Frank wasn't surprised when the deputy's car pulled up and Clay got out. He'd had a tight feeling in his gut since he'd found that footprint in town. Clay's tired face told the story.

Gerard saw who their visitor was and automatically got a cup for coffee; Clay always wanted coffee. He took off his hat and sat down, heaving a sigh as he did so.

"Who was it this time?"

Frank asked, his deep voice so rough it was almost a growl.

"Pam Hearst."

Lucas' head jerked up, and all the colour washed out of his face. He was on his feet before Clay's next words came.

"She fought him off. She isn't hurt, but she's scared. He jumped her on the Hearsts' back porch, for God's sake. Mrs. Winston heard her screaming, and the guy ran. Pam said she kicked him in the mouth. She saw blood on the ski mask he was wearing."

"He lives in town.."

Frank said.

"I found another print, but it's hard to track in town, with people walking around destroying what few prints there are. I think he ducked into one of the houses along Bay Road, but he might not live there."

"Bay Road."

Clay frowned as he mentally reviewed the people living on Bay Road; most of the townspeople lived along it, in close little clusters. There was also another cluster of houses on Broad Street, where the Hearsts lived.

"We might have him this time. Any man who has a swollen lip will have to have an airtight alibi."

"If it just split his lip, you won't be able to tell. The swelling will be minimal. She would have to have really done some damage for it to be visible more than a day or so."

Frank had had more than his share of split lips, and delivered his share, too. The mouth healed swiftly. Now if Pam had knocked some teeth out, that would be a different story.

"Any blood on the porch?"

"No."

"Then she didn't do any real damage."

There would have been blood sprayed all over the porch if she'd kicked out his teeth.
Clay shoved his hand through his hair.

"I don't like to think of the uproar it would cause, but I'm going to talk to the sheriff about making a house-to-house search along Bay Road. Damn it, I just can't think of anyone it could be."

Lucas abruptly left the room, and Frank stared after his son. He knew Lucas wanted to go to Pam, and knew that he wouldn't. Some of the barriers had come down, but most of them were still intact.
Clay had watched Lucas leave, and he sighed again.

"The bastard called Pam an 'Indian's dirty whore'."

His gaze shifted to Gerard, who had stood silently the whole time.

"You were right"

He didn't reply, because he'd known all along that he was right. It made him sick to hear the name Pam had been called, because it so starkly revealed the hatred behind the attack.

"I suppose all the tracks at Pam's house have been ruined."

Frank said it as a statement, not a question.

"Afraid so."

Clay was regretful, but practically everyone in town had been at the Hearsts' house before he'd gotten there, standing around the back porch and tramping around the area.
Frank muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath about damn idiots.

"Do you think the sheriff will go along with a house-to-house search?"

"Depends. You know some folks are going to kick up about it no matter what the reason. They'll take it personally. This is an election year."

He said, and they took his point

Gerard listened to them talking, but he didn't join in. Now Pam had been hurt; who was next? Would the man work up enough courage to attack Frank or Lucas? That was his real terror, because he didn't know if he could bear it. He loved them with all the fierceness of his soul. He would gladly put himself between them and danger.
Which was exactly what he would have to do.

It made him sick to even think of that man's hands on him again, but he knew in that moment that he was going to give him the opportunity. Somehow, he was going to lure him out. He wouldn't allow himself the luxury of hiding out on Iero's Mountain any longer.

He would begin driving into town by himself. The only problem would be in getting away from Frank; he knew Frank would never agree if he had any idea what he was doing. Not only that, he was capable of preventing him from leaving at all, either by disabling his car or even locking him in the bedroom. Gerard didn't underestimate him.

Since he had moved him up on the mountain with him, Frank had been delivering and picking up horses, rather than letting the owners come up to the ranch, where they might see him. His whereabouts were a well-kept secret, known only to Frank, Lucas and Clay. But that meant he was left alone several times a week while Frank and Lucas ran errands and delivered horses. Lucas also left for his math lessons, and they had to ride fences and work the small herd of cattle, just as every rancher did. He really had a lot of opportunities for slipping away, at least the first time. It would be infinitely more difficult to get away after that, because Frank would be on his guard.

Gerard quietly excused himself and went in search of Lucas. He peeked into his bedroom, but he wasn't there, so he went out on the front porch. He was leaning against one of the posts, his thumbs hooked in his front pockets.

"It isn't your fault."

He didn't move.

"I knew it could happen."

"You aren't responsible for someone else's hate."

"No, but I am responsible for Pam. I knew it could happen, and I should have stayed away from her."

Gerard made an ungentlemanly sound.

"I seem to remember it was the other way around. Pam made her choice when she made that scene in her father's store."

"All she wanted was to go to a dance. She didn't ask for this."

"Of course not, but it still isn't your fault, any more than it would have been your fault if she'd been in a car accident. You can say you could have delayed her so she'd have been a minute later getting to that particular section of road, or hurried her up so she'd have been earlier, but that's ridiculous, and you know it."

Lucas couldn't prevent a faint smile at the starchiness of Gerard's tone. He should be in Congress, cracking his whip and haranguing those senators and representatives into some sort of fiscal responsibility. Instead he'd taken on Ruth, Wyoming, and none of them had been the same since he'd set foot in town.

"All right, so I'm taking too much on myself."

He finally said.

"But I knew it wasn't smart to go out with her in the first place. It isn't fair. I'll be leaving here when I finish school, and I won't be back. Pam should be dating someone who's going to be around when she needs him."

"You're still taking too much on yourself. Let Pam make her own decisions about who she wants to date. Do you plan to isolate yourself from women forever?"

"I wouldn't go that far."

He drawled, and in that moment Lucas sounded so much like his father that it startled him.

"But I don't intend to get involved with anyone."

"It doesn't always work out the way you want. You were involved with Pam even before I came here."

That was true, as far as it went. He sighed and leaned his head against the post.

"I don't love her."

"Of course not. I never thought you did."

"I like her; I care for her. But not enough to stay, not enough to give up the Academy."

He looked at the Wyoming night, the almost painful clarity of the sky, the brightly winking stars, and thought of jockeying an F-15 over these mountains, with the dark earth below and the glittering stars above. No, he couldn't give that up.

"Did you tell her that?"

"Yes."

"Then it was her decision."

They stood in silence, watching the stars. A few minutes later Clay left, and neither of them thought it strange that he hadn't said goodbye. Frank came out on the porch and automatically slid his arm around Gerard's waist, hugging him to his side even as he put his hand on his son's shoulder.

"You okay?"

"Okay enough, I suppose."

But he understood now the total rage he'd seen in Frank's eyes when Gerard had been attacked, the same rage that still burned in a rigidly controlled fire inside his father. God help the man if Frank Iero ever got his hands on him.

Frank tightened his arm around Gerard and led him inside, knowing it was best to leave Lucas alone now. His son was tough; he'd handle it.

The next morning Gerard listened as they discussed their day. There were no horses to deliver or pick up, but Lucas had a math lesson that afternoon, and they intended to use the morning inoculating cattle. He had no idea how long it would take to treat the whole herd, but imagined they would both be tied up the entire morning. They would be riding a couple of the young quarter horses, to teach them how to cut cattle.

Lucas had changed overnight; it was a subtle change, but one that made Gerard ache inside. In repose, his young face held a grimness that saddened him, as if the last faint vestiges of boyhood had been driven from his soul. He'd always looked older than his age, but now, despite the smoothness of his skin, he no longer looked young.

Gerard was a grown man, twenty five years old, and the attack had left scars he hadn't been able to handle alone. Cathy and Pam were just kids, and Cathy had to handle a nightmare that was far worse than what he and Pam had undergone. Lucas had lost his youth. No matter what, that man had to be stopped before he damaged anyone else.

When Frank and Lucas left the house, Gerard gave them plenty of time to get far enough away so they wouldn't hear his car start, then hurried out of the house. He didn't know what he was going to do, other than parade through Ruth on the off chance that his presence might trigger another attack. And then what? He didn't know. Somehow he had to be prepared; he had to get someone to keep watch so the man could be caught. It should have been easy to catch him; he'd been so careless, attacking out in the open and in broad daylight, making stupid moves, as if he attacked on impulse and without a plan. He hadn't even taken the simplest precautions against getting caught. The whole thing was strange. It didn't make sense.

His hands were shaking as he drove into town; he was acutely aware that this was the first time since the day he'd been attacked that he was without protection. He felt exposed, as if his clothing had been stripped away.

He had to get someone to watch him, someone he trusted. Who? Sharon? The young teacher was his friend, but Sharon wasn't aggressive, and he thought the situation called for aggressiveness. Francie Beecham was too old; Cicely Karr would be too cautious. He discounted the men, because they would get all protective and refuse to help. Men were such victims to their own hormones. Machismo had killed a lot more people than PMS.

Pam Hearst sprang to mind. Pam would be extremely interested in catching the man, and she'd been aggressive enough to kick him in the mouth, to fight him off. She was young, but she had courage. She'd had the courage to go against her father and date a half-breed.

Conversation ceased when he walked into Hearst's store; it was the first time he'd been seen since the end of school. He ignored the thick silence, for he had what he suspected was a highly accurate guess as to the subject of the conversation he'd interrupted, and approached the checkout counter where Mr. Hearst stood.

"Is Pam at home?"

He asked quietly, not wanting his question to be heard by the entire store.

He looked as if he'd aged ten years overnight, but there was no animosity in his face.

He nodded. The same thing had happened to Mr. Way, he thought. If he could talk to Pam, maybe he could take that haunted look out of his baby girl's eyes. Mr. Way had a lot of backbone for such a little thing; maybe he didn't always agree with him, but he'd damn sure learned to respect him. And Pam thought the world of him.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd talk to her."

He said. There was an odd, almost militant expression in Gerard's soft hazel eyes.

"I'll do that."

He promised, and turned to leave. He almost bumped into Dottie and was startled into a gasp; the woman had been right behind him.

"Good morning."

Gerard said pleasantly. Grandma had drilled the importance of good manners into him.
Strangely, Dottie seemed to have aged, too. Her face was haggard.

"How are you doing, Gerard?"

He hesitated, but he could detect none of the hostility he was accustomed to from Dottie. Had the entire town changed? Had this nightmare brought them to their senses about the Ieros?

"I'm fine. Are you enjoying the vacation?"

Dottie smiled, but it was merely a movement of her facial muscles, not a response of pleasure.

"It's been a relief."

She certainly didn't look relieved; she looked worried to a frazzle. Of course, everyone should be worried.

"How is your son?"

Gerard couldn't remember the boy's name, and he felt faintly embarrassed. It wasn't like him to forget names.
To his surprise, Dottie went white. Even her lips were bloodless.

"W—why do you ask?"

She stammered.

"He seemed upset the last time I saw him."

Gerard replied. He could hardly say that only good manners had prompted the question. Southerners always asked after family.

"Oh. He—he's all right. He hardly ever leaves the house. He doesn't like going out."

Dottie looked around, then blurted.

"Excuse me."

And left the store before Gerard could say anything else.
He looked at Mr. Hearst, and he shrugged. He thought Dottie had acted a bit strange, too.

"I'll go see Pam now."

He said.
Gerard started to walk to the Hearsts' house, but the memory of what had happened the last time he'd walked through town made chills run up his spine, and he went to his car. He checked the back seat and floorboard before opening the door. As he started the engine, he saw Dottie walking swiftly up the street, her head down as if she didn't want anyone to speak to her. She hadn't bought anything, Gerard realised. Why had she been in Hearst's store, if not to make a purchase? It couldn't be browsing, because everyone knew what every store in town carried. Why had she left so suddenly?

Dottie turned left down the small street where she lived, and abruptly Gerard wondered what Dottie was doing walking around alone. Every woman in town should know better. Surely she had enough sense to be cautious.

Gerard drove slowly up the street. He craned his neck when he reached the street where Dottie had turned and saw the woman hurrying up the steps of her house. His eyes fell on the faded sign: Bay Road.

Bay Road was where Frank thought the rapist had dodged into a house. It made sense that he wouldn't have entered a house that wasn't his home, unless he was a close friend who came and went just like a family member. That was possible, but even a very close friend would give a yell before just walking into someone else's house, and Frank would have heard that.

Dottie was certainly acting odd. She'd looked as if she'd been stung by a bee when Gerard had asked about her son... Bobby, that was his name. Gerard was pleased that he'd remembered.

Bobby. Bobby wasn't "right." He did things in a skewed way. He was unable to apply logic to the simplest of chores, unable to plan a practical course of action.

Gerard broke out in a sweat and had to stop the car. He'd only seen Bobby once, but he could picture him in his mind: big, a little soft-looking, with sandy hair and a fair complexion. A fair, freckled complexion.

Was it Bobby? The one person in town who wasn't totally responsible for himself? The one person no one would ever suspect? Except his mother. He had to tell Frank.

As soon as the thought formed, he dismissed it. He couldn't tell Frank, not yet, because he didn't want to put that burden on him. Frank's instincts would tell him to go after Bobby; his conscience would argue that Bobby wasn't a responsible person. Gerard knew him well enough to know that, no matter which decision he made, he would always have regrets. Better for the responsibility to be his than to push Frank into such a position.

He'd call Clay. It was his job, after all. He'd be better able to deal with the situation.

Only a few seconds passed as his thoughts rushed through his mind. He was still sitting there staring at Dottie's house when Bobby came out on the porch. It took him a moment, but suddenly he noticed Gerard's car and looked straight at him. A distance of less than seventy-five yards separated them, still too far for him to read Bobby's expression, but he didn't need a close-up for sheer terror to spurt through him. He stomped on the gas pedal and the car shot forward, slinging gravel, the tires squealing.

It was only a short distance to the Hearst house. Gerard ran to the front door and banged his fist on it. His heart felt as if it would explode. That brief moment when he had been face-to-face with him was almost more than he could stand. God, he had to call Clay.

Mrs. Hearst opened the door a crack, then recognised Gerard and swung it all the way open.

"Mr. Way! Is something wrong?"

Gerard realised that he must look wild.

"Could I use your phone? It's an emergency."

"Why—of course."

She stepped back, allowing Gerard inside.
Pam appeared in the hallway.

"Mr. Way?"

She looked young and scared.

"The phone's in the kitchen."

Gerard followed Mrs. Hearst and grabbed the receiver.

"What's the number of the sheriffs department?"

Pam got a small telephone book from the countertop and began flipping through the pages. Too agitated to wait, Gerard dialled the number for Information.

"Sheriff's department, please."

"What city?"

The disembodied voice asked.
He drew a blank. For the life of him, he couldn't remember the name of the town.

"Here it is."

Pam said.
Gerard disconnected the call to Information, then dialled as Pam recited the number. The various computer clicks as the connection was made seemed to take forever.

"Sheriffs office."

"Deputy Armstrong, please. Clay Armstrong."

"One moment."

It was longer than one moment. Pam and her mother stood tensely, not knowing what was going on but reacting to his urgency. Both of them had dark circles under their eyes. It had been a bad night for the Hearst family.

"Sheriff's office."

A different voice said.

"Clay?"

"You looking for Armstrong?"

"Yes. It's an emergency!"

He insisted.

"Well, I don't know where he is right now. You want to tell me what the trouble is—hey, Armstrong! Some guy wants you in a hurry."

To Gerard, he said..

"He'll be right here."

A few seconds later Clay's voice said..

"Armstrong."

"It's Gerard. I'm in town."

"What the hell are you doing there?"

His teeth were chattering.

"It's Bobby. Bobby Lancaster. I saw him—"

"Hang up the phone!"

It was a scream, and Gerard jumped, dropping the receiver, which dangled from the end of its cord. He flattened against the wall, for Bobby stood there, inside the kitchen, with a huge butcher knife in his hand. His face was twisted with both hate and fear.

"You told!"

He sounded like an outraged child.

"Told—told what?"

"You told him! I heard you!"

Mrs. Hearst had shrunk back against the cabinets, her hand at her throat. Pam stood as if rooted in the middle of the floor, her face colourless, her eyes locked on the young man she'd known all her life. She could see the slight swelling of his lower lip.

Bobby shifted his weight from one foot to the other, as if he didn't know what to do next. His face was red, and he looked almost tearful.

Gerard strove to steady his voice.

"That's right, I told him. He's on his way now. You'd better run."

Maybe that wasn't the best suggestion in the world, but more than anything Gerard wanted to get him out of the Hearsts' house before he hurt someone. He desperately wanted him to run.

"It's all your fault!"

He looked hunted, as if he didn't know what to do except cast blame.

"You—you came here and changed things. Mama said you're a dirty Indian-lover."

"I beg your pardon. I prefer clean people."

He blinked, confused. Then he shook his head and said again.

"It's your fault."

"Clay will be here in a few minutes. You'd better go."

Bobby's hand tightened on the knife, and suddenly he reached out and grabbed Gerard's arm. He was big and soft, but he was faster than he looked. Gerard cried out as he twisted his arm up behind his back, nearly wrenching his shoulder joint loose.

"You'll be my hostage, just like on television."

He said and pushed him out the back door.

Mrs. Hearst was motionless, frozen in shock. Pam leaped for the phone, heard the buzzing that signalled a broken connection and held the button down for a new line. When she got a dial tone, she dialled the Iero's number. It rang endlessly, and she cursed, using words her mother had no idea she knew. All the while she leaned to the side, trying to see where Bobby was taking Gerard.
She was just about to hang up when the receiver was picked up and a deep, angry voice roared.

"Gerard?"

She was so startled that she almost dropped the phone.

"No.."

She choked.

"It's Pam. He has Gerard. It's Bobby Lancaster, and he just dragged him out of the house—"

"I'll be right there."

Pam shivered at the deadly intent in Frank Iero's voice.

Gerard stumbled over a large rock hidden by the tall grass and gagged as the sudden intense pain made nausea twist his stomach.

"Stand up!"

Bobby yelled, jerking at him.

"I twisted my ankle!"

It was a lie, but it would give him an excuse to slow him down.

He'd dragged Gerard across the small meadow behind the Hearsts', through a thick line of trees, over a stream, and now they were climbing a small rise. At least it had looked small, but now he knew it was deceptively large. It was a big open area, not the smartest place for Bobby to head, but he didn't plan well. That was what had thrown everyone off from the beginning, what had never seemed quite right. There had been no logic to his actions; Bobby reacted rather than planned.

He didn't know what to do for a twisted ankle, so he didn't worry about it, just pushed Gerard along at the same speed. He stumbled again, but somehow managed to retain his balance. He wouldn't be able to bear it if he fell on his stomach and he came down on top of him again.

"Why did you have to tell?"

He groaned.

"You hurt Cathy."

"She deserved it!"

"How? How did she deserve it?"

"She liked him—the Indian."

Gerard was panting. He estimated they'd gone over a mile. Not a great distance, but the gradual uphill climb was telling on him. It didn't help that his arm was twisted up between his shoulder blades. How long had it been? When could he expect Clay to arrive? It had been at least twenty minutes.

Frank made it off his mountain in record time. His eyes were like flint as he leaped from the truck before it had rocked to a complete stop. He and Lucas both carried rifles, but Frank's was a sniper rifle, a Remington with a powerful scope. He'd never had occasion to try a thousand-yard shot with it, but he'd never missed his target at closer range.

People milled around the back of the house. He and Lucas shouldered their way through the crowd.

"Everybody freeze, before you destroy any more tracks!"

Frank roared, and everyone stopped dead.
Pam darted to them. Her face was streaked with tears.

"He took him into the trees. There."

She said and pointed.
A siren announced Clay's arrival, but Frank didn't wait for him. The trail across the meadow was as plain to him as a neon sign would have been, and he set off at a lope, with Lucas on his heels.

Dottie Lancaster was terrified, and nearly hysterical. Bobby was her son, and she loved him desperately no matter what he'd done. She'd been sick when she'd realized he was the one who had attacked Cathy Teele and Gerard; she'd almost worried herself into an early grave as she wrestled with her conscience and the sure knowledge that she'd lose her son if she turned him in. But that was nothing compared to the horror she'd felt when she discovered he'd slipped from the house. She'd followed the sounds of a disturbance and found all of her nightmares coming true: he'd taken Gerard, and he had a knife. Now the Ieros were after him, and she knew they would kill him.

She grabbed Clay's arm as he surged past her.

"Stop them.."

She sobbed.

"Don't let them kill my boy."

Clay barely glanced at her. He shook her loose and ran after them. Distraught, Dottie ran, too.
By then some of the other men had gotten their rifles and were joining the hunt. They'd always felt sorry for Bobby Lancaster, but he'd hurt their women, and Gerard, and there was no excuse for it.

Frank's heartbeat settled down, and he pushed the panic away. His senses heightened, as they always did when he was on the hunt. Every sound was magnified in his ears, instantly recognizable. He saw every blade of grass, every broken twig and overturned rock. He could smell every scent nature had left, and the faint acrid, coppery tang of fear. His body was a machine, moving smoothly, silently.

He could read every sign. Here Gerard had stumbled, and his muscles tightened. He had to be terrified. If Bobby hurt him—he was so slight, no match at all for a large man like that. The bastard had a knife. Frank thought of a blade touching Gerard's delicate, translucent skin, and rage consumed him. He had to push it away because he couldn't afford the mistakes rage could cause.

He broke out of the tree line and suddenly saw them, high on the side of the rise. Bobby was dragging Gerard along, but at least he was still alive.

Frank examined the terrain. He didn't have a good angle. He moved east, along the base of the rise.

"Stop!"

It was Bobby's voice, only faintly heard at that distance. They had halted, and Bobby was holding Gerard in front of him.

"Stop or I'll kill him!"

Slowly, Frank went down on one knee and raised the rifle to his shoulder. He sighted through the scope, not for a shot, but to see how he should set it up. The powerful scope plainly revealed the desperation on Bobby's face and the knife at Gerard's throat.

"Bobbeee!"

Dottie had reached them, and she screamed his name.

"Mama?"

"Bobby, let her go!"

"I can't! She told!"

The men had clustered around. Several of them measured the distance by eye and shook their heads. They couldn't make the shot, not at that range. They were as likely to hit Gerard as Bobby, if they hit anything at all.
Clay looked down at Frank.

"Can you make the shot?"

Frank smiled, and Clay felt that chill run up his spine again at the look in Frank's eyes. They were cold and murderous.

"Yeah."

"No!"

Dottie sobbed the word.

"Bobby!"

She screamed.

"Please, come down!"

"I can't! I've got to kill him! He likes him, and he's a dirty Indian! He killed my father!"

Dottie gasped and covered her mouth with her hands.

"No.."

She moaned, then screamed again.

"No! He didn't!"

Pure hell was living in her eyes.

"He did! You said—an Indian—"

Bobby broke off and began dragging Gerard backward.

"Do it."

Clay said quietly.
Frank braced the barrel of the rifle in the notch of a sapling. It was small but sturdy enough to be steady. Without a word he sighted in the cross hairs of the scope.

"Wait."

Dottie cried, anguish in her voice.
Frank looked at her.

"Please.."

She whispered.

"Don't kill him. He's all I have."

His black eyes were flat.

"I'll try."

He concentrated on the shot, shutting everything out as he always had. It was maybe three hundred yards, but the air was still. The image in the scope was huge and clear and flattened, the depth perception distorted. Gerard's face was plain. He looked angry, and he was tugging at the arm around his shoulder, the one that held the knife to his throat.
God, when he got him back safe and sound, he was going to throttle him.

Because Gerard was so small, Frank had a larger target than would normally have been presented. His instincts were to go for a head shot, to take Bobby Lancaster completely out of life, but he'd promised. Damn, it was going to be a bitch of a shot. They were moving, and he'd limited his own target area by promising not to go for a kill.

The cross hairs settled, and his hands became rock steady. He drew in a breath, let out half of it and gently squeezed the trigger. Almost simultaneously with the sharp thunder in his ear he saw the red stain blossom on Bobby's shoulder and the knife drop from his suddenly useless hand even as he was thrown back by the bullet's impact. Gerard staggered to the side and fell, but was instantly on his feet again.

Dottie sagged to her knees, sobbing, her hands over her face.

The men surged up the hill. Gerard ran down it and met Frank halfway. He still had the rifle in his hand, but he caught him up in his arms and held him locked to him, Frank's eyes closed as he absorbed the miracle of him, warm and alive against him, his silky hair against his face, his sweet scent in his lungs. He didn't care who saw them, or what anyone thought. Gerard was his, and he'd just lived through the worst half hour of his existence knowing that at any moment his life could be ended.

Now that it was over, Gerard was crying.

He'd been dragged up the hill, and now Frank dragged him down it. He was swearing steadily under his breath, ignoring Gerard's gasping protests until he stumbled. Then he snatched him up under his arm like a sack and continued down. People stared after them in astonishment, but no one moved to stop him. After today, they all viewed Frank Iero differently.

Frank ignored Gerard's car and thrust him into his truck. Gerard pushed his hair out of his face and decided not to mention the car; they would pick it up later. Frank was in a rage, his face set and hard.
They had almost reached the road that wound up his mountain before he spoke.

"What in hell were you doing in town?"

The even tone didn't fool him. Frank was dangerously angered.
Perhaps he wasn't as cautious as he should have been, but he still wasn't afraid of him, not of the man he loved. He respected Frank's temper, but he didn't fear him. So he said, just as calmly..

"I thought seeing me might trigger him into doing something stupid, so we could identify him."

"You triggered him, all right. What he did wasn't nearly as stupid as what you did. What did you do, parade up and down the streets until he grabbed you?"

Gerard let the insult pass.

"Actually it never came to that. I intended to talk to Pam first. I stopped at the store to ask Mr. Hearst if she was home and bumped into Dottie. She acted so strange and looked so worried that it made me wonder. She almost ran out of the store. Then, when I saw her turn onto Bay Road, I remembered Bobby, what he looked like. He came out on the porch and looked at me, and I knew he was the one."

"So you made a citizen's arrest?"

He asked sarcastically.
Gerard got huffy.

"No. I'm not stupid, and you'd better not make another smart remark, Frank Iero. I did what I thought I had to do. I'm sorry if you don't like it, but there it is. Enough was enough. I couldn't take the chance someone else could be hurt, or that he might start taking shots at you or Lucas.
I drove to Pam's house and called Clay. I had no intention of confronting Bobby, but it didn't work out that way. He followed me to Pam's and heard me talking on the phone. So he grabbed me. You know what happened then."

He was so matter-of-fact about it that Frank tightened his hands on the steering wheel to keep from shaking him. If he hadn't been crying just a few minutes ago, he might have lost his tenuous control on his temper.

"Do you know what might have happened if I hadn't come back to the barn for something and noticed your car was missing? It was just chance I was there when Pam called to tell me Bobby had grabbed you!"

"Yes.."

Gerard said patiently.

"I know what could have happened."

"It doesn't bother you that he came close to cutting your throat?"

"Close doesn't count except in horseshoes and hand grenades."

Frank slammed on the brakes, so enraged he could barely see. He wasn't aware of shutting off the motor, only of closing his hands on Gerard's slender shoulders. He was so close to pulling him across his knees that he was shaking, but he didn't seem to realise that he should be frightened. With a faint sound Gerard dived into his arms, clinging to him with surprising strength.

Frank held him and felt him trembling. The red haze left his vision, and he realised that he was frightened, but not of him. With his normal damn-the-torpedoes attitude, he'd done what he'd thought was right and was probably trying to put up a calm front so he wouldn't be alarmed.

As if anything could ever alarm him more than seeing an unbalanced rapist hold a knife to Gerard's fragile throat.

Frantically he started the truck. It wasn't far to his house, but he didn't know if he could make it. He had to make love to him, soon, even if it was in the middle of the road. Only then would the fear of losing him begin to fade, when he felt him beneath him once more and he welcomed him into his delicate body.

~

~

~

Gerard brooded. It had been four days since Frank had shot Bobby; the first two days had been filled with statements and police procedures, as well as newspaper interviews and even a request from a television station, which Frank had refused. The sheriff, not being a fool, had hailed Frank as a hero and praised the shot he'd made. Frank's military service record was dug up, and a lot was written about the "much-decorated Vietnam veteran" who had saved a schoolteacher and captured a rapist.

Bobby was recuperating in a hospital in Casper; the bullet had punctured his right lung, but he was lucky to be alive under the circumstances. He was bewildered by everything that had happened and kept asking to go home. Dottie had resigned. She'd have to live the rest of her life knowing that her hatred had taken seed in her son's mind and caused the entire nightmare. She knew Bobby would be taken away from her, at least for a time, and that they would never be able to live in Ruth again, even if he was ever a free man. But wherever Bobby was sent, she intended to be close by. As she'd told Frank, he was all she had.

It was over, and Gerard knew that Frank would never be treated as an outcast again. The threat was past, and the town was safe. Just knowing who it was and that he'd been caught made a lot of difference in Cathy Teele's recovery, though what had happened would always mark her life.

So there was no reason why Gerard couldn't return to his own house.

That was why he was brooding. In those four days, Frank hadn't said a word about him remaining with him. He'd never said a word of love, not even during their wild lovemaking after he'd snatched him to safety. He hadn't said anything at all about their personal situation.

It was time to go home. Gerard couldn't stay with him forever, not when there was no fear for his safety now. He knew their affair would probably continue, at least for a while, but still the thought of leaving his house depressed him. He'd loved every minute of his time on Iero's Mountain, loved sharing the little commonplace things with him. Life consisted of the small things, with only scattered moments of intensity.

He calmly packed and refused to let himself cry. He was going to be under control and not make a scene. He loaded his suitcases into his car, then waited for Frank to return to the house. It would be childish to sneak off, and he wouldn't do it; he'd tell him he was returning to his home, thank him for his protection and leave. It would be immensely civilized.

As it happened, it was late afternoon when Frank got back. He was sweaty and coated with dust, and limping a little, because a cow had stepped on his foot. He wasn't in a good mood.

Gerard smiled at him.

"I've decided to get out of your hair, since there's no reason to be afraid of staying by myself now. I've already packed and loaded everything in the car, but I wanted to stay until you got home to thank you for everything you've done."

Frank paused in the act of gulping cool, fresh water down his parched throat. Lucas froze on the step, not wanting them to see him. He couldn't believe Frank would let him leave.

Slowly, Frank turned his head to look at him. There was a savage expression in his eyes, but Gerard was concentrating too hard on maintaining control to see it. He gave him another smile, but this one was harder, because he hadn't said a word, not even, "I'll call you."

"Well.."

He said brightly.

"I'll see you around. Tell Lucas not to forget his lessons."

He marched out the front door and down the steps.
He'd gotten halfway to his car when a hard hand clamped down on his shoulder and spun him around.

"I'll be damned if you're setting foot off this mountain."

He said in a harsh tone.
Frank towered over him. For the first time Gerard felt it was a disadvantage that he barely reached his nose. He had to tilt his head back to talk to him, he was so close. The heat from Frank's body enveloped him like steam.

"I can't stay here forever."

He replied reasonably, but now he could see the look in his eyes and he shivered.

"I'm a small-town schoolteacher. I can't just cohabit with you—"

"Shut up."

Frank said.

"Now see here—"

"I said shut up. You aren't going anywhere, and you're damn well going to cohabit with me for the rest of your life. It's too late today, but first thing in the morning we're going into town for our blood tests and license. We're going to be married within a week, so get your little butt back in that house and stay there. I'll bring your suitcases in."

His expression would have made most men back up a few steps, but Gerard crossed his arms.

"I'm not marrying someone who doesn't love me."

"Hellfire!"

Frank roared and jerked him up against him.

"Not love you? Damn, sweetheart, you've been wrapping me around your little finger since the first time I set eyes on you! I'd have killed Bobby Lancaster in a heartbeat for you, so don't you ever say I don't love you!"

As a declaration of love cum marriage proposal, it wasn't exactly romantic, but it was certainly exciting. Gerard smiled up at him and went on tiptoe to loop his arms around his neck.

"I love you, too."

Frank glared down at him, but noticed how adorable he looked with his soft pink sweater bringing out the delicate roses in his cheeks, and his hazel/green eyes twinkling at him. A breeze flirted with Gerard's silky, silvery-blonde hair, and suddenly Frank buried his face in the baby-fine strands at his temple.

"God, I love you."

He whispered. He'd never thought he would love any man, least of all an Anglo, but that was before this slight, delicate creature had bulldozed his way into his life and completely changed it. He could no more live without him now than he could live without air.

"I want children."

Gerard stated. Frank smiled against his temple.

"I'm willing."

Gerard thought about it some more.

"I think I'd like four."

A slight frown creased his brow as he held him tighter.

"We'll see."

He lifted him in his arms and started for the house, where he belonged.

Lucas watched from the window and turned away with a grin as his father lifted Gerard against his chest.

Notes

Hi there (again) chipmunks!...

Just the the epilogue to go..

Please comment, stay safe, and peace out babies!
<3