[mood music]

At 4 am Kurt was wide awake.  At first he was surprised, given how exhausted he was when they reached the ranch last night.  Then he calculated the time difference in his head and realized that, unless he wanted to screw up his entire New York sleep schedule, he should just plan on waking at 4 every morning of this stupid, stupid "vacation."  Kurt regularly rose at 6 am and tried to get to bed each night by 10 or 11 at the latest.  This meant he was probably going to go to bed in Idaho at 8 or 9 in order to not have to readjust when he returned to New York, and, frankly, he couldnt imagine that the Idaho night life was going to keep him up much later than that, anyway. 

As he rose and brushed his teeth, he remembered that Santana had mentioned that there was a single-serve coffee maker in the main room of the lodge, so Kurt pulled on a t-shirt and shorts and shuffled downstairs to get his caffeine fix. 

After his coffee cup filled, he wandered out to the veranda and sank into a wooden rocking chair.  It was quite chilly--not cold enough to go back for different clothes--but considerably cooler than when they had arrived.  Rachel, in her constant scattering of Idaho trivia, had mentioned that this part of Idaho was high desert, thus hot during the day and far cooler at night.  She hadnt mentioned the stars, of which there appeared to be millions seeming so close that you could reach out and touch them.  Kurt had never seen a sky like that, even in Ohio.  Too many people with too much light obscuring the sky, he realized.  Kurt took a breath and noticed that the air was...what?  Easier to breath, he concluded.  Thinner.  Not polluted.  Sweetly scented with sage and alfalfa. 

Kurt didnt know how long he just sat there, sipping coffee, doing nothing else, watching the stars and then watching them recede as the sun tinted the morning sky pink and orange and green until the whole place was lit with a pale light.  Now Kurt could see corrals and barns and sheds and stables, all joined together with sage brush and stunted pine trees.  It had an eerie, quiet beauty and a vastness that made him feel tiny and unprotected.  He heard stirring in the lodge behind him, but he ignored those sounds in favor of voices he heard coming from the direction of the corral, the sight of which was partially obscured by an outbuilding.  Curious, Kurt left his now empty coffee cup on the veranda and wandered across the lawn and driveway in the direction of the voices. 

What he saw as he skirted the barn made his breath catch.  It was a man.  The back view of a man, more precisely, who was standing with his crossed arms leaning on the corral fence which stretched his shirt tight across his shoulders.  He had one denim-encased leg propped on the log that comprised the bottom rail.  He wasnt tall, but he had broad shoulders covered by a denim chambray shirt that had been washed to nearly white and looked so soft that Kurt itched to touch it.  The shirt was tucked into tight Wrangler jeans that hugged his ass in an effortless way that men in New York paid hundreds of dollars to fail to achieve.  He had a mass of curly, dark hair with no hat, and he spoke low orders to Sam, who was leading a mare around the ring, stopping occasionally to feel for something on the leg. 

Despite having seen Brokeback Mountain more than a few times, Kurt didnt harbor any hopes that this man, whose backside was so enticing, was single or even gay, but if Kurt was going to see him regularly on this ranch, this was going to ratchet up his evening fantasies a notch or two.  Desperate to see the mans face, Kurt came closer until he was standing along the fence line beside the man, and the cowboys profile in the warming morning light more than lived up to the promise from the other view.  He had small, even features and hazel eyes framed by unfairly long, thick lashes. 

Kurt remembered once taking a folklore class in college where the professor had noted that cowboys and mountain men in literature traditionally had blue eyes to symbolize the open skies.  Kurt realized now that they got it all wrong.  This mans eyes were a far better symbol of the Wild West; they were the color of saloon whiskey and river clay and polished jasper. 

The man turned slightly to see Kurt looking at him, and Kurt gave him a tentative smile and said a soft, "Hello."

The man gave a barely perceptible nod of his head and turned back to Sam.  "Okay, feel for it now," he called, and Sam stopped again from where he had been walking the horse and ran his hand slowly and carefully down the front leg.  Then he straightened and shook his head, "Nothing."

With one smooth motion, the gorgeous curly haired man ducked under the rail and slipped through the fence to be by Sams side.  "Ill take her in.  You go on to breakfast." 

Sam smiled his thanks and walked over toward Kurt with a grin that split his face in two.  "Good morning.  Kurt, right?" 

"Good morning.  Yes.  Sam, is it?"

Sam nodded, maintaining his sunny smile.  He turned back to the other cowboy, "Mike said youre going into town to pick up feed this afternoon.  We probably need some combiotic; I saw some scours out in the pasture.  Havent tracked it down to the calf, though."

"Will do," was the curt response. 

Of the entire conversation, Kurt only understood "going into town," and before he could even think, he opened his mouth and called, "Can I go with you?"  It was a weird request, given that Kurt had been on the ranch for less than twelve hours and etiquette dictated that he shouldnt be anxious to leave already.  Still "town," however small, sounded better than anything that Kayla had described on the ranch, and Kurt wanted to check it out. 

Both men froze, and Kurt looked back and forth between them.  He figured it was just a matter of time before the dark cowboy would spit out some variant of "No," and Kurt would go away a little embarrassed but whatever.  Instead, much to Kurt--and seemingly Sams--surprise, Tight Pants squinted a little at Kurt and said, "I reckon."  Then he took the mares halter and led her away. 

Sam let out a quiet whoop and said, "Tell me that did not just happen."

"What?  Is it not okay for me to go to town?"

"No, man, you can go to town.  You can paint the town red for all anyone cares.  I just cant believe that Blaine said you could go with him."

"Is that his name?  Blaine?"

"Yeah, thats him all right.  Blaine Anderson.  Geez.  I cant believe it."  Sam crawled out of the corral through the poles like Blaine did, only with less fluidity and holding his hat on top of his head.  He soon popped out the other side next to Kurt. 

"Wouldnt it be easier to just climb over the top?"

"Climbing over is bad for the fence."

"Oh."  Kurt fell into step beside Sam, who appeared to be heading for the lodge.  By the time Kurt returned to New York, his head was going to be full of so much useless information, "So, is Blaine a cowboy like you?"

Sam turned his head to look at Kurt, "Neither of us are cowboys.  Cowboys ride in the rodeo and wear thousand dollar boots."  Kurt looked down at Sams boots, which were fairly indistinguishable in color from the dust under them.  They looked just like the one the Blaine had propped up on the fence earlier.  They had a slight point at the toe and a small heel, but nothing like some of the cowboy boots that Kurt had seen on the men in the gay bars that he occasionally visited in New York.  "Im a wrangler," Sam continued.  "Blaines a cattleman."

Kurt didnt know what the difference was, but he didnt ask because he didnt want to get sidetracked from what he really wanted to know.  "Why was it so surprising that Blaine agreed to let me go with him?"

"Blaines a nice guy but kind of a loner.  He doesnt mingle with the guests, as a rule.  In fact, he never mingles with the guests.  He doesnt usually talk to them at all."

"But isnt this a guest ranch?"

"Yeah, sure, but its a working ranch, too.  Ms. Corcoran runs the guest ranch...well, technically, Santana runs the guest ranch, but Ms. Corcoran runs it in name, since shes the owner.  Shes gone up to Sun Valley, but shell be back in a couple of days, and youll meet her.  Blaine there, he runs the working ranch."

"What do you do?"

"I do both, although theres no difference between being a wrangler on a working ranch and being one on a guest ranch, except on a guest ranch you cant lose your temper, and you have to have more teeth than tattoos.  So all of us really do everything, really, except Blaine."

"Why except Blaine?"

Sam opened his mouth, and then he shut it again.  "Thats something youll have to ask Blaine."  Sam lifted up his hat and ran a hand through his hair, "But dont expect him to answer."