was going to fall, and he mumbled a thanks, looking up quickly to see a flash of brown eyes before continuing.

Aiden hadn’t cried since he was ten years old, and his dad convinced him to watch Old Yeller. But he was going to cry now. He didn’t even know why. He just hated it.

Rounding the ranch office, he didn’t think he’d make it back to the bunkhouse. He dove between two trucks and dropped, leaning back onto the passenger wheel, pressing his head down between his knees and heaving. God, he wished he could vomit all this shit up. Puke it out like rancid alcohol and start over again. Head pounding, reeking of sick, but ready to heal with the poison out of his system.

Sugar licked his cheeks, tail wriggling back and forth. She was worried. He slipped his arms around her and buried his face into her dusty coat, breathing in the smell of dirt and dog.

Aiden felt his pain turn bitter. Like he licked a battery, it coated his tongue in something acidic. All he’d ever wanted—the only thing he’d ever wanted—was to be left alone. To leave his past in the past. And here it was, not just in his tattered memories, but tangible. Living. Looking at him. It wasn’t fair.

“You want a smoke?”

He jerked up, inhaling sharply. Blinking the black spots from his eyes he realized he had his ass in the gravel with Sugar draped across his chest. She licked the wet from his cheeks.

Two long fingers were extending a cigarette toward him. He didn’t smoke, hated the smell, but he took it anyway. Rolling it between his fingers, he looked up to see a pair of coffee colored eyes looking down at him from beneath thick brows.

This was the guy he’d smacked into. Now that he wasn’t fleeing, he could get a good look at him. Tall, lean, with dark hair that looked neat without being pretentious. There was a layer of scruff on his cheeks that looked more like he’d forgotten to shave rather than the artful dusting that guys thought made them look rugged. He wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t not smiling either. It was a weird look. Like he knew exactly what was going on but had the courtesy to offer a cigarette and shut the fuck up.

He shifted, reaching into his pocket to produce a cheap plastic lighter. Flicking it on he extended it towards Aiden before he lit the end of his cigarette and watched the smoke curl up between them before putting it between his lips.

The taller man inhaled, cheeks hallowing as he took a long drag. He looked out over the almost empty lot. “I don’t usually smoke,” he admitted like Aiden cared. “But there’s something about a cigarette on a crisp day.”

Aiden didn’t inhale. He just held it between his lips, watching as ash fell onto his worn jeans. Sugar sniffed at the cigarette before sneezing and trotting off.

“She’s got the right idea,” the man said, dropping beside him.

“Most dogs do.”

The stranger inclined his head, hooking it between his index and ring finger and pulling it out from between thin lips. He exhaled slowly, eyes fluttering closed.

“So you know Billy.”

Aiden clenched down so hard he almost snapped the cigarette in half. “I knew him.”

“Hmm.”

That was it. The stranger poked at Aiden’s bleeding wound and then hummed it away. He was dressed casually. Loose jeans and a flannel shirt peeking out from under a puffy jacket that swished when he moved. One leg canted up and his wrist hanging over it, dangling limply. His eyes were hidden behind drooped lids, looking out over the farm without a care in the world.

“You going to inhale?”

“You going to fuck off?”

He smiled around the cigarette, the tip flaring brighter with his breath. “I can. Thought you might like some company.”

“What gave you that impression?”

He huffed. “You caught me. It’s either sit with you or deal with the shit show back there. And I’ve been awake for forty hours too long to handle that.”

Aiden could accept that. He dropped his head back against the truck, letting the cigarette stink up his clothes and hair. He knew if he tried to inhale he’d just embarrass himself. Aiden couldn’t even stand being in a smoky bar. But it helped. Something to hold onto, something to focus on, it helped keep him from spiraling.

“So,” the stranger began casually. “Who pissed in your cheerios?”

Aiden snorted. “You give me one cigarette and I’m supposed to what? Confide in you?”

“Who else?”

And wasn’t that the kicker. He didn’t have anyone else. By design, Aiden had isolated himself to the point that there was no one who’d give a damn if he lived or died. Hell, short of stinking up the place, no one would even notice.

“No one,” he said finally, putting the cigarette out beside him. He stood, brushing off his pants.

The man watched him, eyes too bright. Too benign. “He tried to find you. Went to the cops and everything.”

He should have known this stranger had an ulterior motive. Aiden flicked the doused cigarette towards him. It hit the guy’s chest. “I wasn’t missing.”

“You were to him.”

Aiden clenched his jaw. “I chose to leave. It’s not a fucking crime.”

The guy tilted his head like his new vantage point could help him see through all of Aiden’s bullshit. “You didn’t leave. You ran.”

“Yeah,” he ground out, resisting the urge to kick the guy’s face in. “Watch me do it again.”

Turning on his heel, Aiden left the guy enjoying his cigarette on a nice crisp day.

Aiden fled up the hill to the bunkhouse. A one room cabin that had served as the original homestead on the property, now it had a small kitchen and three bunkbeds shoved against the far wall. Between the beds, the moth-eaten couch, and a wobbling kitchen table there was barely any room to move but it served its purpose.

Hopping over the sagging plywood porch he left the front door open as he walked straight to his bunk. Because he and Isaac were the only two working the off season, he’d tossed his duffel bag on the bottom bunk while he slept on the top. Stooping beneath the bunk he didn’t waste any time shoving what few clothes he had into the bag. Just enough to get him between washings, his clothes and few toiletries easily fit in the bag.

He couldn’t stay here. Not anymore. Not when his past looked the same as it had that summer day, he’d let the door of his home hit him in the ass for the last time.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen Everett and Billy since then. He’d seen them on the TV of every bar he’d stepped into when he got the urge to drink with someone besides Sugar. The world celebrating the small-town boy with an arm like a cannon and the man wearing his jersey in the stands. He never wanted to look, but by the bottom of his second glass he would be watching. Eyes misty, heart thudding in his ribcage, he’d remember all things he told himself he left behind the first time he stuck his thumb out over a sunbaked Texas highway.

Everett was still quiet, hedging around invasive questions when the reporters caught up to him after a game. Sweaty and stooping so his low drawl could caress the mic, it was less what he said and more the way his eyes unconsciously scanned the crowd. Always looking for him. In a sea of people there was only one person who mattered.

It was right on the line between tipsy and drunk when Aiden would start considering the what ifs.

What if he’d confessed to Everett?

What if he’d never befriended Billy?

What if he’d stayed?

The answers were no prettier than reality. Because even if he’d had the courage to confess to Everett, he wouldn’t have had the courage to stand with him. Not like Billy had.

And Billy was the only person who had ever made him laugh so hard he’d cried. Billy was so bright he chased away the shadow of his mother’s indifference and his father’s despair. He was the only reason Aiden had survived that last year.

He was the reason he had to leave, then and now.

Swinging his bag onto his back, he made to step out of the bunkhouse when he caught sight of Sugar. She was sprawled out in front of the fireplace. Her paw twitched in her sleep, eyes fluttering as she dreamed under the residual heat from embers that hadn’t been fully doused. Sugar was happy here. At the other ranches he’d worked on, they’d wanted her to live outside. Claimed she was a working dog, and working dogs didn’t come inside. They saw her as a tool, something easily replaceable. He’d spent nights curled up with her in the barn or the cab of a truck, unwilling to let her sleep alone.

At Rolling J, she could run freely, dip into the bunkhouse or sleep in the office when it was too hot to chase Aiden around. She drank from clear streams and rolled in tall grass under a big sky.

Who knows what the next farm would look like? Or if he could even find work.

He let the bag drop to his feet with a soft whump.

Aiden could handle his past. He could handle watching Billy and Everett fall in love all over again. He could shove past the memories of hazy summer nights drinking warm soda in the parking lot of a 24-hour drive thru as Billy and Everett tried to include him in discussions of the future. He could deal with the agony of wrenching the scab off his wounds, letting it heal just enough to have something to pick off all over again.

What he couldn’t deal with was disappointing his damn dog.

Aiden kicked his duffle back towards his bunk and adjusted his hat. He needed some fresh air.