Wild and Unruly

Chapter 3

Louis scratched his stomach idly as he stared into the open refrigerator. A block of cheddar, half a can of refried beans, some unwashed spinach, and three different kinds of apples... Mrs. Burden had stopped leaving plates of food out for him, probably expecting him to fend for himself now, and it was so hard not living off of microwave dinners and restaurant meals. Louis huffed, trying to bargain with his grumbling stomach. Four more hours until supper with the ranch hands. Maybe there'll be chili.

But he was starting to feel a bit sick with hunger, and the stash of junk food in Harry's pantry -- Niall's stash of junk food, Louis had eventually realized -- had finally run out. Louis made a face as he reached for the cheese, eyes getting caught on an old scar on his wrist. A burn, from some poorly-wired electric stove in Romania. Or Albania? Maybe Long Prairie. His whole rootless life seemed to run together as he got out the bread and mayonnaise, resigned to a cheese-sandwich-on-the-go existence.

Law school, he reminded himself. Law school, career, real life. The Lonely Rose Ranch was just an interlude, a weird limbo presided over by an even weirder demigod.

"Hey."

Louis looked up as he slathered mayo on a slice of whole wheat bread, and speak of the Devil.

"Harry," he said, a faint note of surprise in his voice. Harry didn't usually come in for lunch -- he tended to make a sandwich in the morning and take it out with him to eat in his truck or in the grass by his horse, hands dirty.

They hadn't seen much of each other for three days -- Saturday Louis had spent mostly in his room, nursing a hangover and pretending to "get caught up on some work." Really it had been Netflix and headphones and a big bag of over-salted pretzel rods. Sunday he'd gone into town to do some more clothes shopping, forgetting that a lot of places would be closed. Church was a thing here. The last time Louis'd been in one, it had been in Denver, and it had been a nightclub.

Monday he'd had to work again, this time for real. He'd managed to mostly avoid Harry, though, which meant that he was also ignoring his main assignment. Anne had called him personally on Monday night for an update. "Not budging," he'd said, and couldn't say much more. She told him to keep at it, be the physical embodiment of the multibillion-dollar deal that was dogging Harry's steps. Three seconds after they'd hung up, Louis had heard the phone ring across the hall in Harry's office. A slightly raised voice.

Now Harry walked into the kitchen, cheeks ruddy with windburn and his hands in the pockets of the Carhartt jacket Louis had worn. His boots were heavy, and he looked at Louis with hooded eyes.

"What brings you to the house?" Louis asked. "Need a snack? I have a pretty gross sandwich here; I was just thinking of adding some cold refried beans to it." He waved his lumpy cheese-bread in Harry's face. "Mmm."

Harry's eyebrows went up and he let out a startled laugh. "Tempting," he said, rubbing his chin with a big, calloused hand. "But I think I'll pass." There was a weariness in his voice.

Louis sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and let his gaze drop. He had vertigo again -- Harry was so disorienting. Hot, rugged rancher during the week, but at Liam's Saloon he'd been... the image came rushing back into Louis's mind. He'd been so dandied up, so fucking feminine, hips swaying. And no less himself.

Louis still couldn't believe he'd refused to see that part of Harry at first. He realized belatedly what a hypocrite he'd been, griping to himself about heteronormativity when he'd been the one assigning people roles left and right.

On Saturday, while on his way to the bathroom, Louis had caught a glimpse of Harry swanning about the living room in a very short silk dressing gown. But Monday it had been on with the worn denim and the rough leather work gloves, and Louis had no idea what to do with him. He was wildly attracted to him, obviously. The oddly harmonious juxtaposition of Harry's masculine and feminine sides was driving him crazy; it was so endearing, seeing scratched nail polish on his hardworking hands, seeing him campily bump hips with Niall on his way out to the barn to brand and clip cattle. But Louis didn't know how to respond. He wondered how Harry saw him, whether he was acting friendly out of obligation now and silently gritting his teeth. Wondered how that drunken dance would have gone, had he not ruined the moment.