Epilogue - Jack #2
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.
Only Mabel knew that Morgan had proposed because she’d seen the ring when she’d dropped Mister Rocket off that very morning and guessed, then suggested a winter wedding.
Also, Wolfe Bramwell had come by the day before to inquire whether they had any leather wax. As he scanned Jack up and down, his eyes saw the ring, and his eyebrows went up, though he didn’t ask about it.
Jack had gone into the office to ask about the wax, and Morgan had come out to say that sadly they didn’t, and did Mr. Bramwell want a special order put in? Mr. Bramwell had said yes, and then he’d looked at Jack again and asked where he was from.
“Uh, Lawndale, outside of Philly,” Jack had said. “Why do you ask?”
“You have an east coast accent,” Mr. Bramwell had said with a shrug. “Not like you hear from folks around here, so I figured you must be a long way from home.”
“You don’t have an accent either,” Jack had said, feeling a tad defensive. “You must be a long way from home, too.”
“Cape Girardeau,” Mr. Bramwell said. “But I don’t miss it. Folks are nicer here.”
“That’s good to hear,” Morgan said. “Though sometimes folks are too nice.”
“No such thing,” Mr. Bramwell said. Then, with a tip of his fingers to his forelock, he’d gone outside to his truck and drove away.
As for now, Jack needed to put his ring in a secure place so he could wash the dishes. Then he was going to spend a goodly amount of time on the used laptop Morgan had gotten him to shop for rings.
He gently put Mister Rocket down on the floor with a swift pat to his head, put a little bit of kibble in the dog bowl, and made sure the dog bed was in an out-of-the way spot in the kitchen, on the far side of the table.
Mister Rocket was in sight as Jack attended to the dishes, which Jack was doing because Morgan wasn’t feeling so well.
Mister Rocket was snoozing in the dog bed as Jack settled at the table with a happy sigh and booted up the laptop.
But in the next second, more like an hour after Jack had dried his hands, put his ring back on, and had narrowed down a zillion choices to only three, Mister Rocket was no longer in his soft, rose dog bed.
Jack stood up, panicked. If he whistled for the dog, then Morgan would hear and know that Jack had lost track of Mister Rocket, so he didn’t.
He checked the bedroom and the bathroom and the parlor. No Mister Rocket. Which meant that Mister Rocket had gone downstairs, which, with the door to the store closed, meant the only place the dog could go was into Morgan’s office.
Tiptoeing, Jack made his way down the stairs and peered around the corner.
Morgan was at the desk, bent over a pile of papers as he tapped the edge of the blotting paper with the eraser end of his pencil.
Mister Rocket sat at attention at Morgan’s feet as though he was convinced that, at any second, Morgan was going to give him a command or throw a ball that he might chase.
“What do you want, dog?” Morgan asked Mister Rocket as he reached to flip over a sheet of paper on his desk.
His arm created an archway, which Mister Rocket must have assumed was an invitation, because a second later he’d launched himself upward to settle on Morgan’s lap.
Jack held his breath, certain that Morgan was going to push the dog to the floor and simply carry on with what he’d been doing.
Then he’d want Jack to call Mister Rocket to come with him back to the kitchen, and then maybe Jack would put the walking harness on Mister Rocket, bundle up himself, and take the dog for a walk.
But instead, very slowly, Morgan looked down and curled an arm around Mister Rocket’s bottom so he wouldn't fall off his lap. Then he kept the arm in place, tracing the curve of the dog’s hip with his fingertips, continuing on with his work as though the dog’s presence was an ordinary, everyday occurrence.
“So you don’t like dogs, eh?” Jack asked, stepping into the open doorway, unable to resist.
Morgan looked up at him, a guilty, hand-in-the-cookie-jar expression on his face.
“Just being a good host,” Morgan said, covering everything up with a grumpy huff. “I don’t want any reports going back to Mabel that this dog was mistreated in any way.”
Then and there, Jack laid himself a personal bet that, in spite of the dog bed, Mister Rocket would be allowed to sleep with them, on the futon, since it was going to be another cold night.
Instead of saying anything about this, though, he would just let it happen as if it wasn’t a big deal, and went over to Morgan to hug his shoulders and kiss his temple.
“I can take him for a walk,” Jack said. “Get him out of your hair.”
“In a little while,” Morgan said, tucking his arm, and Mister Rocket, close to him. “When we have lunch or something.”
“We could all go for a walk before lunch,” Jack said. “You, me and Mister Rocket.”
Which is what they did, with Mister Rocket in his harness and expandable leash, and the two of them bundled up as though for a trek through the Arctic.
Though the sun was shining, it was really too cold and windy to be out for very long, and Jack just about had a heart attack when Mister Rocket decided to race from the road and into the ditch, jerking on the leash that Morgan held.
Luckily, the expandable leash did its job, and nobody landed on their asses.
“Please tell me you do not want a dog,” Morgan said as they walked back to the feed and grain, while Mister Rocket made the leash as long as it possibly could go.
“No,” Jack said. “It’s a lot of work, but it is nice to have him over.” He curved his arm around Morgan’s arm under the guise of being close, though they were crossing over a patch of ice at the edge of the parking lot. “Right?”
“So far,” Morgan said. “We could do it again if this works out. Why did Mabel have to stay overnight?”
“Sleep apnea test,” Jack said. “She said she’d been putting it off long enough.”
“We could take her if she needs to go back,” Morgan said. “You’d like to drive her, right?”
“Well,” Jack said with a laugh as he reached out to open the door to the feed and grain so Mister Rocket could race inside, and just about pull Morgan behind him.
“I asked her if she wanted me to take her, but she doesn’t like Aunt Oralee’s truck.
Says it’s not very comfortable, and that she prefers Young Tommy to take her in his SUV. ”
“I see,” Morgan said.
Once they were inside and the door closed behind them, Jack busied himself with Mister Rocket’s leash, and Morgan hung up their outdoor things.
Which gave them a good five minutes for kisses shared in the chilly landing, while Mister Rocket looked on, primly seated at their feet, looking up at them with dark, expectant eyes.
“He says it’s time for lunch,” Jack translated, his arms around Morgan’s waist.
“So you speak dog now,” Morgan scoffed as he leaned close to press soft kisses to Jack’s mouth. His cheeks. And lastly, his cold nose.
“Near enough,” Jack said, laughing out loud. “Look at him! He’s just about wasting away.”
“Just as long as you don’t,” Morgan said, his voice soft and low and close, circling around Jack like a warm blanket. “So we can stay like this forever.”
“Yes, boss,” Jack said, smiling into the kiss Morgan gave him.
There were a thousand and one things that needed doing, orders that needed to be made, accounting that needed to be done, two more cracked windows that needed plywood nailed over them, in addition to the three that Jack had already worked on.
They needed groceries, and to make an appointment with a doctor in Billings to check on how Morgan’s knee was healing. Mister Rocket needed food, and he was acting like promises had been made to him about ball throwing and fetching.
A world of responsibility swirled around them, but inside of it, on that landing, there was just the two of them, their arms around each other's waists, warmth growing between them. Kisses to be shared, and soft whispers of love and devotion.
“C’mon,” Jack said, with a swift kiss and a pull of his arms around Morgan’s waist. “Can't let you stand around getting cold in this landing. I’ll make you a fire. Make you something to eat. Sound good?”
“Yeah.” Morgan rubbed his cheek against Jack’s.
“What’ll you have?” Jack asked, leaning into the touch, the warmth of Morgan’s breath against his skin.
“Anything you make is good,” Morgan said. “Anything, anything, anything.”
“You got it.” Jack smiled and pulled back a bit and saw his joy reflected in Morgan’s eyes. “Fried egg sandwiches it is. Now, get up those stairs. Mister Rocket needs his paws wiped free of snow, or we’ll be hearing about it from Mabel.”
“And fried potatoes,” Morgan said as he grabbed the railing. He looked back at Jack. “Please?”
“Yes, certainly.”
Jack whistled to Mister Rocket and followed Morgan up the stairs, step by step.
Morgan didn’t need his cane for this anymore, which was such an improvement, Jack felt rather proud of Morgan.
And of Mister Rocket who, instead of racing ahead, took the stairs at Morgan’s slow pace, as though he realized exactly how fast Morgan could and could not go.
Putting his hand on the rail as he walked right behind Morgan, Jack looked at the way his ring glittered in the low light and smiled because this was good, a good life. All of it was good. Maybe being left behind by accident had turned out to be the best luck of his life.