Love, Like Water (16 page)

T
HE
days followed the same pattern Tucker had decided on—mornings with Tucker in the office, getting paperwork organized and done (Joshua thought that his uncle probably hadn’t spent that much time at it in months, so teaching Joshua was killing two birds with one stone), and afternoons outside, learning the physical aspects of the ranch. He felt himself getting stronger, he tired less easily, and slept better. And his appetite improved.

Both appetites. As he put on weight and muscle and felt better, he had more energy to spend on watching and thinking about Eli.

Despite that slow, easy way he had about him, Kelly could react as quickly as any trained Bureau agent: more than once, Joshua had seen him step forward to catch the bridle of a bad-tempered mustang intent on biting one of the hands. He moved fast, but with no underlying violence—he was just suddenly
there
, taking care of what needed to be taken care of, speaking in that low, musical drawl that soothed both horse and human. He didn’t talk much more than Joshua did, and in retrospect, Joshua realized how much effort he’d put into that monologue the evening he’d driven Joshua here, trying to make Joshua comfortable. He was like that with everyone, quick to diffuse the tension that inevitably erupted when men were working in close quarters, quick to turn an angry confrontation into a sensible conversation, quick to jump in and help even before being asked. Quick to make sure the ranch ran smoothly, with nothing to stress Tucker.

Joshua leaned on the fence late one afternoon, his foot in one of his new boots resting on the lower rung and his arms propped on the upper. He’d finished his chores for the afternoon—as his health improved, Tucker was giving him more physical projects, including mucking out stalls, hurray, hurray—and was taking it easy before going in for supper. Eli was working with one of the mustangs from their spring roundup; it had gone through what Joshua thought of as “basic training”—gentling and saddle-training, and simple basic behaviors. That was usually good enough for pleasure riders, and most of their mustangs were trained to that level before being sold. This one, though, was of a bunch that a ranch in Colorado wanted for cutting horses, so Tucker had Eli training him to be a cow pony.

It had been hot that day, despite it being close on fall—Tucker had told Joshua that they’d have occasional hot days clear up into October—and this horse was already gentled enough that Eli wasn’t wearing his usual long-sleeved cotton shirt. Instead, he wore a black “wifebeater” sleeveless T-shirt, and a straw hat. Joshua watched him work, admiring the ropy muscles in his arms and the way the sweat-dampened shirt clung to his work-hardened chest. His arms were tanned, though not as dark as those of some of the others, like Ryan and Billy, who usually wore tank tops or those T-shirts with the sides ripped out to display their muscles, like strutting roosters. Eli wasn’t interested in going for the beefcake look—his body was for work, not for show.

His muscles strained as he held the mustang back, but his outward demeanor was the same as always, calm and quiet. They were waiting while Billy opened the chute to let in a couple of calves that immediately started running around the corral looking for their mothers and lowing pathetically. Eli held the mustang still, then in a move almost too infinitesimal to see, he eased up on the reins and spoke softly, too quietly for Joshua to hear. The mustang, which had been tense and nervous at the introduction of the new variables in the corral, visibly relaxed and moved forward in response to Eli’s direction.

“He’s one of the best trainers I’ve ever worked with,” Tucker said from beside Joshua.

“He’s impressive,” Joshua agreed.

“Think you might be interested in that?” Tucker flicked his fingers towards the pair in the corral. For a moment Joshua thought his uncle had seen through Joshua’s growing infatuation with Eli, but then he realized he was talking about horse training. “I don’t know that I have the knowledge or the patience for training,” Joshua said.

“Well, the knowledge we can give you. The patience… that’s something else again. You seem like a pretty patient guy. Can’t have been easy, what you did back in Chicago.”

“No.” Joshua resisted the urge to run his hand over his head. Feeling the hair growing back was reassurance that the days of his bald, tattooed self were over, but it was becoming a habit. He needed to learn that he didn’t need that reassurance anymore. “It wasn’t easy.”

“Didn’t think so. Called that psychologist in Albuquerque. We got an appointment for you for Tuesday evening. Figure we’ll drive in early—there’s a Route 66 diner that’s kind of fun. Good food, and lots of crazy-ass souvenir type crap.” Tucker elbowed him. “Play tourist for a bit.”

“Sure.” Joshua swallowed. “The shrink—is he the one with the background in addiction?”

“Yep. The one over by the university. I’ll drop you there then swing back around when you’re done. There are a couple errands I can run while I’m in town. Works out pretty good.”

“I can probably drive myself.”

Tucker shook his head. “Nah, I gotta run the errands anyway, and this way you don’t have to worry about getting lost. Or finding a parking place, which ain’t easy in that part of town. There are parking garages, but they ain’t obvious.”

“You’re driving me because you think I’m going to chicken out.”

Tucker shook his head. “No, son. I don’t think you’ll chicken out. But I also don’t reckon you’ll be in the best of shape afterwards to drive home.”

Joshua thought about it while he watched Eli. The foreman pulled his hat off and wiped sweat off his forehead. His blond hair had gone dark with sweat, and Joshua could see his skin shining in the late afternoon sun. Sitting so straight on that powerful horse, so thoroughly in command of himself and the animal, he looked like what Joshua imagined one of the Greek gods of antiquity looked like. Fierce, yet steady. Strong, but calm. Joshua’s fingers tightened on the top rail of the fence. Anything further from the dark, violent streets of Joshua’s past he couldn’t imagine. Eli was everything Joshua wanted: clean, strong, honest. Straightforward. Gentle.

He imagined talking about Eli to the shrink. Imagined being honest and straightforward about his lust for his uncle’s foreman. He hoped to God that the shrink didn’t mind his being gay. Didn’t shrinks have to go through some kind of training for shit like that? He didn’t know. This was the West, after all, and even though New Mexico had a reputation for being more liberal and gay-friendly than other Western states, it was still the West.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “I probably won’t be.”

Chapter 14

T
HE
office was on the fifth floor, right across from the elevator, and decorated in local style, with Hopi pottery and Navaho weavings on the wall. The receptionist, a sweet-looking older woman, greeted him with an offer of tea or coffee. Joshua declined and accepted only a seat in the waiting room.

The psychiatrist, when he came out, was escorting a young woman with a tear-streaked face, though she was smiling. Josh hoped he’d be in as good shape when he was done. He nodded at Josh, but kept talking to the girl in a low voice as he walked her to the desk, where the receptionist took over. Then he came across the room to Josh, his hand outstretched. “Joshua? I’m Ken McBride.”

Josh rose and shook his hand. The man was half a head shorter than Josh, but his shoulders were broad and solid. His grip, too, was solid, but not aggressive. “Come on back and we’ll get started on the paperwork. Ellen, you can head out once you’re done scheduling Gerri. Gerri—I’ll see you next week.”

“Thanks, Ken,” Gerri said, and gave Josh a shy smile.

Josh found himself smiling back. Huh. That was weird.

The inner office had the same type of pottery and weavings on the stuccoed walls, with furnishings in soft brown leather. There were some plants, too, but no desk, so it looked more like a living room than an office. It was quiet and peaceful.

“Sit anywhere you like,” McBride said.

Josh looked at the couch, but sat in one of the armchairs instead. Rubbing his hand over the silky leather of the arm, he said, “I’ve been through all this before. So it’s not exactly new.”

“No, but I am, so we’ll have to get used to each other. We do have paperwork to do, but before that, why don’t we just talk a bit. Would you like some water or tea?”

“No, thanks.”

“Okay.” McBride sat in the other armchair. A clipboard sat on the coffee table between them, but he made no move to pick it up. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself, and what you want to get out of therapy?”

Josh took a breath, then said, “I have bad dreams.”

“Like Hamlet.”

“Hamlet? Like the play?”

“Yes. Shakespeare. Hamlet says that, about dreams.”

“He had bad dreams?”

“Act 2, scene 2: ‘I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.’ Have you ever read Hamlet? Or seen a production of it?”

“I don’t think so. I’m not much on that sort of thing. Never had time for it.” Josh thought a moment, then said, “I think I know what he means about the infinite space thing, though. I never thought of myself as having limitations when I was young.”

“None of us do. What are your dreams about?”

Josh rubbed a fingertip over the arm of the chair. “Memories,” he said finally. “Bad memories.”

The shrink didn’t say anything.

“You want to know about me?” Josh looked up to see McBride watching him, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I’m gay. I’m a heroin addict. I’m ex-FBI. I’ve killed people.”

“Are you still using?”

“No.” He waited for a comment on the rest of his statement, but there wasn’t any. He took a breath and looked up. The expression on the shrink’s face was mild and inquisitive, not judgmental. “I went through a chemical detox after the assignment and then a couple months of rehab. I’m clean. But I….” He swallowed. “I still dream about it. I still, I still want it. In my weaker moments. I don’t want it. But I do.”

“That’s not unusual, particularly with heroin,” McBride said. “We can work on techniques to deal with that. The desire may never go completely away, but there are things that will help. Go on.”

Joshua shrugged. “What else is there? My mother and my uncle cooked up this scheme where I would come out here to work for him and learn the ranching business. He doesn’t have any other family, so probably he’s thinking in terms of me buying him out eventually or something. If I like it.”

“Do you?”

“I guess.”

Joshua fell silent. The shrink didn’t say anything for a minute, then said, “You sent permission for me to access your medical records from the hospital in Miller. I have a few questions about what sent you there.”

“Stupidity,” Joshua said bitterly.

“Do you think it’s really that simple?”

Joshua couldn’t answer. He stared up at the wall hanging behind McBride. The patterned weaving was done in warm shades of honey gold, dark sage, and a brown that was almost red. It was warm and looked like home. “Is anything?” he said finally.

“Not often. So. If not just stupidity, what else?” When Josh didn’t answer right away, the shrink said, “Let’s talk about those dreams.”

I
T
WAS
late when Josh and Tuck got back from town, but Eli found reasons to hang around on the ranch house porch until they did. Jesse had come out there a half hour or so earlier, having the usual skewed body clock teenagers had that kept them up ’til all hours, and was chatting to Eli about… something. Eli wasn’t really paying attention; he was listening for Tuck’s truck.

When they got out of the truck, Joshua was walking the way he did when he first came to the ranch, tight and awkward. Eli half stood, but then Tucker came around the truck and took Josh’s arm, so he sat back down again. “You okay?” he asked as they came up the steps to the porch. Jesse had gone silent.

“Yeah,” Joshua said, his voice kind of quavery. “It was a little rough, but good.” He gave them a brittle smile, and Eli wanted to cry.
Shit
.

“Good,” he said, not meaning it. What he wanted to do was hunt down whoever it was that had hurt Josh—the shrink or the fellas back in Chicago, or whoever it was—and beat the shit out of them. But there wasn’t anything he could do. He didn’t remember ever feeling this helpless in his life. Even when his dad died, he’d known instinctively how to react, what to do, to take care of his ma and the kids. But this—Josh was a man, not a kid, and a man had to deal with his own problems, in the end. Yeah, he could be there to help if Josh asked him—but Josh had to ask.

And he didn’t. He smiled again at Eli and Jesse, that brittle impersonal smile, and went into the house with Tucker.

“Shit, he looks wrecked,” Jesse said in a low voice. “I thought this guy was supposed to help him?”

“Yeah. I guess sometimes you kinda gotta get through the bad stuff before you get better,” Eli said. “Like ripping off a Band-Aid—it hurts like a bitch, but it’s better afterwards.”