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it was more desperation than lust that made it so.
Ben never turned around, never took his eyes from the
darkness. "You go on," he murmured. "I'm gonna sit up a
spell."
"I'll sit with you."
Ben abruptly shrugged off his hands, turning with a sharp
eye and a sharp tongue to match. "Damn it, Obediah, leave
me be. I can't get one minute to myself anymore."
Stung, Obie backed away a step, his hands held out to the
side in surrender. "All right," he said, struggling to keep hold
of his temper. "I'll go on to bed. You sit up here and sulk just
as long as you want."
Ben made an irritated noise and turned back to the
window, and Obie suddenly found he just couldn't leave it
alone. "If Snow were here—"
"Don't."
"If Snow were here," he repeated, ignoring Ben's warning,
"he'd put a boot up your backside for being such an ass."
That earned him a full-fledged glare, and it was something
to behold. Obie had never been the target of it before and
found himself fighting the urge to look away.
"Maybe he would at that," Ben growled, and Obie
wondered how the voice that usually turned him on had the
power to scare him too. "But Snow ain't here, and you're a
damn poor substitute."
Obie couldn't have spoken a word to save his life at that
moment, his throat knotted up like he'd swallowed a
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tumbleweed. He was still standing there, dumbstruck, when
Ben sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Obie."
No answer. Obie had his eyes fixed on a spot on the wall
near the floor. His fingers were flexing nervously, and he
crossed his arms tight over his chest to make them stop.
"Obie," Ben repeated, coming to stand before him. Rough
fingers touched his cheek. Obie finally looked up, watched the
struggle play out across his lover's face. There was regret
there, and so much pain that he couldn't find the beginning or
end to it. And on top of it all was frustration at not being able
to express himself or get control of his own head. Obie saw
the moment he gave up, dropped his hand, and closed his
face like a window shutter. Obie closed his eyes, heard Ben
move around him and pour another measure of whiskey.
"I've been thinkin'," the older man said. "Maybe you ought
to sleep in the bunkhouse for awhile. The men are a little out
of sorts without Snow there. You might help to settle 'em
down."
Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Obie finally
managed to speak. "Even though I'm a damn poor
substitute?"
"Besides," Ben continued as if he hadn't said a word, "it'll
give me time to get my head together. So I don't...." He
didn't finish. He didn't have to, Obie heard it anyway.
So I don't hurt you no more.
"Just as you like," Obie croaked. His eyes were burning.
Rejection coiled up in his belly like a hard and angry
rattlesnake. He spun on his heel and stalked to their
bedroom—Ben's bedroom—before he broke down like a fool.
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His old traveling satchel was under the bed. He dragged it
out and yanked open a bureau drawer, dragging out clothes
and stuffing them in the bag blindly. He packed everything,
even took his grandfather's pocket watch from the nightstand
drawer. When he stalked down the hall and out of the house,
Ben was back to staring out the window.
The strange numbness holding him broke apart in the crisp
night air, replaced by his old familiar companion, anger. He
wasn't wanted. He knew what to do when he wore out his
welcome. Bypassing the bunkhouse, he went straight to the
barn.
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The Last Chance Ranch
by D.G. Parker
Chapter 10
Obie dropped his satchel in the dust and made his way by
feel to the correct stall. His mare greeted him with a snort
and nibbled his hair while he opened the gate. All at once it
was all too much, and Obie threw his arms around her neck
and pressed his face hard against her chestnut coat. A sob
slipped passed his lips before he gulped the rest down,
releasing the horse with a pat and dashing a hand across his
eyes. "Place was gettin' boring, anyways," he muttered,
wiping his nose on his sleeve. "Should've moved on a long
time ago." He reached for a bridle and froze when he realized
he could see what he was doing.
His heart jerked and started hammering like it hadn't
beaten all night. He changed his mind! He followed me down
here, to tell me not to go
But when he turned, when the shadow behind him lifted up
his lantern, it was only Larry. Obie staggered a step, the
disappointment crushing down on him until he thought he
might actually die.
Larry hung up the lamp and pulled Obie to him.
Surrendering to the shelter of strong arms, Obie shook and
clung to him, trying his damndest not to break down and bawl
like a woman. "He don't want me no more," he gasped, hiding
his tears against Larry's shirt. "He went and made me love
him, and now he don't want me no more." The older hand
made soothing, wordless sounds into his ear, holding him as
tight as he could.
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The sound of a door closing made him startle and look up.
They weren't alone in the barn. Temper, moving like a ghost
through the shadows, had put his mare back in her stall and
closed her in. "Leave her out," Obie protested, "I'm goin'."
"No you ain't," Temper said, even as Larry shook his head
with a sad smile. Temper laid a warm hand on Obie's
shoulder, his skin glowing like roasted chestnuts in the
lamplight. "I don't know what he said, but he don't mean it.
He's all messed up right now, don't know if he's comin' or
goin'. You're gonna have to be the bigger man and wait him
out. He'd do it for you."
Obie pressed the heels of both hands to his eyes. "He
has," he groaned, thinking back a year when he'd panicked
and run. Ben had treated him carefully, let him run a bit, then
calmly brought him back home. And here he was, running
again, expecting Ben to come chasing after him when the
man couldn't hardly get his boots on the right feet. Time to
grow up, Obediah, he scolded himself. Ben needs you to be
the strong one for awhile.
Sniffing back the last of his misery, he picked up his
satchel and gave the others a nod. Larry patted him on the
back and took down the lantern, and the three walked
together to the bunkhouse in silence.
No one was stirring when he undressed and settled in. He
slept little, mostly laid on his back staring at the ceiling
through the dark. In the morning, the hands must have been
surprised to see him there but, other than exchanging a few
glances, they let it go.
* * * *
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For a time, Ben's demand for privacy had the opposite
effect. The Saturday after Snow's death, a single rider
approached the ranch. The hands all tensed up and made
nervous gestures toward their pistols. All except for Porter,
who tossed a rifle over his shoulder and strode down the path
to meet their guest. Obie only relaxed when he saw the two
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