Song of Oestend (35 page)

“I want you to be careful,” he said. “You’re more important than that ranch or any of the cattle on it. Do whatever you need to do to keep yourself safe. You understand?”

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Deacon shrugged. “Just got to fix the generator, and we’ll all be fine.”

“You really think you can do that?”

“Don’t see why not.”

Jeremiah nodded. He looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath, as if he had to

gather his courage before going on. When he looked back at Deacon, he looked wary but determined, and Aren couldn’t help but wonder what he was planning to say that made him so nervous.

“Once the generator’s up and running, you come back here. I’ll take Dante and some of the hands, and we’ll start getting that ranch back on its feet. You can send Jay into town to hire more hands—as many as we have room for between here and the Austin place, as long as Aren says we can afford them.”

“Yes, sir,” Deacon said.

Another moment of hesitation, and again Aren wondered what he had to say to Deacon

that would cause him such anxiety. “I talked to my sons last night,” he said at last, “about what’s going to happen. Jay doesn’t much want to run any ranch. He’s not always smart, but he’s smart enough to know he doesn’t have what it takes to make a ranch work. Tama wants to stay here, and Jay’s happy to work where he’s needed.”

Deacon nodded but said nothing, and Aren thought he looked as confused about where

the conversation was headed as Aren was.

“Deacon,” Jeremiah said, “this ranch was always supposed to be yours.”

“No!” Deacon said, standing up.

Jeremiah put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down onto the stool. “Listen

to me. For once in your life, son, listen to what I’m saying instead of arguing.” Deacon ducked his head, clenching his jaw, but he didn’t respond. “This ranch was never supposed to be mine,” he said. “You know that. It was supposed to be your daddy’s.”

“We don’t know—”

“—that he was your father,” Jeramiah finished for him, in a tone that bespoke how

many times they’d had this conversation. “I know. But I’m telling you, it don’t matter. This ranch was his, and by rights, that makes it yours. Now, if you don’t want it, then say so. But if you’re going to persist in saying you somehow don’t deserve it, I may have to take you out back and whip you like I did when you was a boy.”

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Deacon smiled a little at the words, although he didn’t look up. “Good luck with that, old man.”

Jeremiah laughed. His hand was still on Deacon’s shoulder. He stooped a bit, trying to meet Deacon’s eyes, but Deacon kept his gaze on the floor. “Nobody knows this ranch like you, son. Nobody loves it like you. You’ve spent your whole life insisting you aren’t Ezriel’s son, and yet you’re the one who proves over and over you deserve to be his heir. You could have lived in this house once my pa died. Could have had a room and a wife, too, but you were always too proud to claim what you thought wasn’t yours.”

“It’s not mine,” Deacon said, his voice quiet. “There’s no way of knowing.”

Jeremiah shook his head, amused but exasperated. “Son, I don’t care whose seed put

you in your momma’s belly.” That statement seemed to reach Deacon as none of the others had. He finally looked up, meeting Jeremiah’s eyes. “I’ve told this to my boys, and although Dante’s fit to be tied, I’m sure he’ll get over it. The Austin ranch will suit him fine, once he gets settled. As long as I’m alive, you can keep thinking you’re nothing more than a glorified ranch hand, but once I’m gone, the BarChi goes to you.”

“You have other heirs,” Deacon said. “You have grandsons.”

“If it worries you so much, you can pass it on to Jay’s boys. But until they’re grown, or you have a son of your own, the BarChi belong to you.” He leant back and crossed his arms to glower at Deacon. “Do I have you convinced?” he asked.

Deacon looked back down at the floor, fidgeting with a fold in the leg of his pants. “I’ll think about it.”

Jeremiah laughed, shaking his head. “I guess that’s good enough for now.”

He clapped Deacon on the shoulder before turning to walk out of the door, leaving

Deacon, Olsa, and a very stunned Aren in his wake.

“Well,” Olsa said to Deacon after he’d gone, “you finally going to claim part of what’s yours?”

He sighed, looking up at her in annoyance. “You want me to admit I’m full Ainuai, but you want me to say I’m Ezriel’s son, too.” He shook his head. “I can’t be both.”

Smack.

Olsa’s wooden spoon landed hard on the back of Deacon’s hand and although he

winced, he didn’t move.

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“You
are
both,” she said. “You’re the only damn fool on this ranch who doesn’t see it.”

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The day was long, and for Aren, it was torture. Deacon was leaving. That was the one

thought that plagued him every moment of the day. He was going into the wild, headed to a place with a generator that didn’t work, hoping for the best. He said he could fix it, but what if he couldn’t? Deacon didn’t trust that his questionable heritage would keep him safe, and as the seconds ticked by, Aren found himself less able to trust it as well.

He wanted to grab Deacon, to hold him, to drag him to his house and tie him to the bed.

To force him to stay at home, where he’d be safe. He wanted to stop time, to never let the next dawn come. He imagined going to Deacon and begging him to send somebody else—
anybody
else—in his place. In his daydreams, Deacon kissed him and held him close and agreed to send a ranch hand instead, but in reality, Aren knew the dream was foolish.

Deacon was going. There was nothing Aren could do to change it. Deacon would leave, and Aren would have to wait, hoping and praying his lover would make it home. How many days might pass? How many hours would he lie awake, wondering if Deacon was safe? How many days overdue would Deacon be before Jeremiah sent somebody after him? How many nights might Deacon’s cold body lie dead at the Austin ranch before anybody else arrived?

And how would Aren ever go on without him?

Aren’s heart grew heavy. His stomach tied itself in knots. He told himself it would be fine. After all, Deacon said he could fix the generator in time. But as the sun fell in the sky and the generators began their quiet whine for the night, Aren found himself overwhelmed by a terrible sense of foreboding. As they drank their whisky in front of the fire, he found himself choking on a lump in his throat. He could not look at Deacon lest the tears behind his eyes find their way free.

Deacon watched him, obviously confused. He asked more than once if Aren was all

right. Aren could only nod. It wasn’t until they were upstairs in the bedroom, beginning to undress for bed, that Aren finally made himself speak.

“Who’s going with you to the Austin ranch?” he asked.

“Simon and Frances.”

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That surprised Aren. “You trust Frances now?”

He could tell the question amused Deacon. “‘Course I do,” he said, laughing. “He’s a

good man. Had to toughen him up a bit, but that’s nothing new.” He shrugged. “Frances probably wouldn’t have been my first choice, but Simon volunteered to go, and
him
I know I can use. Seems Frances won’t let himself be left behind.”

That didn’t surprise Aren a bit. Although he knew the two weren’t lovers, he suspected Frances was very much in love with the older ranch hand. Frances probably felt it was better to die with Simon than to be left behind. It was a sentiment Aren could sympathise with, now more than ever before.

Suddenly, Aren knew what he wanted to do. “Deacon,” he said, his voice shaking,

“take me with you.”

Deacon turned to him in alarm. “What?”

“
Please
.”

“Aren,” Deacon said, his voice shaking. “No!”

“Why not?”

“Because…” But he didn’t finish his sentence.

Aren knew the reason, though. It was the same reason he’d always been left behind.

“You want me to stay behind because you think I’m weak.”

“
What?
Aren, that’s not it.”

“If I was bigger and stronger, like you and Simon—”

“Size has nothing to do with it.” Aren didn’t believe him and Deacon must have read

the disbelief on his face, because he said defensively, “I’m taking Frances!”

“Only because of Simon! Besides, Frances is stronger than me now. You’re afraid I’ll

hold you back, but I won’t. I can do whatever you tell me to do. I can keep up. I promise I won’t embarrass you! I swear—”

“Aren, it has nothing to do with you embarrassing me. You’re not weak! I never said

you were. I don’t know why you always say that—”

“Then why can’t I go with you?”

“Because…” But his words died away again. He seemed to have suddenly run out of

courage. He stood there for a moment, his mouth still working but no sound coming out.

“Well?” Aren demanded.

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Even with the deep tone of his skin, Aren could see Deacon’s cheeks turning red. His

mouth snapped shut, and he looked down at the floor, shoving his hands deep into his

pockets. Aren knew the signs. They’d reached a point where Deacon wouldn’t say any more.

Aren sighed in frustration. He sat down heavily on the bed and put his face in his hands. He was
not
going to cry! Not in front of Deacon.

“Aren?” Deacon said.

“Go away.”

But Deacon didn’t obey. Aren listened to his footsteps as he crossed the floor to where Aren sat on the bed. Aren lowered his hands and watched as Deacon got onto his knees in front of him. Deacon ducked his head, and Aren saw his broad shoulders rise and fall as he took a deep breath.

“I need to think clear when I’m in the wild,” Deacon said. “I need to know I’m making the best decision for everyone involved. If you’re there, I won’t. Only thing I’d care about is you. I’d throw the others to the wraiths if it came down to it. I’d slit their throats myself if that’s what it took to keep you safe. I can’t let that happen, Aren. I’m asking you, please, don’t put me in that position. ‘Cause if I had to choose between them and you, I’d choose you every time.”

“You’re worried they’ll know,” Aren said, thinking perhaps he finally understood.

“You’re worried they’ll see what’s between us, and they’ll think you’re weak because of it.”

“No!” Deacon said, looking up into Aren’s eyes. “I don’t care if they know! Any man

thinks loving you makes me weak, he can find out the hard way he’s wrong!”

Aren’s heart skipped a beat at Deacon’s words.
You love me?
But he wasn’t going to let that distract him. “Then let me come with you.”

“No, Aren. You don’t understand. When I’m out there, I have to be in charge. Being

strong isn’t enough. I’ve got to be stronger than all the rest of them. That’s my job—to be
in
control
.”

“I know,” Aren said, confused as to what it had to do with the topic at hand.

“The thing is, when I’m here with you, in this room, it’s different. It’s the only time—”

His voice seemed to fail him, and he stopped short, taking another deep breath as if to steady himself. He was trying so hard. Even through his frustration, Aren recognised the effort Deacon was making. Some of his anger at the big cowboy drained away. He reached SONG OF OESTEND

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out with one hand and rested his fingertips on Deacon’s head, tracing the course of his dark hair towards his temple. Even with that faint touch, he could feel Deacon trembling. But that soft touch seemed to give Deacon the courage to go on.

“Whether it’s here on the ranch, or out in the wild, I always need to be tough. I always need be strong. And I didn’t realise till you came along how tired I was. It’s like, being their boss is a weight I got to carry with me everywhere I go. And it wears me down, Aren. It wears me out.” Deacon took Aren’s hands. His own were large and hard with calluses and seemed to envelop Aren’s from fingertip to wrist. He stared down at their hands, lying together in Aren’s lap, dark skin against pale gold. His fingers stroked the back of Aren’s hand. “I need you, Aren. More than I can say. More than you know. I need to know you’re here. I need to know you’re safe and that you’ll be waiting for me when I get home. I can’t risk losing you. If I had to hold you and watch the wraiths take you like I did with Garrett…”

He stopped, shaking his head as if he couldn’t bear to put any more of that thought into words. He put his head down in Aren’s lap again, on top of their clasped hands. “Being with you, and the things we do together, when you use the rope and take control, those are the only times I feel like I can breathe. Those are the only times I can’t feel the weight. You keep saying you’re weak, but I know you’re not, Aren, ‘cause you’re the one who makes me strong.” He took a deep, shuddering breath, and Aren felt the dampness of his tears against their entwined fingers. “Be here safe for me, Aren. Please be here waiting. ‘Cause I’ll need you more than ever when I come home. You’re the only one who lets me put down the weight.”

How could Aren argue with that? The last thing he wanted was to add to Deacon’s

load. He bit down on his lip, using the pain to fight back his tears. Right or wrong, weak or strong, he didn’t know, but his resolve was gone.

He extracted one of his hands from Deacon’s grip and placed it on top of Deacon’s

head. He could feel him trembling. He could almost feel the effort Deacon was putting into trying to pull himself together.

“You win,” he said, although his voice broke on the words. “I’ll stay.”

Deacon’s relief was almost palpable. “Thank the Saints!” he said, putting his arms

around Aren’s hips and holding him tight, his face buried in Aren’s lap. “Thank you.”