Saddle Up by CJ Bishop

CHAPTER 10

“The Heart Unspoken”

Heff didn’t know how long he’d been out when he was awakened by Garland’s trembling body. His arms wrapped Heff as his entire frame shuddered violently against the young man, his jaw clenched beneath the pressure of the severe cold that had invaded his muscles, seeping deep into his bones. Heff tucked the blankets around his chin and pressed closer. “Hold on,” he whispered thickly. “Please, hold on.”

“H-Heff…”

Heff buried his face beneath the curve of his jaw. “Don’t talk,” he said softly. “I’m right here, I won’t leave you.”

“… promise…?”

The weakness of his voice brought tears to Heff’s eyes. “I promise,” he choked.

Garland held him without strength to his embrace, his arms trembling. The fierce quaking in his body subsided a little as sleep crept in to reclaim him. As he slowly relaxed, his lips moved one last time before he dropped out of consciousness. “… love… you…”

Heff went still, those two little words tearing mercilessly at his heart. Weakened by everything that had come crashing down on him in such a short time, Heff broke down crying, his face buried in the man’s neck. No, you don’t… you don’t love me. Garland was in a state of delirium, he didn’t know what he was saying. And maybe that’s what hurt most of all.

But still, Heff took those two precious words and tucked them away in his heart, knowing he would carry them with him for the rest of his life. He touched his lips to Garland’s ear, his voice trembling as he whispered, “I love you, too… I always have… I always will.”

This was his only chance to tell him. Once Garland was back to his old self, Heff could never speak that truth out loud again.

……………………………….

Garland walked into the tavern and reveled in the noise—the blaring music, loud laughter and people talking over one another, crack of pool balls. He needed this right now… the chaos.

He waved to a few friends on his way to the bar and took a seat on an empty stool. “Bud Light,” he told the bartender then twisted around, glancing over the barroom. Terry and a buddy of his played partners in a game of eight-ball against a couple of other guys. Terry spotted him, grinned, and waved him over.

Grabbing his beer, Garland wove through the other patrons and approached the pool table.

“You made it,” Terry said. “Want to play the next game?”

“Nah.” Garland took a drink. “Maybe later.”

“All right. Well, hang out with us. I barely see you around except on your way in or out of Bud’s Auto or the hardware store. You know, all work and no play makes for a dull life.” He chuckled.

“Yeah, I guess.” Garland smiled small and downed another drink. “I’m not much of a… social butterfly.”

Terry laughed. “I got the memo.”

Over the next hour or so, Garland hung around the pool table, talking and bantering with Terry and the other guys, drinking… and drinking some more… and some more. It had been a while since he’d drank this much—on the ranch, he and Frank might have one or two beers in the evening, maybe a few extra over the weekend, but rarely did either of them get drunk. Drunk people did stupid things, and a ranch stocked with expensive, even dangerous, equipment was not the place for a person to be stupid.

Garland had broken the “stupid” rule a few times just after Heff Wilder left the ranch, coming home drunk off his ass for almost a week straight—until Frank put a stop to it and gave him an ultimatum: get his act straight or get off the ranch. For once, Garland had made the right choice. He hadn’t come home drunk since.

Tonight, he thought, it might be wise to grab a motel room. He’d taken a hell of a tongue lashing from both Mandy and Frank for driving drunk back then and had promised never to be so stupid again. He didn’t mean to break that promise. If he did, Frank would kick his ass—if Mandy didn’t beat him to it.

“Hey.”

Garland didn’t turn around, thinking the person was talking to someone else—until they nudged him. “Yeah?” Garland’s mood soured when he turned and came face to face with Henry Slader, a cattle rancher from the area. Slader was a year or two older than Garland—and a raging asshole. The man had a problem with honesty and integrity when it came to business. Garland made a point of avoiding him as much as possible. Mainly, because Garland had zero tolerance for liars and cheaters and his temper tended to flare when Slader was around.

“What?” Garland muttered absently.

The man already had a few too many. As much of an asshole as he was sober—he was ten times worse when drunk. He wasn’t a happy drunk, rather the type who liked to push people until a brawl broke out.

“Hey.” Slader snorted. “Whatever happened to your sister-in-law’s queer little brother? Haven’t seen him around in forever.”

Garland bristled; he’d come here to forget about Heff for a while—not discuss him. “He moved to Maine years ago,” he mumbled, turning back to Terry and the others, hoping the dickhead would take the hint and go away.

He didn’t take the hint and nudged Garland again, a little harder. “I heard you and him hung out a lot back then.”

Garland shrugged, moving away from the man. “He was a good kid, so what?”

“How good?” Slader snickered. “I heard you spent all your time with him. Did you teach him how to ride? Was he a good little cowboy? Bet you broke him in real good—”

The rancher landed on the pool table, nose busted, and Garland on top of him. He snatched up a pool ball and smashed Slader in the face, over and over, rage surging through him.

“Garland!” Terry and another guy grabbed him from behind, trying to pull him off.

Garland jerked free of them and threw Slader to the floor, kicking the shit out of him, face twisted in fury as sounds erupted out of him that was beyond words.

“Garland!” Terry—a former college quarterback—tackled Garland. “Stop!”

A couple of men helped Slader to his feet. He hunched over, hugging his ribs, blood spilling from his nose and mouth in a steady stream, half of his face bruised and bloodied where Garland had beat him with the pool ball.

“You’ll pay… for this, Zayne,” Slader wheezed, spitting blood. He roughly shrugged loose of the other men and staggered out of the tavern.

Minutes later, sirens wailed down the street.

• ••

Garland’s head hurt and his skull felt heavy as if someone had scooped out his brains and replaced them with concrete. He couldn’t open his eyes and seemed to be floating again. The warmth from before was still there, gradually dispelling the agonizing cold from his body. He clung to it more tightly, taking solace in the presence as he hovered just outside the dream… memory?... that tormented him.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

The apology meant nothing. It was fucking useless. It couldn’t undo a goddamn thing.

The warm presence wrapped him more securely and put off a scent that filled Garland with longing. A soapy scent… Irish Spring… the same smell that had filled his nostrils the night that Heff…

Garland forced his eyes open just a hair. It took a moment to register the boy lying next to him, holding him. The source of the warmth. He couldn’t make sense of it… then realized he was dreaming. A few pieces of his fragmented memory came together, and he remembered being out in the storm… falling off the horse? How…? He couldn’t remember that part.

He wasn’t really here with Heff—he was still lost out in the storm… alone… dying.

You’ve been lost in the storm for the last five years…  alone… and dying… stop fighting it… let go… once and for all.

There was no fixing what he’d done back then… or what he’d done now. He’d taken everything of value from Heff and he couldn’t give it back.

“Let me die… please…”

……………………………….

Night had fallen when Heff slid out from beneath the blankets and added more wood to the dwindling fire, stoking it back to life. He sat on the small hearth and watched Garland sleep. His face had regained some of its color and his shivering had subsided as warmth returned to his body. In sleep, there was a gentleness about the cowboy that evaded him while awake. He would be all right, Heff was certain of that now.

Heff laid his head against the rock wall of the fireplace and continued to watch the sleeping man. He’d talked in his sleep. Not much, just a few words at a time. Words filled with sorrow… remorse… anguish.

I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.

Sorry… for what? Who was he speaking to? Did it even matter? He wouldn’t remember speaking at all when he woke up. It was his other words, though, that troubled Heff the most.

Let me die… please.

Why would he say that? What could possibly be happening in his dreams that would make him want to die? Frank’s death? As much as it hurt to lose his brother, Garland wasn’t the type to just give up. On the contrary, he would fight to keep Frank’s dream alive. He’d proven it by threatening to lock Heff in the basement to keep from losing the ranch. Grief wouldn’t cause him to wish for death.

Maybe it’s nothing… just incoherent words spoken in his delirium.

Maybe.

But the pain behind the words didn’t feel incoherent.

So, from what well of anguish had they risen? Even if he felt regret for what happened before with Heff… it wasn’t worthy of death.

What else is tormenting you?

From the perspective of an outsider… Heff had no cause to pity Garland. Heff had been wronged, not Garland. But loving the man made it impossible to ignore his pain. And that’s how it should be with love, Heff thought. If people only received the mercy and forgiveness they deserved from God… no one would receive it. Garland never explained why he turned on Heff five years ago. Heff had been young, and hurt, and rather than confront Garland and insist he explain—Heff ran away… and didn’t come back.

He was here now. And he wasn’t sure he could leave again until he received his explanation. Even if it only added to the hurt… he still needed it.

Heff didn’t return to the bunk. Not yet. His emotions were unstable now, and he was afraid of crawling back under the blankets with Garland… fear what might happen if Garland held onto him again, the way he had earlier. The man was slowly regaining his strength, Heff had felt it in his embrace. Something could happen… something unintentional… like the first time. And maybe Garland would react the same as before… maybe Heff would run away again.

I can’t let that happen. We have to fix this… not make it worse.

Finding another blanket, Heff wrapped it around himself and settled back down by the fire with the hound dog. He stroked the animal’s head. “You did good, boy,” he whispered. “Frank would be so proud of you.”

Heff stared into the flames, thoughts of Mandy and Frank breaking his heart. The fire blurred. He wished now that he had confided in Mandy about Garland… told her the truth of why he left the ranch. She would’ve known what to say, given him sound advice on how to resolve things with Garland. She was smart and wonderful that way. But he’d waited too long and now he was on his own, flying blind. He didn’t know how to talk to Garland anymore. He had once, when they were still friends… and Garland said he could tell him anything. Heff wished that was still true. He wished he could tell him everything on his mind… and in his heart.

But Garland wasn’t Garland anymore. And Heff didn’t know how to get his friend back.