Page 7 of Rebel

Dear God, Nate was in all kinds of danger. He should walk away while he still could, but Nate had always enjoyed risk too much to avoid it.

They returned to their respective silences for a while. Nate lay down on his coat and gazed up at the filigree of light filtering through the leaves, every shade of green from palest apple to the darkest fern. Hutch sat on the bank, barefoot, occasionally humming to himself. No more fish were biting.

After a while Nate pulled out his book, turned it over in his hands and rolled onto his stomach so he could see Hutch better. He held onto the memory of that caught breath when he’d caressed Hutch’s leg, the way he hadn’t pulled away, the way he’d gone still. So still. Surely, he was right about what Hutch wanted?

Licking his dry lips, Nate said, “Would you care for some poetry?”

“Poetry?” Hutch’s eyebrows rose so high they were lost beneath the curls falling across his forehead. His hair was too short to tie back, boyish in a way that stirred Nate deeply. “Here?”

“I brought something with me. Something different.” He stroked his fingers across the soft leather to calm himself. “Something you might find…interesting. Shall I read it?” When Hutch nodded, Nate opened the book to a well-thumbed page. “This one’s calledThe Affectionate Sheppard,” he said, and started reading, keeping his voice low and his eyes on the page.

“Scarce had the morning star hid from the light

Heaven’s crimson canopies with stars bespangled,

But I began to rue th’ unhappy sight

Of that fair boy that had my heart entangled;

Cursing the time, the place, the sense, the sin;

I came, I saw, I viewed, I slipped in.”

Nate risked a glance at Hutch. He didn’t need to read the words, had known these verses by heart since he was a boy himself. He’d spoken them at night, whispered like a prayer. Hutch was sitting rigid, spine stiff and fingers white around the fishing pole. His face flushed pink and, as Nate watched, his tongue slipped out and wet his lips. After Nate had been silent a moment, Hutch said, “Is there more?”

“Yes.” Nate’s heart jolted with unexpected force—vindication, yes, but something stronger. Relief? What the devil didthatmean? He cleared his throat and continued without looking down, keeping his eyes on Hutch, and allowing the poem to speak for him.

“If it be sin to love a sweet-faced boy,

Whose amber locks trussed up in golden trammels

Dangle down his lovely cheeks with joy,

When pearl and flowers his fair hair enamels;

If it be sin to love a lovely lad,

Oh then sin I...”

He let the silence return, the birdsong filling the sky and the wind whispering through the reeds. Hutch stared straight ahead, but the fishing pole lay in slack hands now. “I don’t—” His voice cracked. “Why did you read that to me?”

Nate bit his lip. “Did you like it?”

Hutch glanced at him, his eyes wide and panicked. “No! HowcouldI?”

Wary, Nate sat up on his knees, letting the book fall into the grass. “It’s just a poem, Hutch.” His stomach clenched. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“But itdoes, doesn’t it? Itdoesmean something.”

His eyes demanded the truth and Nate couldn’t deny him, no matter the danger. “Yes,” he said, hesitating in the face of Hutch’s evident horror. “It means something to me. But I’m not trying to…to…”Seduce you? Don’t lie, Tanner; that’s exactly what you’re trying to do.“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” He let his head fall, gazed at his hands in his lap. Christ, what had he done? “I’m sorry.”

Hutch staggered to his feet without looking at him. “We should— I have to go home. I can’t— It’s aSunday, for heaven’s sake!”

Nate didn’t move, stayed on his knees, and watched Hutch shove on his shoes and gather his fishing things together. He didn’t try to follow when Sam left, knew he’d rather be alone. Frankly, Nate wanted to be alone too.

Hell and buggery, what a disaster.

Flinging himself back into the grass, Nate glared up at the leaves fluttering above him. He should have waited for Hutch to approach him. He should have been more patient. He should have been content with their friendship—

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