CHAPTER FIFTEEN No Chains Between Us #2
Eli Pike had survived two years in the San Diablo mine and still could not sleep in a room with a closed door.
Rose Bell had lost her husband and acreage to one of Harrow’s forged deeds; she now managed the ranch accounts with a severity Gideon found comforting.
Two brothers from New Mexico repaired saddles in exchange for a winter without questions.
A young woman named Clara slept in the loft above the tack room because the man who claimed to own her labor had not yet learned where she had gone.
No traveler was asked for more history than safety required.
The sign at the road read:
SUNDOWN RANCHHORSES, WATER, AND A BED FOR THOSE IN NEED
Someone had carved beneath it:
WORK EXPECTED FROM THOSE ABLE
Marisol accused Gideon of adding the second line.
Gideon accused Jude.
Jude denied being able to spell “expected.”
The ranch earned its money breeding horses capable of surviving long distances across dry country.
Jude selected the bloodlines and trained the difficult animals.
Gideon kept the contracts, inspected every buyer, and refused to sell to prison companies, forced-labor camps, or lawmen unable to explain why they required unusually strong chains.
They were not wealthy.
The roof held.
The well ran clear.
The horses were sound.
It was enough.
Marisol placed coffee in front of Gideon and inspected his face.
“You need shaving.”
“So I have been informed.”
“I informed you.”
“Repeatedly.”
Jude entered carrying a straight razor, soap, and a towel.
Marisol sighed. “Not on the table.”
“The light is better,” Jude said.
“People eat there.”
“Gideon will not shed enough whiskers to change the flavor.”
“Your confidence is unsupported.”
Jude turned one chair away from the table and pointed to it.
“Sit.”
Gideon took his coffee with him.
Jude tied the towel around his neck and stood between Gideon’s knees. He had buttoned his shirt but left the collar open. Gideon could see the hollow of his throat and the beginning of the scar running beneath the cloth.
Jude stirred the shaving soap into foam.
“You are still angry about the gate,” he said.
“I am deciding.”
“It was one mistake.”
“Three mares ate half the winter vegetables.”
“They disliked the tomatoes.”
“They destroyed the irrigation channel.”
“You disliked the channel.”
“I built the channel.”
“Which explains your attachment.”
Jude spread warm foam over Gideon’s jaw.
Gideon looked up at him. “You blamed me.”
“You were available.”
The razor opened with a small click.
Jude took Gideon’s chin and turned his face toward the window. His thumb stretched the skin near Gideon’s jaw while the blade moved downward in a slow, precise stroke.
Gideon’s hand settled at Jude’s hip.
Jude paused.
“Your hand is distracting.”
“You are holding a knife to my throat.”
“That requires concentration.”
“I trust you.”
“I know. That is the distracting part.”
He cleaned the razor on the towel and drew it across Gideon’s cheek again.
The kitchen sounds continued around them. Coffee poured. Boots crossed the floor. Marisol argued with Eli about roof nails. No one stared at Gideon’s hand resting openly on Jude’s waist.
Jude tilted Gideon’s head back.
The razor touched the vulnerable skin beneath his jaw.
At the Calder homestead, Gideon had shaved Jude in the same position, Jude sitting between his knees while the blade passed over his throat. Trust had felt dangerous then, almost indistinguishable from surrender.
Now the danger had become domestic.
Jude’s thumb moved beneath Gideon’s lower lip.
“Hold still.”
“I am still.”
“You are smiling.”
“That does not constitute movement.”
“It does beneath a blade.”
Gideon flattened his mouth.
Jude leaned close to inspect the angle. His breath warmed Gideon’s cheek. The open edge of his shirt brushed Gideon’s knuckles.
“You missed a place,” Gideon said.
“I have not finished.”
“Here.”
Gideon turned his face and kissed Jude’s wrist.
Jude stopped.
The razor remained safely away from his skin.
“That was deliberate interference,” Jude said.
“Yes.”
“What do you want?”
The question was quiet enough that the others could not hear.
Gideon met his gaze.
“You to finish shaving me.”
Jude studied him, recognizing the answer for what it was: not refusal, only delay.
“Afterward?” he asked.
“I have not decided.”
“Liar.”
Jude finished the shave.
He wiped away the remaining soap, untied the towel, and ran his palm over Gideon’s jaw to test the work. Gideon turned into the touch and kissed the base of Jude’s thumb.
Marisol dropped a stack of plates onto the table.
“Horses,” she reminded them.
Jude folded the razor. “He was distracting me.”
“I have seen you shoot three men while falling through a roof.”
“The marshal was not sitting between my hands at the time.”
Marisol pushed the plates toward him. “Eat.”
The escaped mares had destroyed the lettuce, frightened the chickens, and overturned one rain barrel.
Gideon and Jude spent the morning repairing the damage.
Jude worked without his shirt beneath the climbing sun, driving new posts along the garden fence. Gideon hauled stones into place around the irrigation channel. The scar beneath his shoulder tightened with each lift, but the pain remained dull and manageable.
Whenever he straightened, he found Jude watching him.
Whenever Jude raised the hammer, Gideon watched the muscles shift across his back.
Six months had done nothing to lessen the effect.
If anything, familiarity made it worse. Gideon knew exactly how that sweat-darkened skin felt beneath his palms. He knew the weight of Jude’s hips and the strength in his thighs.
He knew the sound Jude made when touched unexpectedly at the small of his back and the one he made only after asking Gideon to continue.
Jude drove the final nail and caught Gideon looking.
“What?” he called.
“The post is crooked.”
Jude stepped back to inspect it. “It is not.”
“Leans east.”
“The ground slopes.”
“The ground is level.”
Jude placed both hands on his hips. “Would you care to repair it?”
“Yes.”
“Then I will observe.”
He held out the hammer.
Gideon crossed the garden.
The closer he came, the less the post mattered. Jude’s chest rose and fell from the work. Dust clung to the sweat along his stomach. His hair had fallen over his forehead.
Gideon stopped directly in front of him.
Jude offered the hammer.
Gideon took his wrist instead.
“That is not the handle.”
“I am aware.”
“Marshal Shaw, are you using criticism of my carpentry as a pretext?”
“Yes.”
“Dishonest lawman.”
“I learned from my tracker.”
Gideon walked Jude backward.
Jude went willingly until his shoulders touched the stable wall. Gideon planted one hand beside his head and kept the other around his wrist.
Their bodies did not yet touch.
Jude’s eyes darkened.
One of the first rules between them had been that an accidental touch did not grant permission for the next. Time had not made the rule unnecessary. Desire had become easier, but assumption had not replaced asking.
Gideon’s thumb moved over Jude’s pulse.
“What do you want?” he asked.
Jude’s gaze dropped to his mouth.
“You know.”
“Say it.”
“I want you to kiss me.”
“Where?”
Jude’s mouth curved. “You have become difficult.”
“I was difficult when you met me.”
“You were unbearable.”
“And now?”
Jude leaned close enough for his breath to cross Gideon’s lips.
“Now you are mine to endure.”
Gideon tightened his hand around Jude’s wrist without pinning it.
“Where?” he repeated.
“My mouth.”
Gideon kissed him.
Jude’s free hand caught the front of Gideon’s shirt and pulled him in. Their bodies came together against the sun-warmed boards. Gideon felt bare skin through his own shirt, the heat of Jude’s chest, the hard line of his belt, and the dust on his stomach.
The kiss deepened quickly.
Jude opened beneath him with a low sound. Gideon released his wrist and placed both hands at his waist, lifting just enough to fit Jude more firmly against the wall. Jude’s fingers entered Gideon’s hair, tilting his head.
Gideon kissed him until both were breathing hard.
Then he drew back.
Jude followed.
Gideon let him catch his mouth again, laughing softly when Jude bit his lower lip.
“What?” Jude asked.
“You are attempting to win.”
“It was an argument.”
“About a fence post.”
“Which remains straight.”
Gideon looked toward it.
Jude caught his jaw and turned him back.
“Do not inspect my work while kissing me.”
“You stopped kissing me.”
“An error.”
He corrected it.
Footsteps approached from the stable.
Jude broke away first.
Eli rounded the corner carrying a coil of rope. He looked at Gideon. Then at Jude against the wall. Then at the hammer lying in the dirt.
“Fence repaired?” he asked.
“Nearly,” Gideon said.
Eli nodded solemnly. “I will check the south pasture.”
He retreated.
Jude rested his forehead against Gideon’s shoulder.
“You have terrified that man,” he said.
“He survived San Diablo.”
“He believes interrupting us is more dangerous.”
“He may be correct.”
Jude laughed into Gideon’s shirt.
Gideon held him there, one hand moving over his warm back.
This was what they had fought to reach.
Not privacy without end. Not a world suddenly cleansed of cruelty.
They still slept with weapons within reach.
They chose towns carefully and entered unfamiliar hotels separately until they understood the proprietor.
Gideon had heard men in Santa Reina use his love as evidence that Harrow’s bullet had damaged more than his shoulder.
But inside Sundown Ranch, they refused to disappear.
Their bedroom door stood open during the day. Their clothes shared the same wardrobe. Jude kissed Gideon in the stable when he wanted to, and Gideon touched Jude’s waist at the kitchen table without first checking who might see.
The territory tolerated what usefulness, reputation, and a quick gun compelled it to tolerate.
For now, that was enough space in which to live honestly.
They finished the garden fence before noon.
Inside the house, Gideon stood behind Jude while fastening his gun belt.