Love Takes Your Choices Away

Sleep is a fickle thing that doesn’t come to Ripley. Instead, she’s left wondering how many hours she’s spent staring at the inside of her tent walls. The faint snoring of Leanna’s men can be heard just outside the thin material. And even the crying of someone she loves. She doesn’t have the heart to work out who. She suspects it’s more than one of them.

With sleep surrendered, she throws off the blankets and sits up, smoothing down her hair. Though, it remains its resemblance to a rat’s nest. She gives up and collects a jacket from the corner and shoves it on. It’s too big, almost drowning her, but she tightens it against herself as the cold night air slaps her when she opens the flap of her tent.

And that’s when she sees him sitting in the orange heat of the fire. The glow of his cigarette burns red as he inhales. His hair is down from his signature ponytail, pooling around his shoulders.

Ripley goes to retreat into her tent, back into a fabricated peace, somewhere where tomorrow won’t come.

She stops. The edge of her boot touching the pole of her tent. Her heart hammering so loud she wonders if Jake can hear. If he does, he doesn’t show it.

The creaking and snapping of twigs under her boots alerts him as she crosses over to the fire, settling herself next to his large frame. He doesn’t acknowledge her. And that frenzy of nerves in her stomach has her fidgeting, crossing her legs, and then unfolding them before bringing them up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her knees.

It’s not unusual to see Jake Torres awake while everyone else slept. There were many reasons for his insomnia; endless nightmares; the urge to watch over those he loved; when thoughts became too much. There were nights when Ripley would join him, her own history pulling her from her sleep. And there were even nights where the others would join him when troubling thoughts crossed them. Their soft voices would wake her from inside the barn back at the ranch. She could never make out what they were saying, but she could hear the timbre of Jake’s voice. The soft, reinsurance of it as he spoke. It’d lull her back to sleep, knowing that she was safe.

She wishes to hear him now. Just a word. A hello. Something. Not that she deserves it. She knows that she’s pushed him, hurt him even. Knows that his pain tomorrow will end, but she’ll live with the regret forever.

And the hurt won’t end for her.

To even think about Jake dying tomorrow is like her own heart stopping. She’s not ready to say goodbye. But she must and before the sun rises, it’s her last chance.

She jumps as Jake crushes the cigarette under the heel of his boot. The dying embers glow once, and then twice, before they fade into the ash. And she waits for him to look at her, to sees the love she has for him, to see how much she looks up to him. To see the life he saved.

But she turns away, gazing down at her own boots, not giving him the chance. And instead, they share the night; watching the way the leaves free themselves from the tree’s rake like fingers, weaving through the wind and disappearing from view; listening to the call of a lost coyote who waits for an echo that never comes. It’s been a long time since she’s ever just sat and watched the world around her.

In all that surrounds them, she wonders what Jake sees in his final day. Is it the beauty of the land around him, basking in that last ray of moonlight and touch of wind? Or is it empty to him? Another forest, the same as all the rest. And instead, wishes for the sight of his daughter?

Ripley glances at him. His eyes seem locked on nothing and yet something at the same time. And then Ripley sees it. The soft touch of pink sunlight peaking over the mountains.

"It's over now. Sometimes things just don't go how we hope."

Jake's words from their hunt, before all this craziness, catches her off guard and lodges in her throat, a whimper of a sound escaping her. The control she’s practised all these years, the walls she threw up were nothing more than mud, now soaked and heavy, crumbling to nothing. Everything that she was, is and will ever be is open for Jake to see. Because love is something felt.

And she cries.

Jake wraps an arm around her shoulder, tucking her into his side where she buries her head into his vest. She grabs the familiar piece of clothing, holding on so tight her fingers pale.

And in-between each tear, she remembers. The solemn man sat in a cell waiting for the noose and the way his eyes narrowed at her when she came to break him free; the first time he laid a proud hand on her shoulder, beaming when she shot her first arrow; when he hurled after trying her cooking and the promise he made that night; or the way he held her life when a bullet struck her abdomen; the sound of his laughter when her foot became looped in the stirrup, earning her a face full of grass; the yelling when a prank turned sour or when her lazy arse didn’t do the chores set out for her. But best of all, the look on his face when he thought no one was looking, watching the little family he’d made, knowing that she was part of that happiness. She remembers everything.

They sit like that until the camp begins to stir. Her cheeks are tear-stained, her eyes red and puffy. She stays tucked under his arm; his leather vest still clenched between her fingers as though if she holds on tight enough, he’ll be here tomorrow.

But he stands, patting her shoulder before offering Ripley a hand. It feels foolish and silly, especially after crying into him, laying out her soul for him to see, but she smiles. It’s wobbly and doesn’t reach her eyes, but it’s real, it’s now. She takes it and gets to her feet, dusting off the pine and grass that stick to her jeans.

And then, Jake does something unexpected. He clips the back of her head as he’s done so many times before. It makes her stumble, rubbing the spot. And as she looks up at him, expecting that stupid grin on his face, she’s surprised once again as he places a kiss on the crown of her head.

And then he laughs as she wipes at the area, her nose wrinkled in disgust. Though it’s a weak disguise for the warmth she felt for the man in front of her. But still.

“Gross.”