by Alex Jane
"I might take a stroll around if that's all right with you?" Emmanuel replied, pointing his thumb over his shoulder at the door.
"I'll have it bagged up for you when you get back," Leyland said, giving him a small salute as Emmanuel turned to leave.
Emmanuel thought he would only have to endure a short conversation with the two old men outside before he could escape and maybe take a walk on the riverbank. But to his horror, when he stepped outside, Marshal Franklin was leaning up against the side of the store, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, chatting away to them in a neighborly fashion. When he saw Emmanuel, he stood up straight in a languid way that reminded Emmanuel of water, all fluid and unstoppable, unrelenting strength.
"That was fast," he said, looking around as if wondering where Emmanuel's groceries were.
"Did you want something, Marshal?"
Asher looked a little taken aback for a second and then shrugged like he didn't much care. "Just wanted to make sure you didn't get lost."
"It's been four years, Asher." Emmanuel pressed his hat onto his head. "Things haven't changed that much."
He hoped that would be the end of it, taking the step down to the street thinking he would be leaving Asher behind, except as he walked along it took no time for the Alpha to fall into step beside him.
"Jenkins was telling me you're thinking about taking in some horses." It was amazing that Asher felt able to simply strike up a conversation as if they were friends.
"Maybe," Emmanuel said. "I want to get settled first before I make any decisions. Why? Do I need to get your permission or something?"
Asher didn't frown, but he stuck his hands into his pants pockets as they walked, staying quiet for a second or two before saying, "No, I guess not. Unless you plan on stealing them from somebody. And even then it would be the sheriff’s problem, technically." The comment made Emmanuel want to laugh, but he managed to maintain his sour expression. They had almost reached the water's edge behind the store when Asher grabbed Emmanuel by the arm, holding him in place. "I know you've only been back all of five minutes, but have I said something to upset you?"
The bitter laugh didn't bubble out of Emmanuel's chest until he'd wrenched his arm from Asher's grip. "In the last five minutes? No. But don't worry. I imagine it's only a matter of time before something comes to you. Maybe you're out of practice."
"Jesus Christ, Manny." Asher growled, finally losing the soft expression and tentative smile he'd been covering up with, showing the frustrated scowl that was more familiar. "I thought maybe we were past this. Thought maybe you had done some growing up in the last four years."
"Me? What the fuck did I ever do?"
The look of shock on Asher's face was something to behold, although a hard expression of disdain quickly covered it. "The fact you have the nerve to ask me that doesn't make me feel much like explaining it to you." Taking a step away, the marshal tipped his hat and said quietly, "Welcome back to Lastford, Mr. Jackson," before he turned and walked away, leaving Emmanuel standing at the riverside, completely dumbfounded as to what had happened.
Chapter Three
A couple of uneventful weeks passed and, gradually, Emmanuel found he was sleeping a little sounder and his muscles, although aching from the physical effort of working the homestead, were losing some of the tension he'd been carrying for a very long time.
His mother had been worried he would be lonely. But then she'd worried the same when he'd left for Europe, insisting the company of other people wasn't the same as being around their pack family.
When he'd signed up to accompany the army overseas, he had insisted the officers not treat him any differently than the infantry he was travelling with, either because he had a pen in his hand and not a gun, or because of who his family were. He had bunked in with the soldiers on the ships that took them rolling and puking across the ocean. On the frontline, they had done their best to give him a rank and keep him separate with the other journalists who were perhaps more inclined to regurgitate the propaganda that was fed to them rather than tell the truth. But he'd never been very good at doing what he was told when he knew something wasn't right. His father said he had a nose for injustice. Which was what got him sent home in disgrace, hauled out of the trenches, leaving all those boys behind to face the roar of the guns without anyone to tell their story.
Now there was only the silence that roared in his ears at night, covering him like a blanket, blessedly interrupted by the chatter of night birds and the occasional distant keening of a lone coyote, threatening to suffocate him in the small hours as he waited for the minutes to tick by until sleep claimed him. Thankfully, in the daylight hours he managed to fill his days easily enough, at least in the beginning.
There was no real urgency or incentive for him to hurry to do anything. Apart from his duties to take care of the animals—which he did absolutely to the schedule, having no desire to have to explain to his uncle why his cow had run dry or the chickens weren't laying—he had little to occupy himself at first. Most of his day was spent studiously avoiding the crates of belongings that stood silently in the front room of the house waiting to be unpacked—quietly judging him every time he went past—until he had the fortitude to get a crowbar from the shed and crack them open.
There was a large trunk that held all of his clothes, most of which was inappropriate given his new life. There would be very few opportunities to wear a smart suit, or wingtips, or the long woolen coat his mother had bought him the previous year. But he unpacked them all the same and hung them in the wardrobe, distributing cedar balls generously in the pockets. As much as he intended to live out his days on the homestead, he was under no illusion that he would be excused from visiting the family from time to time. If Ephraim and Joshua were obliged to travel to New York twice a year, there was no way he was going to be able to get out of going with them.
The other boxes held mostly books, and although there were plenty of shelves available throughout the house, it wasn't as if anyone had emptied them of Caleb's collection. His grandfather had been an avid reader, and integrating his own library meant the shelves would be groaning by the time he finished.
As the days went by, he would dip into the boxes every now and again, digging through the packing straw, unwrapping each item from its cocoon of newspaper, and then wander around with no predetermined idea of where anything needed to go—a cup of coffee in one hand, a book or a clock or some keepsake his mother had deemed important enough for him to take with him in the other—aimlessly wandering until he'd found a spot that seemed right.
After a week, the place almost looked—and felt—like home. He didn't want to change too much of its character. He had no plans to paint the walls or move the old furniture out and bring in anything new. Keeping the place as his grandfathers had left it was important, despite how his heart would occasionally seize up with grief, remembering tiny details of when he had stayed in the house as a boy—sitting on his grandfather's knee in his big rocking chair, waiting impatiently as Caleb unrolled the top of a small paper bag, dragging out the moment before he handed each of the grandchildren one of his favorite lemon candies. Or later when Emmanuel had been older, reminding Caleb of what a tease he'd been, and Caleb just shrugging and telling him that, in most things, the anticipation is often the best part and how he didn't want to deny them that. The memories weren't sad as such, simply recollections that returned to haunt him when he least expected it. And as much as he enjoyed the solitude, he did think if they were his only company, he might've been driven mad. Thankfully, with his uncles nearby there wasn't much chance of that.
At least once a day, he'd hear a holler or footsteps coming up the front porch, followed by a polite invitation to dinner or more likely to ask for help digging or clearing or fixing something. Not that Emmanuel minded, and there was always food and laughter and the gentle way his uncles managed to keep an eye on him without smothering. All in all, Emmanuel started to feel settled at last.
&n
bsp; Otis came by too, as did Jonathon, seemingly to aid him in any heavy chores that needed doing about the place, although they generally ended up sat about, drinking coffee or the good whiskey Emmanuel had squirreled away in his luggage, talking about old times, getting maudlin or laughing until they could hardly breathe. So, no, loneliness was the last thing Emmanuel was feeling.
It was a cool afternoon, thankfully, and Emmanuel was working in the kitchen garden at the front of the house when he heard the whinnying of horses and looked up to find he had a visitor. He wasn't expecting anyone and wouldn't have objected to the company, but this intrusion had him clenching his fists at his side.
Standing slowly, he rose from where he'd been crouched on the ground trying to pick beans and zucchini from where the volunteer plants had tangled together in a mass of vines, having been left unattended for too long. He'd been having some slightly panicked thoughts at how his Uncle Thaddeus would react seeing the state of the place. Looking up the path to the ridge, all those thoughts fell away, for coming down toward the house was the unmistakable shape of Asher Franklin on his stallion, leading a mare behind them on a long rope. Seeing the horses coming straight for him would have put Emmanuel on the edge regardless, but being that the horse being led behind was clearly unhappy, throwing her head every which way, rearing up and kicking out as if she was doing her best to get away—it definitely didn't put Emmanuel at ease.
Even so, his anxiety gave way a little when he saw the state of the dappled gray's coat, threadbare and stretched tight over her bony frame. As he ran his eyes down to the overgrown hooves, his gaze snagged on various welts and sores, and he had to wonder what the hell Asher was playing at.
When the Alpha came to stop in the yard just outside of the gate, he took a moment to sit patiently, waiting for the frantic horse to quiet, and to get his breath, before he looked in Emmanuel's direction and touched the brim of his hat. "Mr. Jackson."
"Marshal." Technically, Alpha would have been the correct way to address him, being Emmanuel was regarded as a wolf despite being human. But using the less acceptable form of address meant he could go through the motions of being polite at the same time as showing Asher just how little he respected him.
Asher's lips curled up in the corners, more a promise of a smile than a snarl. "I hope you don't mind me turning up like this."
Emmanuel put his hands on his hips and ducked his head a little before adjusting his hat. "Being that you're already in my yard, it's a little late for that." When Asher looked lost at how to respond, Emmanuel crossed his arms across his chest and asked, "What do you want, Asher?"
The leather squeaked some when Asher shifted his seat, pulling himself up by the horn of his saddle. "I was hoping to ask you a favor."
Emmanuel laughed. "Really? And what might that be?"
Asher looked over his shoulder at the poor horse who was looking around with wild frightened eyes, shuffling her feet in the dust. "I was hoping you'd let me make use of one of the stalls in your stables, just for a while."
"My stables?"
Asher sighed, looking tired as he pushed the brim of his hat up so the Stetson clung onto the back of his head. "Yes," he said, sounding exasperated. "It's that big empty building over there which I suspect you won't be filling anytime soon." He gestured with the hand not holding the long rein and Emmanuel had to stifle the urge to laugh at how easily he was goaded.
"Surely you must have plenty of places nearer to town where you could put that horse?" In truth, Emmanuel wasn't sure exactly why he was resisting the idea. The stable was empty, apart from where he was storing some things for the cows next to the stall where he was milking Clementine in the mornings, and he wouldn't be filling it for the foreseeable future, not before he felt a little more settled, at any rate. But there was something about Asher showing up like this, expecting he could simply take over and boss Emmanuel around on his own property—he definitely didn't feel like rolling over and saying yes, even if saying no made him look like an asshole.
Asher looked grim and rubbed at his chin with the back of his hand. "Afraid not. She's in a bad way and being around other horses or other livestock isn't a great idea right now. Believe me, if I knew anyone else, I would be there right now. She needs somewhere quiet, just until she's back on her feet. I thought you of all people would understand."
If Asher hadn't been on horseback, Emmanuel thought he would probably have a broken hand right about then, punching the Alpha in the face. Not so much because he was wrong, but because he was entirely right for calling Emmanuel out for being stubborn instead of thinking about the poor horse.
Still, Asher shrugged and put his hat back on straight. "If you're indisposed, I'll take her up to your uncles' place. Ephraim might have a spot for her when I let him know you're all full up."
"Jesus Christ," Emmanuel muttered as he threw down his knife and straightened his hat again before he headed out of the garden into the yard. "You haven't changed much have you? Still a manipulative jerk."
"You say that as if it's a bad thing." Emmanuel was taken aback when Asher sent a beaming grin his way, but he rolled his eyes and stormed off toward the stables, determined not to give him the satisfaction of an answer.
The old building was in pretty good shape despite being out of use for so long. His grandparents had built the stable themselves, so the structure was sturdy and strong even in the face of winter winds. The large double doors, which faced the yard, opened up to a long passage with stalls on either side. Immediately inside the doors to his left was a small room about the same size as one of the stalls but converted to lodgings where the hired hands would sleep sometimes. Opposite was a storeroom with reins and lines and bits, brushes and soap and a hundred other things, all neatly arranged as they had been the last time he'd set foot in there, with the addition of a layer of dust where they had lain undisturbed.
Pinning the doors back so they stayed open, Emmanuel jogged down the line until he came to a stall in the middle of the row and opened up the low door. There was nothing on the dirt floor, so he went quickly to where he was keeping the bushels of straw and hay his uncles had given him to for the cow. He figured it would be easy enough to replace, or rather Asher would be replacing them as it was his damn horse using up his supplies. It took almost no time to break up the bushels to give the poor horse something soft underfoot. He packed the manger with the meadow hay and brought the water pail over from the cow's empty stall. By the time he was done, he heard the clatter of feet coming into the building and some very unhappy sounds from his new lodger.
The mare might have been injured, but she was putting up one hell of a fight, rearing and kicking. If the man on the other end of the line hadn't been an Alpha, she would have been running back up the ridge already, dragging him along behind. But Asher was just as strong as her, and twice as stubborn. In fact, Emmanuel was mostly worried that the rope between them would break before either of them did.
Keeping his distance, not wanting to get anywhere near the frightened animal, he found himself pushing through the doors at the other end of the building, which opened up to overlook the corral. He didn't feel claustrophobic yet but his body was reacting to the screams of terror and pain, and it was only a matter of time before he felt the building weighing down on him.
Even at that distance, and through all the noise and commotion, he could hear Asher speaking softly to the horse, words of gentle encouragement, so patient and understanding, Emmanuel almost didn't recognize him. "Whoa, honey. I know, sweetheart, I know. Just a little farther. You're all right, baby. You're doing so good. Easy, now. Easy." The tone was so alien and compelling that Emmanuel found himself taking a step toward it before he caught himself. Muttering about how he shouldn't be so fucking stupid, he turned around and walked out the rear of the building, leaning his back against the wall to look across the corral, down to the creek and to the trees beyond, taking deep calming breaths.
He wasn't sure how much time had passed when Ash
er finally came outside to join him. He looked done in. Having sweated through his shirt, he was wiping his brow with the last dry patch on his sleeve. There were smears of blood on his hands and his forearm. The fact there were no cuts to speak of didn't mean the blood wasn't his. Alphas might heal fast, but it didn't mean they didn't get hurt.
"I forgot how pretty it is here," Asher said, looking out in the same direction as he leaned back, mimicking Emmanuel's posture. Emmanuel hadn't. That view had been burned onto his brain, one of the few things he had left to cling onto in the dark moments when there was nothing else.
He wished he could say as much, express how deeply he loved it here, how he could sense the place in his bones, but what came out of his mouth was, "You wanna tell me what's going on with her?"
Asher sighed heavily and flapped his hat hard against his thigh a couple of times, knocking off the dust. "I try not to get involved. What people do with their livestock is none of my business. But some councilman's wife went crying to him, and then he came crying to me, so I said I would check it out, have a quiet word. Not a chance in hell I was going to leave an animal with that piece of crap."
Emmanuel shook his head. "Should I be expecting a visit from the rightful owner demanding his horse back any time soon?"
He was a little surprised when Asher laughed. "I am the rightful owner as of this afternoon. She cost me more than that idiot stallion out front." It was more surprising still when Asher glanced over at him, smiling in a soft, affectionate way that took Emmanuel's breath away. "Speaking of, I should really make sure he hasn't wandered off."
Asher turned to walk back to the yard, looking bone tired. Emmanuel watched him take a couple of steps, then rolled his body off the wall and followed. They both took a wide berth around the stall the horse had taken. She was still breathing heavy, pacing about and anxious, but she only moved away when she saw them, which Emmanuel took to be a good sign.