Saddle Up by CJ Bishop
CHAPTER 4
“The Sleepover”
Garland moved the cast iron frying pan off the burner and opened the oven, transferring the foil-wrapped baked potatoes to a bowl on the counter. He glanced at the wall clock. Six-thirty. Heff had been sleeping for almost three hours. That wasn’t surprising, he supposed; the boy probably hadn’t gotten a good night’s rest since he received news of Mandy and Frank’s death. Garland sure as hell hadn’t.
He fixed himself a plate, ignoring the nagging thought that he should call Heff down to dinner. The boy wasn’t his responsibility. If he was hungry, he could fix his own damn…
“Fuck,” Garland muttered and shoved the plate back on the counter and turned around, about to stomp out of the kitchen to call Heff—and stopped short. Heff stood in the kitchen doorway, looking like he needed about another week’s worth of sleep… a faint redness around his eyes. Garland stared at him a moment, then turned back to the counter. “There’s steaks and baked potatoes,” he mumbled, grabbing his plate. “If you want anything fancier, you can cook it yourself.”
“No,” Heff whispered, a notable rawness to his voice. “It… it’s fine. I haven’t had venison since…” He swallowed. “For ages. It smells good.”
Garland grunted and took a seat at the table. When Heff remained in the doorway, Garland waved his hand. “Go on. I’m not gonna fix your plate for you.”
“I-I didn’t…” Heff sighed and crossed the kitchen, taking one small steak from the pan and a small potato. He hesitated before finally sitting at the table with Garland.
“Bread and butter, if you want it.” Garland indicated the half of loaf of bread and stick of butter in the middle of the table.
Heff nodded and scooped some butter for his potato but didn’t take any bread.
Keeping his eyes on his meal, Garland finished one of the deer steaks before touching his baked potato. He didn’t feel hungry but ate to distract himself… and to keep from having to talk much. The spices in the steak kicked in his thirst and he left the table, filling a glass with iced tea. He started back to his seat, faltered, and returned to the counter, poured a second glass of tea, and plopped it on the table before Heff without a word and sat down again.
“Thank you,” Heff said quietly and sipped the tea. “The steak is spicy… but good. I like it spicy.” He glanced at Garland who resumed eating. “You’re a good cook.”
“It’s deer steak. Doesn’t take a genius to cook deer steak.”
Silence settled over the kitchen after that as they both focused on their meal. Garland finished first and took his plate and glass to the sink, washed them, and headed out of the kitchen. “Have to batten down the barn,” he muttered on his way out. “Storm’s coming in.”
He grabbed his jacket from the hook by the front door and stepped outside, immediately blasted by a gust of icy wind. Garland shrugged into the thick coat and fasted the front as he scoured the dark horizon. Snow clouds hung heavy in the sky. Flakes were already swirling through the air.
The storm would hit within the hour.
…………………………..
Heff finished up and washed his dishes, then transferred the remaining steaks from the pan to a small platter and covered it with foil, placing it in the fridge. He left the cast iron pan alone and wiped down the stove and counter and table, putting the bread and butter away.
Wind pummeled the house as he rinsed out the washcloth, making him jump. His nerves stretched taut as a low, deep rumble rolled across the sky in the distance… headed their way. Heff wished the kitchen was dirtier so he could distract himself with cleaning, but there was nothing else to do. He left the kitchen and went into the living room and sat on the hearth by the fire, watching the flames, flinching with each gust of wind or rumble of thunder. As uncomfortable as it was to be in Garland’s presence, he hoped he returned soon from the barn. Just having someone else in the house would make him feel a little better as the storm brewed outside.
Thirty minutes passed and still no Garland. Heff walked to the front door and stood staring at the handle, anxiety twisting his guts. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed the doorknob and opened the door, his breath stolen from him by the icy wind. His senses started to seize but he fought the panic as he squinted toward the barn. Light seeped out from beneath the large rolling door.
Heff took a few more deep breaths, grabbed a jacket from the coat hooks, pulled it on… and stepped outside. He hurried toward the barn, the frigid wind whipping his hair and freezing his face. Panic nipped at his heels, chasing him all the way to the large structure. It caught up to him as he slipped through the smaller door to the side of the sliding door. Heff fell against the wall of the tack room, gulping air, heart hammering.
When he finally calmed a bit, he peered out of the tack room and spotted Garland sitting on a wooden crate beside the tractor, stroking the head of a redbone hound. Frank had bought the hounds just before Heff left the ranch, to train them to hunt bear.
The dog whined and pawed at Garland then plodded to one of the stalls, stood on its hind legs, and pawed at a worn work jacket hanging from a nail.
Garland stared at the animal, his expression empty. “He’s not coming back, boy.” His voice rasped thickly. “You’re stuck with me.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry.”
The hound looked at him, pawed the jacket a couple more times, then dropped back down and returned to Garland, plopping on its haunches to gaze up at the man. Low, mewling whines sifted from the animal.
A tear rolled down Heff’s face at the sight of the forlorn hound whose canine mind couldn’t comprehend the sudden absence of his master and friend.
Garland cupped the animal’s head in his hands and leaned forward, touching his brow to the dog. He squeezed his eyes shut and gently drew the hound deeper into his arms, hugging its neck… and cried… body shaking as his sobs grew stronger.
Was this the first time he’d cried since losing his big brother?
Tears ran freely from Heff’s eyes, and his heart broke for the man… for himself… for the dog. He thought about going to Garland but changed his mind. It wouldn’t end well. Garland didn’t want to share his grief with Heff, didn’t want Heff to see him crying. It had upset Heff when he’d spoken from his heart, unaware Garland was in the living room with him. He had no more right to eavesdrop on Garland.
The wind beat at the large barn door, rattling it on its steel runner. Heff cowered away, terrified to go back out there but feeling he needed to leave Garland alone. He shifted against the wall and dislodged a bridle, catching it quickly as it started to fall. He froze, holding his breath, praying Garland didn’t hear him over the wind—
The hound whined, louder this time, then let out a low bellow.
He heard Garland stand up.
Shit.
Heff summoned his courage and bolted out of the barn, racing for the house. He burst inside, throat and chest locked up as he gasped for air, head swimming as he fought to get his breath.
After a few moments, the tightness eased, and he could get air into his lungs. His legs trembled as he returned to the living room and wilted onto the hearth, shaking badly, and feeling queasy. He took deep calming breaths to soothe the sick feeling, afraid he might throw up his dinner.
You’re fine. You’re inside. You’re safe.
The front door flung open then slammed shut.
Perhaps safe was a bit presumptuous.
Heavy footsteps thudded down the hallway’s hardwood floor and halted abruptly at the living room entrance. Heff knotted up inside, hung his head, and waited for the explosion, his shakes growing stronger as he felt Garland’s heavy stare cutting through him. He tried to burrow deeper into the oversized jacket he’d grabbed from the coat hook—Frank’s jacket? Garland’s? Both men had multiple coats.
Heff didn’t know the cowboy had moved on until he heard footsteps clomping up the stairs. Relaxing a fraction, he glanced at the empty doorway. He’d expected a tongue-lashing from Garland. Why hadn’t he received one?
Heff’s relief from escaping a “talking to” proved short-lived as the wind picked up outside, howling across the property, battering the outer walls of the large ranch house. Drawing the jacket tighter around him, his breath caught when the lights flickered. He didn’t want to be downstairs alone if the power went out, with only the light of the fire to prevent him from being cast into total darkness.
The upstairs was silent. Had Garland gone to bed? It was barely after eight.
Another gust of howling wind pummeled the house. Heff jumped, his throat working as panic wormed through him, elevating his heart rate. Another flicker of lights, more threatening this time, and Heff rushed from the living room and hurried up the stairs. He started to enter his bedroom and paused, looking down the hall toward Garland’s door, his fear and panic urging him to go to the man and ask if he could sleep in his room… even sleep on the floor, he didn’t care… just so he didn’t have to be alone.
But he remembered another night that he’d gone to the cowboy’s room for the same reason… and that hadn’t ended well.
A crack of thunder sent Heff scurrying into his room, shutting the door harder than intended. He fell against it, heart pounding, shaking from head to toe.
Please, stop, he begged the storm, please go away.
He left the bedside lamp on and shed his clothes down to his undershirt and briefs and crawled into bed, pulling the blankets up around his head. His shakes intensified as the storm strengthened, and tears formed, seeping into his pillow. Heff squeezed his eyes shut, crippling loneliness invading his heart. He pushed his face into the pillow, sobbing.
“I miss you, Mandy,” he whispered brokenly. Even when they lived apart, she monitored the weather in his part of Maine. When a storm brewed, she would call him and talk to him until it passed… sometimes for hours. Or he would call her, if a storm erupted without warning. She never minded, even if he called in the middle of the night. She would get up, make coffee, and talk about things that made him smile… made him forget why he was so frightened of the storms. Sometimes Frank would join her, even though he had to get up early to begin chores. He talked to Heff like a big brother, made him feel strong, built up his courage… assured Heff he was tougher than any storm.
Tonight… Heff didn’t feel tougher than the storm; not the one raging outside… or the one raging inside. And the only ones who cared to see him through it… were gone.
The lamp flickered—and went out.
Heff went rigid—limbs paralyzed with panic as the storm beat at the bedroom window, trying to get inside, thrusting him back to the night of his parents’ deaths. Mandy was with him that night, holding him, soothing his fears, insisting everything would be okay… mom and dad would be home soon.
Their mom and dad didn’t come home.
Everything wasn’t okay.
Not then… not now.
………………………….
Arms tucked beneath his head, Garland lay in the darkness and listened to the storm. Until five years ago, he’d found storms to be soothing—the wind and rain, thunder and lightning—he’d loved it. Sometimes, he would sit out on the porch to watch the show up close.
Then Heff came along. The boy jumped at every flicker of lightning, every rumble of thunder. Garland had found it amusing at first… until he understood just how badly the storms terrified Heff… and why. Then it stopped being amusing. And the storms lost their comfort for Garland.
Lying in the dark, he listened for… sounds. But the storm drowned everything out.
Just go to sleep and forget about him.
He tried, but when he closed his eyes… he saw Heff sitting on the hearth, huddled in Frank’s coat, shaking apart. He was in the barn. He came out in the storm. Why?
To check if you were okay.
Garland couldn’t know that for sure, maybe Heff just…
Just what? Decided to take a stroll in a brewing storm—the one thing that scares the hell out of him?
“Fuck.” Garland sat up and shoved the blankets aside… but couldn’t seem to get any further. As much as he tried to forget, he couldn’t shake the memory of Heff coming to his room the night of his sixteenth birthday… the night of the big storm.
You should have given him the bed and slept on the floor.
Hindsight was twenty-twenty—and fucking worthless.
Garland stood and pulled on a pair of flannel pajama bottoms before leaving his room. He walked quietly down the carpeted hall and stopped at Heff’s room, listening at the door. He couldn’t hear shit over the storm. The boy had come upstairs shortly after Garland and slammed his bedroom door. In anger? Garland didn’t think so. He’d heard the young man’s hurried footsteps—movements of fear, not anger.
A slow, uneven breath released from his throat, and he knocked lightly on the door.
No answer.
Garland glanced back toward his own room. If the boy was asleep, then he was fine. The storm would be over by morning. Why jab anymore sticks in the spokes of this already broken wagon?
Go back to bed and leave it alone.
Seconds from taking his own advice, Garland faltered and flinched when thunder cracked, shuddering through the house—and he heard a whimper from inside the bedroom.
Garland eased the door open. The room was dark, illuminated every few moments by flickers of lightning. “Heff?” he whispered. “You okay?”
The boy didn’t respond… though the whimpers continued.
Garland walked to the bed. Lightning flashed, filling the room with light for a split second, long enough to see that Heff was asleep. Yet even in his slumber, his terror of the storm maintained its iron grip. He trembled beneath the blankets, his breath catching with each violent gust of wind and roll of thunder. Tears streaked his face, wetting his pillow.
“Goddammit, Heff…” Garland mumbled and gently pulled back the blankets, carefully sliding into bed next to the boy. “Come here.”
In his sleep, Heff hurriedly snuggled closer, grabbing onto Garland—clinging to him as tremors rippled through his body. Garland trembled, too, as he tentatively curled his arm around the boy and lightly rubbed his back.
“It’s all right,” he whispered unsteadily. “You got this.” He swallowed hard, eyes holding on the ceiling above, afraid to move, trying not to think about the boy’s warm body pressing up against him… the smell of his hair… the very same things that sent the night of Heff’s sixteenth birthday spiraling out of control.
Garland remained that way—lying rigid beside the boy—until a pale light crept through the window and the storm receded. Soon after Garland crawled into bed with him, Heff had calmed and slept fitfully.
Slowly and carefully, Garland untangled himself from Heff’s arms and slipped away, returning to his own room.
The boy didn’t need to know he had been in his bed.
He never needed to know.