The Farmer's Son

Chapter 20 Still Welcome Here

Ray licked dry lips, tasting dried blood from his split lip. "And about," he said slowly, "what you found out..." Head lowered, he looked up at Alan. "What will you do with that information?"

Alan frowned. "What do you expect me to do with it?" he asked. "Kick you out? Blackmail you?"

"I wouldn't blame you," Ray said quietly.

Alan looked at the bowed black-haired head, the turned in shoulders and arm hugging the body from more than injured ribs. He looked at Ray, bright, cheerful Ray, and for the first time saw vulnerability. "I might be from a small town," Alan finally said. "But my mind isn't that small."

Ray looked up at him, blue eyes beginning to shine once more, and smiled gratefully, expression soft and tired. He sighed, this time a little lighter. "Will you tell your Pa?"

"Not my place to tell." There was silence. Impatient at Ray's hesitancy, Alan said, "What?"

Ray glanced up at him. "Does that mean," he said slowly, "that I'm still welcome here?"

"Why wouldn't you be?"

The open frankness on his face and response made Ray smile, then hiss softly at his split lip. "You really are something, Alan," he said, sucking on the reopened wound.

Now it was Alan's turn to look away, turning to squint out the window into the still rows of corn.

Ray sighed for the third time, this time in readiness. The act made him wince, and he tightened his hold around his ribs. "As soon as these meds kick in, I'll be ready to go."

"No, you won't," Alan said. "You can barely move."

"I've worked with worse."

"Not for me, you haven't. You can be a house maid today. I've even got an apron."

Ray glanced up, meeting sugar-colored eyes and a grin. He gave a breathy laugh. "I'm going to pound you," he said conversationally.

Alan scoffed. "You can't even pound a beer right now." Pushing off from the window he headed for the door. "You can start by doing the dishes, and then the laundry."

Ray watched him go, but just before Alan reached the door, he called for him. When the young man turned to look at him, Ray sighed. "Thanks," he said. "For having my back, even after..."

"Thank Bear," Alan said, backing out. "He doesn't bite for just anyone. You must be something special."

Ray watched him go, listening to his lighter steps move down the hall towards the kitchen. "Really are something," he said again, with a breathy chuckle and slight shake of the head. Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself to his feet, and despite his heavy steps and many aches and pains, he felt lighter than he had in years.

*

A few days later, boots crunching over the dry ground, Alan headed towards the sound of cursing and clatter of tools, leaving the bright sunlight of noon for the hot, dusty gloom of the garage. The overhead lights were on in the front bay, and a station wagon was jacked up. He stood beside the pair of legs sticking out from under it.

"You've been out here for days," Alan called over the clank of more tools and colorful swearing. "Might be time to give up on this one."

"Over my dead body," came Ray's voice. "I'm getting closer, I know it."

"That's what you said two days ago," Alan said. "When you decided it wasn't the engine, the battery, or the fuel line."

"Yeah," Ray said, sliding out from under the car into view. "Except for the fact it won't start, she's in perfect condition."