CHAPTER FIFTEEN No Chains Between Us #4
Jude looked toward the ranch house.
Marisol stood on the porch with her arms folded. Eli and Rose waited beside the stable. Behind them, the sign at the road moved slightly in the wind.
Horses, water, and a bed for those in need.
Home.
Jude turned back.
“Ask me again.”
Gideon understood the echo.
He rested one hand against Jude’s waist.
“Jude Calder, do you want to ride with me into New Mexico, locate six missing prisoners, expose whatever remains of Cutter’s conspiracy, irritate a federal judge, and return to this ranch alive?”
“Your invitations have become unnecessarily long.”
“Answer.”
“Yes.”
“Yes to which part?”
Jude caught Gideon by the front of his coat and kissed him in full view of the ranch yard.
Gideon’s hands settled on his hips.
The kiss was warm and playful, but beneath it remained every time they had nearly lost each other: the cave, the storm, the mine, Harrow’s barn, the gallows. Jude’s mouth carried none of that fear now. He kissed Gideon like a man who expected the road to be dangerous and the return to be certain.
When he drew away, Gideon followed for one more brief touch.
“Yes to all of it,” Jude said.
He released Gideon and walked to the horses.
Gideon mounted Judge.
Instead of swinging onto Mercy, Jude tied the roan’s reins loosely to the back of Gideon’s saddle. Then he placed one boot in Gideon’s stirrup and climbed onto the bay behind him.
The horse shifted beneath their combined weight.
Gideon looked over his shoulder. “Your horse is directly beside us.”
“I can see her.”
“You saddled her.”
“I did.”
“You intend to ride double?”
“For a while.”
“Why?”
Jude settled close.
His thighs rested along the backs of Gideon’s. His chest pressed firmly against Gideon’s spine. Both arms circled Gideon’s waist, crossing over the leather of his gun belt.
The position returned them to a cold desert night after Salt Knife Canyon.
Then, Jude had sat in front because chains and one injured horse left no alternative. Gideon had held him around the stomach to keep from hurting his ribs. Their bodies had moved together with every rise of the saddle, desire acknowledged but forbidden by iron and authority.
Now the horse beneath them was strong.
A second mount waited.
The road was open.
Jude held Gideon because he wanted to.
His hand spread over Gideon’s stomach. The other rested over his heart. He pressed his mouth to the side of Gideon’s neck, just beneath the jaw.
Gideon covered Jude’s hand with his.
“You comfortable?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Shoulder?”
“Fine.”
“Mercy’s reins secure?”
“Marshal.”
“What?”
Jude kissed the pulse in his throat.
“Ride.”
Gideon turned Judge toward the gate.
Marisol raised one hand from the porch.
“Return before the winter storms,” she called.
“We will,” Gideon answered.
“And send telegrams.”
Jude called, “You do not live here.”
Marisol’s reply followed them toward the road.
“I will have moved your clothes before you return.”
Eli opened the gate.
Gideon guided Judge through it, Mercy following on the loose line. The ranch receded behind them one familiar piece at a time: the repaired barn, the new corral, the garden with its crooked eastern post, the bedroom window above the porch, and the sign Jude had carved with his own hands.
The original cuffs remained hanging unlocked beside the front door.
They had no power from that distance.
Perhaps they never had.
Iron could restrain a wrist, shorten a stride, or place one man under another’s control.
It could not create loyalty. It could not make trust. It could not explain why Jude had returned to Harrow’s barn when Mexico waited in the opposite direction, or why Gideon had remained in a collapsing mine when survival required abandoning the man he loved.
The chain had only forced them close enough to discover what they would choose once it was gone.
At the top of the first ridge, Gideon stopped.
Sundown Ranch lay below them in the morning light. Smoke rose from the kitchen chimney. Horses moved across the pasture, their shadows long over the restored Calder land.
Jude’s arms tightened around him.
“Regretting it?” Gideon asked.
“The case?”
“Leaving.”
Jude rested his chin on Gideon’s shoulder.
“No.”
“Good.”
“I am considering the bed.”
“We will come back to it.”
“The quilt will be crooked.”
“I know.”
“Marisol will occupy half the house.”
“Probably.”
“Eli will leave the gate open.”
“That was you.”
“Unproven.”
Gideon smiled.
He nudged the horse forward.
The road descended north through red earth, mesquite, and the long blue shadows of the morning. Somewhere beyond the horizon waited an abandoned transport, a bloodstained driver’s seat, and a chain broken by hands still unknown.
Gideon did not know how far the conspiracy reached.
He knew who rode with him.
Jude’s body followed every movement of the horse. His breath warmed Gideon’s neck. His hands remained linked over Gideon’s stomach while Mercy trotted freely behind them.
Once, the chain had been the only reason neither man could leave.
Now there was no chain at all.
And Jude still held on.