"Say, Jack, how long we been keepin' company now?"

Jack took a long drag off his cigarette, smoke laddering up his cheek to sting his left eye. The sudden glitter of moisture in the dim light sent an icicle of dread through Randall's chest, striking his heart with deadly accuracy. Jack was a man of large emotions, but it was the little things that tipped Randall off to what was going on under all that noise and passion. They signaled abrupt changes in mood like wisps of cloud herald the coming storm and Randall didn't like being caught with his pants down. Not that he could do anything about it, but he liked to be prepared.

"Been a while," Jack answered, reaching for the bottle on the nightstand.

Randall relaxed a little, leaning back against the too-soft pillows of the Holiday Inn. He watched Jack take a slug of the high dollar whiskey, and hoped things wouldn't turn sour this time. Jack was always excited to meet up, couldn't wait to get into the room, was half-naked and all hard by the time the door was closed and the world locked out. The first bout was usually a frantic affair until Jack got it out of his system and they could settle down to some real rockin' and rollin', moving together like a freight train in slow motion, the way Randall liked it. Randall also liked laying here afterward with the daylight coming soft through the curtains just looking at Jack, greedily storing up images to sustain him until the next tryst.

"We don't talk about it much, but don't it bother you that we cain't see each other anywhere else but places like this?"

Jack cast his blurring vision over the clean, bright interior of the motel room. "I seen a lot worse."

"You know that ain't what I mean. Don't ya ever want a… I don't know, maybe have dinner in a nice restaurant?"

"What's stoppin' us? You hungry, Randy?"

Randall sighed as he turned down the sound on the clock radio. At first the top forty station had been an unobtrusive soundtrack for their shenanigans, but now that they were cooling down, the lyrics impinged on Randall's mind and he didn't like what he was hearing. From Kenny and Dolly's "Islands in the Stream", the play list had gone from the chilly obsession of "Every Breath You Take" to the crushing sadness of "Total Eclipse of the Heart". Why was it that all of creation seemed to conspire sometimes to take away this little bit of sweetness? Was a few minutes of happiness so much to ask? How come there was never one single time when it all came together just right?

Hell, Randall thought, as he took another mental snapshot of Jack, it's got so he don't even look like he's all the way here these days.

Randall had always known that he only had a small part of Jack, but he'd thought it would be enough. When he'd taken those first small steps, sounding Jack out, he'd hoped for nothing more than a release valve, a buddy to let off steam with, someone who knew how bad it could get when you wore a disguise twenty-four hours a day. Jack was that, but he was so much more. The ex-bull rider wasn't quite the good-time Charley he appeared on the surface. Though Jack was full up with easy charm, a deadeye lady-killer and always ready to buy a round, that wasn't him. You can put a sheepskin on a wolf, but it won't make him into mutton. Or the other way 'round. A lamb in wolf's clothing is not a predator.

"I was lissenin' t' that," Jack slurred.

Jarred from his thoughts, Randall spoke a little more candidly than usual. "I just want a be able to go out in public with ya and have folks know you're with me."

One of Jack's eyebrows went up, and Randall knew he'd made a mistake. They weren't in a motel to talk about things like this, as Jack often stated, and Randall was sure he was about to get the rough side of Jack's tongue. When Jack stubbed his cigarette out without speaking, and swung his legs over the side of the bed, the spear of ice twisted in Randall's heart and he began to talk quickly. Horrified by the words tumbling from his mouth, he could no more stop them than he could hold back an avalanche.

"It's Nineteen Eighty-Three for Christ's sake! Count it up, Jack. Count up the years we been slippin' off to see each other on the sly. You ever think about it? Sure ya do. I know ya do; otherwise, ya wouldn't look so sad and guilty all the time."

Jack glanced at Randall over his shoulder and the big foreman's nerve nearly failed him. The last thing Randall wanted was a fight with Jack, but as soon as Jack stepped out of sight into the bathroom alcove, Randall continued his speech.

"Jack, you know I like what we got goin' here, but it ain't fair to LaShawn, and it ain't fair to Lureen. I thought it'd get easier to lie to my wife, but it's gettin' harder."

The sound of splashing stopped and the toilet flushed before Jack reappeared brushing the disheveled hair from his forehead, bare skin pale in the diffuse light. "My wife says I spend more time away from home than in it. Says I live in my truck."

Randall dragged his eyes up from the curve of Jack's quiescent cock. "Ain't it killin' ya?"

"We're all dyin'," Jack said, picking up his pack of smokes. "So what you reckon we ought a do? Call it quits?"

"Hell no!" Randall stood and began dressing with quick, determined gestures. "Jesus, Jack. I'm talkin' 'bout settin' up together. Don't you want that?"

"Too complicated," Jack dismissed all of Randall's arguments before he heard them.

"Jack, I'm forty-two and you'll be forty soon. Is this…?" Randall swept an arm around the room. "What you want for the rest of your life?"

"Ask me when I ain't drunk as a skunk."

"And when would that be?" Randall paused. "Shit. I didn't mean to say that."

"Yeah ya did. No offense, bud." Jack pulled his Wranglers over his hips without bothering to put his jockeys back on, his cigarette bobbing in the corner of his mouth as he spoke. "And you're right about the hooch and the wives and the guilt and all the rest of it."

"Well, looky here, August is near 'bout over and I still got a week off comin' to me."

Jack nodded as he fastened the pearl snaps of the violet shirt. "Yeah, and?"

"How 'bout we take that time and go have a look-see at a little place I've had my eye on?"

"You gone crazy on me, boy?"

"It ain't all that crazy." Randall sat in one of the chairs that matched the drapes and pulled his boots on. "It's a ranch up in the mountains in Canada away from everything."

"What kind a ranch?"

"Sheep with high density wool."

"That ain't bad." Jack tapped a long ash into the palm of his hand. "What the hell happened t' the ashtray?"

"I think ya put your hat on it."

Jack picked up the expensive black Stetson, a wry smile warping his features as he dropped the hat on the bed and ground out his cigarette in the cheap metal ashtray. "I'd forget my own head if it wasn't for the kindness a my friends."

"You ain't hard to love, Jack. So what a you think a my idea?"

"You really think it would work out? Two men ranched up together?"

"I think it could. We'd have to keep to ourselves some, but that don't mean we cain't cut loose and take a trip to the city where nobody knows us. You'd like that, wouldn't ya?"

"You know I would." Jack took a look around the room for misplaced items. "But you know what I really want?"

Randall shook his head as he dropped the room key on the dresser.

"Me neither," Jack said.

"Hope it still ain't no offense, but maybe if you sobered up for a couple of hours, it'd come clear to ya."

"Randy." Jack put a hand on the other man's arm, pulling him away from the door. "I know I didn't answer your question, but I promise I will," he said to the broad back.

"I expect you'll need a little time to think about it."

"Didn't mean t' hurt your feelins. If I did."

Randall turned to face Jack. "Reckon we hurt each other. That ain't what I want."

Jack dropped his eyes, reaching for his hat as Randall reached for him. Randall ended up embracing Jack from behind, awkwardly adjusting his hold, as Jack juggled his Stetson onto his head. They stood there for a long moment, leaning together in a balancing act that would never work, the two sides being so unequal. Jack didn't want Randall with the aching intensity that made him feel truly alive. Only one person made Jack feel the craving that was stronger than the call of the bottle, of paternal instinct, of his very will to survive. The one person that once upon a time had made him feel whole and loved and like he would live forever. The person who'd convinced him at their last meeting that Jack was never going to get what he wanted because Ennis couldn't give it to him.

"Where do you go, Jack?" Randall murmured to his rodeo cowboy. "Where do you go when you aren't with me? Where are you right now?"

"Where do you come up with this crazy shit?" Jack said, swallowing the hard lump in his throat. "Come on, Randy. If I'm late for dinner with Lureen's mama, I'll hear about it. Ever since L.D. died, that little gal has tied herself back to the apron strings. I figure she'll be movin' Fayette into the house before long."

"Shhh." Randall's breath tickled the fine hairs on the back of Jack's neck. "Forget about your mother-in-law for just a little while longer."

"Cain't." Jack broke free of Randall's arms. "I'll call ya a little later in the week."

"All right then." Randall opened the door and the slanting rays of the westering sun struck his eyes, blinding him for a few seconds. By the time he'd blinked away the dazzle, Jack was halfway to the stairwell. Randall knew Jack wouldn't wait for him; Jack would get in his truck and drive away, probably cursing a blue streak when he reached for the bottle and remembered he'd left it in the room. Somehow, Jack would make it home without mishap, and, in a couple of days, Randall would get a call. Nothing had been decided today, but there was always next time. Sated and hopeful, Randall ignored the icy needles of doubt as he slid behind the wheel of his pickup. Maybe nothing had been resolved, but at least Jack was thinking seriously about leaving Childress now.

:::::::::::::::::

"Honey, don't run," Lureen said in exasperation as Bobby slammed the passenger door and bolted up the front walk. "And you could take some of these groceries with you."

As if he hadn't heard, Bobby ran inside, leaving the door open and letting the air conditioning out. He didn't stop until he was in his room with the TV on and the last notes of "The A-Team" theme music blaring from the speaker. "Damn it, Mama," he said under his breath. "Made me miss the opening."

"Don't you get settled in front of the boob tube," Lureen called, as she tapped across the foyer tiles to the kitchen. "Your grandma will be here any minute and I want you washed up and wearin' clean clothes, you hear?"

Bobby threw a book at his door, slamming it shut and went back to watching his favorite show. He knew his mama wouldn't bother him until she got the groceries put away and the store-bought dinner onto serving plates. If she had to warm up the fried chicken and mashed potatoes, Bobby could probably get through most of the episode. Of course, if his daddy came home in the meantime, mama might send him and lately, Bobby didn't care to talk to his daddy like he did when he was little. The smell Bobby thought of as his father's was nothing more than whiskey breath and stale cigarette smoke. The playful nature was just drunkenness. Bobby kind of wished grandpa hadn't explained all the stuff before he died, but Bobby reckoned he'd have figured it out for himself anyway, and he preferred being pissed off to being made a fool.

It wasn't until the big batch of commercials in the middle of the show that Bobby began to wonder why his mama hadn't knocked at least once. He opened his door a crack and peered down the hall, surprised that the light wasn't on in the entryway. Stepping silently onto the carpet, Bobby flipped on the hallway light, banishing the gathering shadows. He listened for a few seconds, like a wild animal deciding whether or not to leave cover, and then curiosity won out.

"Mom?" he called as he walked toward the kitchen. There was no answer and he was shocked to see his mother sitting at the table when he entered. "Shit!"

Lureen looked up from the paper in her hand, but she didn't reprimand the boy for swearing. Instead, she held out her hand. "Come here, Bobby. You want somethin' to drink?"

"You all right, Mama?"

"Not hardly. Sit down and I'll try and tell you about it."

"What about grandma?"

"I don't think she'll be here anytime soon." Lureen put down the note and smoothed it against the tabletop. "Not if she's waitin' for your daddy to bring her."

Bobby could faintly hear the music of his show returning from the commercial break. "So where is he? Too drunk to drive?"

"Don't you be disrespectful of your elders, Bobby Twist." Lureen bit her lip. "Sorry. Didn't mean to be so sharp, but sometimes when a man… when things don't turn out the way a man thought they would, he gets… really sad, and sometimes drinkin' helps."

"Sad? 'Cause he's disappointed in me, ain't he?"

"No, Bobby!" Lureen got up and came to put her arms around her son. She didn't tell Bobby that Jack had never really been that excited about having kids, or that his grandfather had given his father a bonus when the pregnancy was announced. There were a lot of things she didn't tell him right then, but she told him the most important thing of all. "No matter how your daddy acts, he loves you. You're the one thing he reckons he did right."

Bobby hugged her back before wriggling out of her hold. "What's goin' on, Mama?"

"I was goin' to wait a couple of days and see what happens before I told you, and I was sittin' here tryin' to come up with a story, but…"

"I'm almost sixteen. You don't have to hide things from me."

"Your daddy's gone, honey. He says in his note that he cain't make us happy 'cause he ain't happy. And he's gone off to try and be happy. He does say that he'll stay in contact, but he needs a little time to put things in a row. Don't that sound just like your daddy?"

"Yes, ma'am." Bobby glanced at the clock on the stove. "So I reckon he'll call."

"Reckon he will."

Bobby's gaze darted down the hall. "Is grandma still comin' to dinner?"

"I called her and begged off. I don't feel much like eatin'."

"Can I have a plate in my room?"

"Nope… but you can eat in front of the TV in the livin' room, and I'll watch whatever you're watchin' with you."

Bobby wasn't sure about this compromise, but he went along with it, turning on the big television while Lureen brought out the TV trays. Neither ate much, but they kept one another company until the flickering images lulled them into sleep.

:::::::::::::::::::::::

Jack had been feeling an increased roughness in the ride for several miles, and finally admitted that it was not road noise, but most likely a tire going slowly flat. He was about to pull over at the first hard shoulder when he saw the sign for Meeks' Service Station, gas, food, and mechanic on duty. Weighing the hot, dirty job of changing a tire on the side of the highway against the cash in his wallet, he thought it might be a fine idea to pay someone else to have a look at the truck while he checked the store for alcohol. He wasn't in bad need of a drink yet, but the thirst would come before he reached his destination and he didn't intend to make any more stops than he had to. At the end of this long road north lay the possibility of a sweet life that he'd almost dismissed as a mirage. It was possible for two men to live together, if they were careful… and loved one another enough to take the risk. It had always been as simple as that.

Jack took his foot off the gas pedal as the lighted sign for the garage appeared.

:::::::::::::::::::::::

"Message for you, del Mar." The ramrod spit, but there was nothing personal in it, just an excess of tobacco juice.

Ennis put down his hayfork and armed sweat off his forehead, pushing his hat back on his head. He didn't say anything, just waited for whatever his boss was going to tell him.

"Listen here; I ain't no personal secretary. You got that, del Mar?"

"Yessir." Ennis ducked his head, trying to make himself shorter than the other man.

"You know somebody name a Twist?"

Ennis's heart lurched against his rib cage. "Reckon I do."

"He a friend a yours, or somethin'?"

Ennis nodded fractionally as he reached for his smokes to have something to do with his hands and mouth. "What's this about?"

"Just thought this Twist fellah must be a real special friend."

Ennis's guts cramped. He and Jack had not parted as he would have liked and his thoughts and dreams revolved around their argument like vultures over a decaying carcass. The feeling was strong in Ennis that his Jack had been pushed beyond the bounds of what even his resilient heart could bear. There had been no answer to his post card suggesting November for their next meeting and it began to seem more and more likely that Jack had settled for the foreman's wife he'd bragged about. If such a woman had ever existed. Even Ennis del Mar could only fool himself so far. Wasn't it much more likely that Jack had found himself a man that could give him what Ennis couldn't? Hadn't Ennis been getting the long end of the stick in their friendship? And what the hell did Jack want with Ennis del Mar anyway? That was the one thing Ennis could never figure out.

"You been out in the sun too long, del Mar?" the ramrod laughed. "You want your message, you git on over to the foreman's trailer. Don't know how you rate so high."

Ennis watched the other man saunter away before he made his way to the foreman's office. He was about to knock, when someone called his name. There was no mistaking that voice, the voice that had bragged, begged and beguiled, mocking him, cheering him on, whispering hotly in his ear.

"Sorry to spring this on ya," Jack said, as Ennis turned. "Couldn't think a no other way."

"Hey, bud."

"At least ya don't sound sore." Jack levered himself off the fender of his truck.

"I ain't. I'm awful glad t' see ya."

"Ya missed me, huh?"

"Like t' show ya how much," Ennis said, as he stopped in front of Jack.

"I left Lureen."

"That right?" Ennis glanced left and right before returning his gaze to Jack.

"That's right. Now we're both free, ain't we?"

"It ain't that easy, Jack. I cain't just jump in your pickup and…"

"Why not? What in hell's holdin' ya here?"

"My girls."

"You can visit 'em," Jack said. "Come on, Ennis. It's easy. You just got a ask yourself what ya really want and what it's worth to ya."

"Jack, you…" Ennis stared at his friend for a long moment. "I ain't strong like you, Jack."

"I'll be strong for both a us, then. I ain't askin' for the moon, Ennis. Come live with me out in the middle a nowhere and I'll be happy. Just so long as it's you and me."

"Won't ya miss… everything else?"

"Course I will, but if that's the way ya say it's got a be for us t' be together, then…"

"Hold on, Jack. I cain't ask ya to…"

"You can ask me for anything," Jack interrupted.

Ennis chewed the inside of his cheek and tried not to wonder if the foreman was watching out the window. "Will ya wait for me t' git off work?"

"Just tell me where."

Ennis looked around again. "Swear to God, I cain't think. When I heard I had a message about Jack Twist, I thought I'd lost ya."

"You nearly did, but I'm givin' us both another chance. What a you want?"

"I want you, Jack. Always have, always will."

"Then come with me. I have a little money, and I have a plan. All you have to do is trust me and get in the truck."

Ennis licked his lips, tasting the wild, forbidden sweetness of a future with Jack. "I'm scared," he said.

"I know. Me too. But I'm here, and I'm askin' ya to come with me."

"Jack."

They could no longer keep apart and embraced in the approved manner for males, but Jack didn't let go. "Come on," he said in Ennis's ear. "No matter what happens, it'll be better than what you've got."

Ennis closed his eyes and breathed in the new grass and hay scent and the snow-laden wind of Brokeback. "Take me with ya," he said.

"Load up," Jack grinned, as he let go of Ennis. "Got a get a new tire somewheres, 'cause I was in too big a hurry to stop, but that's all that's keepin' us from hittin' the open road."

The two men got into the cab of the pickup and Jack started her up. They headed north into Canada and eventually settled near Calgary. Jack and Ennis worked hard and loved harder. They kept in contact with their families and reached various separate peaces with their children and ex-wives, and remained part of their lives.

However, there was never any doubt that they had made the right decision in moving on and claiming their own destiny, no matter how hard it was to leave their old life behind. Some bonds can never be broken, and such a bond had been forged on Brokeback Mountain in the summer of Nineteen Sixty Three. Fate and circumstance came together like flint and steel to strike a spark that would light a flame that would never go out.

The End. No, wait... They lived happily ever after. The End, really.