It was after nine when they heard Frank's truck, and both of them froze with mingled tension and relief: tension because they dreaded to hear what had happened, and relief because he was home instead of locked in jail. Gerard couldn't imagine Frank in jail, even though he'd spent two years in prison. He was too wild, like a wolf that could never be tamed. Imprisoning him had been an act so cruel as to be obscene.
Frank came in the back door and stood there staring at Gerard, his dark face expressionless. Gerard and Lucas sat at the kitchen table, nursing cups of coffee.


"Why are you still here? Go home."


Gerard ignored the flatness of his tone. He was so angry he could almost feel the heat from across the room, but he knew it wasn't directed against him. Getting up, he dumped his lukewarm coffee into the sink and got another cup from the cabinet, then poured fresh coffee into both cups.


"Sit down, drink your coffee and tell us what happened."


He said in his best schoolteacher voice.
He did reach for the coffee, but he didn't sit down. He was too angry to sit. The rage boiled in him, robbing his movements of their usual fluidity. It was starting all over again, and he'd be damned if he'd go to prison again for something he hadn't done. He'd fight any way he could and with any weapon he could, but he'd die before he'd go back to prison.


"They let you go."


Lucas said.

"They had to. The girl was raped around noon. At noon I was delivering two horses to the Bar W R. Wally Rasco verified it, and the sheriff couldn't figure out a way I could have been in two different places, sixty miles apart, at the same time, so he had to let me go."


"Where did it happen?"


Frank rubbed his forehead, then pinched his nose between his eyes as if he had a headache, or maybe he was just tired.


"She was grabbed from behind when she got in her car, parked in her own driveway. He made her drive almost an hour before telling her to pull off on the side of the road. She never saw his face. He wore a ski mask. But she could see long black hair, and that was enough of a description for the sheriff."

"The side of the road?"


Gerard blurted.


"That's... weird. It doesn't make sense. I know there's not much traffic, but still, someone could have come by at any time."

"Yeah. Not to mention that he was waiting for her in her driveway. The whole thing is strange."


Lucas drummed his fingers on the table.


"It could have been someone passing through."

"How many people 'pass through' Ruth?"


Frank asked dryly.


"Would a drifter have known whose car it was, or when she was likely to come out of the house? What if the car belonged to a man? That's a big chance to take, especially when rape seems to have been the only thing on his mind, because he didn't rob her, even though she had money."

"Are they keeping her identity secret?"


Gerard asked.
Frank looked at him.


"It won't stay a secret, because her father was in the sheriff's office waving a rifle and threatening to blow my guts out. He attracted a lot of attention, and people talk."

His face was still expressionless, but Gerard sensed the bitter rage that filled him. His fierce pride had been dragged in the dust—again. How had he endured being forced to sit there and listen to insults and threats? Because he knew he'd been insulted, by vile words describing his mixed heritage as well as by the very fact he'd been picked up for questioning. He was holding it all in, controlling it, but the rage was there.


"What happened?"


"Armstrong stopped it. Then Wally Rasco got there and cleared me, and the sheriff let me go with a friendly warning."


"A warning?"


Gerard jumped to his feet, his eyes flashing.


"For what?"

Frank pinched Gerard's chin and gave him a coldly ferocious smile.


"He warned me to stay away from white folk, sweetcakes. And that's just what I'm going to do. So you go on home now, and stay there. I don't want you on my mountain again."

"You didn't feel that way in the barn."


Gerard shot back, then darted a look at Lucas and blushed. Lucas just quirked an eyebrow and looked strangely self-satisfied. Gerard decided to ignore him and turned back to Frank.


"I can't believe you're letting that mush-brain sheriff tell you who you can see."

Frank narrowed his eyes at him.


"Maybe it hasn't dawned on you yet, but it's all starting again. It doesn't matter that Wally Rasco cleared me. Everyone is going to remember what happened ten years ago, and the way they felt."

"You were cleared of that, too, or doesn't that count?"


"With some people."


He finally admitted.


"Not with most. They're already afraid of me, already distrust and dislike me. Until this bastard is caught, I probably won't be able to buy anything in that town, not groceries, gas or feed. And anyone who has anything to do with me could be in real danger of being tarred and feathered."

So that was it. He was still trying to protect him. Gerard stared at him in exasperation.


"Frank, I refuse to live my life according to someone else's prejudices. I appreciate that you're trying to protect me—"

He could hear an audible click as Frank's teeth snapped together.


"Do you?"


He asked with heavy sarcasm.


"Then go home. Stay home, and I'll stay here."

"For how long?"


Instead of answering his question, Frank made an oblique statement.


"I'll always be a half-breed."

"And I'll always be what I am, too. I haven't asked you to change."


Gerard pointed out, pain creeping into his voice. Gerard looked at him with longing plain in his eyes, as no-one had ever looked at him before, and the rage in him intensified because he couldn't simply reach out and take him in his arms, proclaim to the world that he was his. The sheriff's warning had been clear enough, and Frank knew well that the hostility toward him would rapidly swell to explosive proportions. It could easily spill over onto Gerard, and now he wasn't just worried that he would lose his job. A job was nothing compared to the physical danger he could suffer. He could be terrorised in his own home, his property vandalised; he could be cursed and spat upon; he could be physically attacked. For all his sheer determination, he was still just a rather slight man, and he would be helpless against anyone who wanted to hurt him.

"I know."


Frank finally said, and despite himself, he reached out to touch Gerard's baby-fine hair.


"Go home, sweetheart. When this is over—"


He stopped, because he didn't want to make promises he might not be able to keep, but what he'd said was enough to put a glowing light in the younger man's eyes.

"All right."


Gerard murmured, putting his hand on Frank's.


"By the way, I want you to get a haircut."


Frank looked startled.


"A haircut?"

"Yes. You want me to stop wearing my hat, and I want you to get a haircut."


"Why?"


Gerard gave him a shrewd look.


"You don't wear it long because you're Indian. You wear it long just to upset people, so they'll never forget your Indian blood. So get it cut."

"Short hair won't make me less Indian."


"Long hair won't make you more Indian."


He looked as if he would stand there until doomsday unless Frank agreed to get a haircut. He gave in abruptly, muttering..


"All right, I'll get a haircut."

"Good."


Gerard smiled at him and went on tiptoe to kiss the corner of his mouth.


"Good night. Good night, Lucas."

"Goodnight, Gerard."


When he was gone, Frank wearily ran his hand through his hair, then frowned as he realized he'd just agreed to cut it off. He looked up to find Lucas watching him steadily.


"What are we going to do?"


The boy asked.

"Whatever we have to."


Frank replied, his expression flinty.

When Gerard bought groceries the next morning, he found everyone in the store huddling together in small groups of two or three and whispering about the rape. The girl's identity was quickly revealed; it was Cathy Teele, whose younger sister, Christa, was in Gerard's class. The entire Teele family was devastated, according to the whispers Gerard heard as he gathered his groceries.


Next to the flour and cornmeal, he encountered Dottie Lancaster, who was flanked by a young man Gerard assumed was Dottie's son.


"Hello, Dottie."


He greeted the woman pleasantly, even though it was possible Dottie had started the rumour about him and Lucas.

"Hello."


Dottie wore a distressed expression, rather than her habitual sour one.


"Have you heard about that poor Teele girl?"

"I haven't heard anything else since I entered the store."


"They arrested that Indian, but the sheriff had to let him go. I hope now you'll be more careful about the company you keep."


"Frank wasn't arrested."


Gerard managed to keep his voice calm.


"He was questioned, but he was at Wally Rasco's ranch when the attack occurred, and Mr. Rasco backed him up. Frank Iero isn't a rapist."

"A court of law said he was and sentenced him to prison."


"He was also cleared when the true rapist was caught and confessed to the crime for which Frank had been convicted."


Dottie drew back, her face livid.


"That's what that Indian said, but as far as we know, he just got out on parole. It's easy to see whose side you're on, but then, you've been running with those Indians since the day you came to Ruth. Well, there's an old saying that if you sleep with dogs, you're bound to get fleas. The Ieros are dirty Indian trash—"

"Don't you say another word."


Gerard interrupted, colour high in his cheeks as he took a step toward Dottie. He was furious; his hand itched to slap the woman's self-righteous face, though he would never strike a woman! Grandma had said that a gentleman never brawled, but Gerard was ready to forever relinquish any claim he had to the title.


"Frank is a decent, hard-working man, and I won't let you or anyone else say he isn't."

Dottie's colour was mottled, but something in Gerard's eyes made her refrain from saying anything else about Frank. Instead she leaned closer and hissed.


"You'd better watch yourself, Little Mr. Goody-Goody, or you'll find yourself in a lot of trouble."

Gerard leaned closer, too, his jaw set.


"Are you threatening me?"


He demanded fiercely.

"Mama, please."


The young man behind her whispered in a frantic tone, and tugged at Dottie's arm.
Dottie looked around at him, and her face changed. She drew back, but told Gerard contemptuously..


"You just mark my words."


And stalked away.
Her son, Bobby, was so distressed he was wringing his hands as he hurried after Dottie. Immediately, Gerard was sorry he had let the horrid little scene develop; from what Lucas had told him, Bobby had a hard enough time handling everyday problems without adding more.


He took a few deep breaths to regain his composure, but almost lost it again when he turned and found several people standing in the aisle, staring at him. They had all obviously heard every word, and looked both shocked and avid. He had no doubt the tale would be all over town within the hour: two of the schoolteachers brawling over Frank Iero. He groaned inwardly as he picked up a bag of flour. Another scandal was just what Frank needed.


In the next aisle, he met Cicely Karr. Remembering the woman's comments during the school board meeting, Gerard couldn't stop himself from saying.


"I've received a letter from Senator Allard, Mrs. Karr. He's recommending Lucas Iero for admission to the Academy."


He sounded challenging even to his own ears.
To his surprise, Mrs. Karr looked excited.


"He is? Why, I never would've believed it. Until Eli explained it to me, I didn't quite realise what an honour it is."


Then she sobered.


"But now this terrible thing has happened. It's awful. I—I couldn't help overhearing you and Dottie Lancaster. Mr. Way, you can't imagine what it was like ten years ago. People were frightened and angry, and now the same nightmare has started again."

"It's a nightmare for Frank Iero, too."


Gerard said hotly.


"He was sent to prison for a rape he didn't commit. His record was cleared, but still he was the first person the sheriff picked up for questioning. How do you think he feels? He'll never get back the two years he spent in prison, and now it looks as if everyone is trying to send him there again."

Mrs. Karr looked troubled.


"We were all wrong before. The justice system was wrong, too. But even though Iero proved he didn't rape Cathy Teele, don't you see why the sheriff wanted to question him?"

"No, I don't."


"Because Iero had reason to want revenge."


Gerard was aghast.


"So you thought he'd take revenge by attacking a young woman who was just a child when he was sent to prison? What sort of man do you think he is?"


He was horrified by both the idea and the feeling that everyone in Ruth would agree with Mrs. Karr.

"I think he's a man who hates."


Mrs. Karr said firmly. Yes, she believed Frank capable of such horrible, obscene revenge; it was in her eyes.
Gerard felt sick; he began shaking his head.


"No."


He said.


"No. Frank is bitter about the way he was treated, but he doesn't hate. And he would never hurt anyone like that."


If he knew anything in this world, he knew that. He had felt urgency in Frank's touch, but never brutality.
But Mrs. Karr was shaking her head, too.


"Don't tell me he doesn't hate! It's in those black-as-hell eyes every time he looks at us, any of us. The sheriff found out he'd been in Vietnam, in some special assassination group, or something. God only knows how it warped him! Maybe he didn't rape Cathy Teele, but this would be a perfect opportunity for him to get revenge and have it blamed on whoever did rape her!"

"If Frank wanted revenge, he wouldn't sneak around to get it."


Gerard said scornfully.


"You don't know anything about the kind of man he is, do you? He's lived here for years, and none of you know him."

"And I suppose you do?"


Mrs. Karr was getting red in the face.


"Maybe we're talking about a different kind of 'knowing.' Maybe that rumour about you carrying on with Lucas Iero was half right, after all. You've been carrying on with Frank Iero, haven't you?"

The scorn in the woman's voice enraged Gerard.


"Yes!"


He half shouted, and honesty compelled him to add..


"But not as much as I'd like."

A chorus of gasps made him look around, and he stared into the faces of the townspeople who had stopped in the aisle to listen. Well, he'd really done it now; Frank had wanted him to distance himself from him, and instead he'd all but shouted from the rooftops that he'd been "carrying on" with him. But Gerard couldn't feel even the tiniest bit of shame. He felt proud. With Frank Iero, he was not a dowdy, old maid schoolteacher who even owned a cat, for heaven's sake. He didn't feel dowdy when he was with Frank; he felt warm, wanted. If he had any regrets, it was that Lucas hadn't been fifteen minutes later returning the day before, or even five minutes, because more than anything he wanted to be Frank's in every way, to lie beneath his thrusting body, eagerly accepting the force of his passion and giving him his own. If for that, for loving him, he was ostracized, then he counted society well lost.


Mrs. Karr said icily.


"I believe we'll have to have another school board meeting."

"When you do, consider that I have an ironclad contract."


Gerard shot back.


"And my being gay, or who I choose to be with, should have no relevance whatsoever."


Then he turned on his heel. He hadn't gathered all of the groceries he needed, but he was too angry to continue. When he plunked the items down on the counter, the clerk looked as if she wanted to refuse to ring them up, but she changed her mind under Gerard's glare.

Gerard stormed home and was gratified when the weather seemed to agree with him, if the grey clouds forming overhead were any indication. After storing his groceries, he checked on the cat, who had been acting strange lately. A horrid thought intruded: surely no one would have poisoned the cat? But Jet was sunning himself peacefully on the rug, so he dismissed the idea with relief.


When this is over...
The phrase echoed in his memory, tantalising him and stirring an ache deep inside. He longed for Frank so intensely that he felt as if he were somehow incomplete. He loved him, and though he understood why Frank thought it better for him to stay away from him right now, he didn't agree. After what had happened that morning with Dottie Lancaster and Cicely Karr, there was no point in allowing this exile. He might as well have stood in the middle of the street and shouted it: he was Frank Iero's.


Whatever Frank wanted from him, he was willing to give. Grandma had raised him to believe that intimacy belonged only in marriage, and if a man or woman for some reason felt they simply couldn't live without the physical, Grandma had made it plain she couldn't imagine what such a reason would be. While Gerard had accepted that people obviously were intimate outside of marriage, he had never been tempted to it himself—until he'd met Frank.


If Frank wanted him for only a short time, he counted that as better than nothing. Even one day with him would be a bright and shining memory to treasure during the long, dreary years without him, a small bit of warmth to comfort him. His dream was to spend a lifetime with him, but he didn't allow himself to expect it. Frank was too bitter, too wary; it was unlikely he would permit an Anglo to get that close to him. He would give him his body, perhaps even his affection, but not his heart or his commitment.
Because he loved him, Gerard knew he wouldn't demand more. He didn't want anger or guilt between them. For as long as he could, in whatever way, he wanted to make Frank happy.


Frank had asked him to stop wearing his woollen hat, and the silky weight of his hair hung nearly to his shoulders. He had been surprised, looking in the mirror that morning, how the relaxed hairstyle softened his face. His eyes had glowed, because leaving his hair uncovered was something he could do for him. It made him feel good.
There was no point in trying to make people think him neutral now, not after those arguments he'd gotten into. When he told Frank what had happened, he'd see the uselessness of trying to maintain the sham. Gerard even felt relieved, because his heart hadn't been in it.


Gerard had started to change into one of his shapeless baggy shirts when he caught sight of himself in the mirror and paused. In his mind he relived that moment the day he'd first met Frank, when he'd seen him in Lucas' old jeans and his eyes had momentarily widened with a look so hot and male it had the power, even now, to make him shake. He wanted Frank to look at him like that again, but he wasn't likely to as long as he kept wearing these—these feed sacks!


Suddenly he was dissatisfied with all his clothing. His shirts were, without exception, sturdy and modest, but they were also too drab and loose-fitting. His slight build would be better displayed in delicate cottons and light, cheerful colours, and even skinny jeans, instead of his formal suit pants. He turned and looked at his bottom in the mirror; it was slim and curvy. He could see no reason why he should be ashamed of it. It was a very nice bottom, as bottoms went.


Muttering to himself, he buttoned up his serviceable "good" shirt, and grabbed his wallet. Ruth wouldn't offer much in the way of new clothes, but he could certainly buy some jeans and plain t-shirts, that, above all, actually fit him.


And he never wanted to see another "sensible" pair of shoes in his life.


The grey clouds lived up to their promise, and it began to rain as he made the drive into town. It was a steady rain, just the sort ranchers and farmers everywhere loved, rather than a downpour that simply ran off instead of soaking into the ground. Grandma wouldn't have set foot out of the house during a rain, but Gerard ignored it. He stopped first at the one store in Ruth that dealt exclusively in clothing, though by necessity the clothes weren't hot from a fashion show in Paris. He bought three pairs of jeans, ladies size six, cos they fit just right! A dozen lightweight cotton t-shirts, a blue chambray shirt that made him feel like a pioneer, and a ruby-red sweater, that flattered him so much, that he spun on his heel in delight, just like a child. He also picked out all new underwear, and a pair of converse, as he'd often seen his students wearing them, and he'd always liked the style. When the saleswoman rang them up and called out the total, Gerard didn't even blink an eye. This had been way too long in coming.


Nor was he finished. He locked his packages in the car and dashed through the rain to Hearst's general store, where everyone bought boots. Since Gerard planned to be spending most of his time on Frank's mountain, he figured he'd need a pair.
Mr. Hearst was almost rude to him, but he stared him down and briefly thought of shaking his schoolteacher's finger at him. He discarded the idea because the finger lost its power if used too often, and he might really need it sometime in the future. So Gerard ignored him and tried on boots until he finally found a pair that felt comfortable on his feet.


He couldn't wait to get home and put on his jeans and chambray shirt; he might even wear his boots around the house to get them broken in, he thought. Jet wouldn't know him. He thought of that look in Frank's eyes and began to shiver.


His car was parked up the street, a block away, and it was raining hard enough now that he made a disgusted noise at himself for not driving from the clothing store to Hearst's. Ruth didn't have sidewalks, and already huge puddles were standing on the pavement. Well, he had on his sensible D.Ms; let them earn their keep!
Putting his head down and holding the box containing his boots up in an effort to ward off part of the rain, he darted from the sheltering overhang of the roof and immediately got wet to the ankles when he stepped into a puddle. He was still grumbling to himself about that when he passed the small alley that ran between the general store and the next building, which had formerly been a barbershop but now stood empty.


He didn't hear anything or see a flurry of movement; he had no warning at all. A big hand, wet with rain, clamped over his mouth, and an arm wrapped around the front of his body, effectively holding his arms down as his attacker began hauling him down the alley, away from the street. Gerard fought instinctively, wriggling and kicking while he made muffled sounds behind the man's palm. His hand was so tight on Gerard's face that his fingers dug painfully into his cheek.


The tall, wet weeds in the alley clung to his pant legs, and the pounding rain stung his eyes. Terrified, he kicked harder. This couldn't be happening! Someone couldn't just carry him off in broad daylight! But he could; he had done it to Cathy Teele.


Gerard got one arm free and reached back, clawing for his face. His desperate fingers found only wet, woolly cloth. The man cursed, his voice low and raspy, and hit Gerard on the side of the head with his fist.
His senses blurred as his head was rocked with pain, and his struggles grew aimless. Vaguely he was aware when they reached the end of the alley and the man dragged him behind the abandoned building.


His breathing was fast and harsh in Gerard's ear as he forced him down on his stomach in the gravel and mud. He managed to get his arm free again and put his hand out to break his fall; the gravel scraped his palm, but he barely felt it. The man's hand was still over his mouth, suffocating him; he ground Gerard's face into the wet dirt and held him down with his heavy weight on his back.


He scrabbled with his other hand for the waistband of Gerard's pants, pulling them down. Wildly Gerard clawed at his hand, trying to pull it free so he could scream, and he hit him again. Gerard was terrified and kept clawing. Cursing, the man forced Gerard's legs apart and thrust himself against him. Gerard could feel him through his pants and his underpants, pushing at him, and began gagging. God, no!


Gerard heard his clothing tear, and overpowering revulsion gave him strength. He bit savagely at the man's hand and reached back for his eyes, his nails digging for flesh.
There was a roaring in his ears, but he heard a shout. The man on top of him stiffened, then braced his hand beside his head and used it to balance himself as he leaped to his feet. Gerard's vision blurred by rain and mud, he saw only a blue sleeve and a pale, freckled hand before he was gone.


From above and behind him came a loud boom, and vaguely he wondered if now he would be struck by lightning. No, lightning came before the thunder.

Running footsteps pounded the ground, going past him. Gerard lay still, his body limp and his eyes closed.
He heard low cursing, and the footsteps returned.


"Gerard."


A commanding voice said.


"Are you all right?"

He managed to open his eyes and looked up at Clay Armstrong. He was soaked to the skin, his blue eyes furious, but his hands were gentle as he pulled up Gerard's pants, then turned him onto his back and lifted him in his arms.


"Are you all right?"


The words were sharper now.
The rain stung Gerard's face.


"Yes."


He managed, and turned his head into Clay's shoulder.


"I'll get him."


Clay promised.


"I swear to you, I'll get the bastard."

There was no doctor in town, but Bessie Pylant was a registered nurse, and Clay carried Gerard to Bessie's house. Bessie called the private practitioner for whom she worked and got him to drive over from the next town. In the meantime she carefully cleaned Gerard's scrapes and put ice on the bruises, and began pouring hot, too-sweet tea down him.


Clay had disappeared. Bessie's house was suddenly full of women; Sharon Wycliffe came and assured Gerard that she and Dottie could handle things on Monday if he didn't feel like working; Francie Beecham told tales of her own teaching days, her purpose obvious, and the other women took their cues from her. Gerard sat quietly, clutching so tightly at the blanket Bessie had wrapped around him that his knuckles were white. He knew the women were trying to divert him, and was grateful to them; with rigid control he concentrated on their commonplace chatter. Even Cicely Karr came and patted Gerard's hand, despite the argument they'd had only a few hours before.

Then the doctor arrived, and Bessie led Gerard into a bedroom for privacy while the doctor examined him. He answered his questions in a subdued voice, though he winced when he probed the sore place on the side of his head where the man had struck him with his fist. He checked his pupil response and his blood pressure, and gave him a mild sedative.


"You'll be all right."


He finally said, patting his shoulder.


"There's no concussion, so your headache should go away soon. A good night's sleep will do more for you than anything I can prescribe."

"Thank you for driving out here."


Gerard said politely.
Desperation was growing in him. Everyone had been wonderful, but he could feel a fine wire inside his being coiled tighter and tighter. He felt dirty and exposed. He needed privacy and a shower, and more than anything he needed Frank.
He left the bedroom and found that Clay had returned. He came to him immediately and took his hand.


"How are you feeling?"

"I'm all right."


If he had to say that one more time, he thought he would scream.

"I need a statement from you, if you think you can do it now."


"Yes, all right."


The sedative was taking effect; he could feel the spreading sensation of remoteness as the drug numbed his emotions. He let Clay lead him to a chair and pulled the blanket tight around him once more. He felt chilled.

"You don't have to be afraid."


Clay soothed.


"He's been picked up. He's in custody now."


That aroused his interest, and he stared at him.


"Picked up? You know who it is?"


"I saw him."


The iron was back in Clay's voice.

"But he was wearing a ski mask."


He remembered that, remembered feeling the woolly fabric under his fingers.

"Yeah, but his hair was hanging out from under the mask in back."


Gerard stared up at him, the numbness in him changing into a kind of horror. His hair was long enough to hang out from under the mask? Surely Clay didn't think—surely not! He felt sick.


"Frank?"


He whispered.

"Don't worry. I told you he's in custody."


He clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug crescents in his palms.


"Then let him go."

Clay looked stunned, then angry.


"Let him go! Damn, Gerard, can't you get it through your head that he attacked you?"

Slowly he shook his head, his face white.


"No, he didn't."

"I saw him."


Clay said, spacing out each word.


"He had long black hair. Damn it, who else could it have been?"

"I don't know, but it wasn't Frank."


The women were silent, sitting frozen as they listened to the argument. Cicely Karr spoke up.


"We did try to warn you, Gerard."

"Then you warned me about the wrong man!"


His eyes burning, Gerard stared around the room, then turned his gaze back to Clay.


"I saw his hands! He was a white man, an Anglo. He had freckled hands. It wasn't Frank Iero!"

Clay's brow creased in a frown.


"Are you certain about that?"

"Positive. He put his hand on the ground right in front of my eyes."


He reached out and grabbed Clay's sleeve.


"Get Frank out of jail, right now. Right now, do you hear me! And he'd better not have a bruise on him!"

Clay got up and went to the telephone, and once again Gerard looked at the women in the room. They were all pale and worried. He could guess why. As long as they had suspected Frank, they had had a safe target for their fear and anger. Now they had to look at themselves, at someone who was one of them. A lot of men in the area had freckled hands, but Frank didn't. His hands were lean and dark, bronzed by the sun, callused from years of hard manual work and riding. Gerard had felt them on his bare skin. He wanted to shout that Frank had no reason to attack him, because he could have him any time he wanted, but he didn't. The numbness was returning. He just wanted to wait for Frank, if he came at all.


An hour later Frank walked into Bessie's house as if he owned it without knocking. An audible gasp rose when he appeared in the doorway, his broad shoulders reaching almost from beam to beam. He didn't even glance at the other people in the room. His eyes were on Gerard, huddled in his blanket, his face colourless.


Frank's boots rang on the floor as he crossed to him and hunkered down. His black eyes raked him from head to toe; then he touched Gerard's chin, turning his head toward the light so he could see the scrape on his cheek and the bruises where hard fingers had bitten into his soft flesh. He lifted his hands and examined his raw palms. His jaw was like granite.


Gerard wanted to cry, but instead he managed a wobbly smile.


"You got a haircut."


He said softly, and linked his fingers together to keep from running them through the thick, silky strands that lay perfectly against his well-shaped head.

"First thing this morning."


He murmured.


"Are you all right?"

"Yes. He—he didn't manage to... you know."


"I know."


He stood.


"I'll be back later. I'm going to get him. I promise you, I'll get him."

Clay said sharply..


"That's a matter for the law."

Frank's eyes were cold black fire.


"The law isn't doing a very good job."


He walked out without another word, and Gerard felt chilled again. While he had been there, life had begun tingling in his numb body, but now it was gone. He had said he would be back, but Gerard thought he should go home. Everyone was very kind, too kind; he felt as if he would scream. He couldn't handle any more.

Notes

Hi there chipmunks.. How you doing?...

I want to reiterate at this time that the story as a whole is not my own, but based on a book.. Just the Frerard aspect, and any gayness in general is down to me... I DO NOT TAKE CREDIT FOR THIS STORY!!!.. Though I have had to change quite a bit to fit the boys into this tale..

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