Page 41 of His Country

The meeting was held in a municipal building attached to city hall. It was a squat thing, built for use rather than beauty, Aiden thought it looked more like one of those buildings you repeatedly drove by and never noticed.

Frank parked his truck at the back and stared. They sat in silence, just the engine ticking to keep them company. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be feeling. For reasons that defied logic, he thought this would be more momentous. It would be more like a warrior suiting up for battle rather than a mostly empty parking lot in front of a one-story building.

Ethan spent the ride going over his talking points with Frank, making sure he could pronounce people’s names. Aiden hadn’t really listened. He didn’t think knowing these people’s names would help.

Apparently, it was the Bureau of Land Management that gave out grazing permits. Frank said they were trying to get a meeting with them, but he didn’t sound hopeful. What they were trying to fight today was the resort being built. If they could prevent that, maybe the BLM would give the permits back.

Aiden kept telling himself it wasn’t about winning. That no matter what these people said all that mattered was that he was going to be able to say he tried. That he fought. And maybe at the end of the day, he’d like his reflection in the mirror.

He told himself that a lot. Didn’t mean he believed it.

Or that he knew what he was going to say.

Eventually the cab grew cold, and Frank decided enough was enough. He jerked open the door and began walking toward the building without looking back. Ethan collected all his folders—he had them color coded and everything—and followed.

They hadn’t even walked up the short sidewalk between the parking lot and the front door and Aiden was already feeling out of place. Hands stuffed in his pockets, he looked down at his boots and wondered if he should have polished them. Or even cleaned them. His jeans were fresh, thanks to Isaac’s helpful and frequent reminders. So at least he had that.

Frank held open the door and they stepped into the one room building. Three rows of metal folding chairs had been set up facing a long table at the front of the room. They’d built a little makeshift stage out of untreated wood so that it was above the rest of the room by a few inches. On the whiteboard behind it someone had written an agenda in orange marker that was impossible to read under the fluorescent lights.

There were already a few people seated in chairs, scrolling through their phones as they waited for the meeting to start. Aiden didn’t recognize any of them.

Ethan picked a seat in the middle row and Aiden followed him like a scared dog, this close to putting his nose on his heels. Aiden had faced down raging bulls weighing over a ton without blinking but standing in this bare little room had him shaking in his boots.

It was probably the walls. They were white. Painted without care, specks flicked onto the thin gray carpet and smeared in the corners. It smelled harsh too, like concentrated cleaner that hadn’t been properly diluted. Aiden flopped into the chair and ducked his head, wishing he’d worn his hat. He felt exposed, a soldier in the middle of battle without a helmet. There was something about that sweat crusted cap that made him feel stronger. Less seen.

Beside him, Ethan was muttering to Frank. Once again going over their game plan. He’d stopped trying to talk to Aiden about it when all he got was narrowed eyes above the zipped-up collar of his coat.

The Mulligans came in a few minutes later, taking a seat on the other side of Frank. They looked as nervous as Aiden felt.

It wasn’t that long ago that Aiden saidbullshitand shoved Ethan and his savior complex out of his mind. Told himself it didn’t matter. The Mulligans farm, Everett and Billy’s wedding, none of it had anything to do with him.

Yet here he was. Sitting in an uncomfortable chair next to people he should know, preparing to talk out of his ass about something he’d rather never think about again. All because of a kid with a fucking ratchet.

And a vet who kissed the wits out of him.

Crossing his arms, he let his legs spread so he could sink down in the chair. It was easier to tune out the chatter than he thought. Even when the doors opened and five people wearing shoes that didn’t look even remotely appropriate for the weather took their seats up on the stage.

Aiden didn’t catch their names, but he did see the fear in their eyes when Ethan stood up with his color-coded notes and thick folders. They stared on in horror as he began, voice steady and clear. He backed up his points with sources, and by the time he’d flipped through his paperwork everyone in the audience was staring up at him as if he was some kind of magician.

And Aiden couldn’t argue. He felt like a kid again, watching a man in a cheap polyester suit knock two rings together at Ollie Meyer’s sixth birthday party. He couldn’t take his eyes off him. Not just because of the way he spoke, but because ofhim.How even under the ugly lights he was still handsome, thick brows shading his coffee-colored eyes as he gesticulated just enough to get his point across. He spoke articulately but without any of the arrogance. Like he was one of them. Another guy who put his boots on one foot at a time and swore at the TV when his team lost on Sundays.

He was a neighbor, a friend. A man who they could call when they needed to borrow a cup of sugar. And because of that, they listened.

And once Ethan had you listening, he already had you under his spell. Abracadabra.

Aiden was so entranced with Ethan that he didn’t realize he was being called upon. It wasn’t until Ethan laid a hand on Aiden’s shoulder and squeezed that he looked up to see the room waiting on him.

His lips were dry as he stood up, squinting at the lights reflecting off the whiteboard. He wanted to close them. If he could just close them, he could pretend like he was back in the truck. Nothing but him and the static from the radio, Sugar hanging out the passenger window, and the wheel sticky under his fingers.

He didn’t know what to do with his hands. They hung uselessly at his sides. Did they always just hang there? That didn’t seem right?—

Someone cleared their throat, he thought it might have been Frank, he shoved his hands into his pockets. Sweat prickled at the back of his neck and arm pits. But he didn’t want to take off his jacket. Not when he could hide his hands in the pockets and pick at the seams, pulling one of the threads until he felt it unravel.

“Uh,” he began, his voice catching like he was a pre-pubescent kid again. He took a deep breath and tried again. “I um, I’m not real s-sure what I’m supposed to say, I’m not good at this shit. I figured I’d just tell ya’ll the truth but uh—” he cut himself off with a wince. Could he say shit? His mom would smack him for saying that.This is a Christian house, Aiden.

He always wanted to ask if the fields were Christian too, because his father said a whole lot worse than that when they had to move cattle.

Ethan tugged on his jacket, and he looked down to see him watching him in that way he did. He was reminded of the times they sparkled in the light of a fire, as bright as any star in the sky.