Lay Me Down (Kyle/Oliver) *WIP*
Story Title: Lay Me Down - Chapter Six (*WIP*)
Author's Name: rhombus_
Pairing: Kyle/Oliver
Rating: R
Warnings: AU setting; historical inaccuracies; cliches
Summary: Kish in the Old West. Yep. That about sums it up. AU (of course).
Disclaimer: Characters ≠ mine.
Previous parts:
Chapter One - The Vow
Chapter Two - Our Own Place
Chapter Three - The Lesson
Chapter Four - This Land is Your Land
Chapter Five - The Hunt
Lay Me Down
Chapter Six - Bad Men
---
Mt. Oakley, Montana Territory. 1878.
Oliver Fish, age 15.
---
Every muscle in Oliver's body ached. It felt like he'd been crouching-frozen solid-for hours, though only a few minutes had passed.
Kyle was a cord-tight bundle of nervous energy in his grip. He felt if he released even the tiniest bit of pressure, Kyle would burst out of his arms like a hummingbird taking flight. And he'd get himself shot right out of the sky.
Oliver had heard the order, loud and clear. They were to be hunted.
Well, not if he had anything to say about it.
He breathed hard through his nose. Once, twice. What would his father do in a situation like this? Would he fight? Even in the face of certain death?
No. He'd play it safe, get out of there with as little damage to himself, his property, his... his cowhand. His man.
That's what he'd always said. A rancher protects. He protects the land. He protects the stock. He protects his people. And though Oliver wasn't a rancher yet, though he didn't have any land of his own to protect, he had Kyle. Kyle may've earned wages from his father, but Oliver felt something different, deep down. Kyle was his. And he wasn't about to let him do anything stupid, like go and get himself killed.
He glanced around the glade for possible exit routes. A man would run. That's what a real man would do. Not for himself, but for the protection of others.
Oliver closed his eyes. He wasn't quite a man yet, because he was running for himself, too. He didn't wanna die up there on that mountain anymore than he wanted to watch Kyle foolishly invite his own death.
He tightened his grip around Kyle's arms and chest. Kyle pushed back, but only slightly. His palm still covered Kyle's mouth, wet with tears and sweat.
They could sneak out quietly, the way they came in... but only if Walter started his hunt on the other side of the creek. The path was too exposed for too long. If he came after them, he'd have a clear shot. They would need to find another way out. Oliver thought there was room enough for them to squeeze through the break in the boulders on their left. From there, they would be covered. Then it was only a matter of finding their way down.
He felt Kyle tugging at his grip. Peering through the bushes, he watched as Mitch grabbed Jinny by the reins and began walking with her up the hill, cooing in her ear, rubbing her nose, humming a familiar-sounding hymn in a low, smooth voice.
Walter scratched his bristled cheek, then set about inspecting the ground for any sign of his quarry. "Where did you get to, my little rider," he singsonged. "You can come out. I ain't gonna hurt you. Lord as my witness."
Oliver might've believed him, if he hadn't cocked his rifle and raised the sight to one squinted eye. A bird landed on a tree limb, rustling the leaves. Walter swung his shoulders and let off a wild shot; the blast of gun powder boomed like thunder in the glade, sending all the birds away in a flurry of wings and disturbed air.
In the heavy silence that followed, Oliver's arms shook uncontrollably. He'd never felt so close to danger. He couldn't calm his heartbeat or catch his breath. Kyle was able to wriggle out of his loosened grip, but he didn't rush out and chase after Jinny. Instead he turned, crouching still, and grabbed Oliver's shaking hands. His face glistened with tears. Oliver wanted to reach up and wipe them away, but his arms were completely useless.
Kyle's lips straightened into a determined line and he stared at Oliver with steely eyes. Oliver wanted to absorb his strength and call it his own. And maybe he was. With each gentle sweep of Kyle's thumbs along his knuckles, Oliver felt his heart rate slow, his lungs take in air, his limbs relax as the shakes slowly abated.
The smell of burnt powder invaded his senses and made his guts clench. But Kyle was there, and Oliver was able to keep calm. And think.
Plans had formed. They just needed to bide their time. If Walter turned their way, they'd sneak south around the boulders and find another way down. If he started up the opposite hill, they were home free...
Walter kicked up some dirt before poking at the ground with the nose of his rifle. He turned and stared up the hill. Oliver held his breath.
But the sound of boots splashing through the creek as Walter crossed over to their side wrapped a heavy weight around his heart.
They were now forced to venture into untraveled territory and hope for the best. He slowly stood and motioned for Kyle to follow. Kyle nodded, apparently in complete understanding, and they slowly, silently guided the horse back around the southern end of the boulders, hiding from Walter's immediate sight. They found hard ground and stayed on it, hoping to conceal their own tracks as best as possible.
Oliver kept one eye on the sky. They'd come up the mountain due west, so they kept on an eastern bent as much as the close-growing shrubs and dense copse of pines would allow. A rock wall loomed on their left. They'd have to find a break in it at some point if they were ever going to head down. Oliver could still hear the creek nearby. It had to lead out of the mountain at some point, and would be as good a guide as any to the break in the wall.
"You think he's tracking us?" he whispered.
Kyle kept his gaze forward. "Most likely. But he's not shooting yet." He glanced at Oliver with a small grin. "And that's all I care about."
Their path gradually sloped down. The sound of water grew closer. They were crawling right along the creekside, just a few thick bushes between them and open space. Oliver could almost believe they were close to escape.
The rock wall inched closer to them, pushing them toward the creek. The air grew thick, almost as if it were closing in on them too. Thorns and sharp twigs tore at Oliver's skin and clothes as they scrambled through the bushes. The horse tugged at his reins, resistant to follow, but they eventually guided him in and pushed through to the other side.
Where Oliver's heart immediately plummeted into his stomach.
The creek narrowed to a point, no larger than ten inches across, then trickled through a tiny crack in a tall cliff-face, surrounding them on all sides.
A dead-end.
He swiveled and stared at Kyle, whose face was as blank as the stone that trapped them. He turned back to the wall, completely heartbroken. His mouth had dropped open, but he couldn't muster the energy to close it again.
"What are we gonna do?" he finally managed to croak out.
Kyle didn't answer. Oliver turned to him-
-only to have the wind knocked out of his stomach as Kyle barreled into him, grabbing him into a fierce hug.
They stayed that way for a while. One of Kyle's arms snaked up and cradled the back of Oliver's head, fingers running through his hair. "If this is really the end... I'm glad to have known you, Oliver Fish."
Oliver didn't have the words, didn't know yet if he was ready to say goodbye, so he planted a kiss on the top of Kyle's head instead. He took in a deep breath, trying to capture the smell of him. If he were to choose the last thing he could remember before leaving this life, it would be that smell. Everything around them seemed to stop. All that existed was this embrace.
The horse snorted, breaking the moment.
Kyle took a small step back, keeping one hand on Oliver's shoulder. Something lit up in his eyes then, spreading through his whole face, until his mouth broke into a wide smile and he burst into sudden laughter.
"What is it, Kyle?" Oliver turned, trying to see what had lifted his friend's spirits. Perhaps an escape route that had eluded them before?
He turned in a full circle, expecting at any moment to see their path to freedom. But he was met by the same impassable cliff as before. The same creek. The same grove of spiny bushes. Whatever it was that had given Kyle hope, Oliver couldn't see it.
"I've got it," Kyle finally said. He was staring at the horse.
"Got... what?"
"I think it's time we do a little hunting of our own." Kyle grabbed his hat off the horse's pack and pulled it firmly over his head.
"I don't-"
Kyle cut him off. "I'm not gonna wait here like a bull to slaughter, Ollie. If we're getting ourselves out of this mess, we're doing it fighting. And I say we take the fight to him."
Oliver gaped at him. "The fight? Kyle, we don't have any weapons, no way to defend ourselves!"
"Sure we do." Kyle nodded at the horse.
Oliver shook his head at him, completely at a loss.
Kyle slung an arm around his shoulder. "Let me explain, my dear friend..."
---
It was suicide. Oliver didn't want to say so out loud, but he knew it in his heart. They were walking right up to death and poking it in the stomach.
The horse shuffled nervously underneath him, seemingly just as restless and unconvinced of their success.
They had followed the creek back until they found a suitable geography for ambush. After drinking their fill and replenishing the canteen, Oliver and the horse hid between two boulders on the creek side of the hedge-wall, while Kyle crouched in the bushes. A wide opening in the bushes spanned between them. Kyle had dug some noticeable tracks into the dirt, hoping it would lead Walter right to them.
They only had to wait a few minutes before the sound of a man's footsteps could be heard. As they came closer, Oliver felt his hands unconsciously grip the reins harder. He swallowed hard and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist.
Walter's wide-brimmed hat came into sight, seeming to bounce above the bushes. They had to time this exactly right. If Oliver was even a second late, Kyle was a sitting duck.
He watched Kyle, waiting for the signal...
The hat bounced closer. Kyle brought his hand to his mouth, then coughed loudly.
Oliver charged out from between the boulders just as Walter came through the bushes, his back turned, his attention diverted by Kyle's cough. Oliver grabbed the reins and pulled with all his strength. The horse reared up before its hooves came crashing down on Walter's back.
The man fell to the ground in an unconscious heap, the rifle slipping from his grip and sliding directly in front of Kyle, who stood from his hiding place, grabbed up the gun, and raced to Oliver.
"You were perfect," he breathed out, winking at Oliver, then unraveled a length of rope from the saddle.
He quickly tied Walter's hands, then his feet, thoroughly testing each knot. Oliver thought he saw Kyle glance at him then, and a sudden coldness came over him. This was his fault. If he had only tested Jinny's knot better, they'd never have lost her. They'd never have found themselves in a life-or-death situation.
"Kyle, I'm sorry."
Kyle looked up at him, confused. "Now is not the time, Oliver. Here, take his boot and fill it with water. I want to wake this son of a bitch up and get some answers."
Oliver pushed on anyway, needing to say it. "I'm sorry I lost Jinny."
Kyle shook his head, staring down at the unconscious man with hatred in his eyes. "Haven't lost her yet."
"What are you-" Oliver swallowed. "What are you talking about?"
Ignoring the question, Kyle nudged the unconscious man with his boot. Then he reared back and gave him a hard kick to the stomach. The man groaned, blinking open his eyes. When he realized his hands and feet were tied, he began struggling, striking out at Kyle with his legs out and biting at his roped hands. Kyle looked incredibly unbothered by his aggression.
He slowly lifted the gun and pointed it at Walter.
"Where'd he take the horse?"
"I'll kill you, you little rat!"
Kyle's only answer was a smile. He pulled back on the gun's automatic loading mechanism.
"The horse," Kyle said, still smiling. "And then you can kill me. Pal."
Oliver leapt forward. "Kyle! What are you doing? Let's just get out of here!" They were free and clear now. They just needed to hop on the horse and ride home, to safety. Oliver tugged on Kyle's sleeve. "C'mon."
Kyle nudged him away with his elbow, never taking his eyes off his struggling captive. "I'm getting my horse back, Oliver." His eyes narrowed into slits. "With or without you."
Oliver took a step back, as if slapped. He thought they were in this together. But now Kyle was acting stupid and ignoring reason...
"You'll get yourself killed, Kyle!"
Kyle lifted the gun slightly. The man on the ground flinched.
"I'll be all right," Kyle said, his voice as cold as steel.
Oliver raised his arms in protest. "You don't even know how to use that thing."
"Sure I do." His voice was calm, his movements measured, as he leaned in and placed the barrel of the gun directly between Walter's eyes.
He was really going to do it. He was really going to kill a man in cold blood. Oliver felt his heart stop.
Walter spat on Kyle's boots. "The Messenger will have you strung up for this, you little cretin."
Kyle sneered down at him. His trigger finger twitched, spurring Oliver into action.
"No!" Oliver jumped forward and jerked the gun out of Kyle's hands. Before he could even register Kyle's enraged grunt, he flung the rifle into the creek and watched it drift away with the current. Kyle ran up to him, a horrified expression on his face, then shoved Oliver square in the chest.
"What'd you do that for?!"
Oliver felt like shoving back, but steadied himself. Fighting wasn't gonna get them off the mountain any faster.
His heart still raced like a locomotive in his chest. "I wasn't about to let you kill a man!"
"I wasn't gonna kill him! I need him to tell me where Jinny is!" Kyle took a menacing step forward.
"Well then," Oliver said, crossing his arms over his chest, mostly to protect himself from another push, "I wasn't about to let you take on a whole gang of killers with naught but a rifle!"
Kyle spun around and paced a few steps away, hands on his hips. "God damn it, Oliver! God damn you!"
Now Oliver really felt like shoving Kyle. He had a lot nerve getting angry at Oliver for saving his sorry life. He followed after Kyle and poked him hard in the chest instead.
"Well I'm sorry if I didn't want to see you hang a death sentence around your own stupid neck! Hate me if you want, but do it fast." He pointed down at Walter, who was watching their squabble with silent interest. "Because he's working at them knots and I'd really like to see this damned mountain for the last time as were riding away from it!"
Kyle pursed his lips and stared up at him under the brim of his hat with iron-hard eyes. Then he stormed off toward the horse.
"Fine."
Oliver followed quickly after. "Fine?"
"It's getting late." Kyle hopped on the saddle and adjusted the reins. His gaze was dark and lifeless. "Wouldn't want you to miss your supper."
Oliver was too tired to fight with him any longer. And though he wouldn't dignify Kyle's jab with a response, he was just a little hungry.
"What about him?" Oliver asked as he joined Kyle atop the horse.
Kyle sniffed, then started the horse into a slow trot. "He'll be fine." He tipped his hat at the prostrate man as they passed him by. "Won't you, sir?"
"I'll find you little maggots," Walter sneered at them. "I'll find you and I'll finish the job."
"Yeah?" Kyle said. "Good luck with that."
And then they were off, through the opening in the hedge, back along the length of the rock wall toward the mossy glade of boulders where they first saw Jinny.
Blood jittered all through Oliver's veins, setting his whole body on edge. Adrenaline zinged up and down each limb. They were alive. They were alive and together. He rested his chin on Kyle's shoulder and squeezed him tighter around the middle. Back when he was teaching Oliver to ride, it used to make Kyle smile.
Today, it only made his lower lip quiver.
The ground started to even out. Oliver risked a quick turn of the head. The mountain was behind them. Though he didn't know if they'd ever truly be free of it. The horse, seemingly as anxious as they were to leave that wretched place, dipped his head and raced along the open prairie. Kyle urged him on. They were still, after all, trespassing on Lord land.
"Look!" Oliver pointed toward the distance, where he could just make out a round, white blur. He squinted his eyes, and the object came into focus.
A carriage, glossy like marble, driven by four large, white horses. Its golden wheels glimmered in the light of the lowering sun. Oliver felt his breath catch. It was as if, after a harrowing trek through the depths of hell, they'd stumbled into a childhood fairy tale once more. "It's real..." he said, wonder filling his voice.
Just like the stories Kyle used to tell him, back in those innocent days of youth. How Kyle's eyes would light up when he'd describe the beauty and the grandeur of the Lords. Oliver could picture it so clearly in his head: the heiresses tucked safely inside, gloved hands resting daintily on frocks of yellow and blue, their petticoats starched and stiff, blond curls tied back with satin ribbons. Oliver tugged on Kyle's shirt sleeve and pointed again. "Kyle, y'see that...?"
But Kyle didn't turn his head. He only heeyaw!-ed and sent them into a faster gallop. The carriage became a tiny white dot on the horizon, then finally faded into nothing.
---
The sun dipped perilously low.
His leisurely walk and afternoon of reading had stretched far beyond the hour of explanations. But he would have to try anyway.
Oliver gulped down the large lump that had been growing in his throat as the main property came into view.
At first Kyle made a beeline for the stables, but a hushed, "Shit!" and a quick swerve of the horse let Oliver know that those plans had come to a sudden reversal. He looked over Kyle's shoulder and felt his heart lurch in his chest.
Two figures stood outside the stable barn, their backs turned, in the midst of a heated conversation. They were still a few hundreds yards off, but Oliver could tell from the staunch-shouldered stance of the taller man, his austere, straight back, his expensive "Boss of the Plains" Stetson hat, that it was his father.
Hunched and stout, the other was presumably Hector.
And they obviously knew something was amiss.
"What now?" he said in a low voice. He realized then how close his cheek was to Kyle's as they rode.
Turning his head so their noses almost touched, Kyle said, "Now-?" A sad smile crept into the corners of his mouth. "Now I get you safely out of the way while I go and face the music."
Kyle? Alone? Oliver had read his father's body language pretty clearly. Whoever came back horseless was in for a mess of trouble.
They made a long loop around the south end of the property, circling the perimeter of the covered sheep paddock, when Kyle finally slowed the horse to a trot, then a full stop next to the aging, peeling wood of the paddock walls. The earthy odor of sheep dung hung heavily in the air around them.
Kyle jerked his head back. "Get off."
"What?"
"Get off the horse. Get back to the main house. They'll be waiting for you."
"But what about you, Kyle?"
"Oliver-!" Kyle sucked in a quick breath, his nostrils flaring. "Get off the damn horse and get back to the house."
He'd spent his whole life taking orders, but this was one order Oliver was determined to ignore. He settled deeper into the saddle and threaded his fingers together into a fist around Kyle's midsection.
"No." He wasn't going anywhere. And there wasn't a darn thing Kyle could do about it.
Except whatever it was he just did that sent them both tumbling off the horse and onto the ground.
The horse backed away with a nervously high-kneed gait, while Oliver rolled onto his back and Kyle sat on his haunches, wiping the dust from his clothes in harsh, brusque strokes. His expression was sad, but determined.
"I don't want to fight with you about this, Oliver."
"Then don't!" Oliver stood and reached down a hand to help Kyle up. "I thought-I thought we were in this, y'know, together."
Kyle ignored the hand, crossing his wrists over his knees in a pointed refusal to stand. "I thought that too." He glanced up, his eyes like flint. "'Til you threw my gun in the damn creek."
Oliver didn't know what to say to that. Well, he knew what he wanted to say, but it was far too crude to speak aloud. His neglected hand still outstretched, he shoved it in his pocket and marched back toward the horse.
He was about to mount when Kyle's voice stopped him. It was soft. Desperate.
"Oliver, don't. Please."
"Kyle, if anyone should do it-"
"Me. It should be me."
Oliver shook his head. "No. I lost her, Kyle. It was my fault. I thought I had tied her up, but... I... I..." Images flashed through his mind, bombarding him with memories and sensations so strong he thought he might fall over. Over and over he saw it, in tortuous slow motion. Kyle, standing on the edge of the pool, his bare skin bathed in light, how Oliver's heart had fluttered, how his chest grew tight, how his fingers trembled, how every cell in his body seemed to stand up and take notice.
He tried pushing those memories aside and focusing on others, on the knot, on tying the knot, on testing the knot. But... nothing. He couldn't even remember if he'd done it at all.
"It's my fault, Kyle. My fault." His voice cracked. Tears stung in the corner of his eyes, but he wouldn't let them slip out. No. That was not what a man did. But the guilt so overwhelmed him. How could he have been so negligent? How could he have let such-such base and impure instincts take him over like that? How could he be sure it wouldn't happen again?
"Whatever happens," he said, swallowing down the lump in his throat, "I deserve it. I deserve to be punished."
He grabbed the saddle and was about to heft himself onto the horse when a hand grabbed his collar and pulled him away. The world spun for a moment, and then his back slammed against the rickety wooden wall of the paddock. It wobbled underneath his weight.
"Don't say that!" Kyle was staring at him with fierce eyes, his mouth a thin, angry line. He grabbed a fistful of Oliver's shirt collar and pushed him back up against wall again. Oliver thought for a moment all three of them-he, Kyle, and the wall-would topple. "Don't you ever say that."
"It's true," he whispered. The stinging in his eyes grew unbearable.
"Look, Oliver-" Kyle breathed in and out through his nose. Something moved behind his gaze, skittish and unsure. A fug of desperation sat on his shoulders. "She was my responsibility. She was my horse!" His voice broke. Tears glistened in his eyes. "I never shoulda-" He cut off, shaking his head and releasing Oliver's shirt.
"What, Kyle? Never shoulda what?"
Kyle turned, then pivoted back around to face Oliver, a weary hand dragging through his hair. Oliver had never seen him look so miserable.
"I never shoulda trusted her with you."
A moment of silence hung between them as the words sunk in. Oliver fell back against the fence. All the air fled from his chest, as if Kyle had just punched him in the lungs. "Wow," he mouthed, his voice barely a whisper. "That's what-that's what you really think of me?"
Kyle sniffed, and a tear slipped down his dirt-smudged cheek. "Go home, Oliver." And then, very quietly, "Let me do this."
Oliver felt his lip quiver, with anger or hurt, he didn't know. Maybe both. Kyle didn't trust him. Kyle was sending him away. He felt like a scolded child, belittled and inconsequential. And that numb expression on Kyle's face... He couldn't stand looking at it any longer.
He pushed himself off the paddock wall and walked as fast as he could away from Kyle. He didn't even know what direction he was heading, or why. All that mattered was getting away, getting space, clearing his head, figuring out what to do, what had gone wrong, how their perfect day had turned into such a nightmare.
Horse hooves clomped away behind him. Kyle was returning to the stables, one horse short, to confront his awaiting superiors.
Served him right, Oliver thought. Whatever happened, Kyle had asked for it. That's what he got for being a stubborn, short-sighted, fool of a boy. He wanted Oliver to go home, safe and sound? Fine. Absolutely fine. Oliver had no problem with that.
Stiff grass collapsed under his feet as he walked. With each step his heart grew heavier and darker. Things had changed. He knew it. Ever since he saw Kyle so... exposed at the lake.
Things were never going to be the same.
He'd wanted to protect Kyle. From Mitch and Walter, from his own wild impulses. Only Kyle fought off his protection at every turn. There was nothing Oliver could have done differently. Yet... each thud of his heart was like a hammer slamming down on his chest.
On and on he walked, aimless.
Or so he thought. It was only when the outside walls of the stables were directly before him that he realized he'd circled back and followed Kyle's path. Peeling paint chips crumbled under his touch as he ran his fingers along the wall. Just like he'd done when he'd asked Kyle for his first riding lesson. And like then, he carefully peered in through an eye-sized hole left by a popped knot of wood.
Kyle and his father stood facing each other. From a darkened corner, Hector squinted at them with his half-blind eyes. Kyle's head hung low, and he spoke quietly. Oliver couldn't make out his words.
His father, on the other hand, spoke in a booming voice. "I've sent men packing for less than this." He paced in front of Kyle, hands clasped behind his back. "If this were the rangers, boy, you'd be in danger of losing one of those pretty little fingers."
Kyle's hands twitched, but he kept them limp by his sides.
Oliver's father stopped pacing and turned deliberately toward Kyle. "Bring me the riding crop."
Wide eyes shot up, dark and fearful. The same way they'd get at school when Miss LaMott brought out the switch. With slow, measured steps, Kyle did what he was told. Once Kyle had handed over the whip, Oliver expected him to hold out his knuckles, like he used to.
It shocked him when Kyle began pulling at the buttons of his shirt instead. His fingers stumbled over the buttons a few times, and he kept his shaded eyes firmly on the crop. His shirt discarded, Kyle turned, exposing his pale, bare back, and rested his weight against one of the large support posts.
For the second time that day Oliver had watched in frozen silence as Kyle undressed. But this time, instead of filling him with a strange sort of wonder, his whole body was soaked in dread.
"Someone stole my horse," his father said. "My saddle. My riding equipment. My goddamn horse shoes. All of this, under your watch. While you were off gallivanting with-" He paused. The air in the barn seemed to crackle with energy the longer the words remained unsaid. Oliver's lungs hurt from holding his breath. How much had Kyle told him?
"While you were off doing God knows what," his father finally finished.
Oliver could see Kyle close his eyes, suck his lips into his mouth as he waited for the first strike to come.
"You'll give me your wages, of course, until the debt is paid."
Kyle nodded.
"And we'll see about getting that fence up you wanted to build. People sneaking onto a man's property, coming right into his barn and taking his stock..." He shook his head in disbelief. "That just isn't right. Fucking thieves. Not a pinch of honor among them."
Oliver flinched. He'd never heard his father utter such profanity.
But despite his shock, it answered a question for him. Kyle had lied. Or, at least, he hadn't told the entire truth. No one had sneaked into the stable barn-in broad daylight, no less-and ridden off with Jinny. Well, unless Oliver were to count himself.
Kyle's back was still turned. Oliver had forgotten for a moment about the riding crop in his father's hands, until it smacked down against his large palm. The sound was unnaturally loud in the confined space of the barn.
"And what do you have to say for yourself, boy?"
"That it won't-won't happen again. Sir." Kyle's voice was low, but it didn't tremble.
"Good," his father said curtly, before he reached over patted Kyle on the head. "That's what I like to hear, my boy."
And then the first stroke came down.
Kyle winced, hissing through his teeth. A bright pink line slashed across his upper shoulders.
Crack!
Another stroke. Another line. Another wince.
Crack!
Oliver had to look away. He couldn't watch. Not when he saw the shiny wet streak on Kyle's cheek, reflecting the light of the lantern. He turned and slid down the wall, crouching on the ground with his knees tucked into his chest.
He felt the sobs building in his throat. Oh, how they ached! But he couldn't push them down, couldn't stop his eyes from watering, couldn't wipe the tears away fast enough before they were replaced with fresh ones.
He wasn't supposed to cry. That wasn't what a man did. A memory, a child's voice, floated through his thoughts. "I'll take your tears..."
Crack!
"Damn him," he whispered. Every tear, every choking sob, brought with it more anger, more resentment.
If only Kyle had let him take the blame-the blame that was rightfully his. His pa may have whupped him, but he would have seen his son as a man. Not some cowering child hiding his tears behind his arm.
He was supposed to protect Kyle. Kyle was his. Not his father's.
A fire was burning under Oliver's skin. How could Kyle have done this? How could he have put this wall between them? Oliver felt like his entire chest was going to cave in, like someone had ripped out his heart and replaced it with an anvil.
Just a few hours ago they'd been feeding each other fruit in dappled sunlight, reveling in innocent pleasure. His heart had been as light as a feather.
Crack!
But they weren't innocent anymore.
It was all gone. It was all lost.
(...TBC...)
Chapter Seven - Life Lessons from the Undertaker
Author's Name: rhombus_
Pairing: Kyle/Oliver
Rating: R
Warnings: AU setting; historical inaccuracies; cliches
Summary: Kish in the Old West. Yep. That about sums it up. AU (of course).
Disclaimer: Characters ≠ mine.
Previous parts:
Chapter One - The Vow
Chapter Two - Our Own Place
Chapter Three - The Lesson
Chapter Four - This Land is Your Land
Chapter Five - The Hunt
Lay Me Down
Chapter Six - Bad Men
---
Mt. Oakley, Montana Territory. 1878.
Oliver Fish, age 15.
---
Every muscle in Oliver's body ached. It felt like he'd been crouching-frozen solid-for hours, though only a few minutes had passed.
Kyle was a cord-tight bundle of nervous energy in his grip. He felt if he released even the tiniest bit of pressure, Kyle would burst out of his arms like a hummingbird taking flight. And he'd get himself shot right out of the sky.
Oliver had heard the order, loud and clear. They were to be hunted.
Well, not if he had anything to say about it.
He breathed hard through his nose. Once, twice. What would his father do in a situation like this? Would he fight? Even in the face of certain death?
No. He'd play it safe, get out of there with as little damage to himself, his property, his... his cowhand. His man.
That's what he'd always said. A rancher protects. He protects the land. He protects the stock. He protects his people. And though Oliver wasn't a rancher yet, though he didn't have any land of his own to protect, he had Kyle. Kyle may've earned wages from his father, but Oliver felt something different, deep down. Kyle was his. And he wasn't about to let him do anything stupid, like go and get himself killed.
He glanced around the glade for possible exit routes. A man would run. That's what a real man would do. Not for himself, but for the protection of others.
Oliver closed his eyes. He wasn't quite a man yet, because he was running for himself, too. He didn't wanna die up there on that mountain anymore than he wanted to watch Kyle foolishly invite his own death.
He tightened his grip around Kyle's arms and chest. Kyle pushed back, but only slightly. His palm still covered Kyle's mouth, wet with tears and sweat.
They could sneak out quietly, the way they came in... but only if Walter started his hunt on the other side of the creek. The path was too exposed for too long. If he came after them, he'd have a clear shot. They would need to find another way out. Oliver thought there was room enough for them to squeeze through the break in the boulders on their left. From there, they would be covered. Then it was only a matter of finding their way down.
He felt Kyle tugging at his grip. Peering through the bushes, he watched as Mitch grabbed Jinny by the reins and began walking with her up the hill, cooing in her ear, rubbing her nose, humming a familiar-sounding hymn in a low, smooth voice.
Walter scratched his bristled cheek, then set about inspecting the ground for any sign of his quarry. "Where did you get to, my little rider," he singsonged. "You can come out. I ain't gonna hurt you. Lord as my witness."
Oliver might've believed him, if he hadn't cocked his rifle and raised the sight to one squinted eye. A bird landed on a tree limb, rustling the leaves. Walter swung his shoulders and let off a wild shot; the blast of gun powder boomed like thunder in the glade, sending all the birds away in a flurry of wings and disturbed air.
In the heavy silence that followed, Oliver's arms shook uncontrollably. He'd never felt so close to danger. He couldn't calm his heartbeat or catch his breath. Kyle was able to wriggle out of his loosened grip, but he didn't rush out and chase after Jinny. Instead he turned, crouching still, and grabbed Oliver's shaking hands. His face glistened with tears. Oliver wanted to reach up and wipe them away, but his arms were completely useless.
Kyle's lips straightened into a determined line and he stared at Oliver with steely eyes. Oliver wanted to absorb his strength and call it his own. And maybe he was. With each gentle sweep of Kyle's thumbs along his knuckles, Oliver felt his heart rate slow, his lungs take in air, his limbs relax as the shakes slowly abated.
The smell of burnt powder invaded his senses and made his guts clench. But Kyle was there, and Oliver was able to keep calm. And think.
Plans had formed. They just needed to bide their time. If Walter turned their way, they'd sneak south around the boulders and find another way down. If he started up the opposite hill, they were home free...
Walter kicked up some dirt before poking at the ground with the nose of his rifle. He turned and stared up the hill. Oliver held his breath.
But the sound of boots splashing through the creek as Walter crossed over to their side wrapped a heavy weight around his heart.
They were now forced to venture into untraveled territory and hope for the best. He slowly stood and motioned for Kyle to follow. Kyle nodded, apparently in complete understanding, and they slowly, silently guided the horse back around the southern end of the boulders, hiding from Walter's immediate sight. They found hard ground and stayed on it, hoping to conceal their own tracks as best as possible.
Oliver kept one eye on the sky. They'd come up the mountain due west, so they kept on an eastern bent as much as the close-growing shrubs and dense copse of pines would allow. A rock wall loomed on their left. They'd have to find a break in it at some point if they were ever going to head down. Oliver could still hear the creek nearby. It had to lead out of the mountain at some point, and would be as good a guide as any to the break in the wall.
"You think he's tracking us?" he whispered.
Kyle kept his gaze forward. "Most likely. But he's not shooting yet." He glanced at Oliver with a small grin. "And that's all I care about."
Their path gradually sloped down. The sound of water grew closer. They were crawling right along the creekside, just a few thick bushes between them and open space. Oliver could almost believe they were close to escape.
The rock wall inched closer to them, pushing them toward the creek. The air grew thick, almost as if it were closing in on them too. Thorns and sharp twigs tore at Oliver's skin and clothes as they scrambled through the bushes. The horse tugged at his reins, resistant to follow, but they eventually guided him in and pushed through to the other side.
Where Oliver's heart immediately plummeted into his stomach.
The creek narrowed to a point, no larger than ten inches across, then trickled through a tiny crack in a tall cliff-face, surrounding them on all sides.
A dead-end.
He swiveled and stared at Kyle, whose face was as blank as the stone that trapped them. He turned back to the wall, completely heartbroken. His mouth had dropped open, but he couldn't muster the energy to close it again.
"What are we gonna do?" he finally managed to croak out.
Kyle didn't answer. Oliver turned to him-
-only to have the wind knocked out of his stomach as Kyle barreled into him, grabbing him into a fierce hug.
They stayed that way for a while. One of Kyle's arms snaked up and cradled the back of Oliver's head, fingers running through his hair. "If this is really the end... I'm glad to have known you, Oliver Fish."
Oliver didn't have the words, didn't know yet if he was ready to say goodbye, so he planted a kiss on the top of Kyle's head instead. He took in a deep breath, trying to capture the smell of him. If he were to choose the last thing he could remember before leaving this life, it would be that smell. Everything around them seemed to stop. All that existed was this embrace.
The horse snorted, breaking the moment.
Kyle took a small step back, keeping one hand on Oliver's shoulder. Something lit up in his eyes then, spreading through his whole face, until his mouth broke into a wide smile and he burst into sudden laughter.
"What is it, Kyle?" Oliver turned, trying to see what had lifted his friend's spirits. Perhaps an escape route that had eluded them before?
He turned in a full circle, expecting at any moment to see their path to freedom. But he was met by the same impassable cliff as before. The same creek. The same grove of spiny bushes. Whatever it was that had given Kyle hope, Oliver couldn't see it.
"I've got it," Kyle finally said. He was staring at the horse.
"Got... what?"
"I think it's time we do a little hunting of our own." Kyle grabbed his hat off the horse's pack and pulled it firmly over his head.
"I don't-"
Kyle cut him off. "I'm not gonna wait here like a bull to slaughter, Ollie. If we're getting ourselves out of this mess, we're doing it fighting. And I say we take the fight to him."
Oliver gaped at him. "The fight? Kyle, we don't have any weapons, no way to defend ourselves!"
"Sure we do." Kyle nodded at the horse.
Oliver shook his head at him, completely at a loss.
Kyle slung an arm around his shoulder. "Let me explain, my dear friend..."
---
It was suicide. Oliver didn't want to say so out loud, but he knew it in his heart. They were walking right up to death and poking it in the stomach.
The horse shuffled nervously underneath him, seemingly just as restless and unconvinced of their success.
They had followed the creek back until they found a suitable geography for ambush. After drinking their fill and replenishing the canteen, Oliver and the horse hid between two boulders on the creek side of the hedge-wall, while Kyle crouched in the bushes. A wide opening in the bushes spanned between them. Kyle had dug some noticeable tracks into the dirt, hoping it would lead Walter right to them.
They only had to wait a few minutes before the sound of a man's footsteps could be heard. As they came closer, Oliver felt his hands unconsciously grip the reins harder. He swallowed hard and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist.
Walter's wide-brimmed hat came into sight, seeming to bounce above the bushes. They had to time this exactly right. If Oliver was even a second late, Kyle was a sitting duck.
He watched Kyle, waiting for the signal...
The hat bounced closer. Kyle brought his hand to his mouth, then coughed loudly.
Oliver charged out from between the boulders just as Walter came through the bushes, his back turned, his attention diverted by Kyle's cough. Oliver grabbed the reins and pulled with all his strength. The horse reared up before its hooves came crashing down on Walter's back.
The man fell to the ground in an unconscious heap, the rifle slipping from his grip and sliding directly in front of Kyle, who stood from his hiding place, grabbed up the gun, and raced to Oliver.
"You were perfect," he breathed out, winking at Oliver, then unraveled a length of rope from the saddle.
He quickly tied Walter's hands, then his feet, thoroughly testing each knot. Oliver thought he saw Kyle glance at him then, and a sudden coldness came over him. This was his fault. If he had only tested Jinny's knot better, they'd never have lost her. They'd never have found themselves in a life-or-death situation.
"Kyle, I'm sorry."
Kyle looked up at him, confused. "Now is not the time, Oliver. Here, take his boot and fill it with water. I want to wake this son of a bitch up and get some answers."
Oliver pushed on anyway, needing to say it. "I'm sorry I lost Jinny."
Kyle shook his head, staring down at the unconscious man with hatred in his eyes. "Haven't lost her yet."
"What are you-" Oliver swallowed. "What are you talking about?"
Ignoring the question, Kyle nudged the unconscious man with his boot. Then he reared back and gave him a hard kick to the stomach. The man groaned, blinking open his eyes. When he realized his hands and feet were tied, he began struggling, striking out at Kyle with his legs out and biting at his roped hands. Kyle looked incredibly unbothered by his aggression.
He slowly lifted the gun and pointed it at Walter.
"Where'd he take the horse?"
"I'll kill you, you little rat!"
Kyle's only answer was a smile. He pulled back on the gun's automatic loading mechanism.
"The horse," Kyle said, still smiling. "And then you can kill me. Pal."
Oliver leapt forward. "Kyle! What are you doing? Let's just get out of here!" They were free and clear now. They just needed to hop on the horse and ride home, to safety. Oliver tugged on Kyle's sleeve. "C'mon."
Kyle nudged him away with his elbow, never taking his eyes off his struggling captive. "I'm getting my horse back, Oliver." His eyes narrowed into slits. "With or without you."
Oliver took a step back, as if slapped. He thought they were in this together. But now Kyle was acting stupid and ignoring reason...
"You'll get yourself killed, Kyle!"
Kyle lifted the gun slightly. The man on the ground flinched.
"I'll be all right," Kyle said, his voice as cold as steel.
Oliver raised his arms in protest. "You don't even know how to use that thing."
"Sure I do." His voice was calm, his movements measured, as he leaned in and placed the barrel of the gun directly between Walter's eyes.
He was really going to do it. He was really going to kill a man in cold blood. Oliver felt his heart stop.
Walter spat on Kyle's boots. "The Messenger will have you strung up for this, you little cretin."
Kyle sneered down at him. His trigger finger twitched, spurring Oliver into action.
"No!" Oliver jumped forward and jerked the gun out of Kyle's hands. Before he could even register Kyle's enraged grunt, he flung the rifle into the creek and watched it drift away with the current. Kyle ran up to him, a horrified expression on his face, then shoved Oliver square in the chest.
"What'd you do that for?!"
Oliver felt like shoving back, but steadied himself. Fighting wasn't gonna get them off the mountain any faster.
His heart still raced like a locomotive in his chest. "I wasn't about to let you kill a man!"
"I wasn't gonna kill him! I need him to tell me where Jinny is!" Kyle took a menacing step forward.
"Well then," Oliver said, crossing his arms over his chest, mostly to protect himself from another push, "I wasn't about to let you take on a whole gang of killers with naught but a rifle!"
Kyle spun around and paced a few steps away, hands on his hips. "God damn it, Oliver! God damn you!"
Now Oliver really felt like shoving Kyle. He had a lot nerve getting angry at Oliver for saving his sorry life. He followed after Kyle and poked him hard in the chest instead.
"Well I'm sorry if I didn't want to see you hang a death sentence around your own stupid neck! Hate me if you want, but do it fast." He pointed down at Walter, who was watching their squabble with silent interest. "Because he's working at them knots and I'd really like to see this damned mountain for the last time as were riding away from it!"
Kyle pursed his lips and stared up at him under the brim of his hat with iron-hard eyes. Then he stormed off toward the horse.
"Fine."
Oliver followed quickly after. "Fine?"
"It's getting late." Kyle hopped on the saddle and adjusted the reins. His gaze was dark and lifeless. "Wouldn't want you to miss your supper."
Oliver was too tired to fight with him any longer. And though he wouldn't dignify Kyle's jab with a response, he was just a little hungry.
"What about him?" Oliver asked as he joined Kyle atop the horse.
Kyle sniffed, then started the horse into a slow trot. "He'll be fine." He tipped his hat at the prostrate man as they passed him by. "Won't you, sir?"
"I'll find you little maggots," Walter sneered at them. "I'll find you and I'll finish the job."
"Yeah?" Kyle said. "Good luck with that."
And then they were off, through the opening in the hedge, back along the length of the rock wall toward the mossy glade of boulders where they first saw Jinny.
Blood jittered all through Oliver's veins, setting his whole body on edge. Adrenaline zinged up and down each limb. They were alive. They were alive and together. He rested his chin on Kyle's shoulder and squeezed him tighter around the middle. Back when he was teaching Oliver to ride, it used to make Kyle smile.
Today, it only made his lower lip quiver.
The ground started to even out. Oliver risked a quick turn of the head. The mountain was behind them. Though he didn't know if they'd ever truly be free of it. The horse, seemingly as anxious as they were to leave that wretched place, dipped his head and raced along the open prairie. Kyle urged him on. They were still, after all, trespassing on Lord land.
"Look!" Oliver pointed toward the distance, where he could just make out a round, white blur. He squinted his eyes, and the object came into focus.
A carriage, glossy like marble, driven by four large, white horses. Its golden wheels glimmered in the light of the lowering sun. Oliver felt his breath catch. It was as if, after a harrowing trek through the depths of hell, they'd stumbled into a childhood fairy tale once more. "It's real..." he said, wonder filling his voice.
Just like the stories Kyle used to tell him, back in those innocent days of youth. How Kyle's eyes would light up when he'd describe the beauty and the grandeur of the Lords. Oliver could picture it so clearly in his head: the heiresses tucked safely inside, gloved hands resting daintily on frocks of yellow and blue, their petticoats starched and stiff, blond curls tied back with satin ribbons. Oliver tugged on Kyle's shirt sleeve and pointed again. "Kyle, y'see that...?"
But Kyle didn't turn his head. He only heeyaw!-ed and sent them into a faster gallop. The carriage became a tiny white dot on the horizon, then finally faded into nothing.
---
The sun dipped perilously low.
His leisurely walk and afternoon of reading had stretched far beyond the hour of explanations. But he would have to try anyway.
Oliver gulped down the large lump that had been growing in his throat as the main property came into view.
At first Kyle made a beeline for the stables, but a hushed, "Shit!" and a quick swerve of the horse let Oliver know that those plans had come to a sudden reversal. He looked over Kyle's shoulder and felt his heart lurch in his chest.
Two figures stood outside the stable barn, their backs turned, in the midst of a heated conversation. They were still a few hundreds yards off, but Oliver could tell from the staunch-shouldered stance of the taller man, his austere, straight back, his expensive "Boss of the Plains" Stetson hat, that it was his father.
Hunched and stout, the other was presumably Hector.
And they obviously knew something was amiss.
"What now?" he said in a low voice. He realized then how close his cheek was to Kyle's as they rode.
Turning his head so their noses almost touched, Kyle said, "Now-?" A sad smile crept into the corners of his mouth. "Now I get you safely out of the way while I go and face the music."
Kyle? Alone? Oliver had read his father's body language pretty clearly. Whoever came back horseless was in for a mess of trouble.
They made a long loop around the south end of the property, circling the perimeter of the covered sheep paddock, when Kyle finally slowed the horse to a trot, then a full stop next to the aging, peeling wood of the paddock walls. The earthy odor of sheep dung hung heavily in the air around them.
Kyle jerked his head back. "Get off."
"What?"
"Get off the horse. Get back to the main house. They'll be waiting for you."
"But what about you, Kyle?"
"Oliver-!" Kyle sucked in a quick breath, his nostrils flaring. "Get off the damn horse and get back to the house."
He'd spent his whole life taking orders, but this was one order Oliver was determined to ignore. He settled deeper into the saddle and threaded his fingers together into a fist around Kyle's midsection.
"No." He wasn't going anywhere. And there wasn't a darn thing Kyle could do about it.
Except whatever it was he just did that sent them both tumbling off the horse and onto the ground.
The horse backed away with a nervously high-kneed gait, while Oliver rolled onto his back and Kyle sat on his haunches, wiping the dust from his clothes in harsh, brusque strokes. His expression was sad, but determined.
"I don't want to fight with you about this, Oliver."
"Then don't!" Oliver stood and reached down a hand to help Kyle up. "I thought-I thought we were in this, y'know, together."
Kyle ignored the hand, crossing his wrists over his knees in a pointed refusal to stand. "I thought that too." He glanced up, his eyes like flint. "'Til you threw my gun in the damn creek."
Oliver didn't know what to say to that. Well, he knew what he wanted to say, but it was far too crude to speak aloud. His neglected hand still outstretched, he shoved it in his pocket and marched back toward the horse.
He was about to mount when Kyle's voice stopped him. It was soft. Desperate.
"Oliver, don't. Please."
"Kyle, if anyone should do it-"
"Me. It should be me."
Oliver shook his head. "No. I lost her, Kyle. It was my fault. I thought I had tied her up, but... I... I..." Images flashed through his mind, bombarding him with memories and sensations so strong he thought he might fall over. Over and over he saw it, in tortuous slow motion. Kyle, standing on the edge of the pool, his bare skin bathed in light, how Oliver's heart had fluttered, how his chest grew tight, how his fingers trembled, how every cell in his body seemed to stand up and take notice.
He tried pushing those memories aside and focusing on others, on the knot, on tying the knot, on testing the knot. But... nothing. He couldn't even remember if he'd done it at all.
"It's my fault, Kyle. My fault." His voice cracked. Tears stung in the corner of his eyes, but he wouldn't let them slip out. No. That was not what a man did. But the guilt so overwhelmed him. How could he have been so negligent? How could he have let such-such base and impure instincts take him over like that? How could he be sure it wouldn't happen again?
"Whatever happens," he said, swallowing down the lump in his throat, "I deserve it. I deserve to be punished."
He grabbed the saddle and was about to heft himself onto the horse when a hand grabbed his collar and pulled him away. The world spun for a moment, and then his back slammed against the rickety wooden wall of the paddock. It wobbled underneath his weight.
"Don't say that!" Kyle was staring at him with fierce eyes, his mouth a thin, angry line. He grabbed a fistful of Oliver's shirt collar and pushed him back up against wall again. Oliver thought for a moment all three of them-he, Kyle, and the wall-would topple. "Don't you ever say that."
"It's true," he whispered. The stinging in his eyes grew unbearable.
"Look, Oliver-" Kyle breathed in and out through his nose. Something moved behind his gaze, skittish and unsure. A fug of desperation sat on his shoulders. "She was my responsibility. She was my horse!" His voice broke. Tears glistened in his eyes. "I never shoulda-" He cut off, shaking his head and releasing Oliver's shirt.
"What, Kyle? Never shoulda what?"
Kyle turned, then pivoted back around to face Oliver, a weary hand dragging through his hair. Oliver had never seen him look so miserable.
"I never shoulda trusted her with you."
A moment of silence hung between them as the words sunk in. Oliver fell back against the fence. All the air fled from his chest, as if Kyle had just punched him in the lungs. "Wow," he mouthed, his voice barely a whisper. "That's what-that's what you really think of me?"
Kyle sniffed, and a tear slipped down his dirt-smudged cheek. "Go home, Oliver." And then, very quietly, "Let me do this."
Oliver felt his lip quiver, with anger or hurt, he didn't know. Maybe both. Kyle didn't trust him. Kyle was sending him away. He felt like a scolded child, belittled and inconsequential. And that numb expression on Kyle's face... He couldn't stand looking at it any longer.
He pushed himself off the paddock wall and walked as fast as he could away from Kyle. He didn't even know what direction he was heading, or why. All that mattered was getting away, getting space, clearing his head, figuring out what to do, what had gone wrong, how their perfect day had turned into such a nightmare.
Horse hooves clomped away behind him. Kyle was returning to the stables, one horse short, to confront his awaiting superiors.
Served him right, Oliver thought. Whatever happened, Kyle had asked for it. That's what he got for being a stubborn, short-sighted, fool of a boy. He wanted Oliver to go home, safe and sound? Fine. Absolutely fine. Oliver had no problem with that.
Stiff grass collapsed under his feet as he walked. With each step his heart grew heavier and darker. Things had changed. He knew it. Ever since he saw Kyle so... exposed at the lake.
Things were never going to be the same.
He'd wanted to protect Kyle. From Mitch and Walter, from his own wild impulses. Only Kyle fought off his protection at every turn. There was nothing Oliver could have done differently. Yet... each thud of his heart was like a hammer slamming down on his chest.
On and on he walked, aimless.
Or so he thought. It was only when the outside walls of the stables were directly before him that he realized he'd circled back and followed Kyle's path. Peeling paint chips crumbled under his touch as he ran his fingers along the wall. Just like he'd done when he'd asked Kyle for his first riding lesson. And like then, he carefully peered in through an eye-sized hole left by a popped knot of wood.
Kyle and his father stood facing each other. From a darkened corner, Hector squinted at them with his half-blind eyes. Kyle's head hung low, and he spoke quietly. Oliver couldn't make out his words.
His father, on the other hand, spoke in a booming voice. "I've sent men packing for less than this." He paced in front of Kyle, hands clasped behind his back. "If this were the rangers, boy, you'd be in danger of losing one of those pretty little fingers."
Kyle's hands twitched, but he kept them limp by his sides.
Oliver's father stopped pacing and turned deliberately toward Kyle. "Bring me the riding crop."
Wide eyes shot up, dark and fearful. The same way they'd get at school when Miss LaMott brought out the switch. With slow, measured steps, Kyle did what he was told. Once Kyle had handed over the whip, Oliver expected him to hold out his knuckles, like he used to.
It shocked him when Kyle began pulling at the buttons of his shirt instead. His fingers stumbled over the buttons a few times, and he kept his shaded eyes firmly on the crop. His shirt discarded, Kyle turned, exposing his pale, bare back, and rested his weight against one of the large support posts.
For the second time that day Oliver had watched in frozen silence as Kyle undressed. But this time, instead of filling him with a strange sort of wonder, his whole body was soaked in dread.
"Someone stole my horse," his father said. "My saddle. My riding equipment. My goddamn horse shoes. All of this, under your watch. While you were off gallivanting with-" He paused. The air in the barn seemed to crackle with energy the longer the words remained unsaid. Oliver's lungs hurt from holding his breath. How much had Kyle told him?
"While you were off doing God knows what," his father finally finished.
Oliver could see Kyle close his eyes, suck his lips into his mouth as he waited for the first strike to come.
"You'll give me your wages, of course, until the debt is paid."
Kyle nodded.
"And we'll see about getting that fence up you wanted to build. People sneaking onto a man's property, coming right into his barn and taking his stock..." He shook his head in disbelief. "That just isn't right. Fucking thieves. Not a pinch of honor among them."
Oliver flinched. He'd never heard his father utter such profanity.
But despite his shock, it answered a question for him. Kyle had lied. Or, at least, he hadn't told the entire truth. No one had sneaked into the stable barn-in broad daylight, no less-and ridden off with Jinny. Well, unless Oliver were to count himself.
Kyle's back was still turned. Oliver had forgotten for a moment about the riding crop in his father's hands, until it smacked down against his large palm. The sound was unnaturally loud in the confined space of the barn.
"And what do you have to say for yourself, boy?"
"That it won't-won't happen again. Sir." Kyle's voice was low, but it didn't tremble.
"Good," his father said curtly, before he reached over patted Kyle on the head. "That's what I like to hear, my boy."
And then the first stroke came down.
Kyle winced, hissing through his teeth. A bright pink line slashed across his upper shoulders.
Crack!
Another stroke. Another line. Another wince.
Crack!
Oliver had to look away. He couldn't watch. Not when he saw the shiny wet streak on Kyle's cheek, reflecting the light of the lantern. He turned and slid down the wall, crouching on the ground with his knees tucked into his chest.
He felt the sobs building in his throat. Oh, how they ached! But he couldn't push them down, couldn't stop his eyes from watering, couldn't wipe the tears away fast enough before they were replaced with fresh ones.
He wasn't supposed to cry. That wasn't what a man did. A memory, a child's voice, floated through his thoughts. "I'll take your tears..."
Crack!
"Damn him," he whispered. Every tear, every choking sob, brought with it more anger, more resentment.
If only Kyle had let him take the blame-the blame that was rightfully his. His pa may have whupped him, but he would have seen his son as a man. Not some cowering child hiding his tears behind his arm.
He was supposed to protect Kyle. Kyle was his. Not his father's.
A fire was burning under Oliver's skin. How could Kyle have done this? How could he have put this wall between them? Oliver felt like his entire chest was going to cave in, like someone had ripped out his heart and replaced it with an anvil.
Just a few hours ago they'd been feeding each other fruit in dappled sunlight, reveling in innocent pleasure. His heart had been as light as a feather.
Crack!
But they weren't innocent anymore.
It was all gone. It was all lost.
(...TBC...)
Chapter Seven - Life Lessons from the Undertaker