Falls Chance part 18a

 

 

Dale moved silently and immediately on Paul's orders to pack,
understanding what Paul was doing. Move fast enough and Flynn would
have no time to argue. Within five minutes, he had a bag together and
went out to saddle Hammer and Leo himself, leading both horses into
the yard and tethering them to start tacking up. It was several
minutes more before Flynn came out of the house, jacketed and with a
bag of his own, and he stopped beside Dale, putting a hand out to
grip his shoulder with a visible effort to take the grimness out of
his voice and face.



"Dale. Do you want to come with me? You don't have to."



And leave you alone? Dale looked at him, seeing the tension in his
face and shoulders, his burning need to get gone, to get away. Hurt
and angry, mostly with himself. Paul was right; someone had to be
with him tonight.



"It's fine." he said easily.



Flynn nodded once and went to finish tacking up Leo. Dale turned his
attention back to Hammer, trying not to watch Flynn behind him.



Face it Aden. You get what Paul's worried about – and what Riley will
be worried about when he calms down and realises what he's done – but
you're not doing this for them, are you?



At least I know how not to make this any harder for him.



"I told Paul where we're going." Flynn said without expression. "The
south west run. A couple of us ride down to the far south and far
west fences once a year to check them, it's a two night ride."











There were several hours of daylight left, and they were deep into
the south west territory before twilight fell. The horses walked
quietly through the deep, cooling grass, following the lines of the
winding valleys that led through the green foothills. At intervals
rabbits paused on the plains to watch them, and birds rose in their
small feeding flocks from the grass into the pink skies overhead,
circling and calling. As the sun began to set, they rounded the
corner of a steep valley and came out onto one of the plateaus, a
flat, deep grassed shelf, cupped in the basin of the foothills and
ending in a steep cliff that dropped down to the next plateau below.

"This is a good place to camp." Flynn said brusquely, swinging down
from Leo.



He moved as if he was born to live rough, and without a word, as if
he was the only one on the plateau. Dale took the saddles from the
horses, leaving Flynn alone while he hobbled both Hammer and Leo and
took a knife from his pocket, jabbing it into the turf to mark out a
square. There was a viciousness in the action that spoke worlds to
Dale. He moved to the edge of the plateau, looking out over the
spectacular views below. It was a while before he heard the sound of
sticks snapping and looked back to where Flynn was turning out dry
firewood from one of his packs, efficiently laying a small fire.



"We'll have to look for more wood in the morning, to replace this."
Flynn said curtly as Dale came back to join him. "Hungry?"



"Fairly." Dale crouched on the soft grass and watched Flynn light
the fire, then unpack another bag, handing him several of the wrapped
parcels without looking up.



"See what those are. There's knives in there, mind your fingers."

Paul had given them more than enough to survive for a few days away
from the house. Dale sliced bread and cold meat while Flynn built up
the fire, and Flynn took the slices Dale held out to him. He dug a
short, iron stake into the ground beside the fire, and hung a small
kettle from the hook at the top, filling it with water, before he
stood a few feet away, eating, eyes on the horizon. The tension was
clearly visible. Dale could see it in his neck, in his jaw and
fingers as he ate, the way he looked out over the land. It reminded
Dale of how he had been sitting yesterday, alone in the meadow by the
cairn.



"Do you do this ride every summer?" Dale asked softly enough for
Flynn to ignore if he wanted. Flynn nodded briefly without looking
back.



"Riley and I have done it the last few years if Jas couldn't spare
the time."

As if he knew what Dale was thinking, Flynn looked over his shoulder,
voice gruffer.



"Don't worry about Riley."

And you're not?



"Did you camp much on your parents' station?" Dale asked gently,
wanting to distract him.



"Often."



Dale waited. Flynn crouched down where he was, eyes still out on the
horizon, brushing crumbs from his hands.



"No money to employ extra pairs of hands; the family did everything.
I camped out on sheep watch or when we had to go to some far out part
of the station from when I was very small. By the time I was thirteen
or fourteen, I spent more time outside than I did at home."



Yes, that's good. Talk to me. If you're talking, you can't brood.



"How did you find time for school?"



"Low family priority." Flynn said dryly. "Sheep came first. I carried
books everywhere I went, and read wherever I had time."

Dale folded his arms and rested his chin on them.



"Academics were a very high priority at the schools I went to. They
got you up, they fed you, they exercised you, they worked you, there
was even set times and supervision for playing at prep school. We got
taken rowing, or taken to the cinema, or a group of us taken up into
the woods, always supervised. It was quite a big deal on the weekends
when we didn't have to wear uniform."



"Who sorted that out?" Flynn asked.



That's it, sit down and talk to me.


"The housemaster's wife or the matron. The solicitors kept a running
account with the house master's wife for whatever had to be bought
for me, and she used to take me down into town and help me pick
clothes and that kind of thing. But the whole focus was around school
and work."

"I came away from the station desperate to be left alone to learn."
Flynn said, sitting down and then stretching out full length on the
grass. It was getting dark, there was mostly shadows under the brim
of his hat, where his face was.



"Studying was counted as wasting time in my family. I wanted to be
somewhere there was no work but studying. No fighting for the space
or time to do it."



"Did you get that when you came to the ranch?" Dale asked with
genuine curiosity. Flynn grunted.



"The run of the study and the books whenever I wasn't working on the
ranch. And Philip didn't overwork me by any means."

There was silence for a minute, and then Flynn drew breath again.



"Philip knew I couldn't afford the books and there's no libraries
nearer than Cheyenne . No internet then. He got lists of recommended
reading for the courses I took and I just used to 'find' what I
needed on the shelves in the library. Philip read a lot of them
himself. I was naive enough for several years to believe they were
his. I was livid when I found out he bought them for me."

"That was kind." Dale said softly. Flynn let go a faint snort that
sounded like a laugh.



"Yes. It took a while for Philip to convince me there was a
difference between care and charity. I was a complete bastard at that
age, Dale. Angry with everyone and everything. I was always amazed
Philip put up with me long enough to straighten me out. I couldn't
get my head around the idea of someone taking study- or me – that
seriously."



He was still seeing it from the twisted perspective of that fiercely
independent, badly hurt teenager. What had Gerry said? Philip saw him
as a colt, sore mouthed from bad handling. He'd obviously seen too,
Flynn's intelligence, his determination, his deep capacity for love.
This was a man of very powerful emotions.



Which is partly why you keep such a tight rein on them, isn't it? And
you're someone who needs to be loved as much as you give it to other
people. The others know it. Philip knew it. And he's all over your
mind, isn't he? He's who you're thinking about.



Dale lay back in the grass. It was deep enough here to cradle you,
while you looked straight up at the sky above with the few remaining
pink clouds vivid against the dusky blue grey. The horses were
eating, the quiet sound of tearing grass came at intervals nearby.
The fire cracked and spat softly, it's heat tangible across the cool
ground, the wood smoke pungent in the air. The last of the light was
disappearing behind the horizon ahead of them. There was a moment's
silence, broken only by the crackle of the fire. Then Flynn got up,
heading for the saddles and the bedding rolls.



"Philip was most of the reason I turned out relatively ok. Time to
get under blankets, we'll be awake as soon as it's light."



Dale heard the change in his voice with a flash of tenderness that
was ridiculous to feel for a man this strong. In every conceivable
sense of the word. A lesser man would still be farming sheep on
another continent.



They settled on the thin and surprisingly comfortable sleeping mats,
side by side near the fire – Dale was slightly surprised that Flynn
kept him so close, knowing the space he needed tonight - yet when he
lay down, Flynn leaned over to pull the blankets further up over
Dale's shoulders.



"If you get cold, wake me and we'll build the fire up. The
temperature goes pretty low out here at night."



Even like this, he still has to look after. That's still the prime
instinct.















Dale was woken suddenly by a bang so loud that the sky seemed to have
torn in two. He started up with his heart pounding, fighting his way
out of the blankets, shocked to find himself outside in the dark with
cold grass under his hands. Flynn's voice came immediately from near
by, calm and reassuring.



"It's all right Dale. Just a storm."



Just a storm?!



Flynn was already on his feet and heading for the horses. Dale
struggled free of his blankets and followed, thrusting an almighty
effort of self control over himself.



Flynn swiftly took the hobble from Leo's forefeet and Dale knelt to
free Hammer's with hands that were shaking almost too much to be
useful. Overhead, the sky lit up like day with two forks of white
lightning and the crack of thunder was deafening. Leo reared and
screamed, and Dale let Hammer go as both horses bolted, feeling his
ears starting to sing.



Oh God, I'm going to lose it. I'm going to stand out here and I am
seriously going to lose it-



Flynn's hands grasped his shoulders and Dale jumped, unable to stop
the yelp.



"They won't go far and I'd rather they ran free than tried running
against the hobbles." Flynn said as though he hadn't reacted,
steering him towards the fire.



"We'll stay by the fire and I'll make some more tea, I don't think
we're going to get much sleep for an hour or so."



He said it so calmly that Dale found himself resisting the crazy urge
to laugh. Sleep? No. The air was so still and heavy that the
electricity was tangible, adding to Dale's sensation of struggling to
breathe. The sky beyond them was beautiful, orange and grey,
outlining Flynn in shadows as he knelt over the fire. Another mighty
white crack appeared across the valley, followed by another mighty
crack that echoed in the hills around them. Dale couldn't stop
himself flinching. Sweating, throat dry, he dug his hands deep in his
jacket pockets. Grown men were not afraid of thunder. No man had any
right to be so pathetic. Especially when Flynn was in no state to
have to worry about pulling him together.



"I'm –" Dale heard his voice crack and squeak, and cleared his throat
sharply.



Terrified. Yes Aden, you're making it obvious.



"I'm going to check on the horses, I'll be-"

"Come here." Flynn looked up from the fire and held out a hand.



To stand anchored to him like a child was too pitiable to be
tolerated. Worse still, there was an overwhelming impulse to do just
that: to cling to him like a terrified child. Dale backed away,
digging his hands deeper into his pockets.



"No. I'll just be-"

The next crack of thunder made him involuntarily cry out and Flynn
moved so fast Dale didn't see him until Flynn had hold of him. For a
moment they wrestled, Dale trying to fend him off, and then Flynn's
arms locked around him and gathered him so close he couldn't move.
Face against Flynn's jacket shoulder, crushed, Dale felt the weight
of Flynn's head against his and Flynn's voice in his ear,
ridiculously normal.



"Breathe. Dale, breathe."

To his humiliation Dale realised he was struggling in nothing more
than sheer panic. He stopped and felt Flynn gather him closer,
capable and too powerful to be resisted. His hair was soft, his
breath warm and his jaw scratched softly with night stubble.



"That's right. Breathe."

It took effort to make his frozen chest work. Dale could feel himself
shaking all over, his stomach boiling until throwing up was a serious
possibility. As was dying of sheer humiliation. He took a breath and
felt the thumping in his ears ease a little. Another breath and he
tried to get his hands up and politely move away from Flynn.



"I'm sorry. I'll be all right in a minute-"



"No bullshit." Flynn said firmly, not letting him go. "You are safe,
I'm not going to let anything hurt you. Sit with me, I'm going to
make tea."

He kept hold of Dale's shoulders taking him to the fire, and his idea
of 'sit with me' was for Dale to sit on the blankets exactly where
Flynn pointed him, which was pretty much against Flynn's side while
he filled the kettle with water and put up on the stake over the
fire. Then he sat down on the blankets beside Dale and wrapped a
blanket over Dale's shoulders, pulling him close and holding him
tightly.



"The storm is miles away, we're safe here. Although it's not that
you're worried about, is it? It's the sound you don't like."



It was too humiliating to think about. Dale folded his arms, shaking
hard.



"It's stupid."

"No, it's not stupid." Flynn put a hand down and Dale resisted the
urge to struggle as Flynn forced him to unfold his arms. "Fears come
from experiences. At some point you've had information that this
sound was something dangerous, and that comes from a part of your
brain that doesn't deal in logic or anything but adrenaline. It's a
chemical reaction-"

The crack over their heads was the loudest yet and Dale flinched
hard.



" – and you've got no control over it." Flynn finished as if they
hadn't been interrupted. "Dale, turn around and hold on to me."

His arms kept trying to fold of their own accord, and Flynn kept
blocking them.



"Turn around," Flynn said again, just as firmly, "And hold on to me."



"No, I'm all right."

The swat against his hip was light through jeans, barely stinging,
but it interrupted his automatic struggling. Dale awkwardly went
where Flynn drew him, turning his body against Flynn's and still more
awkwardly lifting his hands to hold on to Flynn's arms. At the next
crack of thunder he involuntarily clutched at Flynn with a good deal
more strength and found his head under Flynn's, Flynn's arms locked
around him, and

an overwhelming sensation of Flynn that surrounded and enclosed and
dominated the terror and everything else.



"I've got you." Flynn said calmly against his hair, rocking
slowly. "It's sound and light and it's miles away from us. Look."



Dale opened his eyes, finding the courage to look at the deep grey
sky split from heaven to horizon with another bolt of white
lightning. His flinch at the next crack of thunder forced him deeper
into Flynn's body – there was no part of him now that Flynn was not
holding. They were so tightly pressed together he could feel the
slow, steady thud of Flynn's heart against his chest. The fire was
warm against their legs, the grass rustled softly under the
beginnings of a cool breeze, and the sky was a colour Dale had no
name for. His shaking was gradually subsiding and it was the first
time he had ever understood how people could call
storms 'beautiful'.













The storm less stopped than gradually faded away. The sky
began to clear to bright stars visible high above them, and after a
while Flynn shook out the blankets beside them with one arm, re
making the bed by the fire.



"Lie down. I'm not going anywhere."



He didn't actually let go while Dale shifted to lie flat underneath
the blankets Flynn held out of the way. Flynn covered him over and
Dale felt Flynn's warmth close against his back as he stretched out
on his side, propped on one elbow with an arm heavy over Dale's
chest. Dale clenched his hands to stop their trembling, keeping them
under the blankets. Just the weight and warmth of Flynn was
overwhelming any remainder of fear, it had been the difference
between terror and coping over the past half hour and while Dale was
still embarrassed, there was a part of him that sank itself without
shame in the simple affection of Flynn's arm around him, Flynn's body
full length against his.



"I'm sorry. I was always afraid, even as a kid."



"At home?" Flynn said above him, reaching past to lift the kettle
down from the fire and fill the two mugs he had stood there a while
ago. Dale shook his head.



"I can- remember being in the dormitory – prep school, we must have
been about eight I suppose – all of us terrified, no one admitting
it, all of us talking about how stupid it was to be afraid of
thunder."

"And no one came?" Flynn put a cup into Dale's hand and Dale heard
him sip from the second. The tea was strong and hot and fragrant, as
comforting as Flynn's body spooned against his.



Dale shook his head, shutting out the memory of that dormitory. "Not
at night. Not unless someone went to get them."



"Someone should have tried that on Riley." Flynn said darkly. "I'll
bet Jas has had to chase him back into the house at least once
tonight. I've seen him stand direct under lightning storms to watch."



Dale thought about that, looking down into the mug for a moment.



"Flynn?"



"Yes."


"How hard will Riley find it that we've gone?"

Flynn didn't answer for a minute. His voice was quiet but direct.



"Riley knows me. I'm not good at sharing this kind of thing. Riley
isn't good at taking a rain check."



"I can piss Flynn off but good when I try." Riley said himself,
cheerfully and honestly.



That said it all, and Dale realised he was worrying needlessly. That
wasn't the issue here. Riley usually saw straight to the heart of the
matter and he loved Flynn. Uncritically, wholeheartedly. He and Flynn
were both open and straightforward men who didn't understand
prevarication or manipulation or the kind of cynical strategy Dale
had seen in the relationships around him all his working life. There
was a cleanness, a forgiveness and understanding here that made
perfect sense to them, and it made Dale feel soiled by comparison.



So it wasn't Riley. Dale thought again over the evening in the study,
looking through Philip's letters. That had been the root of all of
this, the beginning of Riley's digging, the beginning of Flynn's
withdrawal.



"I saw he was upset the night we were in the study." he said softly.



"He missed Philip." Flynn said abruptly. "We all do. There are still
times when –"

He stopped for a few seconds, as though it physically hurt to think,
then Dale felt Flynn's arm over him relax, and once more Flynn's hand
rubbed slowly where it rested over his chest.



"He said there were always things he wanted to talk to Philip about."



Yes, Dale thought, watching the fire. And that hurt like hell,
because Philip was the only one you ever talked to like Riley meant.
You love Riley and Jasper and Paul, you'd do anything for them, but
you can't say this to them because you see it as weakness.



No wonder you've always understood why I struggled with it. We're
very much alike you and I. We'll neither of us willingly let go.



"Did Philip ever come down here with you?" he asked on instinct,
wondering why they had come so directly to this camping spot last
night. He heard the pause before Flynn answered, sounding almost
ashamed.



"…..Yes. David used to come out here a lot. Philip camped here
looking for him several times. And we did the south west run no few
times ourselves."



Yes, and you had to come where Philip was. Oh Flynn.



"He came looking for David?



"David had a habit of disappearing when he got an idea. Or when there
was something going on he wasn't all that interested in doing. Like
mowing, I understand that was a sure way to see David vanish."



Dale shifted, turning onto his back to see Flynn's face. "Really?
He'd take off?



"He was an adventurer in heart and spirit, he had been since he was a
child." Flynn drank tea, stretching further out on his side under the
blankets. "Just because he stopped sailing the high seas didn't mean
he could stay in one place all the time. Philip used to say David
needed every square mile of the ranch's space."



"And Philip didn't mind?



Flynn smiled. The first real smile Dale had seen in a few days. "He
understood David. Oh I think he minded sometimes. He was a
businessman- always lived in a house, suit and tie, proper meals –
David was only just the sunny side of wild, ate if he remembered, and
living indoors was a fairly major concession. They compromised and
Philip knew how to bend. He was so patient it could drive you mad.
Calmly, cheerfully, not a trace of frustration or any doubt he'd win.
He'd just wait."



There was an amused exasperation in his voice that suggested to Dale
there had been more than one occasion when it had been Flynn who had
been waited out.



"He sounds an unusual kind of –" Dale trailed off, not sure how to
put it.



"Top?" Flynn said gently. "He was and he wasn't. He had that ..
aura .. around him. You knew exactly where you stood by the look in
his eyes and the feel of your conscience. No one obeyed him because
they were afraid of him- I never knew a brat or an animal here who
was. You did it because you didn't want to disappoint him- you
couldn't not want to please him. He didn't micromanage- in fact he
made it clear that he trusted you to know what you were doing - but
he didn't miss a thing anywhere on the ranch. He knew exactly what
everyone was doing, right or wrong, and he'd never call you on the
carpet for it either – somehow you'd end up going to him and telling
him about it yourself. You were safe under his wing. You were cared
about. There wasn't anything that he couldn't straighten out or make
better if tried, and he always tried."



The tone in his voice was almost painful to listen to. Dale kept his
gaze on the fire, not wanting to interrupt so private a thought.
Eventually, when Flynn said nothing more, he said lightly, wondering:



"What did he make of you and Riley pushing each others buttons?"



Flynn finished the tea in his mug, eyes down. "He always knew what
to say to Riley."



Dale stifled the urge to smile, recognising the strategy as one he
used himself.



That's a cop out Flynn, and you're talking to an expert in the art.



Flynn put the mug out of reach and lay back to look at him.



"What is it?"



"Did he let you go?"



He could see that Flynn knew what he meant. He didn't answer for a
moment, thinking. Then nodded slowly. "Yes. He always let David go
too. Just somehow he always ended up … almost letting himself be
found, sometimes before you even realised you were looking for him."



So what is it you need to talk to him about, Flynn? What is it that
you can't say to anyone else?



Flynn stooped over him and Dale felt the heavy weight of the kiss
Flynn dropped on his forehead as if he was Riley.



"It's ok. Get some sleep."



A last, soft rumble of thunder came from a long, long way off.







*







Dale fell asleep quite easily, considering how severe his reaction to
the storm had been. Flynn lay with him, listening to him breathe and
staying close enough that Dale was lulled by his own breathing as
much as the steady crackle of the fire. For all he radiated such
independence on the surface, it was the most basic things that
touched Dale the most deeply. There had been a few nights when they
were sharing a room that Flynn had heard him getting restless in his
sleep and done nothing more than sit beside him, or put out a hand to
touch him, knowing it would instantly calm him.



He lay awake for some time by himself, watching the fire sink into
itself. Philip had brought him out here more than once for no other
reason than to get a rein on him when his temper went beyond the
bounds of the ranch house and the proximity of the others. It must
have been hard for a man of Philip's age to sleep out here but Philip
had never shown any sign of weakness. His physical strength had been
as unshaken as his determination and his refusal to ever give up on
you, his utter certainty that this would work out as he said it
would. There had been times when to surrender and believe in Philip's
faith had been the anchor that had enabled Flynn to continue. To
believe he could survive in a college in another country; to believe
he could face another farm, another wild country, and survive it; to
believe he could survive what he lost when he walked away from the
sheep station in Otago, knowing he would never be welcome there
again.



He had lay on this plateau like this, with Philip, more than once on
a dark night – sometimes at ridiculous times of year for camping,
although Philip never took that into consideration – talking, with no
one but Philip there to listen to what he said. That Philip never
thought twice about walking away from the others and the house to be
out here alone with him had been a gift in itself that Flynn had
never forgotten.



Yes, well at home sheep came first, and there were five of us. No one
ever got that kind of attention. Dad wouldn't have known how, even if
he had the time.



A faint snort came from a few feet away. Flynn lifted his head but
didn't move, knowing it, and a few seconds later a soft, heavy nose
brushed the back of his neck and a deep harrumph sound with the scent
of grass breath came from above him. Bandit. Sound and scent
travelled far on a night like this: wherever he had the mares, Bandit
must have heard them and come to see what they were doing.



Flynn rolled over, easing himself away from Dale, and got up to take
Bandit's head in his hands, rubbing the stallion's long, soft face.
There was no way to know how far the stallion had come – it could
easily be miles, he could cover distance at an amazing speed with
that long, floating trot of his, and if he knew the mares were safe
and within range he would patrol vast distances around them some
nights, controlling his territory. He nudged at Flynn, bracing his
head against Flynn's chest and pushing, and Flynn patted his neck,
voice too low to disturb Dale.



"No. I don't need anything from you tonight, mate. We're not going
anywhere, it's ok."

Riley swore Bandit understood every word you said to him. Flynn
thought himself that the stallion had his own brand of ESP. Whichever
it was, Bandit turned back towards the direction of the valley but
waited, until Flynn walked with him, slowly across the grass.



He had seen Bandit foaled – or to be more accurate, had a direct hand
in his foaling, having seen his mother in trouble one night while he
was sitting up on the rocks in the nursery pastures, watching the
herd below- and he had trained Bandit himself as he trained every
horse on the ranch. Another skill he had learned from Philip, done
alongside him, and gradually taken over from him. The stallion had
been intelligent enough that he learned before you had even fully
shown him what you wanted; he had always been interested more than
afraid in every new experience, and he had the same gentle
temperament towards familiar people that he showed with his mares.
And he was a joy to ride.



They paused at the entrance to the plateau – a narrowing in the low
rocks and hills that surrounded the plains here – and Bandit turned
his head to scent the air. Even as a harem stallion – free on his own
land, with his own herd, unbridled, he came to Flynn whenever Flynn
needed to move the mares or to separate out one of the herd: alert,
waiting for Flynn's orders, the most competent lieutenant any man
could ask for. And he was asking now in that same way, dropping his
head against Flynn's neck; a beast that outweighed Flynn in size and
strength.



Oh Captain, my Captain….



Flynn put a hand on his neck, suddenly very tempted. Then on impulse,
took a handful of Bandit's mane, stepping closer, and he felt the
stallion wait, knowing instantly what he meant to do.



It was not the first time he had ridden Bandit bareback, although it
had been several years since anyone had ridden the stallion at all.
He was still taller now, broader and more muscular, and the immediate
sensation of the sheer power moving beneath him was intoxicating.
Flynn barely tightened his calves against Bandit's sides and felt him
respond, moving smoothly into a walk, and then into his gliding trot
that sailed over the grass, his hooves almost silent despite the
weight and force behind them. The sky was a deep, dark blue and stars
were visible now; it was light, with good visibility, getting colder,
and the air was fresh against his face. Another touch – barely more
than that – and Bandit stepped into a canter so smoothly there was no
jolt. He loved the night too. Flynn stooped over his neck, feeling
the powerful muscles moving smoothly underneath his sleek coat,
feeling his desire for speed, the joy of open ground – all this open
ground, my ground – and the freedom and the power to reign over it.
King of the plains, the lord of this ground.



With any other horse on the ranch, Flynn would have been watching the
ground, guiding. With Bandit, the idea was laughable. Bandit knew
more of the plains than any human, he ran this land he had been born
on without hesitation, knowing every danger there was, and one step
ahead of it all. One of the many small creeks came into view ahead,
shining in the moonlight, and without thinking, Flynn felt Bandit
gather himself and moved with him, feeling him launch and sail over
the water. His blood was racing, his heart thumping with the joy of
the flight and Flynn couldn't help himself. He turned Bandit with
nothing more than a squeeze of one knee and the lightest draw on his
mane and put him at another stretch of the creek, a far wider one.
The canter speeded up, Bandit went towards the water with his neck
stretching, pleasure in the challenge, gathered himself in one stride
and tucked his massive hocks, floating over like thistledown. He
landed like a cat, sure on his feet, and Flynn felt him gather
himself once more, muscles tightening as he sailed up and over the
rocks on the bank beyond, clearing them with feet to spare. Once
beyond, Flynn moved to touch a heel lightly to the stallion's flank –
and never needed to make contact. Bandit took the thought straight
from his mind and his stride lengthened, his head lowered, the canter
stretched into a run that tore the wind through his mane and over
Flynn, the two of them galloping smoothly over the open grass with
nothing for miles around them.











He didn't go far. The night was clear and Dale was sound asleep, but
there was too much of a chance of him waking and finding himself
alone. Eventually, with reluctance, Flynn turned Bandit back towards
the plateaus, and the stallion slowed to a walk where Flynn drew him
in, standing still while Flynn slid down to the ground. It was
something he hadn't done since a boy, but in the dark, unseen, Flynn
hugged Bandit's head and felt the stallion nuzzle back against him.
When he stepped back, Bandit turned and started back on his patrol
again, his high, gliding trot sailing him over the deep grass out
towards the plains once more.



Flynn walked slowly back to the fire, dropping a few more pieces of
wood on it before he lay down beside Dale, careful not to disturb
him. And flung himself on his back, hands outstretched on the cool,
damp grass, looking up at the sky with the last of the excitement
still racing in his blood, still catching the last of his breath.



Sublimation? Oh there was material for another paper right there.









*









It was not yet fully light when Dale woke again. He didn't remember
the end of the storm, or falling asleep. Flynn was warm against his
back, and the horizon was a soft blur of pink and yellow across the
grey. Dale eased gently away and Flynn stirred and turned over,
settling back into sleep. Hammer lifted his head from across the
plateau where he was grazing, Leo a few feet away from him. Dale got
up and walked stiffly towards him, and Hammer came across the grass,
placidly nuzzling at his hands. Dale petted him, watching the light
grow over the hills in the distance. Hammer walked with him to the
edge of the plateau, to the edge of the steep shelf with its steeper
drop down about twenty feet to the grassed shelf below.



In the distance, on the edge of a hill, the low shells of stone
buildings in the rock were visible beyond the grass, and some of the
plateau below was grassless, the rock bare beneath the early morning
sun. Two men were walking slowly towards the stone cuts, hand in
hand, hatless and in their shirtsleeves. It took perhaps five minutes
of concentrated scrambling to get down the very steep and partly rock
face of the cliff to the next plateau, during which Dale grazed both
hands, but he reached the lower plateau with the light growing
brighter in the sky ahead of him. The two men paused, the taller of
the two with wild dark hair and a smile that lit up his eyes, the
shorter and broader with a face so kind that Dale's heart turned
over.



"This is the quartz mine, you know." David said cheerfully. "Short of
making him sleep on top of it, you couldn't have done much better."



The accent was strongly British. They started to walk again and Dale
followed them, seeing the open doorway of the mine shored up with
timber and heaps of earth and rock on either side.



"There were plenty of good seams left." David commented, stooping
down to run a hand through the earth. "Usually near the surface. This
was a creek bed once, the villagers found the crystals in the water.
They said the seam protected the village. Here."



David's fingers flipped over earth and Dale saw the flash of colour
underneath the stone that David rolled out. It lay on the earth, one
or two uncovered spots sparkling through the mud in the early
daylight. David looked up and gave him another of those flashing
smiles that went through Dale like the light rising on the horizon.



"It's all here for you when you look."



"No one knows what to do for him." Dale said to the man holding
David's hand.



The man's smile deepened, his eyes soft in a way that twisted Dale's
stomach. At school, on open days, at the end of terms, he had seen
men look like that at their children. The intensity of it upon him
was so strong it was almost unbearable.



"Yes, you do." Philip said mildly.



The sunlight glinted and Philip was abruptly gone. Dale spun and saw
the flash of light on the plateau above, the brief outline of a man
stooping by the smoking remains of their fire where Flynn lay
sleeping.



"You're the one who won't do it properly, you know?" David said
beside him, with what sounded like a good deal of amusement, and then
another finger of the rising sunlight hit Dale's eyes and he blinked,
dazzled. The two men were among the ruined stone buildings in the
distance, walking slowly, hand in hand.



The next streak of light woke him as suddenly as the thunder had,
making him rouse up from his blankets. Flynn was sleeping next to
him. The horses cropped softly. The plateau they lay on was empty and
still and lit by the first of the morning sun above the horizon in
long, blinding fingers stretching out across the shadowy grass.



Dale fought his way out of the blankets and stood, searching the
grass around them. No one but them. It had seemed so real –
ridiculously real, just as it always did – he could still hear
Philip's voice. Shivering slightly, Dale walked to the edge of the
plateau and looked down. The lower plateau had the same bare rock,
the same dark area Dale knew was the entrance to David's mining
experiment.



The scramble down the plateau cliff was no easier than Dale
remembered it from the dream. He grazed his hands and one cheek, and
fell the last few feet onto the wet grass, which soaked his sore
hands and the knees of his jeans. Dale rubbed his hands dry on the
denim, walking slowly towards the open mine entrance. The same heap
of earth beside the entry. The same earth David had turned in his
fingers. The same glint of stone. Dale crouched, putting a hand out
slowly to touch. Under his fingers, he cleaned enough of one of the
jagged facets to see the shine of rose beneath.



What was left of the old creek still ran some way past the stone
village, and Dale washed the stone in the chill running water,
shaking away the mud. Palm sized, it glittered in the water, pale as
coloured ice. Dale turned it over in his hand a few times, and then
on impulse, studied the angles of it, turned it to the right position
and knocked it hard against one of the limestone rocks that bedded
the river. He had judged the point of impact right. With barely any
splintering or powdering, the quartz split neatly, the new facet
brighter than the outside ones. Dale shook both halves in the water
once more and rose to his feet as Flynn's voice lifted from some way
off.



"Dale!"



"Here." Dale raised an arm, waving. Flynn stood on the edge of the
plateau above, hat pulled on and jacket collar turned up against the
early morning cold, watching with both hands on his hips as Dale
walked back to the foot of the cliff, surveying it for the best way
up.



"How did you get down there?"



Dale gave him a look, raising his eyebrows. "Well I climbed,
obviously."



"Obviously." Flynn said darkly. "Get up here and be careful. Rock
hand holds, not grass, the grass is wet."



It was actually quite an interesting challenge from a problem solving
point of view. Never having attempted any kind of deliberate rock
climbing before, Dale found himself appreciating Riley's interest in
it as he found hand holds and footholds on his way up. Flynn was
crouched on the top of the cliff, watching and saying nothing,
although as Dale came into reach, he took a tight grip on Dale's arm
and held on while Dale hauled himself up onto the grass shelf. Dale
pulled himself up onto his hands and knees, finding himself strongly
tempted to smile at Flynn's expression, which was anything but
welcoming. So typical of him. And seeing that look, Dale could well
understand Riley at times giving way to the temptation to push this
so reliable and easy button on Flynn when he needed reassurance.



"Good morning."

"Are you all right?" Flynn demanded. Dale sat back on his heels,
brushing off his hands.



"Yes, thank you."

"Are you sure?"



"Quite."



He was expecting it, and it came as no surprise when Flynn took him
by the belt of his jeans, pulled him forward over one jeaned knee and
the palm of Flynn's hand dusted the tightened seat of his denims,
soundly, four or five ringing swats that echoed in the valley. After
which he put Dale on his feet and stood up, looking at him from a
bare few inches away with very level, dark green eyes.



"Don't wander off, and don't climb up or down anything unless I'm
with you. I don't want you lost or hurt. Are we clear?"



"Yes sir."



And ow.



Smarting and breathless, Dale put a hand back to rub at the
resounding physical message, aware he hadn't thought twice about the
plateau cliff or its safety.



"What were you looking at down there?" Flynn asked, waiting pointedly
for Dale to come away from the edge. Dale walked ahead of him, back
towards the fire, fishing one half of the crystal out of his pocket.


"This."



Flynn took it, eyebrows raising as he recognised it.



"You found it down there?"



"It's David's mine." Dale said lightly. "…. Or rather I suppose it
must be David's mine, I can't think of who else's it might be."



He couldn't help the grin breaking out as Flynn looked at him,
eyebrows raising even further.











They ate breakfast together by the fire which Flynn banked up to heat
tea and to fry some of the remaining slices of meat. He looked a good
deal better this morning. Watching him, Dale saw the colour in his
face, the angle of his shoulders. Taciturn, but not withdrawn as he
had been over the past few days.



This is what he needed. Except away from Ri, he'll worry. He's like
Bandit; needs everyone in his sight, no one gets left behind.



You're the one who won't do it properly.



Do what properly? The thought niggled.



Dale ate, his eyes on the ash-white fire. A.N.Z. had sent him often
enough to deal with difficult clients. Conflict management, body
language, observation: they were bread and butter skills, skills Dale
knew he used automatically and well with clients and with colleagues.
He'd diffused more than one serious breakdown in diplomatic relations
in high powered teams, but he'd never before tried to use those
skills deliberately for someone he cared about. Certainly not on
Flynn who was his superior in every conceivable way. And honesty was
a serious issue. Manipulating clients was one thing; honesty was a
deep seated root in this unspoiled man, an old fashioned man with
strong values, and Dale was ashamed to even consider those strategies
here.



Who am I to even try that with him?



You're the one who won't do it properly.



Do what properly?



If he was sent out to work with a client or a team, he would do all
the research he could before hand, and on reflection. No few of his
obsessive habits helped there. Dale knew he was capable of ploughing
through and sorting information tirelessly to gather conclusions, and
he had vast – vast – amounts of data collated on Flynn. None of it on
paper. What he knew about Flynn was based on experience, observation,
interview of Flynn himself and of the others who loved Flynn, and
still Dale knew he barely had a handle on this phenomenally complex
man. He found himself covertly glancing up, watching Flynn eat, his
dark sandy hair visible under the brim of his Stetson, his long
fingers deft around the bread he tore, the very dark green eyes
looking out over the plateau. Unshaven, ungroomed this morning as
Dale rarely saw him, he was distractingly rugged. There were no easy
conclusions to draw about Flynn.



So what are you trying to do Aden? You're only here by the grace of
Paul wanting him to have company – any company. Not even Paul and
Jas can do anything for him when he's like this and they're his
family. Some broken, ex exec with the emotional literacy of a teapot
is hardly likely to be able to do anything for him.



But there has to be something I can do.



They packed up together, Dale tacking the horses while Flynn stamped
out the fire and replaced the turf, typically careful to leave no
traces of where they had been. He was as compassionate with the land
as he was with animals. The horses, despite the storm, were placid
and came willingly when they saw Dale pick up the tack. Which was
also typical. Dale buckled Leo's girth, nudging a shoulder firmly
into his stomach to stop him ballooning as he liked to do when he was
saddled. Of course Flynn could release horses under a storm without
doubt they'd come back. He trained every horse on the ranch himself,
and Dale had seen how. They associated him with nothing but good
things and safety, protection, leadership. When afraid, what else
would they do but stay near to him? Someone had said once that in the
worst of weather, under threat, even Bandit brought the mares down to
Flynn at the ranch, seeking out help from where he knew he was
assured of it.



And yet you, with supposedly more sense than a horse, who's had how
much reason to trust that he knows what he's doing, struggled to
allow him touch you through that storm until he overwhelmed you by
brute force.



You're the one who won't do it properly.



Dale continued to buckle the bed rolls to the saddle and the
saddlebags, resting his head against Leo's saddle to hide the flush
that automatically crossed his face.



That was a severe reprimand to a perfectionist, and it was given from
an experience brat to a rank amateur. Dale knew he'd told himself
that particular phrase several times around Ash and Gerry. A brat,
not doing it properly. He'd been afraid of their critical gaze, some
assessment that found him wanting, not qualifying to belong – just
what did brats do when they did it properly?



There was the kind of careful obedience he tried to maintain because
that was a part of it. The effort it took to commit to the
expectations, the limits, to work with instead of against, to be
openly honest– all of that he took very seriously and Dale knew he
held himself to strong standards for it. He willingly accepted the
authority, he willingly took orders, he understood why, and there was
an open relief and a welcome in how right it felt to him – apart from
that endless, nagging concern that he was not getting it right.



Which is that stupid, perfectionist brain, not me. I am doing it
properly! What else is there to do?



Leo stirred, shifted his weight on to his other hindquarter and
nudged Dale, knocking the lump of quartz against his leg, through his
pocket. Dale put a hand down into his pocket and gripped it, rough
and cool.



You're the one who won't do it properly.



Won't. Won't implied a deliberate choice. Refusal.



No one knows what to do for him.



Yes, you do.



It was like a hand reaching direct into his chest and pulling a layer
of cloud away. It was so simple – so breathtakingly simple he had
never even noticed it.



You love him; stop using your stupid, stuck brain and pay some
attention to your guts instead, Aden! Stop second guessing and do
some of what he's been trying to teach you to do for six months!


Dale dropped a hand on Leo's neck, straightened up and headed across
the grass to where Flynn was using the haft of his knife to re knit
the turf he had lifted last night. He glanced up as Dale reached him,
and Dale crouched down, bringing their heads to the same level.



"Flynn, we can't do this."



"Do what?" Flynn gave the turf a last prod and put his knife back in
his pocket. Dale folded his arms on his knees.


"You know what Riley thinks he's done."

Flynn didn't answer for a minute, crouching where he was. Then he
answered briskly and detachedly.



"The others won't let him worry, he didn't do anything-"

"Yes, he did, and he knows he did." Dale said mildly. "He wouldn't
back off and leave you alone. He can't do it, and you know he can't
do it. Paul and Jas always will because they know that's what you
want, but Riley can't. He's driven you away."

"I can't be there like this." Flynn said quietly and very seriously,
not looking at him. "I have a temper, Riley goes straight to it when
I'm winding him up. I won't risk letting it loose on him."

"Because you'd be as biting to him as he is to you,"

"When he does it, I know it's only sound and he doesn't mean it."
Flynn said shortly, getting up. "Leaving isn't a good alternative, I
know, but it's a better one, and it's only a couple of days."



"You know I'd never realised how much Riley loves you." Dale said
aloud, very gently. "He won't give up, will he? It isn't your
attention he wants. He knows exactly what's wrong and so you won't
let him near to you. What part of you is he going to see that's so
dreadful it's better you go away?"

"There's things he doesn't need to know about." Flynn said very
curtly, heading for the horses. Dale leaned his elbows on his knees,
watching him.



"He knows how badly you're still grieving for Philip, because he is
too."



"Dale, I'm not good at sharing this kind of thing." Flynn said
without much expression, unknotting Leo's reins. "I'm just not."

"You make me try." Dale said bluntly.



Flynn looked at him.



Dale could sit in the most uncomfortable looking knots on the ground:
it was the long, slender legs crossed at the ankles, the arms that
wound around them, graceful as a deer. He could occupy ridiculously
little space and sit there so quietly that you barely felt his
presence.



Paul trying to say any of this, would have made him still more bleak:
Jasper knew him too well to try. And Riley – had Riley said any of
this with his usual incisiveness and lack of tact, Flynn knew he'd be
wrestling with his temper now. But when it was Dale, with those wide
and steady, dark eyes and that quiet voice… it was impossible to
harden against it. Dale, who contained so much himself and didn't
know how to lash out at someone else in word or deed, who understood
because he wrestled with his own demons, and who did the very best he
could against them as Flynn asked him to.



And who had every right to ask the same of him.



Ashamed, Flynn crossed the grass to him, crouching beside him to put
an arm around Dale's slight shoulders, and unexpectedly, he felt Dale
put an arm up around his neck, returning the embrace. From Dale, that
was so wholehearted a gesture that Flynn shut his eyes, touched and
surprised at the depth of comfort there. Dale's longer fingers
threaded through the hair at the nape of his neck and grasped gently.



"Why is this so hard? I know it's Philip you want to talk to. I know
how I'd feel if I couldn't talk to you. But you and Jas and Paul-
you've told me again and again, there's always someone else, and if I
believe there isn't, I'm not looking properly. Or I'm not trusting
people I should be trusting."



He felt Flynn take a breath, not lifting his head.



"It isn't that the others wouldn't listen or understand." he said
eventually, thickly. "These are just things Philip knew, he was the
first one I told them to,"



And he made you believe he was stronger than you, you never had to
worry about showing weakness to him.



Dale went on holding his neck, holding his head as if he was Hammer,
or Bandit.



"My father," Flynn said eventually, without looking up, "Wasn't a
talker. My mother wasn't either, although with her it was mostly
exhaustion; but my father hardly ever said anything to anyone, and
he'd walk away from any conversation he didn't want to have, anything
he saw as weakness of any kind. He had his expectations and you met
them, end of story. This was exactly how he handled anything
difficult. He got silent, he walked away. I tried to say that to
Philip so many times: it's hard enough both loving and hating
someone, without having to see the very worst of them inside yourself
too."



"You do not do to Riley what your father did to you." Dale said
quietly. "Flynn, you don't. I've seen you do this three times – twice
when Riley scared you, when you seriously thought he was going to be
hurt. It had nothing to do with punishing him, or showing him he'd
failed, I was there. Was that how your father used it to you?"



"That was how it felt at the time, on the receiving end." Flynn said
bleakly. "But no. I don't think it was spite, I don't think it was
intentional, I think he had - no idea what to say or what to do."

"And God, can I relate to that." Dale said with feeling. "How many
times have you told me that's nothing I need to be ashamed of? You
expect me to learn better but you've never blamed me for it."



"I don't blame him." Flynn lifted his head, steepling his hands in
front of his face. "Or I stopped once I got past the child point of
view. He had basic concerns like stock needing to be run and mouths
needing to be fed and bills needing to be paid, and he – he took
those responsibilities very seriously. That was how he saw them. That
was what a man did."

And I can see that same sense of responsibility in you, Dale thought
silently, watching him. Who teaches us what it means to be a man? You
take what you learn and you run with it. Jerry Banks and his ilk
taught me, and I never realised why it didn't work until you started
in on me in the kitchen, prying the phone and blackberry out of my
hands.



"He was the product of his generation." Flynn said, shrugging
slightly and lowering his hands to look at the grass. "I can't blame
him for that. I can't blame him for not understanding or seeing the
point of learning for learning's sake, when people needed to eat and
the family's livelihood was in the station. He never knew any
different."



"So why blame yourself for being the product of your generation?"
Dale said gently. "How many kids your age had the guts to do what you
did under those circumstances? That kind of determination, that kind
of self initiative. I've seen a lot of very powerful men, Flynn. Some
of them were lucky or manipulative, only a very few have the kind of
drive you do. I've always respected the hell out of them, because
they worked for every damn thing they had. They earned it all. Philip
clearly thought you were worth investing in."



And Philip would have looked at men with a business mind – Dale saw
it clearly, because that was how he always looked too. Not just the
sum of the parts before you, not just the facts, but the person, the
dynamics, the potential you saw to move the project on. Sometimes you
saw the potential, ignored the figures and took a gamble, because
those rare clues were the most powerful of all.



"It wasn't just wanting to study, or the ambition, there were other
things." Flynn said, getting up. Dale watched him take a few steps
away, clasping his hands behind his neck.



"There was the basic fact that no family or neighbours were going to
tolerate a gay man living amongst them, and if I wanted any kind of
life it had to be somewhere else. The relief when I first came here
and found it was normal – there was usually a houseful whenever I
came here and they were all as open as all get out. The first time I
walked into the kitchen there was some guy planted on another guy's
lap, sitting at the table, and he didn't even bother to get up when
he shook hands. I'd never even seen pictures of two men together. I
went into shock for about three weeks. And Paul was a Godsend. You
know what he's like, it's impossible to be freaked by him and he
doesn't hold anything back, I'd never been around a man who was just
that plain affectionate or kind. And there was no embarrassing him,
he'd talk about anything, and he realised how little I knew."

"And Jasper was still up in the barn?" Dale asked softly. Flynn
smiled faintly and wryly although he didn't look round. Dale was
watching him in profile, stood against the edge of the plateau.



"Yes. He was Paul's other project. Paul was pretty lonely after David
died. He'd put everything into looking after David and then looking
after Philip after he lost David, and when things settled down again –
Philip said once he had to do a lot of talking to convince Paul to
stay, and that he was needed. You know he's useful at almost anything
on the ranch but he was a housekeeper, that was the work he wanted.
Philip talked him into staying, but it wasn't really until Jas came
that Paul started to get interested in anything."

Dale listened silently, aware that once this would have
been 'personal' information, the kind the family didn't share outside
themselves.



"Jas and I were the same age and both not keen on being around the
others," Flynn said with deliberate lightness. "Neither of us wanted
much conversation. We haunted the ranch at night up on the tops until
we had some really heavy snow and Paul came up and made us come down
to the house to sleep. After which, Philip wouldn't let us go again.
Jas had Riley's room at the time – the one right at the end of the
hall away from the others, it was about the only way he could
tolerate being indoors."



And the three of them, the three outsiders, banded together. Dale saw
it without difficulty, as Philip must have seen it: the group
forming, in a house of couples and less unusual men who moved through
and moved on. He got up, crossing the grass to where Flynn stood, and
on sheer impulse stepped forward- hesitated for a second, and then
very gently put his arms around Flynn's waist from behind.



These men were accustomed to being touched, to affection shown, and
Flynn did nothing more than raise a hand to cover Dale's, leaning his
head against Dale's as Dale rested his chin on Flynn's shoulder.



"You know this isn't the answer?" Dale asked quietly, looking with
Flynn at the mine and the ruins below.



Flynn didn't answer for a minute. Then lifted his arms, crossing them
across his body to hold both of Dale's.



"You're suggesting what?"



"Home." Dale said simply.



Flynn eased back and turned to face him, still feeling the gentle
pressure of Dale's head against his neck. Someone else used to rest a
hand there when he couldn't bear any other touch; the memory went
through him, making the hairs on his arms rise as if someone had
brushed past him. He had no idea how long he and Dale looked at each
other there on the grass.



Then he passed Dale to pick up the last of the bags from where the
fire had been, strapped them to Leo's saddle and went to take Leo's
reins, looped them up. Dale came around him to reach Hammer, and
without comment Flynn caught Dale as he passed, turning Dale to face
him and wrapping an arm around his ribs to hug him so tightly he
lifted Dale off his feet.