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Thanks for sending them. . . . . . .Not sure when, I'll try to get away for a long weekend next month, maybe. . . . . . .Yeah, I'll call her, swear. Listen, where did you get those other pictures? . . . . . . Jesus, Becky, what made you think that was a good idea? The woman has dealt with enough, I'm sure that you showin' up and asking for pictures wasn't something she . . . . . . . . . . No, Becky, it's not fine. She blames me, she hated me and you opened it up for her again. . . . . . . . . . Just 'cause she asked about me doesn't mean that she's happy I'm not wasting my life in Mexico. . . . . . . . . yeah, okay, if you say so. But I still think that it was a mistake to talk to her about me. . . . . . . . Shit, what do you think?

Do I sound okay? . . . . . Yeah, it's been a long time, but that doesn't mean it gets easy, you know? . . . . . God, don't cry, Becky. I know you didn't mean to hurt me. I know you were just trying to give me back a piece of him, but God, you should have warned me or something. I've been out of it all day. . . . . . . No, it'll be okay, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be talkin' to you like this. . . . . . . I love you, too. I'm sorry. . . . . . . No, things here are fine, work is good. Got a new housemate though, so I gotta share a room. . . . . . Taggart. . . . . .

Yeah, him. He's still annoying. . . . . . . . . That is none of your business, little girl. . . . . . .

Shut up. . . . . . . I said shut up. . . . . . . hanging up now. . . . 'kay, love you, hug Susie for me. . . . . . . G'night."

Jake went back to the bedroom and lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Tor came in and looked at him steadily, then said, "You gonna sleep in your jeans?"

Jake let a smile flit across his face, feeling his heart start to pound in his chest. "Not unless you are."

Tor rolled his eyes at him and sat on the edge of the bed. He picked up the pictures and looked at them once more, then sighed and opened the drawer of his nightstand and dropped them in. "Get naked, Taggart. Don't want to have to fight with buttons in the morning."

Jake rolled off the bed and got undressed, then crawled into bed, waiting for Tor. When Tor was naked and in his arms, Jake let himself sigh softly before turning off the light.

"G'night, Tor."

"G'night, Taggart."

Jake woke up to pitch black and the sound of Tor gagging in the bathroom. He lay still for a moment, letting himself come fully awake and he realized that Tor was alternating between dry heaves and sobs that sounded like they hurt like hell.

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Jake swung out of bed and went into the bathroom, ignoring Tor's gestures for him to go away. He knelt down and wrapped his arms around Tor's waist, held him through the heaves. He felt Tor's stomach muscles clench and twist as his gut tried to force something up, and he felt the tension in Tor's body when nothing came.

Tor was fighting him, gasping when the heaves paused. "Get the fuck out, Taggart, just leave me alone."

"Can't do that." Jake held Tor, stroked his back and shoulders, let one hand work at the stomach muscles still trying to force Tor's body to do something it couldn't. Tor was crying now, giving over to the sobs and just letting his body shake and quiver.

It felt like hours before Tor's gut decided that there really wasn't anything to bring up and stopped spasming. Then Tor was just crying, which was almost worse. He clung to Jake and cried into his shoulder, tears running down his face and Jake's chest, moans tearing from his throat and desperate sounds that Jake could only imagine sounded like a broken heart.

When the tears stopped Jake helped him up off the floor and into the bed, held him the rest of the night, wide awake while Tor slept.

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Chapter Sixteen

For the first time since they started sharing a room they just got out of bed in the morning. Tor kissed Jake before they left the room, and they started their day.

The Boss took one look at Jake's tired eyes and sent him to town to get some parts for the old truck. "Don't think you're up for much in the heavy labour department today," he said as he passed a list over. "Just get this stuff, have some lunch in town, and c'mon home."

Jake nodded and climbed into the cab of the nearest truck and headed off. It was a nice day to drive, and the forty minute trip into town gave him time to think. He knew that Tor had been sick in the night because of the pictures and memories that they had brought back. He knew that the pictures were of someone Tor had loved very much. And he was sure that the boy was dead, and that he was the ghost that had sent Tor to Mexico. What he didn't know was what to do about it.

Jake thought about the whole thing for awhile, shivering when he thought about Tor in the bathroom. He hurt so much and there was nothing Jake could do to help. He had never been in love the way he imagined Tor had loved the man in the pictures. He only knew that Tor was in pain, and Jake wanted it to go away. The only way he could think of to help that happen was to do what he had done the night before; hold Tor when he cried, be there when he needed someone. If he had to be a willing body for a time, then he would. He just wanted Tor whole again.

He reached town and went directly to the supply store, parking out back where he knew he'd have to load the parts. He walked around to the front of the store, noting that at this time of the day there should be a fair number of men about; this was the place to go for a quick cup of coffee and morning gossip.

He walked in and moved to the counter, ready to hand the list over and then grab a cup and sit with the boys for a few minutes. He was halfway there when the silence hit him like a wall, each voice falling quiet as his presence was noted. Then the whispers started.

He caught a few words, enough to make his jaw clench and his heart pound hard and fast in his chest.

Faggots. Fucking in the barn. Bunch of… Gillian's spread. Tornado. Taggart.

Jake felt his back tense and his stomach turned to lead before settling. He knew that if he didn't handle this right there would be trouble, and lots of it. Not just for him, but for Tor, the other hands, and the Boss. Hell, for anybody having anything to do with the ranch.

He ignored the men as best he could and went to the counter, standing there until Dave Prince, the owner, couldn't ignore him any longer. The man came over and stood in front of him, his eyes cold and hard.

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Jake put the list down on the counter and slid it across. "I think Mr. Gillian called this in yesterday or this morning. Is it almost ready to go?" Just be polite and leave. Get the stuff and go home.

Prince nodded. "Yeah. He didn't say he was sending you in for it though."

Jake ground his teeth. "Didn't know until this morning. He thought I might like a trip to town. Besides, I've been picking stuff up here for more than a decade."

The man nodded. "Uh huh. But not anymore, Taggart. Tell Doug to send someone else next time. And not that Tornado fag, either."

Jake just nodded his head, inwardly giving up hope of reasoning with the man. Some people just couldn't be talked to.

"Heard you had some trouble out there a few weeks ago," a voice said behind him.

Jake turned and looked at Steve Whalen. "Yeah. Worked out, though. Patched up the hands worth keeping and let the trouble go."

"Some of us think that Gillian let the wrong ones go."

Jake was reaching his breaking point and he knew it, so he made himself stand very still, concentrated on keeping his hands relaxed. "How long you known me, Whalen?" he asked, his voice low and smooth.

"Not nearly fucking long enough, and too long as well. Get out of here, Taggart. Get your parts and go back to the ranch. We don't need you spreading your filth here in this town.

This is a nice place, Taggart, and we aim to keep it that way."

Jake nodded and glanced at Prince. "Stuff out back?"

Prince nodded and said he'd charge it to the ranch account. "Just go, Taggart."

Jake left.

As he walked toward his truck he could feel bile rising in his throat. He forced it back and concentrated, knowing that he wasn't away safe and sound until the truck was loaded and he was on the road. His hands were clenched into fists now and he could feel rage and fear and shame warring in him.

Just don't throw the first fucking punch, Taggart. You hit first, you are one fucked ranch
hand. If you gotta fight, make them hit you first.

He rounded the edge of the building and tensed, knowing they were there. Whalen and someone else, what the hell was his name? Pete? Peter Neale.

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Whalen swung first and Jake ducked, but not fast enough, catching the punch high on his cheekbone. He moved away, fast, trying to get to the truck, trying to get out of this without fighting back. But Neale was there, and then there was blood in his mouth from a split lip, or maybe a broken tooth. Didn't matter. He was on the ground and he had to get up. He rolled to his feet and was greeted with a fist in his eye and God, that hurt.

Jake fought back, hating them, hating himself and hating the whole fucking world. He hated these goddamn pricks, he hated Tor's sister for fucking him up, he hated Tor for not being there, he hated the Boss for sending him into this hell hole and he hated the man in the pictures for holding Tor's heart.

But mostly he hated the fighting. Hated the way flesh felt when you hit it. Hated the sounds men made when they rolled in the dirt trying to kill each other. Hated the way a jawbone felt against his knuckles as it broke.

Then someone was pulling them all apart and rough hands were slamming him against the truck.

"Get the fuck out of here, Taggart. Now."

Jake was pushed again and the others were helped up, someone holding Whalen back as he screamed obscenities at Jake. "Fucker broke Pete's jaw. Let me go!"

Jake got in the truck and headed home.

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Chapter Seventeen

Jake glanced at his watch as he climbed out of the truck in front of the bunkhouse. It was only eleven thirty and there wouldn't be anyone in the house, thank God. He could get cleaned up and then go see the Boss, tell him what happened and why the parts they needed were still in town.

Jake pulled open the kitchen door and walked in, unbuttoning his ripped shirt as he went.

He was three steps in before he realized that the kitchen was full. The four who lived there and two other hands were having omelettes for lunch.

"What the fuck happened to you?" Hound was out of his chair and following him through the kitchen.

"Nothin," Jake said, heading to the bedroom.

There was a squawk behind him and he assumed that someone had grabbed Hound by the collar and hauled him back, 'cause the footsteps following him down the hall were Tor's.

He went into the bedroom and sat on the bed, finally getting the ruined shirt off. He glanced up when the door slammed shut and met Tor's eye.

"What the flying fuck happened, Taggart?" Tor's eyes were snapping, his face flushed and his chest thrust out as he leaned on the door.

"Fight. Seems that we aren't welcome in Dodge anymore." Jake stood up and threw the shirt into the corner and paced the floor, anger rising again. He snapped a fist into the palm of his hand and swore. When that didn't make him feel any better he went into the bathroom and looked at his face.

Split and swollen lip. Black eye. Bruised cheekbone. Not very pretty. Tor was standing behind him and there were strong hands on his back, rubbing at his shoulders.

"What happened?" Tor's voice was quieter now, and Jake dropped his head, letting Tor work the tension out.

"Had a discussion in the store. Went back to the truck to load up and got jumped by Steve Whalen and that Peter Neale guy. They hit me some and then I hit back. Someone broke it up and now I'm here."

Jake moved back into the bedroom and sat on the bed again. He looked at his pants, dirty and ripped, but fixable. Scratches and bruises on his arms. Scrape on his chest.

"Fuck," he said under his breath, and then Tor was holding him and letting him shake and twitch and be angry and jumpy and scared.

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There was a knock on the bedroom door and Tor said, "Go away. He's fine."

The Boss's voice came. "Jake, I need to come in. Now."

Jake looked at Tor. He had never heard that tone of voice before, not in thirteen years.

They sat straighter on the bed, but Tor didn't let go of him entirely. As Jake called out to let the Boss know he could come in Tor kissed his collarbone before shifting away slightly.

When the door opened there were three men waiting to come in. The Boss and two cops from the sheriff's office.

Tor's arm tightened around him and Jake looked at the floor.

"Jake? Are you okay? Do you need a doctor?" The Boss sounded concerned and gentle, his voice forcing Jake to look up at him.

"I'm fine, sir. Black eye, bruises, a few cuts. They didn't do any real damage."

Jake tore his eyes away from the Boss and looked at the cops. "You want a statement?"

One of the cops nodded and the other stepped forward. "We'll have to do it downtown, Mr. Taggart. Someone reported the fight in progress and we're taking you all in.

Apparently you broke Mr. Neale's jaw, and you might face battery charges. As it is, you'll be arrested and processed, but if you can make bail by the end of the business day you can be home by supper."

Tor swore under his breath and didn't let go. The cop who was still standing back looked at them and his eyes widened a little, then he nodded slightly, as if he'd just had a thought.

Images slammed into Jake's mind: bars, and mattresses that were too hard and narrow, and the stink of too many men in one place for too long. He felt sick, so sick he was sure he was going to throw up. He tried to stand, but Tor wouldn't let go, so he said, "Tor.

Bathroom, now."

Tor finally clued in and let Jake go, and as Jake bolted Tor was with him, holding him as he puked up fear and anger and dread.