Wild and Unruly

Chapter 2

Louis cringed. Harry was staring moodily at the floor, twisting and untwisting his fingers -- long and oddly elegant for a rancher; Louis was still fighting not to think about them. Instead, he dug around in his memory. Something about this situation felt so familiar...

Right, he sighed. Long Prairie, Minnesota. Ted Petersen. Their mothers had become best friends when Louis was about ten years old and they'd thought it would be cute (or at least convenient) if their sons were friends, too. It meant that Louis had been packed up and delivered to the kid's house for compulsory sleepovers whenever they wanted to have a wine night. "Louis doesn't mind staying over," his mom would lie brightly into the kitchen phone, twisting the curly cord around her thumb. "I know; they get along so well. Teddy really keeps him out of trouble." He remembered her hand between his shoulder blades, warm through his flannel pajamas, guiding him up the stairs to Ted's room. Remembered the apologetic air he'd desperately try to project as Ted looked up from his computer, annoyance written all over his features every time.

"Play nice, kids," she'd say. "Don't have too much fun."

Then the door would close, and Ted would ignore him. Louis would sit in the corner, curled in on himself, wiggling his toes and toying with the hem of his jammies, not allowed to touch any of the books or games in Ted's room.

That's what this felt like. But with all the added pressure of actually being an adult, and having to do a job, preferably in a somewhat socially acceptable manner. No corners to hide in.

"This is..." he started, just as Harry finally looked up and said, "Supper?"

"I'm sorry," Louis said quickly, feeling tense and awkward. "About this whole situation." He'd been an idiot to think that they were flirting, earlier; clearly, that was not how this story was going to play out. No one flirts with an unwanted house guest.

"No, don't be," Harry waved him away, but there was a whiff of play nice, kids in his voice. He was smoothing things over. "My mom's stubborn; I told you. Especially about money stuff." He rolled his shoulders, bringing one hand up to push on a deltoid and flexing his neck, as though he were trying to unknot some tension. "Mrs. Burden'll have supper on soon. She's the housekeeper. Niall helps her out in the kitchen most nights; between the two of them they almost make one good cook."

Harry smiled weakly and rather hopefully up at him, and Louis could tell he'd tried out that joke before, on previous houseguests. "Eat with us?" he asked. "Maggie'll be there; you can meet her and then I bet she'll help get you set up with a few things." Finally, a bit of brightness sparked in his eyes, and his wind-chapped lips parted in a more genuine smile.

Louis felt polite, wry amusement flicker over his features, almost an involuntary response. "Sure," he said, with an odd flutter in his chest. Sure I'll eat with you. Sure I'll meet this Maggie person, who you haven't mentioned before but who is clearly your wife. Because you're straight. And a real adult man who can ride a horse and fix fences. Louis wondered again about the degree from Princeton, still hanging crookedly over Harry's desk -- wondered if Harry'd had other goals at one point as well if there was any version of him that wasn't a cattle rancher.

"Lead on, Styles," was all he said.

Harry eased himself out of his chair, and Louis noticed the hint of a grimace -- a twinge in one of his lumbar muscles, maybe. Louis imagined kneading his lower back until it felt better, pressing kisses into the skin there. Warm, and probably paler than his slightly windburned face.

Stop.

Harry beckoned Louis back down the hall, out into the open living area. The colors of the sunset flooded the dining space, only accentuated by a few spare pendant lights over the table. Unlike the night before, the place was bustling with people; there were ranch hands everywhere, easing their feet out of worn boots and drinking beers they'd been handed as soon as they'd come through the door. Their hoarse-voiced chatter made Louis feel simultaneously less obtrusive and more out of place, as though he were wandering into a conversation that had been going on for a long time. He tensed up automatically, and consciously reminded himself that it was better to just continue to act as straight as possible. Unfamiliar words like seed stock and banding were being thrown around, and Louis started imperceptibly when he heard one of the hands casually say, "should castrate 'em all." Cows, Louis reminded himself. They're talking about cows.