---

The sun was hot and the road seemed even grayer and dustier than it had before. His boots kicked up an ugly, lingering haze that settled on his pant legs like ashes. There were a few buildings up ahead, maybe the beginnings of a small town, but when he saw the big sycamore, its shade looked so inviting that he couldn't resist. There was no reason to keep going, no destination in his mind, no one expecting him. He could stop when and where he wanted to. Funny, it felt more like loss than freedom.

Plopping himself beside his rucksack on the sparse grass under the spreading tree, he closed his eyes and sighed, leaning his sweaty chambray covered back against the rough bark and letting the weariness keep his mind a comfortable blank. He never knew how long such respites would last, but he'd enjoy it while he could.

After a lazy while, he became conscious of a faint musical sound and lifted his head to the vision of a little creek, tripping along at the foot of the grassy slope. Butterflies played in the rushes on its bank and a small fish leaped brightly in the sun and disappeared with a splash. In a little while, he thought, he might go down there for a drink, maybe wash his face, but not just now. He shut his eyes again, awake but dreaming of other, more pleasant times.

A squeaking hinge startled him out of his trance. He brushed at a fly that had made his chest a resting spot and looked up. Tall and quite thin, dressed in khakis and a stained white apron, a man was coming out the back door of the little building perched near the crest of the hill. As he watched, the figure walked toward him. The smells of greasy chili and coffee that wafted ahead of the fellow reminded David that he hadn't yet eaten that day. Knowing that only a few coins rested in his trousers pocket, he told his stomach to go back to sleep. Maybe he'd find another apple tree, like yesterday.

He had learned the hard way that it was often a mistake to take another's good will for granted, but right now he was comfortable and uninclined to move unless it became absolutely necessary. He felt he could outdistance the older man in a run if he had to. The man stopped about six feet away. His eyes fixed on David with a curious expression, but there seemed no hint of hostility. Finally uncomfortable at the duration of the quiet gaze, David was the first to break the afternoon silence.

"Um, is it alright if I sit here for a while?" The difference between politeness and deference was elusive, and asking permission for anything often galled him, but he was not in power here or anywhere else anymore and had to remind himself of that on a daily basis. He also had to remember that his present circumstances were his choice, no matter how hard his mind tried to blame 'fate.'

The man shoved out his lower lip, inserting a broom straw into one corner of his wide mouth and wiggling it back and forth in a jaunty fashion. A smile seemed to play around his eyes. "Sure. It's a hot afternoon. Maybe I'll sit here with you."

David tensed at that, then relaxed as the man stuck out a chapped, much washed hand. His own was none too clean, but the man didn't seem to mind.

"They call me Shorty, friend," the voice was low and pleasant, "but my real name is Scott."

Shorty? Disbelieving, David looked up. It was a long way from the tips of the scuffed brown leather shoes to the fine, sand colored hair.

"Why would they call you 'Shorty'?" He asked, without even thinking. It was none of his business and he hated the way curiosity always seemed to get the best of his better judgment. No matter how often he tried to stop caring, it never seemed to work.

A good natured grin melted the sun browned features, crinkling creases around the mouth and the faded blue eyes.

"Same reason they'd call you 'Ugly', I reckon." There was laughter as the man folded himself down to a seat on the grass.

"Thanks... I guess," David replied. "My name's David." Was that remark meant as a joke, or a compliment? David feared he had lost the ability to tell the difference. It didn't matter anyway.

With a nod, the thin man turned and leaned back against the tree trunk, his shoulder only a handbreadth away from David's, stretching his lengthy legs and large feet into the sun's path. He sighed like a deflating inner tube.

David felt that he'd once been a good judge of character, but he didn't trust himself now. So much had changed. His life held no certainties, except that the earth would continue to circle the sun and that he would have to live through another day tomorrow.

They sat.

After a while, thirst placed another, more urgent reminder in David's brain. He knew it was wise to take care of your mode of transportation, be it horse or automobile - or your body, if that was all you had left. It was time to fill at least that one important need. He licked his dry lips and croaked a question to his possibly sleeping companion. "Mind if I take a drink from the creek down there?" he pointed.

"Why ask me," Scott drawled, eyes closed, "I don't own it." Then he stirred, getting to his knees more quickly than David would have thought possible. "But if you're thirsty, maybe we can do a little better than creek water." Again he stood and looked down on David, "You like buttermilk?"

Memories of a cool sweet liquid in earthenware pitchers opened David's eyes wide. More memories of home hit him hard, but thirst was stronger for now. "Yes, I do, but...?"

Scott held up a palm. "Hold on, I'll be right back."

He was gone long enough for David to wonder if he would be back - and why he was sitting there waiting - but return he did, with two empty glasses and a full pitcher, a steaming bowl of chili, a big spoon and a large chunk of bread all balanced carefully on a metal tray. David's mouth watered at the sights and smells. Before his unwilling brain could come up with a logical protest, Scott had put the tray down between them, poured both glasses full of creamy liquid, taken a sip from one and gestured to what remained. "Don't want it to go to waste, do you, man? Eat up."

A pleasant smile from Scott and a loud growl from his stomach caused David to quit thinking and do just that; taking time to savor the rich hot chili, the grainy, tough bread and wondering at how well the buttermilk went to wash it all down. In only a few minutes he sat back, fortified both with good food and kindness, a rare and wonderful combination.

He belched. Mama would have said that he had eaten too quickly, but Scott just smiled.

"I'd like to repay you for your generosity, sir, but I ain't got much..." David said, feeling suddenly ashamed of his quick acceptance and near gluttony. What would the stranger want in return, and would he want to give it? It was his experience that people always wanted something. Even the preachers who gave handouts wanted to save your soul. David felt that his was well lost.

Scott only sat as though he hadn't heard the comment, studying the tall young man with the shaggy black hair and haunted gray eyes, a speculative look on his rough features.

"Can you cook?" he said at last.

David laughed; it was the last thing he'd expected to hear. "Well," he replied, taken off his usual guard, "my mama tried to teach me, but it's been a while since I've had anything to cook with."

"Well, let's she if she succeeded," Scott said, offering him a hand up, "c'mon inside."

The room was large but stuffy in the heat, with blue-check curtained windows and a screen door to help keep out the bugs. David looked doubtfully around the run-down diner. Still, it wasn't anything a coat of paint wouldn't cure.

A half-dozen round wooden tables dotted the rough planked floor and a counter with stools divided the eating area from the kitchen. There was a big wood-burning stove near the back door and cabinets filled every possible space around the walls. Two narrow interior doors promised other rooms, perhaps on the second floor above. A large rectangular sink with a long-handled pump was sunk into one counter top.

"I might be better at cleaning up, washing dishes and stuff," he said, feeling suddenly uncomfortable again. "If you made that good chili, then you can cook just fine. You don't need me."

"There will be plenty of cleaning up for both of us to do later on today, most likely." Scott bent to look in a cabinet. "Town folks are tired of my cooking. Chili is about all I know." Dishes rattled. "Can you make a beef stew?"

"I can if you've got the beef," David replied, surprised at his own temerity.

Scott laughed. "Meat's back there in the cooler. You'll find potatoes and such in the back room too. Big pot under the cabinet here." He slapped the wooden counter.

David looked around and nodded, suddenly decisive. He owed a debt and besides, what else did he have to do? He grabbed a clean apron from a hook and went to the sink to wash his hands with the gritty gray bar of lye soap and the scrub brush. "How about a knife?"

Scott indicated a chopping block. "Right over there, just sharpened it myself."

Scott went to the front of the diner and started wiping off tables with a rag and straightening up in general. David could hear sweeping, but he was too busy to look. He hadn't realized how good it would feel to be useful again. He didn't know he was humming.

An hour went by before Scott's tasks were completed to his satisfaction. By that time there was something bubbling and steaming on the big cast iron stove.

Scott inhaled noisily. "Smells great!" He peered into the pot, then glanced at David, one eyebrow quirked. "What's in this besides what I gave you?"

Drying his hands on the apron, David led the way out the back door. A few plants were growing inside a little stick-fenced enclosure no more than a stone's throw away. He had gone outside to toss away the vegetable peels and been intrigued enough to look, and glad he did.

"Somebody must have planted some herbs and stuff out here once. Doesn't look like they've been tended much, but there's parsley and chives and basil, some thyme and sage too - green onions."

He stooped and pulled one up, brushing dirt off the small white bulb, pointed. "Some garlic over there."

Scott scratched his head. "Well I never! Thought those were all weeds - or flowers. Some of 'em have flowers, don't they?"

"Sure, lots of them - that's how they grow." David nodded. He had enjoyed teaching once, too. "See those outside the fence, the orange and yellow ones? They're flowers - nasturtiums - but they're good to eat too, like in a salad - kind of spicy."

Scott's smile came with an appraising, admiring look. "How come you know so much?"

David nipped the top off the onion with a fingernail, tossed away the greens, stuck the root in an apron pocket and dusted his palms together, looking down. "Don't know much sometimes - not about anything that matters."

Scott clapped his shoulder, not buying into the change of mood. "Come on and put that onion in the stew. What else can you cook?"

David smiled a little, glad for the friendly touch as well as the distraction. "Well, I think I remember how to make biscuits."

"All right!" Scott's enthusiasm was real. "Nothing better than biscuits with beef stew. I'll show you where I keep the flour."

It wasn't long after the stew was pronounced 'done' that two men in overalls came in to eat. Both of them left happy, full and bragging on the stew. Another man in a shabby suit appeared and then two women together. All approved of David's stew and biscuits.

"Hasn't been anything this good to eat in town since the boarding house closed!" was a common comment as the tables filled and emptied and the level of stew in the pot got lower and lower. David made more biscuits.

Only one minor incident marred the evening for David. A fat man in a striped shirt and braces seemed to be enjoying his supper, but David couldn't help but notice the unfriendly looks directed his way.

Finally the man called Scott over and asked, in a voice too loud not to be heard everywhere in the room, "Say, Shorty, who's the new cook? Haven't seen him around these parts before."

"Just a friend of mine," Scott replied casually, "came by to help me out."

David could feel his back stiffening at the suspicious tone in the strange man's voice.

"Well, long as you know him. Gotta be careful these days. Lots of no-account drifters on the road, like to slit your throat as soon as look at you."

Scott smiled. "Don't worry, Charlie, I know this fellow well enough. More stew?" Scott looked over his shoulder and tossed a wink to David.

The two men closed the doors of the diner on their last customer about 8 p.m. It was getting dark out and both were sweaty and tired, but they smiled as they collapsed into the nearest chairs.

"Pastor's wife sure approved of that stew," Scott said, "she took home a pot of it for the young'uns. Prob'ly pass it off as her own." David laughed.

"Glad everyone liked it. Been a long time since anybody ate my cooking." He frowned slightly. Bad memories were hard to shake, even after years had passed. But a man had to keep going, didn't he?

Scott watched the play of emotions on the younger man's face. "You got a place for tonight?"

David shrugged. "Just thought I'd see if there was a town square with a bench, maybe. If not, then I'll just sack out under that tree out back. Got a blanket in my pack." He tried a tentative smile.

Scott shook his head. "Nope, that won't do at all. Sheriff will run you off before dawn. Takes his job seriously, he does." Before David could frown he added, "There's a cot in the storage room in back - sad to see it going to waste. You can spread your blanket there."

David's eyes widened. "I couldn't do that. You don't even know me. I could walk off with everything in the place!"

Scott laughed. "Well, money's gone to the bank and we got nothing else around here but food, and you're welcome to that. Besides, I live upstairs. I'll keep an eye on you." David looked up at that, but Scott went on, "Say, it's about time you and me had some of that stew. I think there's enough left for two bowls." He got up from the table.

"Let me get that!" David protested.

"Naw, you're tired and so am I, but I'm used to this kind of work. You rest and let me serve you. May not be much of a cook, but I know how to do that." He went to the stove. "After, you can help me clean up."

The stew was hot and still good. They split the leftover biscuits. Scott brought out some plum preserves to spread on them.

David ate gratefully. He had been hungrier than he thought. Regular meals were not something he was used to. 'But I could get used to it,' he thought.

"Scott," he said as they scrubbed pans and mopped the floor in preparation for morning, "It's real nice of you to ask me to stay here, but I can't take advantage...."

Scott faced him, a smile lifting one corner of his mouth. "It ain't like that. How else can I be sure you'll be here early enough to make more biscuits for breakfast?"

"Breakfast?" David inquired, mouth open.

"Sure," Scott said, "got plenty of ham and eggs - more biscuits and some coffee and we're covered. What can you make for tomorrow's supper?"

David shook his head and grinned, turning out the tub of dirty dishwater. The man's trust was amazing.

"Don't know how you do this all alone," he remarked, feeling the tiredness across his shoulders.

"Oh, I had me another fellow to help cook and clean 'til about two weeks ago."

"What happened then?" David asked, drying the stew pot.

"He up and got married. His gal has a little spread over in the next county. She decided he should move over there and work it with her. Couldn't blame him for quitting this job, I reckon. No way I could offer him what she could." Scott grinned.

David nodded, looking over at the older man's lean corded arms and shoulders under the loose white shirt as he wielded the big rag mop. "Nothing he'd want, I expect," he said thoughtfully.

Scott faced him, resting his hands on the mop handle. "Guess I haven't mentioned money. I can give you $5 a week, plus a cot and all you can eat... if you cook it," he smiled.

David was stunned. "$5?" In these uncertain times that seemed like a fortune.

"Sure, this place does all right during the week. Nobody that works in town ever goes home to dinner, and when the railroad gang comes through we actually make a profit." Scott grinned again.

"Well...." David wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his wrist and spoke, giving himself time to think. "This is hot work! You ever take a day off?"

"Nope, three meals, five days a week, two on Saturday, big dinner on Sunday. Hard work but steady - and you can eat your mistakes." The tanned face split in a big grin. "What do you say?" Scott held out his hand.

David took it. "It's a deal. But if it don't work out you don't owe me anything and no hard feelings." He didn't know why he agreed so quickly. It just felt 'right' somehow. Nothing much in his life had felt right for a long time.

"I ain't worried about that and, say, I can let you have a dollar or two ahead if you need anything before payday next Saturday."

David shook his head, marveling. "Don't need a thing more than you offered. I'm glad to have the opportunity and I promise I'll do my best for you."

Scott smiled, "I know you will."

It was stuffy in the little back room and it smelled of flour and rice and wood chips and a little bit of mildew. David didn't mind. The cot was canvas army issue and a lot more comfortable than damp grass or a wooden bench. He lay back and closed his eyes, exhausted from the work and the tensions of the day. But his mind just wouldn't shut down. It kept playing back pictures and scenes of Scott, from his first look at him, walking slow and loose-limbed down the hill, to the sight of his back disappearing up the narrow stairs to the second floor. As if to emphasize his musings, a floorboard creaked overhead.

David squeezed his eyes tighter, but the thoughts wouldn't go away. Something about Scott; maybe his walk, maybe his slow, friendly way of talking, maybe his big, work-roughened hands, or all of it put together - something reminded him of Adam.

He rubbed away a drop of moisture from the corner of one eye with his fingertip. Adam was two years and a lot of miles ago. But he still saw that beloved face every night in his dreams, and he woke sometimes sure he would find the familiar body next to his own. But Adam was dead, drowned when he hit his head on a rock. David knew, because he had been the one who had pulled the lifeless body from the lake and tried his best to make his friend breathe again. But nothing could fix the bleeding, broken skull.

David rubbed his damp hands against the blanket, unable to shake the feeling that it was Adam's blood he was again wiping away. No matter how illogical, he had never been able to rid himself of the notion that he was somehow to blame for his partner's death.

He got up quietly and lit a little candle from his pack, setting it carefully on the rough floorboards. Its flicker was enough to chase the shadows and let him see the piled boxes and empty sacks that shared the room. It helped to see something real instead of the ghosts his memory conjured up in the dark.

He shivered, hugging himself with both arms, blanket pulled close, his head tucked low into his shoulders. It hadn't been this bad for some time.

It wasn't like he'd been completely celibate these two years. What difference should it make in his mind that the man he was thinking about was Scott?

Perched on the hard wooden edge of the cot, he turned that idea over for a while and finally got honest enough to realize that he was looking at Scott as a human being, not just a prospective sex partner. Maybe that was enough of a difference to make his thoughts feel like a betrayal to Adam's memory.

'Oh, well,' he told himself. Even if he could make peace with his conscience it wouldn't matter, because a good-looking man like Scott was undoubtedly seeing the town school teacher or some other woman. Why worry about something that might make you feel guilty when it can never happen?

After a while, he blew out the guttering candle and lay down. Exhaustion caught up with him and he slept. If he dreamed, he didn't remember.

* * *

David awoke before dawn to the sounds of splashing water and barely audible muttering. He'd left the storeroom door ajar, so he hurried into his drawers before making his way to the outhouse. As he'd thought, the noises came from Scott, who was ducking his head under cold water gushing from the kitchen pump. With no boarding house in town, David briefly wondered where a man could get a bath. He needed one.

Warming his backside in front of the already roaring stove, he smiled at Scott, now drying his face on a flour sack towel. "You're next," Scott smiled back and gestured toward the sink.

"I need more than that for polite company. Where can I get a bath?"

Scott shook his head. "I don't take time for that until Saturday night. If you're in a hurry, try the creek." He tossed the soap and David caught it. Saturday was three days away, maybe he would try the creek later, but right now....

He stripped off his shirt and used a rag to lather his armpits, thinking that would take care of the worst of it. Then, like Scott, he ducked his head and upper body under the chilling water, shaking his head and combing back his hair with his fingers. His face felt rough and he noted the straight razor hung on a nail next to its strop and a little mirror. That would be his next attempt at decency. He peered into the rectangle of dull glass, regarding the hair that wanted to stray into his eyes. Did this town have a barber, at least? He shook his head at this sudden attack of vanity. How long had it been since he cared how he looked?

Wiping away the last of the shaving soap and dabbing at a cut on his chin, he thought he caught Scott staring at his bared chest - but he had to be mistaken about that. The man was busily cutting thick slices from a large ham when he looked again. David chided himself for being a fool.

The breakfast rush was over. Washing the last of the coffee cups, David pushed hair out of his eyes for the fiftieth time that morning. He jumped when Scott laid a hand on his shoulder.

"That mane of yours is pretty shaggy. I ain't a barber, but I can give you a trim if you want," Scott hesitated when David looked unsure, "won't charge you six bits." His smile was warm.

David eyed the straight razor, hanging back on its nail over the sink. Scott followed his gaze. "Naw, I got some shears here someplace." He opened a nearby drawer that seemed to hold a full assortment of most anything. David dried his hands as Scott triumphantly held up a pair of rusty scissors.

"Now, I'll just sharpen these a little and we'll have at it." He gestured toward David's head, making him cringe. Still, a free haircut probably couldn't make him look much worse than he did already. Something about Scott seemed trustworthy. If he said he could do it, he probably could - David hoped.

There was the sound of steel caressing steel over and over until David lost count of the strokes. Scott tried each of the now gleaming blades. "Sharp as a tack!" he pronounced, holding up his thumb for David to see the tiny bead of blood, and then placing it in his mouth. "Take one of those chairs out back," he ordered, words muffled around the intruding digit.

David carried a wooden chair outside and sat down. Scott arrived with the scissors and a gap-toothed tortoise-shell comb. "Best take that shirt off, if you don't want it itchy as all get out," he suggested.

David complied slowly, for some reason feeling more exposed than he thought he should. The building hid them from the town street and there was no one behind it to see him but Scott. Hands on the buttons of his shirt, he hesitated. "I'll take mine off too, if it will make you feel any better." Scott turned toward David and undid each button of his shirt slowly, holding the other man's gaze, then pulled the tails out smartly and tossed the shirt over a branch. "How's that?" he asked, laughing and doing a slow pirouette.

David's ears were hot. He hurriedly finished unbuttoning his own shirt, looking anywhere but at the tall thin man with the hairless washboard belly. He quickly folded the garment and draped the worn cloth over his lap.

Neither said more, but David felt Scott behind him now, tilting his head back and applying the comb to the snarls he hadn't bothered to untangle this morning. Then the metal blades began to snip and feathers of black hair were tossed about by the passing breeze.

If not a real bay-rum and sweat smelling barber, then women had most often cut his hair - first his ma, or sometimes his big sister, on Saturday afternoons to be ready for next morning's services. Friend's wives also seemed able to cut hair, as well as fabric, with their sewing shears when there was no time or money for a professional trim.

David had never had a barber like Scott. Strong fingers wielded the comb on the sooty black locks and smoothed them softly, snipping lightly here and there with the scissors, seemingly as the mood struck him. After the first blissful minute of Scott's hands in his hair, David leaned back against the unyielding chair, giving up his tensions and just letting the sweet feelings wash over him. He was more than glad for the shirt that hid his lap.

"There you go," Scott's hand brushed away a few bits of hair that had clung to David's shoulders, "best have a look at the damage." David stood reluctantly, sorry the intimate time was over and hoping that Scott hadn't noticed how much he had enjoyed it.

Buttoning his shirt as he peered into the little mirror over the sink, he was surprised to note what a good job Scott had done. He felt the newly revealed back of his neck and smiled. He didn't know that his eyes were beginning to lose the hopeless look they'd worn for far too long, he just knew that the haircut made him look better. "Thanks, Scott!" he grinned, "you've made me look almost human."

Scott smiled, "Must be a day for miracles, then. By the way, what are you fixing for dinner?" Laughing, David shook his head.

* * *

Dinner cooked and cleanup over, David made his way to the creek, a towel over one arm and the soap clutched in his hand. Scott hadn't managed to rid his shoulders and back of all the cut hairs and he had itched all through fixing the noontime chicken and dumplings. He figured he had just enough time to take care of the problem before supper needed his attention. Cooking was nearly a full time job. The creek was cold, but he undressed all the way, conscious that he'd need to wash clothes soon, or maybe he could afford a laundry after Saturday's payday.

Drying himself with a rough towel, he realized he was planning ahead. His gaze stole up the hill to the little café. Was this place in his future? He hadn't considered anything beyond today for a very long time. He was surprised that the idea didn't scare him. Maybe time did heal. Dressed, he gathered his dirty clothes and ascended the hill, whistling.

* * *

They had finished their own belated lunch the next day, eating the last of the meatloaf and baked potatoes that David had made.

"Here," Scott threw a small bag, heavy with coins, on the table near David's plate, "time you saw more of this town than my back room. I'll finish clearing up and you take the cash to the bank. It's just down the street and across." He began to sweep the floor.

David eyed the leather envelope uneasily. Scott was trusting him again, heaping on more responsibility David wasn't sure he wanted. "What if I walk off with the money?"

Scott didn't look up from the broom. "Then I reckon I'll learn better than to trust people. Now, go on, get!"

David could see the bank from the porch of the café, its false front raised high above the surrounding buildings. But the plank walkways were filled with people, making the short distance seem more like miles. With a deep breath, he clutched the jingling bag and made his way to the sidewalk.

Some looked at him as he walked by, but only with curiosity. Others were customers of the café and waved or smiled. David began to feel a little better. Then Charlie, the man who had warned Scott against strangers, stuck his head out of the dry goods store. "Ain't you the cook from Shorty's diner?" he asked in a strident voice.

David held tightly to his temper, "Yes, sir," he said quietly, "I am."

The man scratched his balding head, "Don't remember your name," his hand thrust out, "I'm Charlie Ives." David was stunned, but he shook the soft hand briefly.

"David Peterson," he offered.

"Pleased to meet any friend of Shorty's." He looked at the leather pouch in David's hand. "Headed for the bank, I see. Be sure and tell Amos I said hello." The rotund little man disappeared back into the store.

Shaking his head, David walked on. In due course he passed Mr. Ives' message to the banker, Amos Matson, deposited the funds, and walked back to the diner. It seemed that Scott's endorsement of him was good enough for the people of the town.

* * *

Saturday arrived at last. With the day's work over after lunch, it seemed almost a holiday. Scott and David cleaned a little more thoroughly than usual, and David brought in some cut flowers to be placed in glasses on each table in honor of tomorrow's Sunday dinner. He was planning on fried chicken with all the trimmings.

When everything was in order, Scott drew the curtains and brought out a galvanized tub. "Bath night," he announced. David put water on the stove to heat while Scott went upstairs for clean clothes. By the time he came back down, David had filled the tub with cold water and was adding hot from the kettle.

Scott smiled, "I could get used to this," and before David could blink Scott had stripped off his clothes and was standing in the tub, scrubbing briskly, seemingly without any modesty at all. David wanted to look away, but he couldn't. Scott's body was far from perfect, but his lean strength was appealing, and the organ hanging flaccid between his legs was impressive even soft. When Scott lathered his face, David indulged himself with a long stare. There was just something about the man that reached him. All too soon, David was pouring a bucket of rinse water over Scott's head and the show was over. He emptied the tub out back while Scott was toweling dry.

Back inside, he took off his own clothes slowly, hoping that his body wouldn't betray him in the intimate circumstance. He stood in his union suit, watching Scott stoke the stove, refill the tub with buckets of cold water and top it off with a steaming kettle full. He tested it with a finger and looked over at David. "Not bad, best get in before it gets cold."

David eyed the shuttered windows. There was no one to look in, and he'd already seen all Scott had to offer. Turnabout was only fair.

Scott said nothing as David shed his last garment, glancing over at the clean pair of under-drawers hanging, waiting, over a chair. He'd purchased them just that afternoon from Charlie at the dry goods store, with some of his first paycheck. He kept his back turned as he stepped into the warm water and sat carefully, his knees splayed out and dry, but most of him in the water. It felt good, much better than the quick cold dip in the creek.

Scott walked over, handing him the soap bar as he buttoned his own long johns. "Don't forget behind your ears." He deadpanned.

David looked up and laughed, until he noted that his eyes were now on a level with Scott's thinly covered privates. He jerked his gaze away as his mind's eye offered up the remembered vision of Scott's nakedness, and started busily lathering every inch of his skin from the top down, thinking determinedly of nothing else but soap. When he'd worked his way down and finished with both feet, Scott filled a bucket and walked over.

"Stand up and I'll rinse you off," he said, in a matter of fact tone. David was grateful that Scott had not offered to wash his back, but there could be no excuse to turn down this practical bit of help. Slowly he unfolded his body and stood revealed before the other man, glad he had to close his eyes against the cascade of water. He felt the rough towel placed in his hands and applied it first to his hair and face. When he glanced up, Scott, face flushed from more than the warmth of the room, was completing what must have been a long look that had started at David's toes. Their eyes met in understanding and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to step, dripping, out of the tub and into Scott's arms.

"Hey, I'm all wet!" David protested after a breathless minute, not even pretending to pull away.

"Yeah," agreed Scott, "me, too."

The tub didn't get emptied until morning.

* * *

The next few days were blissful. The work went on like before, but all David thought about was the nighttime when, after all was done, he and Scott would climb the stairs to the bedroom under the eaves. Each time he caught Scott's eye they shared a smile and David knew that he was not alone in his anticipation.

* * *

"What's the matter?" Scott's question was quiet in the lamp-lit room.

"What do you mean?" It was their third night together in Scott's bed. David felt relaxed and sleepy. The feather mattress and clean sheets were nice, but Scott's arms were even better. Still, old memories insinuated themselves into his comfort and contentment. How dare he feel this way? He knew he didn't deserve such warmth and caring.

"I see that look on your face a lot. What makes you so sad sometimes?"

David didn't know if he had an answer. "You never asked me that before." He temporized, remembering Scott's curious looks and silence.

"Things are different than 'before.' You gonna tell me, or have I overstepped myself?"

David sighed. Scott's arms felt so good around him, his body pressed close and hot against David's back. "What if I don't want to talk about it?" he asked, just to say something.

The warm arms didn't loosen. "Up to you - I just want you to know that I'm here to listen," he squeezed a little tighter, "and I care."

Scott's sincerity put a catch in David's voice. "Thanks," he said.

There was only breathing for a while and then, "There was a man once... Adam... he and I were... I loved him."

David could feel Scott's nod against his hair. "Go on." There wasn't much more to tell, really.

"He died," David said flatly. He didn't add that Adam's loss had first set his feet on the road, but Scott seemed to understand.

Scott waited a minute before taking another chance. "How long has it been?"

The night breeze through the window was warm, but David felt suddenly cold. "Over two years," he hesitated, then shrugged and came out with it, "but it feels like yesterday!" He shivered.

"I know," Scott kissed behind his ear, "I know. When I lost Maudie I didn't see how I could go on." David looked over his shoulder. Scott nodded. "We got married right out of school, were gonna make a life and raise a family together. It was always her dream and I loved her a lot, so I thought I could go along with it." He stopped, but David didn't interrupt.

"Might have worked out, but she'd never been very strong, had rheumatic fever when she was a girl. Carrying the baby was hard on her that winter. I tried to keep her fed and warm but she got thinner and thinner until she passed away one night. Just never woke up. She was cold in my arms, next morning." Scott sighed. "I always wondered if she would have lived longer if we hadn't got married." He shook his head. "But she wanted that baby."

David's eyes filled. Here was a grief he could understand. Mightn't Scott feel to blame for his wife's death, even as he did for Adam's? He turned, taking Scott now into the circle of his own arms. "How long?" he asked softly.

Scott pressed his face into David's neck, muffling his reply. "Been twelve years, last month. I still put flowers on her grave now and then - and the baby's." David's neck got wet as he stroked Scott's hair.

After a while Scott drew back, red swollen eyes looking into David's. "I never told all that to anybody before. Don't know why." He sniffed, voice thick. "Her mama blamed me something awful."

"It wasn't your fault," David soothed, knowing that he was talking to himself as well as to the other man.

"Nor yours," Scott agreed.

They looked into each other's eyes for a long moment, both of them still sniffling a little. At last David smiled. Scott smiled back.

"OK, then," Scott stated, and brought his lips to David's.

* * *

They spent the better part of that second Sunday afternoon working on the building. Just minor things at first, oiling hinges and nailing loose boards, though David thought that a few roof repairs would be needed if the water stains that he'd noticed on the second floor ceiling were any indication. Methodical, he started a list on a piece of brown wrapping paper: replace shingles, paint shutters, fence the garden. Things no one had taken the time to do around here for a long while. Scott looked over and smiled when he saw the list.

"You're taking this old place seriously, ain't you?" he joked.

"Wouldn't be so much to write down if you hadn't let things go for so long," David replied, irritated.

"Hold on now - I know I didn't keep things up much. Didn't really have the heart for more than just what would keep the wolf away from the door." He took David's hand, carefully lacing their fingers together. "Now that you're here," he said softly, "I reckon things will be different."

David swallowed hard. Was he there to stay? Could he take the chance and fall in love again? Did he have enough strength to trust and believe? Scott was looking at him, so hopeful, so... loving.

"Yeah," David said, clearing his throat from the lump that had formed there, "together, we'll make a difference." The words of commitment seemed to echo between them. Scott kept staring, almost crushing David's hand in his own.

"You mean to stay, then?" he whispered, "I never dared ask." David was more than surprised. Scott - confident, laughing Scott - unsure of himself?

David smiled, teasing. "Remember, you only asked me if I could cook, not if I'd stay."

Scott looked down at their hands, slowly letting go as he realized how tight he'd been hanging on. "I guess I'm asking now," he replied, not looking up.

"Got too much of my sweat invested in this place to leave it now," David said casually. When Scott looked up in surprise, David wrapped him up in both arms. "And then, of course, I love the owner."

Scott's laugh was almost a sob as he buried his face in David's neck. "The owner loves you, too," he said softly.

Both men turned to look at the place that had all at once gone from 'his' to theirs, noting the improvements they had already made and the work that still needed doing, both keeping one arm around the other.

"I think painting should come next, don't you?" Scott said, turning to David for corroboration.

"Yep," David agreed, "first thing we should do is advertise though - paint us a sign."

"A sign?" Scott was puzzled, "what do we need with a sign? What would it say?"

David smiled, "This is our home, so it should say 'Home Cooking.' How does that sound?"

A sunshine grin split Scott's face. "Sounds just right, just perfect," he kissed David hard, not caring that the curtains were wide open, "as long as you paint 'David and Scott's Home Cooking,'" he added.

David grinned, "Whatever you say. You're the boss."