Falls Chance part 4

The effort that it took to try and do anything at a less than manic
pace was immense. And incredibly, unbelievably frustrating. With
difficulty, Dale managed to make the stable work stretch to an hour
the following morning, and Flynn's matter of fact order for thirty
minutes of sitting still on the porch steps at the end of it was
maddening.

You have to try, he reminded himself sharply, heading very
unwillingly to do as he was told. This takes effort, it's going to be
hard, you know you have to do this. It's for a good reason.

Even if it completely sucks.

Paul was watering the plant pots along the porch when Dale dropped
down on the bottom step and he gave Dale a sympathetic smile,
continuing to work on down the line before he put the can back behind
one of the larger pots, pulled off his gloves and came to sit beside
him.

"Struggling? "

"This is ridiculous." Dale burst out in exasperation. "I feel like
I'm trying to move in slow motion to make things take longer."

"It's hard, you're trying to change habits you weren't even aware of
until a day or two back." Paul said mildly. "Give yourself some time."

"And even if I try I still end up here." Dale pointed out darkly.
Paul smiled.

"Yes. Natural consequences, cause and effect. You can't bend the laws
of nature to suit yourself, hon. Overdo it and you will pay for it:
that's exactly what we want you to learn."

"I hate sitting." Dale said shortly. He was fidgeting and aware of
it, partly through being tender from yesterday's paddling, and aware
too his voice was rather closer to a complaint than really was
dignified. Paul ran a hand down his back, a light touch that made
Dale jump.

"Because you don't know how to relax. Stop thinking about what ever
you feel you should be doing instead of sitting here. No one's going
to yell at you if it isn't done right now, it can wait, nothing's
going to go wrong if it waits. There's other important things about
today. Change the mindset. Try changing what you're telling yourself.
If all you're saying inside your head is 'this is hard, I hate it,
there's things I need to do' then yes, you're going to be miserable."

It had nothing to do with mindset. It had everything to do with the
fact that sitting was physically a little uncomfortable and mentally
pure bloody agony, and that working at least gave some peace.
Working, working hard, meant feeling nothing and being calm; that was
the one good thing about this place.

Paul ambled towards the corral and Dale wondered where he was going:
he and Jasper seemed to disappear daily for some hours, Riley too
most days. Riley had mentioned briefly the size of the ranch and the
horse herd, the cattle and the thousand head of sheep that took up
much of their working day. Flynn on the other hand stayed in the
stables and paddocks around the house, working in sight of Dale and
keeping him occupied with no shortage of tasks once his chores were
done.

"Whoever takes on a client usually does that." Riley had said when
Dale asked him. "Once you've been here a while, Flynn'll start taking
you out onto the main ranch with him. It's usually Paul who's around
the house during the day unless we have a new client here. He writes.
He'll take a break from it for a few weeks until you and Flynn pick
up some of the more distant work, but usually he does the house stuff
so he can have four or five hours writing time."

"Is it always Flynn who takes a client?" Dale said curiously. Riley
shook his head.

"Any one of them. We usually look at the information we have from the
sponsor and decide who's going to take the lead."

"Do you ever take one?"

Riley laughed, shaking his head emphatically. "No way, I haven't got
the patience. They're not all as easy to get on with as you are."

"Fourteen minutes." Flynn said mildly, in a tone Dale was starting to
recognise as teasing, as he looked again at his watch. Flynn brushed
off his hands, hanging a harness he had been cleaning on the porch
rail as he came over.

"Relax. Unfold your arms, put both feet on the floor, stop hunching
up around yourself."

Dale took a breath to control the urge to huff in exasperation and
did as he was told. Flynn leaned on the porch rail beside him.

"Close your eyes."

Dale did as he was asked, somewhat warily. Flynn watched him for a
minute, then Dale heard a faint snort and two large hands closed
gently over his wrists, keeping his hands down on his lap and
stopping them picking at his nails.

"Still. Listen. Tell me what you can hear."

Dale stifled a bolt of irritation and tried to strain his ears.
Actually as soon as he turned his attention to that one sense, his
awareness of what was around him suddenly leapt and the sense of
agitation went with the loosening of muscles needed to concentrate.

"The trees." He said slowly, aware of the pressure of those two
resting hands over his wrists. The restraint was oddly reassuring, a
light barrier that gave permission to be still. "Birds somewhere
towards the barn. The horses in the corral."

"Good." Flynn's hands squeezed briefly. "Don't open your eyes. I'll
be back in a few minutes. I want to know by then, what's the furthest
sound you can hear and what's the nearest."

It was much harder without the weight of his hands. Dale heard his
footsteps move away across the yard and with difficulty pulled his
mind under control. At least it was a challenge, something to do and
to focus on. It was a while before Flynn came back and Dale answered
without being asked, promptly.

"The furthest is a plane, going over somewhere that way. The nearest
is the boards of the porch shifting when I move."

"Well done." Flynn dropped a hand on his shoulder. "Time's up, you
can go onto your next chore. Come find me when you're done and think
about stopping to breathe. Quality, not speed."

The quality part was easy. Dale worked on, half an eye on Flynn who
was continuing to clean harness in the yard.

"Riley told me about Philip." He ventured after a while. Flynn nodded
without looking up.

"So I heard."

"Did he bring you here?"

Dale was not at all sure how a personal question would be received,
but Flynn answered quite calmly, attention on the harness in his
hands.

"I came here to work during a university vacation. I'd grown up on a
sheep ranch in New Zealand , it was lambing season and Philip needed
an extra pair of hands. I needed the money."

"And you stayed?"

"On and off while I finished my degree, but Philip made it clear that
this was my home. Eventually everything I needed to do was here."

"And it was the same for the others?"

Flynn gave him a mild shrug. "Mostly that's for them to tell you if
they want to. Paul was living here when I came; he's been here all
his adult life. Jasper came not long after I did. There were others
who have now moved on, and some that belonged here years before me
who come back to visit sometimes. Philip had a gift for turning
people into family."

"And you didn't know David?"

"No. Of us, only Paul knew David." Flynn said calmly. "I would have
liked to. I knew him through Philip and through the house and the
ranch, very much of it reflects him. Watch your pace, Dale."

Frustrated, Dale paused and forced himself to move more slowly. Flynn
cast a discreet look at him, appreciating the sincere effort he was
making as much as the fact that Dale, who was positively monosyllabic
unless alone with Riley, was actually trying to make conversation.

"How does the house reflect David?" Dale asked a moment later. "Riley
said it was full of his sense of humour."

Flynn gave him one of his very brief, tugging smiles. "Well Riley
would get that, yes. The house full of corners and nooks and
crannies – that's all David. Privacy and hiding places. The deep
window seats Riley curls right up in, that's pure David. You'll see
it when you've been here a while. Are you done?"

"Yes." Dale admitted unwillingly. "Go on, say it. That didn't take
half the time you think it should."

"Nope." Flynn glanced at his watch as Dale glanced at his own,
resisting the urge to bear his teeth and growl.

Effort. This takes effort, you can do this.

"Twenty minutes. I'll just go and sit on the step, shall I?"

There was some kind of schedule on which the four of them
came and went at the ranch that made sense to them: Dale was aware as
that painfully frustrating day wore on, that Flynn kept watching the
wide, grassed path that led past the corral and that he was starting
to look increasingly grim. Paul came into the yard shortly after
four, Flynn went to meet him and Dale heard Paul's usually tranquil
voice drop in concern.

"Who? Jas? Riley?"

"Riley." Flynn said brusquely. Paul muttered something and turned to
look back the way he had come, shading his eyes. The rolling green
pastures beyond the corral made it easy to see anyone approaching
from some way off, and they were currently empty.

"How late?"

"Forty minutes now. Jas took the truck into town an hour back for vet
supplies, he won't be back much before six."

"I haven't seen Ri since breakfast. Where was he going?" Paul asked.
Flynn took one further look around the pastures.

"He was repairing fences out by the river, he said he was going to
check the water holes up there and have a look at the colts, see
where they were grazing."

"That is over a two hour ride," Paul said quietly, "Especially if he
had to look for them."

"And if he's got a problem, we could be anything up to two hours away
from him." Flynn said shortly. "I don't want to wait any longer. Can
you ride up along the river as far as the falls? I'm going up towards
the tops."

"Take Dale with you." Paul said bluntly. Flynn shook his head.

"There's no need to drag him anywhere and he isn't ready for it."

Dale looked up quickly, wanting to protest that, but aware too that
right now his responsibility was far more to trust Flynn and do what
he was told. No matter how impossible it seemed.

"He rides, he's quite capable and it's too much ground to cover by
yourself." Paul said firmly, looking straight at Dale to include him
in the conversation. "You might need another pair of hands. I'll take
Nekkid and get going. Dale, go get a jacket from the kitchen, it's
going to be cold out here in another hour or so. And take Riley's,
he'll need it if you find him."

No matter where Riley was or what was going on, the option of getting
out of this yard and doing something other than trying to slow down
was seriously attractive. Dale didn't wait to be asked twice.

It had been a good eight or nine years since he had last
tacked up a horse, but it was surprising how quickly it came back.
Flynn had whistled to a tall, heavy shouldered dark horse he'd named
as Hammer and handed him over to Dale, himself saddling a long legged
and sidling chestnut by the name of Leo with Bandit's blond mane and
tail. Apart from keeping half an eye on Dale, he made no further
comment until he opened the gate of the corral and waited for Dale to
lead Hammer out, following him with his own horse and shutting the
gate securely.

"How confident are you?" he said brusquely as he swung up onto the
saddle. Dale gave a final tug to Hammer's belly band and mounted up
with muscles that were starting to remember how to do this.

"I rode with the hunt at home a few times when I was a teenager.
Steeple chasing, that kind of thing."

Flynn nodded and nudged Leo into a rapid trot. Dale barely had to
touch Hammer to get him to follow: the big horse had an easy action
and his heavy muscles rolled steadily, eager to keep pace with Leo.
They cantered once they reached the open ground, and despite Flynn's
grim silence, the exhilaration of riding, of the movement and speed,
began to sweep through Dale. He was aware that Flynn was watching
him, and as they reached the top of the hill perhaps a mile from the
ranch, he drew Leo back to a walk and nodded at the steep bank over
on their right.

"That's the river. Can you take Hammer up the bank there, keep
following it, and keep an eye out? I'm going up onto that ridge; I
can see most of the land west from there."

He'd obviously decided that the CEO wasn't entirely useless with a
horse. Dale led Hammer towards the riverbank and when he looked back
a moment later Flynn was cantering due west, up the ridge perhaps
half a mile away.

They stayed just barely in sight of each other as they moved on, Dale
with an eye on the river they were following. It was dark blue, deep
and swift-flowing here, rocky, but with no sign of the waterfalls
Riley and Paul had mentioned. The beauty of this place was
impressive, and the freedom of riding, of handling this beautiful,
responsive animal was heady. Having taken little notice of what was
outside office windows for – well. Probably years, if he was honest.
Dale found himself breathing in the quiet, the space and the sheer
colours and was slightly shocked at how much it filled him and the
effect it had on him.

Despite that he was unable not to share in Flynn's obvious concern
for Riley.

Dale zipped his jacket, guiding Hammer at a walk to give the big
horse a rest, and glanced at his watch. Flynn was still in sight on
the far ridge, and they had been riding for about forty minutes. The
ranch was long out of sight behind them and the ground was getting
steeper and rockier, with nothing in view but open land in every
direction. It was all too easy to see why they got twitchy if someone
was out here alone and didn't show on time.

It was as Dale rounded the next bend in the stream he saw something
moving at a distance among a group of trees, something large and on
the ground, and a moment later he heard a stifled neigh. Hammer
responded immediately with a snort, and Dale heard Riley's voice in
response, pitched at a full yell.

"HI! Jas? Flynn!"

"Flynn!" Dale bellowed across the plains, pulling off his hat and
waving it. It took a moment to catch Flynn's attention, but the
second he did, Flynn turned Leo and set him across towards the river
at a gallop. Dale slid down from Hammer, tied up his reins and ducked
through the small but dense thicket.

"Riley?"

"I'm over here, don't step on the horse."

Dale stopped at once, looking at the ground carefully, and saw a
trailing leg amongst the leaves. He stepped over it with care and
found Riley and a colt on the river bank, half in the water. The colt
was sprawled on the ground in a very unnatural posture and Riley was
sitting on its neck, very wet and looking extremely fed up. And cold:
his shivering was as obvious as his temper.

"Who's with you?" he demanded as soon as Dale reached him. "Where are
they?"

"Flynn and he's coming. What can I do?" Dale stepped carefully over
another twisted leg and crouched down. The colt rolled an eye and
heaved under Riley, and Riley ran a hand down his neck, shushing him
quietly.

"All right. All right baby, stay put, we don't need broken bones
here. He's got a foot caught up in some roots, that's probably what
brought him down. I've got wire cutters on my saddle, but I daren't
get up to get them, he's going to hurt himself struggling. Can you
catch Snickers and find them?"

Snickers was no doubt a horse, and Riley was in no mood to explain.
Dale didn't ask questions, just walked with care back through the
trees and looked for a straying horse. Hammer was cropping at grass,
glad of a rest. Some way off, another horse, a large piebald with
delicate legs, was scratching himself against a tree. Dale walked
slowly to him, hand outstretched, and caught his rein. The wire
cutters were in the saddle bag and Dale retrieved Riley's jacket from
Hammer's saddle before he went back to the river. Riley accepted the
jacket with clear relief and shouldered into it, watching Dale run a
hand over the colt's foot and cut free the thick and twisted roots he
was tangled in. Some of them had bitten quite deep into the foot and
forelock which was bleeding, and the colt jerked when it was touched.

"Riley!" Flynn's voice said sharply from the other side of the trees.

"Here." Riley called back. "Watch where you're walking, there's a
colt down."

Flynn came through the trees and took in the colt and Riley without
expression, turned on his heel and vanished back the way he had come.
He returned a moment later with a head collar and Riley shifted on
the colt's neck, watching him lean out in to the water and buckle it
over the colt's head. They said nothing and apparently didn't need
to: when the collar was buckled Flynn took a firm grip on it, taking
a more stable stance on the bank. .

"Ready?"

"Dale, stand out of the way." Riley called, braced himself with one
foot in the river and Flynn counted aloud,

"One, two-"

"Three." Riley said with him and got up from the colt's neck, putting
his weight against the colt's shoulder as Flynn slid one foreleg
around into the right position and pulled on the head collar. It took
a moment of the two of them aiding the struggling horse, helping him
gather himself, then suddenly the horse lurched up and Flynn led him
up the bank and through the trees. Riley waded slowly towards the
bank and Dale leaned over, offering a hand to pull him up. Riley was
obviously freezing and his legs were as numbed as the colt's. He made
his way unsteadily and stiffly through the thicket and stood watching
as Flynn walked the colt slowly round in circles. It was limping but
as it began to warm up its action became smoother and freer and the
colt's head began to lift.

"We need to get down as fast as we can," Flynn said very shortly,
looking at Dale. "I'll take the colt, you stay close to Riley. Riley,
are you hurt?"

"No." Riley said just as shortly.

"Get moving then." Flynn ordered, walking the colt slowly towards
where Leo was grazing. Riley gave him a very grim look and headed for
Snickers, clicking to him.

The atmosphere between the two of them could have been cut with a
knife. Wondering what on earth Riley had done so wrong, Dale mounted
up and waited for him, and silently put Hammer into a rapid trot that
kept pace with Snickers down the rolling slopes that led back to the
ranch.

*

Riley said barely two words on the ride back. Jasper must have been
watching and seen them coming in: he met them at the corral and took
the head collars of both horses, putting a hand up to help Riley as
he swung down.

"I've got them, you two go inside and get warm. Are you ok Ri?"

"Just great." Riley said bitterly. "Thanks so much for asking. A colt
was stuck on the bank up at the birch creek, I was sitting on him for
two hours waiting for help, and you'd think I'd done it all on
purpose."

"Stop chatting and get under a shower." Flynn ordered, dismounting
behind them. He had led the colt down at a gentler pace and he hooked
Leo's reins over his arm to lead the colt through towards the
stables.

"Yes Flynn." Riley said sourly, glowering straight at him. "At once
Flynn. Are you all right Riley? Oh yes Flynn, how thoughtful of you.
How clever of you to stop the horse breaking his damn leg Riley. Oh
don't mention it Flynn, I love sitting in a river all afternoon in
mid frickin' April."

"Inside." Flynn snapped, louder. Riley kicked the corral wall as they
passed it and stalked towards the house, and with a growing sense of
uneasiness, Dale looked from the stone faced Flynn to Riley's rigid
shoulders, then followed him. Paul was waiting on the porch, took one
look at Riley and held out his arms.

"Oh sweetheart. The shower's running and the kettle's on, get out of
those wet clothes."

Riley buried himself in the hug without comment and went through to
the bathroom off the kitchen.

"How wet are you?" Paul asked Dale with sympathy. "Run upstairs and
change, put a sweater on and come and have a hot drink."

"Flynn-" Dale began uncertainly, indicating the stables and thinking
of the several horses Flynn was dealing with. Paul drew him in and
shut the kitchen door.

"Jas will help him; you go and do as you're told."

Dale hesitated, more through confusion than any disinclination, and
Paul put a hand up to touch his cheek as though it was a completely
normal thing to do to a grown man.

"It's all right. Go and get warm."

Embarrassed at having given himself away, Dale ran upstairs and took
his time changing, aware that he was tense and that a headache was
starting to thump behind his temples. Once changed, still rather
cold, he sat down on his bed and rubbed his temples, wondering if he
could beg off dinner and go to bed, and at the same time wondering
just what it was that made him so uncomfortable. Having chaired no
few meetings where the tension levels reduced secretaries to tears,
or which involved shouting, threats and intimidation, he'd grown to
believe he was actually bomb proof. This had to be another and rather
humiliating side effect of the breakdown.

"Dale?" Paul called from downstairs. Taking a breath, Dale went to
the top of the stairs.

"I'm – I'm pretty tired, I think I'll just go straight to bed."

There was a moment's silence, then Paul came to the foot of the
stairs and held out a hand.

"Come down here."

It didn't seem polite not to respond. Dale unwillingly went down,
prepared to explain politely, but Paul took his hand without a word
or a trace of awkwardness, led him into the kitchen and sat him at
the table which was set as usual for dinner. A mug of steaming tea
was waiting at his place, and Paul took a seat beside him, wrapping
his hands around his own cup.

"Drink that and listen to me. It's-"

"-just Flynn." Riley said sullenly, emerging from the bathroom
dressed and with wet hair. Paul pulled out the chair on the other
side for him.

"There's tea there love, we'll wait for the other two before we eat."

"Why bother when he's going to growl all evening?" Riley demanded,
dropping into his chair. "You'd think it was all my fault and I'd
tied the bloody horse up in the roots myself!"

"You know Flynn." Paul said firmly. "He doesn't do scared well,
especially about you. It isn't you he's upset with."

"That's what it feels like." Riley said angrily, bolting tea. "I
might just as well go straight up to bed."

"That would make two of you." Paul said dryly. "No. Ignore Flynn,
we'll feed him and he'll settle down, there's no reason to let him
get you wound up."

"I'm starving." Riley said, not noticeably cheered. Paul got up as
the door opened and Jasper and Flynn came in together.

"Then we'll eat straight away. Dale, get some plates down for me
please."

It was a strange meal. Dale found mealtimes stressful at the best of
times, involving as they did a great deal of conversation and chatter
that he was relentlessly dragged into, but today's was far worse than
usual. Jasper and Paul talked cheerfully, doing their best to include
Dale and Riley, although Riley said very little and frequently shot
looks at Flynn who ate with his face still set in stone and said
nothing at all.

"I AM going to bed." He said when his plate was half empty, pushing
it away. "I think rescuing the damn horse entitles me not to do the
washing up."

Flynn didn't look up from his meal. Paul only said calmly,

"Put your plate in the sink then please."

Riley dropped the plate in the sink with a distinct bang and headed
upstairs. Dale rubbed his temples and Flynn looked sharply at him,
eyebrows lowered.

"You're headachy."

"I'm not in the least surprised." Paul said, getting up. "Dale, are
you finished eating? I'll get you some painkillers and you can lie
down."

"I'd like to go to bed too I think." Dale said rather
tentatively. "Sorry, I'm- er- really tired."

"Go on then love." Paul took his plate from him. "There are book
cases in the family room, why don't you look and see if there's
anything you want to read in bed? Flynn, you can go and lock up
outside and do something about that mood."

Flynn didn't answer, but he got up and headed outside. Dale hesitated
a moment, then tentatively followed him out onto the veranda,
watching him pull on boots.

"Can – is there anything I can do?"

Flynn glanced up and for the first time he looked very slightly less
grim.

"No. Thank you. You ride very well, although that isn't the way I'd
like to have shown you over the ranch for the first time."

"I was glad to help." Dale slipped his hands into his pockets,
watching Flynn's face as he shouldered into a jacket. Flynn zipped
it, looked up and met his eye for a moment before he jerked his head
at the house.

"Go on. Let Paul sort that headache out. I'll come and say goodnight
in a while."

There were books on an amazing amount of subjects in the
family room. Dale wasn't much of a reader but he picked up one or two
that looked interesting and lay in bed to flick through them until
Flynn came upstairs at eight thirty, put the books out of reach on
the dresser and turned the light out. He seemed much more himself,
but for the first time it was hard to fall asleep.

Dale lay for a long time, hands behind his head, hearing Paul come up
to bed, and then a while later Jasper and Flynn came upstairs and
spoke quietly on the landing before their doors softly creaked and
the house went silent.

He doesn't do scared well, Paul had said to Riley. Dale found himself
going over and over Flynn's expressionless face, the tone of his
voice, the strength and care with which he'd brought the horse to its
feet, working seamlessly with Riley.

The damn horse is fine, Riley's in a temper because Flynn was – oh
shut the hell up and go to sleep.

Dale rolled over, punching the pillow before he lay down again. Two
days ago he'd had a head full of sensible things like stats and
accounts and projects, all of which were probably going to hell while
he cantered around on horses and watched a bunch of cowboys have
domestic incidents. Which then obsessed the hell out of him when he
needed sleep. Furious, he flung the covers back, got out of bed and
leaned on the windowsill, looking down over the meadows that led out
to the aspen woods.

Projects. Figures. Think of something sensible.

The thought of the projects brought back a wave of acid and tension
that was almost welcome as at least being a familiar emotion.

There must be a damn phone somewhere around here. Somewhere.

And yesterday you were telling Flynn that you knew you were screwed
and you had to give this place a serious try. What kind of a chicken
are you, Dale Aden?

One with a bloody awful headache, unable to sleep. Dale paced the
room a couple of times, rubbing at his temples, then in desperation
softly went out onto the landing. The house was dark and still. Dale
went softly down the stairs, bare foot, and stood at the window in
the family room, looking out over the veranda. The dogs were sleeping
on the porch in a pile of black and white fur. The thought of going
outside was tempting. Fresh air. Maybe a run. The idea, once it
struck, was a beacon. There had been a hundred nights spent in the
gym when sleep wouldn't come, and that was probably in the last year
alone. A running machine, a silent, empty gym; that was one very
successful way to shut up a brain that wouldn't stop. Especially when
you weren't allowed to work at a bloody speed that got things done
and made you feel any better.

Dale silently put on the trainers by the back door, opened the door
and stepped out onto the porch. The dogs lifted their heads and Shane
got up, padding down the steps after Dale. He kept pace as Dale
started to jog, not bothering with a warm up. The grass was soft to
run on, the slopes were a welcome challenge, it was cool, and after a
while the space and the silence extinguished the racket in his mind.

*

He had no idea of the time when he came softly back into the kitchen,
exhausted, relieved, and distinctly empty. Riley looked up from the
kitchen table, raised an eyebrow and then grinned at him, toasting
him with a glass of what looked like milk.

"Hey." he said softly. "You realise how dead you would be if anyone
but me was here right now?"

It was impossible not to like Riley. Dale found himself grinning as
he opened the fridge, pouring himself a glass of juice.

"Good thing it's you then."

"How many times did you throw up?" Riley asked, watching Dale heel
off the trainers. There seemed no point in hedging.

"Twice." Dale told him, sitting down across the table. "Can't you
sleep?"

Riley shook his head. "How often have you done this?"

"This is the first time." Dale gulped juice. "I couldn't sleep
either."

"Flynn never told you to go wake him if you couldn't sleep?" Riley
said curiously.

"Something like that." Dale thought about it, wincing. "I can't see
that ever happening personally."

"He can be sweet when he's in the mood." Riley bolted milk, giving
Dale a look over the rim. "WHEN he's in the mood. I'm sorry you got
stuck in all that stuff last night. I love Flynn to bits, I really
do, but if he and I were left alone together one of us would be dead
in a week. He gets grouchy like you wouldn't believe when he goes
into Protect the Herd mode, he's like Bandit. Frickin' stud stallion.
Defend you no matter what but won't think twice about kicking you to
get you out of his way while he's doing it."

Dale reflected on that, with several years hard experience in man
management and basic human psychology, amongst which had been no few
men given to getting extremely grouchy under stress.

"And when he gets like that," Riley went on, "I get mad and I've got
this real knack for pissing Flynn off but good when I try, so he gets
grouchier, and it's basically a mess." He hesitated, looking rather
guilty for a minute, and then shrugged. "He did come and try to say
goodnight, but I wouldn't talk to him. Which was mean."

There was nothing to say in sympathy that wasn't trite. Dale drank
juice and Riley finished his milk, glancing at the kitchen clock
which stood at slightly past four am .

"Want to see something weird?"

"What?" Dale asked curiously. Riley put his cup in the sink and got
up.

"Come on."

There was a door set in amongst the kitchen units: a small door less
than four foot high which Dale had always assumed housed pots, pans,
mops, tins, that kind of thing. Riley opened it and snapped on an
electric light set inside the door, which to Dale's amazement lit up
a narrow wooden staircase leading steeply upward.

"Where does this go?"

"It's another of David's hideaways." Riley stepped aside to let Dale
into the stairway and shut the door behind them. "This way."

The stairs led up, spiralling steeply until Dale lost track of where
they could be within the house. At the top of the stairs Riley
stepped into a dark, cold room and waited, giving Dale a mischievous
look.

"Ready?"

He put a hand up and a dim light came on. The room lit up, wide and
pitched roofed – they must be right up under the eaves of the house –
but there was no competition for what lay in the centre of the room.
The map – or the world, it was hard to tell – spread out in 3D
miniature, covering what must have been more than twelve square feet
of the floor. Green rolling hills interspersed with villages, tiny
houses and churches, a blue sea in the middle housed boats with tiny
harbours at intervals along the two coasts. A train track ran with
amazing complexity over the land with minute stations and several
trains in suspended animation on the lines. Dale crouched over the
map, spellbound. Riley knelt beside him, putting out a very careful
hand to touch a switch in a box set into the floor. Suddenly tiny
lights lit up on the houses, on the train lines, even on the boats on
the painted water.

"Isn't it amazing?" Riley said softly. "It was David's. He spent
nearly twenty years making this. Painting it, building it, he made
everything here himself. This is supposed to be Portsmouth here in
England –" he touched a tiny harbour on one small piece of
coast. "And this is supposed to be Halifax . And this is the ranch
over here – geography didn't matter that much to David, he just put
things where he wanted them."

"He loved boats." Dale commented, watching Riley place one or two of
the ships gently in the harbours. All galleons and fishing vessel.

"He sailed for a while." Riley gave Dale a sideways grin. "Philip
loved to sit up here and just look for hours at this. I used to sit
with him and we'd move things around, arrange it, and Philip told me
all the stories. You know David was an honest to goodness pirate?"

"He was what?" Dale demanded, startled. Riley laughed.

"A pirate. Really. He was a lot older than Philip, he was born in
England at the very end of the nineteenth century, ran away when he
was fourteen or fifteen and joined a crew sailing out of Portsmouth
to Halifax . Some man went through the town saying he had a ship and
was looking for men to crew her who were interested in being rich.
David signed up with him and found he was on a ship of buccaneers,
and they sailed off the Canada coast hunting American ships and
pirating whatever they could find. Philip said the ship was more or
less held together with wire, she was a ragged mess but she moved
like a greyhound and she was never once caught in three years. Then
the war started in Europe and David ended up sailing with fishing
vessels watching the waters and hunting German U boats. He sailed
with the Dover patrol for a while, a very hush-hush group of civilian
fishermen who dealt with mines around the coast of Britain . And then
after the war he worked his way back to Canada and did- well. Pretty
much everything. He worked ranches, cattle drives, did some gold
prospecting for a few years, finally he built the ranch out here.
First real home he ever had."

"And was Philip a pirate too?" Dale said dryly, digesting this. Riley
shook his head.

"I think he kind of broke David of all that fairly quickly, Philip
came up through banking and business schools. They were complete
opposites. David was self educated and Philip went through Harvard,
Philip was a family man right through and David never had any family
to his name but Philip. But I knew Philip twenty years after David
died and his eyes still lit up whenever Philip thought about him."

"What the heck are you two doing?"

The voice made both Dale and Riley jump. Paul had his hands on his
hips and in his dressing gown he looked rumpled and mildly
exasperated, which Dale suspected was as far as Paul got on nodding
distance with cross.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"About four thirty?" Dale offered, thinking about it. Riley gave him
a startled look and in spite of himself couldn't help the laugh that
escaped. Paul held the door back and jerked his head at the stairs.

"Bed. Both of you. Move."

Grown men were not ordered to bed in that tone of voice; it just
wasn't done. And yet Dale found himself on his feet and moving at
something perilously close to a scuttle. He heard a sound he didn't
recognise at first, followed by a yelp from Riley, and a second later
was extremely surprised by a sharp spank across the seat of his
boxers as he passed Paul. He was still breathless with shock when
they reached the kitchen and Paul snapped off the stairs light,
closing the door.

"You are both going to owe me lines in the morning-"

"Paaaaaaaaul- " Riley began and Paul pushed him through the family
room, voice very soft.

"Upstairs and not another word."

The last time he had been scolded and hustled up to bed like this had
been after a particularly noisy fight after lights out in the junior
dormitory in prep school. Dale slid under the covers and Paul pulled
them straight over him.

"Get out of bed again tonight and you'll be sleeping on your stomach
my lad, I warn you. Go to sleep."

He moved down the hallway, no doubt to do the same for Riley. Dale
wrapped his arms around his pillow, with some doubt that Paul would
actually be capable of making good on that threat – comfortable,
round and gentle, he had none of the authority or the sheer presence
Flynn had, no matter what he was doing. On the other hand, that swat
had definitely stung and there was a distinct disinclination to annoy
Paul any further. That was a question for Riley in the morning.