6. Heater. Heathen. Helium. #2
When Jay crossed the threshold, the room seemed to contract around him.
It wasn’t that the cabin was especially small.
It had been large enough for Harris and Claire, and since the divorce it often felt larger than one person needed.
But Navarro occupied rooms differently than most people.
His shoulders narrowed the space between the table and counter, and the loose movement of his hands made Harris conscious of every ordinary thing in sight: his jacket slung over a chair, the mug he’d left beside the sink, the pair of boots kicked beneath the table.
Nothing he wouldn’t want anyone seeing. But he was conscious of those things with Navarro there.
Jay glanced over the bookshelves, woodstove, and photograph beside the lamp without making a production of looking. “Priya wants us to confirm the load options for the high-country locations, in case you ever approve them.”
“Ain’t approved the trip.”
“Yeah, well aware. This is so we understand what’s feasible before you hopefully do approve it.” He opened the folder on the table and began thumbing through the pages.
Harris nodded toward the refrigerator. “Beer?”
Jay’s eyebrows rose. “Oh. Uh, sure.”
Harris retrieved two bottles and opened them against the metal edge fixed beneath the counter. When he returned to the table, Jay had taken the chair opposite his and arranged the pages between them. He looked oddly natural there.
Which was irritating.
The equipment had been divided into camera, audio, batteries, personal gear, food, water, and emergency supplies, with totals for several crew configurations.
The hard cases had already been replaced by soft waterproof bags.
Food and water included a reserve. Even the drone had been listed honestly instead of buried somewhere Harris might miss it.
The riders’ weights appeared beside the gear.
Harris’s attention caught on Jay’s line.
He weighed more than Harris would have guessed. Jay was obviously strong, broad through the shoulders and chest, but his height distributed the full weight of him. Harris looked across the table at his long frame folded into the kitchen chair, one boot hooked around the rung.
The total remained comfortably within range.
Harris checked it again anyway.
He had requested the number because horses had limits. Still, the information became physical the moment he read it: the breadth of Jay’s shoulders, the solid body beneath the shirt, exactly how much of him occupied the room.
Harris had spent enough years loading horses to estimate a man’s weight fairly accurately by looking.
He had never previously felt the need to know exactly how much of Jay Navarro there was.
Harris moved to the next line. “Are these estimates, or did you actually weigh everybody?”
“Eli objected on constitutional grounds, but yeah, we all got on the scale.”
“Personal gear too?”
“Packed and weighed. Priya added a five-pound allowance because she believes we’re all lying about how much we’ll really pack.”
“Probably right.”
“She generally is. It’s exhausting.”
Everything added up. The configurations were sensible, the differences between the horses had been acknowledged, and the final column showed exactly what each person would cost them in supplies and equipment.
Annoying.
“You make this?” Harris asked.
“Eli gave me the equipment weights. Priya calculated consumables. I made the table.”
Harris reviewed it once more, mostly to see whether irritation could uncover an error.
“Looks fine.”
Jay leaned one hip against the table. “You sound almost disappointed.”
“What if I am?”
“I’ll make a deliberate mistake next time so you feel more useful.”
That really should have been the end of the visit. Harris could have closed the folder, and Navarro could have carried it back to the lodge. Instead, neither of them moved.
Outside, insects buzzed in the grass. The refrigerator clicked off behind Harris, and the kitchen went quiet. Jay tightened his grip on the beer bottle and looked at him, like he wanted to say something but hadn’t decided how.
Harris waited, which was another mistake.
For several seconds, Jay only looked at him. Then his gaze shifted past Harris toward the living room.
“That window is terrible.”
Harris frowned. “What?”
“The western one.”
Jay crossed the room and pulled the curtain aside. The narrow pane framed one slice of the ridge. The peaks still caught the last orange light, while the pasture below was already in shadow.
“You have that entire view,” he said, motioning toward the ridge, “and approximately fourteen inches of glass. It should cover most of the wall. Low enough to see the mountains from the couch, with a deep sill.”
“What the hell for?”
“Coffee. Books. Somewhere to sit when the light’s good.”
“Got chairs.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“You done, Navarro?”
Jay glanced at the couch like he was about to explain exactly why Harris’s chairs were insufficient, but mercifully seemed to change his mind. He released the curtain.
“Sorry. My best friend’s an interior designer. She’s ruined me.”
“Seems difficult.”
“You have no idea.”
He picked up the folder, whatever had been on his face before replaced by the grin Harris was getting used to. “Thanks for the beer.”
“Sure.”
Harris opened the door.
Jay paused on the porch and glanced back toward the living room. “Still think you should fix that window.”
“Off my porch, Navarro.”
Jay smiled. “Good night, Harris.”
After he left, Harris looked at the western wall. The window had been fine for years. Navarro had been inside for twenty minutes before deciding the cabin required renovation.
Harris pulled the curtain shut hard enough to rattle the rings.
* * *
Jay was proud of himself. He had spent twenty minutes alone with Harris in his secluded cabin, nearly maneuvered the conversation somewhere personal, and then complained about the man’s windows instead. This qualified as restraint.
Romy would have been deeply impressed if Jay made the mistake of telling her, which he would not.
For the next two days, Jay made no attempt to manufacture an intimate conversation with a rancher who had not requested one.
He spent Monday in a water-rights meeting that lasted four hours while producing perhaps thirty seconds of usable material.
Tuesday disappeared into sound logs, scheduling, and access routes.
During all of it, he managed several entire interactions with Harris without announcing a single fact about his sexual preferences.
Excellent restraint. Romy had been wrong.
Jay enjoyed this victory immensely.
On Tuesday afternoon, he found Harris repairing a latch near the west barn while Willa and June covered the concrete in chalk drawings.