Saviours of Oestend Oestend 2 (20 page)

After their quarrel the night before, Simon had hurried back to the barn, counting himself lucky to have survived a trip outside. He figured he had the combined power of the BarChi generators to thank for it.

He’d lain awake for a long time, waiting for Frances. As the seconds ticked by, he had begun to imagine the worst. He’d never forgive himself if Frances was lost to the wraiths because of their fight.

When the boy had finally come in, Simon breathed a sigh of relief. His bedroll was next to Simon’s, but instead of lying down in it, Frances began gathering it all up in his arms.
“Frances, can we talk about this?” Simon had whispered.
Frances hadn’t even acknowledged him. He’d gone to the other side of the barn to bed down. By the time Simon woke up in the morning, he was already gone again. He wasn’t at breakfast, either, and Cami told him he’d been in early to eat by himself.
Simon tracked Deacon down later that morning, chopping wood behind the barn.
“Can you tell me where Frances is?”
Deacon didn’t even stop chopping. “Nope,” he said as the axe bit through a log.
“No, you can’t tell me, or no, you won’t?”
“Frances told me you’d ask. I ain’t gonna repeat exactly what he said.” He laughed and shook his head as he swung at another log. “I never heard anybody but Red cuss like that. But the short version is, he don’t seem to want you to find him.”
Simon said a few choice words himself. It annoyed him that Frances would avoid him. Deacon laughed, and in one quick motion, he flipped the axe in his hand to offer it handlefirst to Simon. “Why don’t you put that energy to good use?”
Simon took his advice. It felt good, actually, to swing the axe and take out his frustration and his anger on the helpless wood. The blade bit through the logs with a satisfying
crack
. It all felt rather therapeutic until Red showed up.
“Need help?” Red asked.
Simon swung the axe again, cleaving a quarter of a log in two. “No.”
“Good.” Red leaned against the side of the barn to watch him. “Then we’ll get along just fine.”
Simon had never been fond of Red, and he had no desire to talk to him now. “Go find somebody else to bother.”
Red ignored him. “Who punched you?”
Simon stopped chopping long enough to tongue the tender part of his lip where Frances’ fist had split it open. He’d mostly forgotten about it. “Frances.”
Red laughed. “Really? Feisty little thing, isn’t he? Lovers’ quarrel?”
The question irked Simon. “We’re not lovers!”
Red shrugged, seemingly unbothered by Simon’s hostility. “Call it what you like. Partners. Whatever.”
“It’s not like that!” Except, of course, that it was. Or it had been. He had no idea what they were, now.
Red held his hands up in surrender. “No need to get riled up. We’re men, after all. We got needs, and Saints know women are hard to come by.”
“Red, mind your own damn business.”
But of course, Red didn’t oblige him. “Desperate times call for desperate measures, my friend. We’ve all been there. I’ve dipped my knob in the chocolate sauce a time or two myself, and I’d do it again, given the chance. I’d fuck my own brother if he’d let me, but he won’t. Not to say we ain’t given each other a handshake now and then over the years but—”
“Oh, Holy Saints,” Simon swore, wondering if the conversation could get any more uncomfortable.
“—I’ll tell you what, if Frances offered it up to me, I’d say yes and thank you, too.”
He wanted to tell Red to go to the wraiths, but he also knew the man had a point. Everybody knew it happened on occasion. So why was he having such a problem with it? Maybe because he thought he’d understood the terms of their arrangement, and suddenly found himself not knowing what he’d done wrong.
He rubbed his forehead then pinched the bridge of his nose. Red wasn’t his friend, but Saints knew he had nobody else to talk to. He took a deep breath and said, “I don’t know that we’re partners anymore.”
Red was silent for a minute. Simon had expected him to make another crude comment, but when one wasn’t forthcoming, he looked up.
Red was watching him, looking thoughtful, which he didn’t often do. His brother was friendly and hard-working, and Red countered by being a lazy asshole, but it seemed now it really was all an act. Maybe the man saw far more than he let on.
“A wise man once told me he looked for three things in a friend—a man who’d cover his back in a fight, who’d loan him money when he was short, and who’d lend a hand when he was blue in the balls. He told me, you find those three things, you may as well give that man a wedding ring, ‘cause you sure as hell won’t find all three in a woman. Frances fit that bill?”
Simon didn’t answer. He had a feeling he didn’t have to.
“Well then,” Red said, “the next question you have to ask yourself is, do you?”

If anyone had ever told him he’d get wisdom from Red, Simon wouldn’t have believed it, but as the day wore on, he found himself watching Frances and pondering Red’s words.
Frances had been his friend, and in a way, his lover, but it had always been on Simon’s terms. Sex, yes. But little else. Frances usually seemed to get off on it, too, so Simon had figured somehow it was an even trade. But the next day, he saw Frances looking up the hill, watching something with such obvious longing, it hurt Simon to see. He followed Frances’ gaze and found Dante and Cami. Their arms were around each other, and even from a distance he could see they were smiling. They kissed, and Simon saw the way Frances turned away as if slapped. Simon had seen Frances interact with both Dante and Cami. He knew the remorse he saw on the boy’s face wasn’t because he desired either one of them. Which meant the real issue was, he was envious of what they had.
Simon remembered the way Frances had kissed Aren, and afterwards, as Frances and Simon had stood talking, Deacon had leant down and kissed Frances’ neck. Simon remembered how sad Frances had seemed at that moment. The fact that Aren and Deacon were attracted to men and Simon wasn’t didn’t mean they cared for Frances any more than he did. The difference was, they touched him. And they kissed him.
But even that, Simon realised, was on their terms. They invited Frances to their bed when it pleased them to do so, and he went willingly. It seemed unfair to Simon and yet at the same time, Frances probably found a great deal more satisfaction with them than he did with Simon.
It was painful for him to admit, but true. He’d been selfish. In all the times Frances had got Simon off, Simon had never touched Frances back. He might hold his head as Frances sucked him, or grip Frances’ hips as he fucked him, but never once had he touched Frances’ cock. He’d certainly never kissed him. Never once had he given him anything that might have passed for a caress. Frances allowed Simon to use him sexually, and what was it he wanted in return? Simon had stupidly assumed it was nothing more than friendship, but he could see now that was wrong. What Frances craved from him, what he had
always
craved from Simon, was acceptance and approval. And most of all, affection.
I never claimed to be in love with him!
But he realised as soon as he thought it, that wasn’t the point. What had Frances said to him in front of the fire? ‘
Just one night where I can feel like we have something good.’
And yet Simon had denied him. He’d held onto his assertion that he didn’t love Frances—at least, not in the way Frances loved him. But did that really mean withholding all affection?
‘Would it have killed you to let me pretend, for just one night?’
No. It wouldn’t even have been painful. Strange, maybe, and new. Awkward, even. And yet, such a simple thing to give. It would have been easy to just lie back, and let Frances touch him and kiss him and really make love to him, just that one time. He’d thought it would be a lie to let Frances believe something that wasn’t true, but he realised now, Frances knew exactly where things stood. All he’d wanted was one night—
one single night
—where things happened on his terms. And Simon had been too much of an ass to accommodate him.
It was enough to make him wish Frances had punched him harder.
More than a year before, Frances had let his fear get the better of him, and it had cost a man his life. Simon had talked him back from that, coaxing him along, and he’d seen the way Frances had grown from it. Unlike Simon, he hadn’t let the shame of the incident rule his life. It wasn’t a mark upon his soul. Instead, he’d taken it like bright, sturdy yarn and woven it into his being. He was stronger for it, and more beautiful. And that, Simon realised, was what he himself needed to learn to do with his feelings for Frances. Because the truth was, he did love him. It was a love born of friendship, of shared secrets and of mutual respect. It was a love that felt more fraternal than romantic. It wasn’t a love like Dante had found that outshone everything else in his life. But it
was
love, and there was nobody else in the world Simon would have chosen to have at his side.
Could he love Frances as a brother, yet treat him as a lover? Could he learn to give pleasure, too, instead of just taking? It was a strange thing to contemplate, yet not a hard decision to make. The answer was yes, he thought he could. He would teach himself to give Frances what he needed—nothing more than a kind word, or a touch, or a kiss, or the chance to make love on his own terms from time to time. It would be a small thing, really, to take the love he felt, whatever kind of love it was, and turn it into affection. It would be worth it, if it made Frances happy.
The boy was his partner. He’d do whatever it took to keep it that way.

Simon spent all night thinking of a plan. He looked for Frances the next morning, combing every inch of the ranch at least twice. It wasn’t that much space, but somehow, the boy seemed to keep eluding him. He finally found Frances in a back stall of the barn, shoving his things into his bag.

“Where you going?” Simon asked.
Frances froze. His back was to Simon, and he didn’t turn to face him. “Away.” The words alarmed him. He knew he’d upset Frances, but it had never occurred to him

just how much. “‘Away’ where?”
“What the hell do you care?”
All right. Simon figured he deserved that.
“Can we talk, please?”
“No.”
“Frances, I don’t want you to go. We’re partners, and I don’t want that to change.” Frances shook his head. “I don’t know, Simon. I don’t know if I can.” There wasn’t

much force behind the words, though. Frances still hadn’t turned to look at him, but his movements had slowed. He was stalling, waiting for Simon to either leave or to say what he’d come to say.

Simon had expected to have to apologise. He’d known he had to promise to give much more than he had in the past. But somehow, he’d assumed that Frances would want him back.

But instead, Frances wanted to leave him.
Simon couldn’t let that happen. Not without trying to make things right. He sat down on bale of hay and thought about what he could say to make Frances give him another chance.
“Years ago, right after Lena died, I worked a farm southwest of Francshire, in the grain belt. The man who ran that farm was real particular about how his horses were paired. He believed you couldn’t take any two old draught horses and put them together and expect to get things done. You have to train them in teams.
“The team I used had been together for years, and it showed. A mare and a gelding. Funny thing, you know, ‘cause they’re just horses. They ain’t people. But to see the way they worked together, you could see they’re smarter than a man might think.
“There was wild watercress that grew in the stream, and every time we crossed it, that mare wanted a bite. The gelding never cared for it himself, but he knew, and whenever we crossed, he slowed down so she could nip a bit. And along the road there was a hollow, and once, before I ever came there, something in that hollow spooked that gelding, and the mare knew. Didn’t matter that the hollow was on his side. When we come to it, she’d always steer to the right and keep herself between her partner and the thing that spooked him.”
“Why are you talking to me about horses?”
“Because I realised that partners don’t have to be the same. They just have to know how to work together.”
Frances still didn’t turn, and he didn’t say a word. Simon waited, but without being able to see Frances’ face, he had no way of knowing if he was even making a dent in the boy’s armour, let alone convincing him. “Frances, will you at least look at me?”
Frances shook his head. “I can’t,” he said, and Simon heard his voice break on the words. He heard the tears Frances was trying so desperately to hide.
“You can.”
It took Frances a moment to compose himself. He wiped his face and took a deep breath, but he finally turned. His cheeks were red, and so were his eyes. Frances had always been easy to read, and Simon could see how angry and ashamed he was, both because of his tears, and because of what had happened between them. He could see how hard Frances was working to hang onto his anger, because it helped him keep the pain at bay. It broke Simon’s heart to see it. How could he have hurt Frances so much?
“Frances, I’m sorry. I’m so,
so
sorry.”
“The thing is, Simon, I can accept the fact that you don’t love me. What I can’t accept is that even after what’s happened between us, you can’t even stand to
touch
me.”
The words caused a lump to form in Simon’s throat. “That’s not true.” But he could tell Frances didn’t believe him.
“It seems true enough to me.”
Simon sighed in frustration. It had all been so clear in his head what he needed to do, but somehow, now that he was facing Frances, none of it seemed to be going right.
The problem was, his plan had been about action, not words. It had been all about proving his intent.
He stood up and moved closer to Frances. Frances’ expression was wary, but he didn’t move. He let Simon reach out and grab his wrist and pull him closer.
“We’re not alike. We both know that. I don’t think I’ll ever be like you. I don’t think I’ll ever feel for you the way you want me to. But the thing is, I do love you, kid. It may not be the kind of love you want, but it’s the only kind I have to give. And I really don’t want that to change.”
Frances closed his eyes. Simon knew he was making himself think about what Simon was saying. When he opened his eyes again, he looked sad, but somehow less so than before. Simon could tell he was trying to be rational rather than emotional. “And what about the other?” he asked.
Simon didn’t have to ask what ‘other’. What about the sex? That’s what Frances was asking.
“Well, I’ve been thinking about that. And even though I’m not sure I can ever give you what I think you want, I realise I can still give you more than I have been.”
Frances shook his head. “You’ll need to be clearer than that.”
“I think maybe it’s part of being a team. It’s part of learning to accommodate each other.”
Frances sighed. Amusement and exasperation seemed to war for dominance on his face. “Will you stop talking about horses and tell me what the blessed hell you mean?”
His words made Simon smile. But they also made him realise he was still trying to rely on words when what he needed was action.
It was harder than it should have been to do what he’d planned—harder than Simon had anticipated—but he made himself pull Frances close. He cupped the boy’s face in his hands, and he kissed him.
It was awkward at first. Frances didn’t kiss him back. He stayed completely still, and Simon pulled back to look into his eyes, wondering at his hesitance.
Frances looked confused, but hopeful. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
Was it? Yes and no. It wasn’t what he would have chosen on his own, but what he would have chosen was an awfully selfish, one-sided relationship. Frances deserved better than that. If it was what Frances wanted, then it was something Simon was willing to give. “We’re a team, Frances. There’s nobody else in the world I want harnessed in next to me.”
Frances’ smile was hesitant. He reached up and put one hand behind Simon’s neck. He moved slowly, watching Simon carefully as he did it, watching to see how Simon would respond. Simon made himself be still as Frances stood on his toes and kissed him.
It wasn’t erotic for Simon. It wasn’t arousing. But it was something he knew he’d never, ever regret. He knew the very moment when Frances gave in. He felt the shame and the grief disappear, like clouds fleeing before the wind. Frances put his arms around Simon’s neck. He parted his lips—not pursuing the kiss, but letting Simon deepen it if he wanted. And Simon did. He pulled Frances tight against him, and he kissed him the way he’d once kissed Lena, and if his own body didn’t respond in quite the same way, he found he didn’t mind. Frances’ response was far more enthusiastic than Lena’s had ever been. There was no hesitancy. No holding back. He gave himself up to Simon, and Simon found he loved the way Frances’ breathing sped up. He loved that Frances’ legs seemed to no longer be able to hold him. He liked the feeling of Frances hanging onto him so tight. He liked it enough that it was easy to move his hand down to the front of Frances’ pants. It was easy to caress the growing bulge he found there. He loved the way it made Frances gasp and moan against his lips.
This time it was Frances who broke their kiss. He looked up at Simon, not with shame or embarrassment this time, but with something like awe.
“Tell me you’re done being mad,” Simon said.
“Holy Saints, Simon, right now I’ll tell you anything you want to hear.”
Simon smiled. “Then tell me we’re a team.”
Frances laughed. He pushed Simon gently away. There were no more tears. Frances was bright and smiling and as happy as Simon had ever seen him, and Simon said a prayer of thanks that he’d finally done something right.
Frances held his hand out to Simon, not like a lover, but to shake his hand, as men do when they come to an agreement, and Simon shook it.
“We’re a team,” Frances said.
Before Simon could answer, he heard a woman’s voice coming from the front of the barn. “Frances?”
“I’m here!” Frances called. “I’m almost ready.” He turned back to his bag and continued stuffing his belongings into it, as he’d been doing when Simon had first found it.
“What’re you doing?” Simon asked in surprise. “You’re still leaving?”
Frances laughed. “Yeah, but it’s no big deal. Tama wants to take her boys to the McAllen farm. She says it’s too crowded here, and she wants to be with Jay. Truth is, I think she’s just sick of working her ass off for all these people, and I don’t blame her. Anyway, Deacon and Jeremiah don’t think she and the kids should go alone, so I said I’d take her.” He turned around again to look at Simon. “I’m not exactly the best protection in the world, but I guess I’m better than none at all. And Deacon gave me this.” He reached into his bag and pulled out Jeremiah’s gun. “Don’t really think I know how to shoot it, but I guess as long as it’s pointed away from Tama and the kids, I can’t screw up too much.”
“You’ll do fine,” Simon said.
“Will you come with us?” Frances asked.
“Do you want me to?”
“If
you
want to.”
Simon had to laugh. They were both being far more cautious than they normally were, neither of them wanting to put too much pressure on the other. But now that he knew where Frances was going, Simon didn’t even have to think about it. It was a simple choice—stay at the BarChi, which was overly crowded and quickly becoming unbearable, or go with Frances and Tama to the McAllen Ranch, where they’d actually have room to breathe.
“Don’t even think about leaving without me. All I need is five minutes to grab my things.”