Free Love, Like Water by Rowan Speedwell Page B

“Josh….”
    The boy started as if he were just waking up, took a step back, jerked his hand loose from Eli’s, and bolted. Eli spent a moment calming the horse, then went in search of Joshua.

Chapter 7

    J OSHUA forced himself to keep to a brisk walk crossing the yard to the house, instead of running like he wanted to. Thank God Uncle Tucker wasn’t around; if it were near suppertime as Elian had said, he was probably inside getting washed up. The rest of the hands, too—the yard was deserted, and that was good. Good.
    He slipped into the house and skated past Sarafina, who was busy with something on the stove. Once in his room, he crossed to the bathroom, locked the door, and turned on the shower. Setting it as hot as he could possibly stand, he stripped off his clothes and got in, crumpling to the floor and caving in on himself, shaking. God. God. This was not good. This was so not good. He’d nearly blown it, nearly lost control. Nearly opened wounds he’d never be able to bear.
    But Eli had been so gentle, so calm. So kind. It had seemed natural to reach out to touch him, to let the foreman balance him, to reach out for his steadiness and steel. To let someone else take point, for just a moment. To rely on someone else. To rely on Eli . Joshua dragged in a broken breath.
    And for that one terrifyingly wonderful moment, to see Eli. To let Eli see him .
    Oh, God …. But that was no prayer—he’d stopped believing in God a long time ago. He wished he still believed. Wished there was some higher power he could pray to. Then he wouldn’t feel this need to lean on anyone else. It had been bad enough, in the rehab center, knowing he depended on those people for his sanity, and they were professionals, paid for their service, the best the Bureau could afford. He wouldn’t dare ask anyone else to help him, especially not someone like Eli, who had a job, who had a life, who didn’t need a parasite like Joshua Chastain dragging him down.
    He’d looked so startled when Joshua had touched him—of course he had. Men didn’t grab hold of men the way Joshua had. Even though no skin had made contact—Eli had had on his battered gloves, and Joshua had only caught at the man’s shirt-covered shoulder—Joshua had felt the sharp sting of attraction. To a cowboy, no less. To his uncle’s ranch foreman. The only thing that could have been worse would have been if Joshua had been attracted to ’Chete Montenegro. He let out a short, hysterical bark of laughter. A ranch was every bit as macho an environment as the People or the Folks or any of the gangs that made up those two West Side nations. He was sure they had ways of dealing with interlopers every bit as brutal as the “violations” he’d witnessed and participated in and suffered in the gang.
    He had no place here. He couldn’t stay.
    Dragging in a breath in a sob, he turned his face up to the scalding water. He had nothing. He had nowhere to go. He’d spent three years somewhere he didn’t belong; he couldn’t bear another moment of that feeling.
    He thought of the long bus ride from Albuquerque. Thought about the long drive from the little hick town where the bus had dropped him.
    Thought about the empty desert stretching out as far as the eye could see.
    Thought about the desert inside him, equally empty. Emptier.
    The water went cold and he dragged himself out of the tub. Sitting on the edge, he rubbed his face dry with a sodden towel—apparently the steam from the shower had made everything wet. It certainly had steamed up the mirror, but that was okay. The one thing Joshua didn’t want to look at was himself.
     
     
    “D ID you find Joshua?” Tucker asked as Eli came into the kitchen.
    “Did, but he took off. Thought he came in the house.”
    “I ain’t seen him. Sara? Josh been through here?”
    “I don’t know. I’ve been fixing dinner,” she said. “I did not hear him, but he is very quiet. Check his room.”
    Tuck nodded and went down the