Chapter Ten The Price of Staying #2
“I have seen you smile before.”
“No, you have not.”
“At Mason Creek.”
“That was satisfaction.”
“This is worse.”
“How?”
“I could become dependent.”
Hank kissed him to silence.
Their bodies met without contest. They explored carefully around bruises and bandages, finding pleasure in patience. When desire crested, they remained wrapped together, neither rushing to dress.
Hank’s hand rested over Drew’s heart again.
“You started to say something in the wagon,” he said.
“I said enough.”
“Coward.”
“Yes.”
Hank did not press.
Before returning to camp, Drew took Warren’s letter from his saddlebag.
The crew watched as he held it over the fire.
His father’s promise of railroad control curled black at the edges. The signature disappeared last.
No one applauded.
They did not need to.
When only ash remained, Drew sat beside Hank in full view of the men.
Their shoulders touched.
Hank did not move away.
“We need the rail camp,” Drew said.
“Briggs will expect us.”
“My father will expect me to return eventually. He believes inheritance will outweigh conscience.”
“Will it?”
Drew looked at the ash. “There is no inheritance now.”
Hank’s thumb brushed the side of his hand where the others could not easily see.
“Then we make him believe there is,” he said.
The fire burned low after Drew consigned Warren's letter to it. Heavy cream paper curled black at the edges. The promise of presidency, fortune, and restored favor vanished without spectacle, becoming flakes that rose through the smoke and disappeared among the stars.
Hank watched the last piece collapse. "You could have kept it as evidence."
"Evidence of what? That my father confuses ownership with love? I have thirty-five years of testimony."
"Could've sold the railroad."
"To whom? You?"
"Might trade you a good mare."
"She would be better company than most of the board."
Hank's smile faded. "You certain?"
Drew understood that he was not asking about the mare.
Beyond the fire, the recovered herd settled into uneasy quiet.
Men moved among them checking brands and wounds.
Three hundred cattle remained missing, but more than twice that number had been pulled out of Briggs's trap because Drew recognized the dry basin on Warren's survey map.
"No," Drew said. "I am terrified."
Hank looked over.
"Certainty is another luxury Warren sold me," Drew continued. "He always knew what was proper, profitable, inevitable. I learned to imitate him. Burning the letter does not give me a new life. It only prevents me from crawling back into the old one without admitting what I am doing."
Hank nudged the ashes with a stick. "Could still go back."
"Do you want me to?"
The question tightened the space between them. Hank did not answer quickly.
"Want ain't the same as right," he said at last.
"That is not an answer."
"You gave up enough choices because a man said he loved you. I won't be another."
Drew shifted closer until their knees touched. "Then tell me what you want and permit me the dignity of deciding what to do with it."
The fire popped. Hank's gaze moved over Drew's face, searching perhaps for the spy, the heir, or the lover who had occupied the same body.
"I want you at my fire tomorrow," Hank said. "And the next night. Want you arguing about the route and stealing my coffee. Want to know where you are when I wake up. Past that, I don't trust myself to ask yet."
Drew's chest hurt. "That will do for tonight."
Hank's hand closed over the back of his neck and drew him into a kiss. Unlike their earlier reconciliation in the medicine wagon, this carried no panic. It was a promise measured in one dawn, deliberately small enough to keep. Drew answered with equal care.
"There he is," Sam said behind them. "The prodigal rich man."
They separated only far enough to look. Sam stood with his ribs bound and two tin plates in hand.
"If you quote scripture," Drew said, "at least bring better food."
"Beans are holy after a cattle raid."
Sam gave them the plates and lowered himself onto a log with a wince. Around the main fire, the crew was eating in exhausted silence. No one had invited Drew. No one had told him to stay away.
"Will says you rode into Briggs's line after your horse went down," Sam said.
"The terrain offered limited alternatives."
"Ortiz says you shot the rope off the lead steer."
"Ortiz exaggerates."
"Ben says the rope was on fire."
Drew stared. "Ben has a gift."
Sam ate a spoonful of beans. "Point is, they're deciding what to do with you."
Hank went still. "They don't decide."
"Men always decide who they follow. You can order behavior, not loyalty."
Drew looked toward the fire. Will said something that made Ortiz laugh. Ben turned and caught Drew watching. For a moment his face revealed the memory of Black Tooth Canyon, when he had demanded the traitor be abandoned. Then he raised his cup in a short salute.
Drew returned it.
"That's one," Sam said. "Only twelve stubborn bastards left."
The decision came after supper. The crew gathered to divide the night watch. Hank began assigning pairs, deliberately placing Drew beside himself. Ortiz interrupted.
"White rides point with me," he said.
Silence fell.
Hank's brows lowered. "I make the assignments."
"You got a wound that needs checking, and you haven't slept. White knows how Briggs moves. I want him where he can see the basin."
Drew waited. This was not full forgiveness; it was something more useful. Trust attached to a task.
"If he agrees," Hank said.
Every face turned toward Drew.
"I agree."
Ortiz handed him a fresh coil of rope. It belonged to Briggs, recovered from the stolen herd. "Then carry this. Ours got cut."
The rope was an ugly thing, stiff with dust, but the gesture carried the weight of a badge.
Night watch proved cold and uneventful. Drew rode the basin rim beside Ortiz while moonlight silvered the recovered cattle. At midnight Ortiz passed him a flask.
"My brother has a place in the Rio Grande valley," the drover said. "Whitaker bank bought his note last winter. Doubled the fee."
Drew drank, then handed it back. "I did not know."
"Figured."
"That does not absolve me."
"Didn't say it did."
They rode another quarter mile.
"You get us proof," Ortiz said, "maybe he keeps the place. That's what absolves men out here. Work."
Drew looked across the dark herd toward Hank's small figure near the medicine wagon. "Then I have work to do."
Before dawn, Ortiz released him from watch. Drew found Hank sitting on the wagon step while Sam changed the dressing on his shoulder. The trail boss looked murderous.
"He is a poor patient," Sam said.
"I am surrounded by commentary."
Drew took the clean bandage. "Go sleep, Sam."
Hank glanced up. "He just started."
"And I will finish."
Sam's eyes moved between them. "If he tears the stitch, hit him."
"With pleasure."
When Sam left, Drew knelt between Hank's knees. The wound was healing but angry at the edges from hard riding. He cleaned it while Hank endured in rigid silence.
"Ortiz accepted me," Drew said.
"Ortiz accepted your eyes."
"That is how it begins."
"He tell you about his brother?"
"Yes."
Hank's jaw tightened. "I should've known the banks were connected."