Samuel - 1
SAMUEL
After almost three months at the ranch, I was confident I could tell the time of night based on the sounds. Crickets signified that the sun had been down for a couple of hours, drawing the critters out to sing their songs. There were those in cabins close to ours who generally didn't sleep until almost midnight, but you could always hear them from the heavy snorting and snoring.
Of course, my two companions also snored but went to bed early. One was a snorer. The other was completely silent, except for the occasional mumble. I was listening for the familiar sounds tonight, ticking away the time, and measuring it carefully. Even as a boy, I had been restless and had a hard time falling asleep. My father came to me one night, realizing I was still awake, and had sat with me.
"You know your mother hates it when you don't sleep," he had told me, but there was no judgment or anger in his voice, just a statement of fact.
"I know," I had said softly, rubbing my eyes. "I can't sleep. I can never sleep."
"Why?"
"I don't know. I don't like sleeping. I want to be up. And I keep thinking about...things."
"What sort of things?"
"All kinds of things, everything I can think about, I suppose."
"Ah, I do the same thing."
"You do?"
"Yes. And sometimes I can't make it stop. I get up, and I work. But first, I try a little trick."
"What?"
"I track the time."
"How?"
And that was when he explained how to do what I’d been doing for the past few hours. It hadn't been easy for an eight-year-old to master, but I had been determined to learn. Not because I thought it would help me but because it was something my father liked to do, and I wanted to be just like my dad and be able to do everything he had done. Little did the boyhood version of me know, but the adult version of me would come to be grateful for that skill.
Now, though, it wasn't a way to get me to sleep but to keep calm as I waited until the right moment. Impulsivity was a quick way to the grave if you didn't get it under control. Restlessness was a cousin of impulsivity, and it paved the way toward it. It also deserved to be reined in before it got the better of you. So, I learned to tamp it down, leash it, and ensure it didn't get the better of me.
I listened to the sounds, adding them up in my mind, and knowing it was around the same time of night I went for my walks. The only difference was that I had a destination in mind, eager to get an answer to the question I had posed to Ambrose. It forced me to be cautious. Otherwise, it would get the better of me, and I'd find myself leaving early and risk getting caught.
I had left a few times before at night. I could slip out of my bunk without worrying about waking my bunkmates. For the first few weeks, the two of them had slept so lightly that even moving in my bunk woke them up. It seemed they had, if only in the deepest part of their mind, decided they were no longer in imminent danger and had started sleeping more deeply with every passing week. Now, I could move freely around the cabin without worrying as I pulled on my clothes and boots before heading outside.
One reason I enjoyed my nightly walks so much was that the air was manageable and didn't feel like someone had angered the sun. There was even a decent breeze out, a wind that blew steadily and carried the cool air, which was definitely an improvement over the stuffy air of the cabin since they hadn't bothered to remove the padlocks on our windows. From our door but not our windows. Whether that was an oversight on their part, a test, or just a way for them to twist the screws was up for debate as far as I was concerned.
I knew how to get to Ambrose's cabin, though I’d always avoided going near it until tonight. There was something too tempting about going near the cabin, and I was wary of that feeling. The last thing I needed was to risk getting tempted to...watch him. The fact that temptation might even be possible made me wary about Ambrose as it was, so I didn't want to make it worse.
Which was why, even though I was confident there was no one around to see me this late at night, I took my time before wandering toward his cabin. I needed to make sure I was absolutely in control of myself before reaching his door. Not that I didn't anticipate losing control once I got there, or at least that was the goal, but the moments leading up to it required control.
Well, there was also a small stop I had to make on the way.
My first stop brought me to one of the main storage sheds. Thankfully, I’d memorized the location of what I was looking for because it was nearly impossible to see despite the moonlight. I had to resort to feeling around until I found the container, dropping the bottle into my vest pocket. Was it technically stealing? Probably, but somehow, I thought that if Ambrose took me up on my offer, he wouldn't complain much about borrowing something that belonged to the ranch.
I closed the door behind me, took a deep breath, and finally approached where I knew Ambrose's cabin was. I was about halfway there when I froze, hearing a sound that stuck out among the normal sounds of sleeping workers.
"Please tell me that's you, Walter," I said in a low voice when I heard it draw closer.
His laugh rolled out of the dark, gentle but playful too. "Out again?"
"I could say the same thing to you," I shot back as he emerged from the shadows with a smile.
"Well, I'm not gonna get in trouble if I go for a little stroll," he said, though he didn't sound bothered by my possible rule-breaking.
"If they didn't want me to have a walk when I can't sleep, then maybe they shouldn't have removed the padlock from our door," I said with a shrug. "Or maybe they did that to trap me, and they're just waiting to see if I go too far so they can punish me further."
"Do you think?"
"It's something your boss would do."
"True, Mr. Isaiah is a shrewd one, and he's willin' to give people enough rope to hang themselves with."
"You know, as a former, recovering outlaw, I find that phrasing offensive."
"Say what now?"
I chuckled. “Just a joke, you know, because they usually hang people like me rather than throw them on a ranch and make them work."
"Oh, that's true," he said, unsure if he should laugh or be uncomfortable. "Well, Ambrose seems to trust ya. He's not like his daddy, but he's good at what he does."
"Not exactly the trusting sort. Not that I can blame him all that much."
"Like I told you the first night I found ya walkin' around?—"
"If I remember correctly, you referred to it as skulking when you saw me."
"Well, now I know you were just walkin' around. But used to be I was the only one you'd find out here at this time of night. Anyway, like I told you that night, he ain't the quickest to trust, especially with your past. Don't mean he's so stubborn that he can't eventually see past it, and look...he is."
Ambrose saw a lot more than that, but I didn't think I needed to give away our secret to this sweet, relatively innocent man. Not that the thought didn't bubble up in my head from time to time, but having impulses that were destructive, disruptive, or just trouble wasn't new for me. Sometimes, I swore there was someone else living in my head who craved chaos in a way I only vaguely understood. Like now, wanting to blurt out that I was planning to sneak to Ambrose's cabin to get naked and have him deep inside me to see the look on poor Walter's face.
A little mean, perhaps, but still, that part of my mind cackled at the idea. It was something I’d just come to understand about myself. Ambrose wasn't wrong when he accused me of wanting to start trouble because some part of me did want to start trouble constantly. What he didn't seem to understand, at least not right now, was that, for the most part, I had control of that part of me. As much delight as causing trouble brought me, I knew damn well how destructive it could be and kept it on a tight leash and under a watchful eye.
"It's awfully nice of you to be so willing to look past my history," I told Walter, and I meant it. Although most of the men on the ranch had begun treating me like a person, they’d been slow to get there. Walter, however, from the moment I met him, had been kind and accepting despite the apparent hatred of outlaws in these parts.
I had met a few souls like him before, those for whom kindness and understanding came as easily as malice and cruelty came to others. However, it said a lot about the world that the latter was more common than the former. Sometimes, I wondered what it was like to go through life with that sort of wisdom that sometimes bordered on foolish...or insane. Not that I could make myself that way to find out; our lives forged us to be the way we were, and if there were ways to change yourself from the ground up, I had yet to see it.
But perhaps...just maybe, there were ways to change some things.
"Aww, there's no reason to make a big deal outta it," he said, making me smile at his bashfulness. "Ya seemed like an alright type, and look, ya ain't done nothin' but work hard...well, and give Ambrose a hard time."
Oh, if only he knew how hard a time I really wanted to give him. “You were the one who said he needed it."
"Well, he can get a bit serious at times, havin' someone around him who...well, don't take things quite as seriously as he does."
"You are aware that it just makes him mad, right?"
Walter chuckled. “Yeah, well, can't say that's too hard to manage. He's been like that...well, forever, I reckon. I heard he wasn't like that as a boy, but things can change when ya get older. Maybe you'll just make him mad, but...he don't seem quite as mad anymore."
"You and I have two very different ideas of him being mad," I said with a laugh, though I wasn't necessarily dismissing his opinion. Walter had known Ambrose for far longer than me, and would recognize differences in him. Of course, I couldn't tell him that any positive changes in Ambrose's behavior were probably because he was getting sexual relief rather than because he was starting to see the fun in life or, despite my insistence, to Ambrose's face, because of my charming personality.
"I guess it's hard to see, comin' so late to things," Walter chuckled, looking up at the moon. "But I think I'm gonna keep walkin'. If I stay out too late, Arthur wakes up and won't go back to sleep until I return. I might not get much sleep, but it's good he does."
An ache warmed my chest, remembering my father and his kindness toward his only son, but also the grief of losing him even all these years later. "Then you had best keep moving. Be a responsible father."
He winked. “You try for some of that responsibility yourself. Maybe it'll suit ya."
"Don't hold out too much hope for that," I snorted. "You take care of yourself, Walter."
Walter waved as he continued walking, while I lingered as if enjoying the cool night when, in reality, I was listening to the sound of his footsteps. I didn't think Walter suspected anything out of the ordinary, and if he even wondered, he wasn't the type to pull tricks or spy on people. He seemed more content with his life than most people, and part of me envied the peace surrounding him. But I also knew better than to wish for things that would never be. There was enough to regret about my life without getting stuck obsessing over things I couldn't change.
Once I was sure he’d gone far enough away he wouldn't accidentally happen to glance over and see where I was going, I resumed making my way toward Ambrose's cabin.
I continued to let the sounds of the ranch wash over me as I walked, both familiar and new. I had always been the sort who didn't get much sleep and was used to being awake when others were sleeping. Most people didn't tend to sleep all that differently, so all the snores, grumbles, and thumps of someone hitting a wall with a stray limb were familiar. Yet the mixture of sounds here was different, and I would need another couple of weeks to truly learn the intricacies that made up the symphony of Isaiah Ranch while it slept.
The last turn was coming up. I made sure my pace never faltered and didn't let myself take a bracing breath. To hesitate was to admit I was afraid he was going to turn me down, which was a fear I did not need to let in. Trying to brace for the light to be on would be to accept I was nervous about tonight with him, which carried implications I did not want to endure.
So I marched forward, knowing that if anyone saw me, they would not detect the slightest hint of wariness in my walk. I rounded the corner, and if my heart skipped a beat when I saw the light, I saw no reason to admit that to anyone. Let that be between myself and the Good Lord if he was actually around and keeping an eye on me.
It was only when I reached the cabin that I realized I hadn't planned this. I didn't want to risk making too much noise and riling up Bear, who I knew slept with Ambrose in his cabin. A glance through one of the windows showed a bare foot hanging off the edge of the bed and little else, which meant Ambrose must have fallen asleep waiting for me.
Well, if I was going to risk setting Bear off, I might as well do it with conviction and hope for the best. Rather than trying to wake Ambrose up, I pulled open the door and let myself in. The only light came from the lantern on a small table against the wall between the bed and the door where I stood.
I scanned the room briefly, curious about what decoration he would choose, if any at all. A large rug was spread on the floor near the bed, with a seating area tucked away in a corner under a window. There was a small table beside a chair, and I walked over to see another unlit lantern and a book. I flipped it over, reading the cover and grunting in mild surprise. I hadn't taken him for much of a reader, but the surprising part was that it was Jane Austen.
"Aren't you full of surprises?" I asked quietly, tensing when I heard a soft movement behind me, reminding me that, technically, I wasn't alone.
I turned around, and the tension in me bled away in an instant, and I felt my chest squeeze. Ambrose had definitely fallen asleep waiting for me to arrive, sprawled on his back, arm thrown over his face. The sweet part came from the fact that Bear was sprawled next to him, shoved against the wall, long front legs splayed over Ambrose, and his big head resting on the man's bare chest. The source of the noise was obvious as Bear's tail flopped lazily, occasionally hitting the wall as he stared at me with his big eyes.
I approached them, smirking when Bear's tail sped up, and I reached out, placing a hand on his head, and watched as his tail calmed down. I glanced down at Ambrose and the warmth that squeezed my chest at the cute sight twisted and dug into my gut, becoming a different heat. Ambrose had kicked off his boots and pulled off his shirt, leaving him only in his pants.
The lantern cast shadows over him and made his skin glow pleasantly. My fingers itched to reach down and trace the lines of his stomach as it rose and fell from his steady breathing. I knew from experience his skin would be warm and the muscles would be pleasantly, erotically firm from all the work he did. And I knew if he was awake when I did it, his breathing would sharpen, and his eyelids would flutter when my touch moved lower.
I took a moment to inspect his face, completely absent of the normal scowl and dark look in his eyes that spoke volumes about how serious and anxious his inner thoughts were. Asleep, however, the lines were gone, and his expression was almost soft. It was far easier to see now that he was about my age. I'd never really thought about it, but most of the time when he was awake, all that frowning, scowling, and growling at people added years to his face.
"Handsome while awake, cute while asleep," I murmured wryly before sitting on the edge of the bed. I didn't know if it was the shifting of the cot or the sound of my voice so close, but his eyes fluttered open. I watched him, his body tensing momentarily before his expression eased when he realized it was me. For a moment, I felt a flash of hot envy at the fact that being awoken by a potential stranger in his personal space was a source of surprise and not a potential threat to his life. I had lost that sort of innocence a long time ago, and I knew he didn't fully comprehend what he had.
"What?" he asked, and I smiled at the roughness in his voice that told me he'd probably been asleep for a while.
"Well," I said, finally giving in to my urge from earlier and placing my hand on his stomach, enjoying how his muscles jumped at the touch. "In case you forgot, the deal was that if you left the light on, I would come on in."
"Yeah," he said gruffly, looking around with bleary eyes. "Time is it?"
"Late," I said with a shrug. "Wasn't exactly given a clock to measure the time precisely. I suppose your father didn't think it was necessary."
Ambrose snorted, his hand coming to rest atop mine. "More like he thought about it and decided against it. There's nothin' much that gets past him, I can tell you that."
"I more or less figured that out on my own," I said, distracted by the way his fingers stroked my hand gentler than any other time he'd touched me. Apparently, he was far gentler and affectionate when he was half asleep. Perhaps a holdover from those mornings when he woke up early enough to doze and cuddle with his dog.
He grunted. “Can't believe you got in here without me knowin'...really can't believe?—"
I smirked down at him. “Are you kidding? Being quiet and not getting caught is one of my best skills. Even as a kid, I could get around quietly. Some people have a gift for it...and sometimes you make it better by learning how to watch people and things and anticipate when they're going to do things and when they're not. That also helps."
"Naw," he chuckled, bringing his hand to rest on Bear's head, the dog closing his eyes at the touch and letting out a contented sigh. "My father is the only person who don't make Bear growl or bark when they get near the cabin. Everyone else? Bear lets 'em know he's here and can hear that they're too close without permission."
"What? Him?" I asked, reaching over to scratch Bear's nose, making his lip quiver. "We're old friends now."
"Hmph, can't say he's got good taste."
"Hey, Ambrose?"
"Hmm?"
I bent over to look down into his face with an exceptionally smug smirk. "That means your taste isn't much better, considering you were lying here, waiting for me to show up."
Some of the fogginess in his eyes disappeared, replaced by sparks of interest and arousal. "I might remember something like that."
"Might," I echoed back, letting my fingers trace down his stomach to feel the tickle of the hair peeking out of his pants. I let them brush against my fingertips, enjoying the way his attention quickly became locked on me as he realized I was completely serious and intent on following through on my original idea. I was not disappointed when I felt his breath hitch as my fingers slid beneath the trousers he had loosened earlier so he could be comfortable sleeping.
"Or do," he said in a far gruffer voice than before, a sure sign that I most certainly had his attention.
"I'm sure," I said, tugging on the strings of his trousers to finish the job of loosening them before reaching in and finding what I was looking for, gently pulling him free as he grew steadily harder in my hand. I could say plenty of things about how dour and sour he could be and how much he acted like he wasn't always interested in me, but this part of him always betrayed just how much of a liar he was.
"Just...what did ya have in mind tonight?" he asked, and there was something else under the gruff voice of his arousal, something worried...or maybe a little anxious.
"Well, there's only one thing we need a great deal of privacy for, isn't there? Everything else we've done can be quickly hidden away or explained, as we've learned firsthand. But something else...well, that's a little harder to explain if you're caught with your pants down," I chuckled, stroking him slowly but keeping my eyes on him. It was clearly something he wanted if the light being on was any indication, but it was also something more than just anticipating pleasure.
"Do you...have objections to my idea?" I asked, figuring I might as well make sure he was fully on board. I'd had a couple of partners who were...less than enthusiastic due to their own issues. One because he hadn't made peace with his feelings about other men and another because, as I found out later, he had recently lost the man he'd been with for a few years and had only been looking for a bit of company as a balm to the ache in his heart.
The first man had been a lost cause, and while I hoped he’d managed to find some sort of peace, it would never come from anyone but himself. As for the second, well, the sex might have been off the table, but the conversation that night over a fantastic pot of stew he’d made and a strong bottle of whiskey he’d been saving for a special occasion was great. I spent a week with him before needing to move on once I caught wind that local law enforcement had started moving in and asking questions, but it had been a good week.
"Just...how?" he asked, nose wrinkling.
"Easy," I said with a soft laugh, reaching into my pocket, pulling out the container, and holding it up to him. The writing on it was smudged and a little dirty from the storage shed, but that didn't matter. I knew what it was. "All you need is some good quality gun oil. The cheap stuff creates...a gross mess. And other stuff like butter or lard? That's even worse. And the smell ."
To my surprise and delight, his nose immediately wrinkled. “Tell me about it."
"Good Lord, you used something like that?"
"I don't wanna talk about it."
I snorted. “Well, that makes sense. I wouldn't want to talk about it either."
He plucked the container from my hand and looked it over, opening it and sniffing. "Gun oil?"
" Good gun oil," I corrected with a smirk. "What did you end up using that was good?"
"It was...well, he had it. Some oil from across the ocean. Never really said what it was."
"Huh," I said thoughtfully. "There's a few different ones, but those are extremely expensive and hard to get your hands on. But good gun oil? Well, you can always count on someone to have some somewhere. And if they don't, just find your local general store or someone with a big wagon that doesn't shoot you for daring to get too close."
"That happen to you often?"
"More than you'd think. People aren't exactly trusting in these parts."
"Well, considerin' what you were doin' before?—"
I raised a brow, amused and slightly confused at his attempt at tact. "While I appreciate your attempt not to sneer and say outlaw, it wasn't because of that. Most of the time, I spent on my own, and when I got pulled into a group, it was generally against my will. Thankfully, if the leader has any brains, you can talk your way out of getting dragged through the desert or a bullet in your brain. Those liked to use me as the charming face of the group, so I was used to approaching people on my own."
"Charming?"
"Extremely charming. Fact of the matter is, I was prepared to live in this kind of place, at least outside the ranch."
"Why's that?"
"Because I already knew people can't be trusted, and anyone approaching you should be dealt with cautiously and with your head on straight. Trust is rarer in these parts than water and for a damn good reason. Though...maybe not for long."