Date: Sat, 1 Sep 2012 21:54:18 -0600
From: Avy MacGregor <avymac@hotmail.com>
Subject: Jake's Cowboy Chapter 22

DISCLAIMER: You are about to read a story that is strictly FAN FICTION and
in no way represents true accounts. I do not - nor do I wish to imply that
- I know Jake Gyllenhaal, his private life or his sexual preferences. This
is also true of all other celebrities represented in this story. This is a
work of fiction based in homo-eroticism, so if you are not of legal age to
be reading it, or if this type of content might offend you, please move
onto something else.


For everyone else - enjoy!
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So there are 21 chapters written prior to this, dating back to 2006 - 2008.
You are welcome to go back and read them first, if you like, or start with
this one, which could be considered a prologue or an epilogue - however you
choose to interpret it.


Despite my disappearance from this project, Jake and Travis have remained
embedded in my mind. I think perhaps they always will be. I like to think
that they share a unique bond that, ultimately, can never be broken, not
even by the distractions of everyday life. Love is possible.


Cheers to you.

Avy
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An eerie quiet looms over the Buena Vista valley. The expanse of once-green
fields is hidden beneath deep layers of both old and fresh snow, the steep
mountains beyond draped in glistening white. Despite a few scattered
clouds, the sun manages to prevail, reflecting off of the snow and patches
of ice like blinding fire.

As Jake steps from his car, he scrambles to slide his Oakleys over his
eyes, remembering a moment too late how fierce the sunlight glares at 8,000
feet. Through dancing spots, he surveys the area, noting the familiar
stables, the row of bunkhouses, the metal cattle chutes off to the right.
He takes a few deep, cleansing breaths, filling his lungs with the crisp
mountain air, wondering yet again why he ever chose to stay in his
smog-infested city of Los Angeles.

Because you're a goddamn idiot, Gyllenhaal, he answers to himself. And it's
probably too late for any of this.

A gust of wind whips up, whistling around the side of the large ranch house
and bending the bare branches of the cottonwood trees surrounding it. Jake
hugs his peacoat tighter around his chest to ward off the overwhelming
chill, but it seems futile; there's hardly enough body fat left on his thin
frame to ward off the slightest chill of even a slight summer breeze.

Thoughts return, sweeping in with the wind: sitting in an old Adirondack
chair on the shore of Martha's Vineyard, watching the endless waves of
foamy saltwater roll in. It seemed unbearably cold even then, despite the
sun and the warm temperature of an Indian summer, and yet he was down at
the shore every day like clockwork, sitting for hours with a jacket over
his shoulders and a blanket tucked around his legs, a flask of Tullamore
Dew in his hand, watching the water, the seagulls, the fishing trawlers
pass by. It was a brief respite. A desperate attempt to pull his thoughts
and his life back together.

But somehow everything seems too little too late now.

The ranch appears lonesome and deserted, like remnants of a ghost town; not
even the caw of a bird or the snort of a horse interrupts the stillness of
the afternoon. Jake can't recall ever seeing it like this, and he's left
uncomfortable and uneasy about it. As he ascends the icy steps of the front
porch and lifts a fist to knock on the door, he pauses, knowing full well
that Mrs. Cooper will be angry with him if he knocks, rather than just
steps inside. He's been absent a long time - but she would still consider
him family. He hopes.

The door is unlocked, as always. He steps inside, shuts out the cold behind
him, and yells, "Hey! Anybody home?" but receives no response. Oddly,
there's no sound at all, not even Derry running to greet him - just the
solemn echo of his own voice bouncing back at him. He stomps some of the
excess snow from his boots and steps farther into the house, feeling an
immediate sense of wellbeing despite the lack of inhabitants, like a
lonesome drifter returning home after a lifelong journey to nowhere. The
gingham throw pillows, the cherry wood fireplace mantle, the crystal
chandelier, even the worn treads of the oak staircase...every facet of the
old home fills him with peace...something which he hasn't felt in a very,
very long time.

His boots clunk wet and noisy across the hardwood floor as he rounds the
corner into the kitchen. Aside from a few dishes in the sink, the room
appears untouched, unused, unlived in. Something's not right, he feels it
in a tangible way. The guilt of not keeping in better touch with the family
weighs heavy on him. How many times has he picked up the phone? Picked up a
pen? Booked a flight and decided last-minute not to go through with it?


"Too many fucking times..." he mumbles aloud. Exiting through the back
door, he's greeted once more by the ruthlessly bright sunlight. He drops
his sunglasses to his face and trudges through the thick snow, pulling his
coat tightly about him.

The old screen door of the bunkhouse porch is stubborn and creaks hard as
Jake pushes it open. A dog begins to bark from inside the house, clawing at
the wooden front door. Jake kicks off his boots, pulls open the door and is
instantly greeted by a zealous Spartacus, who jumps and yelps and
practically pushes him off of his feet. The English Shepherd remembers Jake
as though they are old friends, and as Jake kneels down to pet the dog's
thick coat, Spartacus proceeds to lick his face.

Encouraged by this reunion, Jake removes his coat, sets it aside and
glances around the room, noticing a muted fire in the wood-burning stove -
clear evidence that the ranch is not entirely deserted after
all. Everything appears just as he remembers it - the large pinewood bed,
the dusty rodeo trophies, the crates of vinyl records. He runs his fingers
down the sleeve of a denim jacket draped on a hook and then steps over to
leaf through a horse and tack magazine tossed on the table. A ceramic mug
of cold coffee sits beside the periodical, its cream slightly curdled on
the surface. Jake picks it up and absently sniffs at the murky liquid,
tempted to take a sip before realizing the absurdity of his actions and
quickly setting the mug back down.

Running a hand over his face, he sits on the edge of the bed and sinks into
the plush thickness of the down comforter. Instantly, he's barraged with
memories; the mind-blowing sex and the intense love he'd felt for a man he
never thought possible to feel. There'd been enlightenment, then, and the
hope for something extraordinary that now feels tragically elusive.

Spartacus nudges him, commanding attention, and as Jake leans forward to
pet him, he notices an empty Trojan wrapper tossed beneath the
nightstand. Heartbeat intensified, he reaches down to retrieve it and holds
it up between two shaking fingers, examining it for a moment, wondering who
has worn it, wondering who Travis has brought home. Despite knowing that it
doesn't matter, that he has no right to care, Jake can't control the
immense jealousy coursing through his veins.

"Shit," he curses as he tosses the condom wrapper aside. He paces the room,
faced with the stark reality of his own guilt. There is no absolution in
his soul, only pain. It has been such hell trying to live the lie, trying
to convince everyone of the authenticity of his heterosexuality, pulling
sweet little Reese into his great web of deceit despite his inner voice of
reason screaming for him to stop. God knows she deserved better than
that. Her kids deserved better. Hell, everyone in the whole world deserves
better than what he's been giving.

No... when it comes to feeling jealousy over Travis' personal life, he has
no foot to stand on.


* * * * *


Wind slices through the valley like an icy hurricane, cutting Travis down
to the very core. No thermal underwear, fleece clothing, or down-filled
parka stands a chance in warding off the immense chill as he steers the
snowmobile over the thick tundra of snow. The afternoon has turned
blustery, freezing, and he fears if he doesn't return to the ranch soon
every appendage on his body will snap off like the shards of an icicle.

"Goddamn cold!" Doug yells out, doing his best to keep a tight hold on
Travis' waist as they sail across the frozen pasture.

The winter has become unbearable - the coldest in at least a dozen
years. Already they've lost cattle, nothing but frozen carcasses in the
snow despite the regiment of supplemental feed and rotation of windbreaks
they've steadfastly provided. The work has become endless and rigorous,
with two men struggling to perform the duties of at least six. Travis is
more tired than he can ever remember being. Sleep consistently evades him.

The bleakness of a harsh winter, coupled with the dwindling finances of the
ranch and the loss of Jake have taken their toll on him.

Fresh tire tracks marking the length of the long driveway catch Travis'
eye, and he almost spins the snowmobile out of control as he screeches to a
halt beside the parked Lexus.

"Jesus! Don't fucking kill us!" Doug shouts, sliding off of the seat and
jumping aside in blatant irritation.

Travis eyes the car suspiciously. Its tires are still dripping with fresh
snow as though it hasn't been parked for long. Lately, it seems every
mysterious car appearing on the property brings with it some sort of
altercation - the bank calling in a loan, an investor demanding payment,
some disgruntled vendor or customer demanding answers. Never anything
positive.

Wonder what it is now... he groans to himself.

Sliding off of the snowmobile, he stands for a moment, steeling his
thoughts and preparing his mind for whatever onslaught of conversation lay
ahead. He jumps up the steps to the front door and goes inside the house,
expecting to find a suit-clad asshole waiting on the couch with a pile of
papers in his hands. But the house is empty and quiet, just as it has been
for days.

"Cooper!" Doug calls out from the driveway.

Travis turns and exits, slamming the door shut behind him. Doug is standing
at the open Lexus with an iPod in his hand, its earbuds dangling
precariously close to the snowy ground.

"What the hell are you doing?" Travis demands as he leaps from the porch to
scoop the item away. He pushes his friend aside and drops the iPod back
onto the front seat and then notices food wrappers and energy drink cans
and a few articles of clothing strewn across the backseat. A jolt of
emotion shoots through him as realization sinks in. "Holy fuck," he
whispers. He straightens up and slams the car door closed. "I can't even
fucking believe it..."

"You knew he'd come back eventually," Doug states.

Travis exhales through clenched teeth and braces his hands against the roof
of the car, gazing off towards the distant bunkhouse, watching the smoke
waft upwards from the crooked old chimney until his eyes turn wet and
blurry from the wind.

* * * * *

Travis is sluggish and intoxicated as he stumbles down the path, feeling
nothing short of surreal in his existence. Absently, he counts each and
every boot print that Jake has previously trekked in the snow. One, two,
three... His own boots seem to fit perfectly inside each indentation.

In his delirium, he wonders what words will spill from his mouth when he
steps into the bunkhouse and faces Jake for the first time in almost nine
months. The customary "Fuck you" or "Get the hell off my property" might do
the trick. But perhaps something much deeper will be wrenched from the
chambers of his soul... like, "What the hell took you so long?"

Surprisingly, it's silence that engulfs him as he pushes through the door
and sees Jake sitting on the couch with arms resting on his legs and
fingers lightly clasped together as though he's been planted there,
waiting, for awhile. The sight of the man is startling; Jake is gaunt, with
hair down to his shoulders and a scruffy beard deepening the hollowness of
his pallid cheeks. When he peers up at Travis, his dark-rimmed eyes are
just as hollow, despite the half-smile he tries to muster.

"Hey, Cooper," he says, getting to his feet.

Travis shuts the door and peels the wool cap from his head. "What's up?" he
replies. An emotional numbness seeps into him.

Jake rubs clammy palms against the pockets of his jeans, feeling the heat
of the room, and stammers, "I, uh...was in the neighborhood, you know, and
thought..." His words drift away, and he shrugs, turning his gaze to the
floor. How can he possibly articulate it all?

Travis studies him for a moment before shrugging out of his coat. He, too,
is feeling the heat of the room - so much so that he's tempted to open the
front door for fresh air. But he scratches Spartacus behind the ears
instead and passes into the kitchenette to grab a bottle of Jack Daniels,
his wet boots leaving a trail of snow across the floor. He pours generous
portions of the staunch liquor and offers one to Jake, who gulps it down as
though it's water. "Thanks," he mutters.


Travis nods, downs his own drink, and then pours them each another, filling
the shot glasses to the brim. By the third one, they're both finally at
ease enough to sit - Jake back on the couch and Travis farther away, in one
of the kitchen chairs. Silence ensues, crushing them both, until finally
Travis asks, "How's Reese?" knowing that the words will sting like acid
burning through the air.

Jake does wince at the stark question and sets his empty glass aside. "I'm
not really sure," he replies, solemnly. "I, uh, haven't talked to her in
awhile."

"No?"

Jake shakes his head and sits back, resting one thin leg over the
other. "No. We're... uh... not seeing each other anymore..."

Travis digests this information, studying his shot glass. He isn't sure
what to feel or how to respond to this news. For so long, he's had to
endure seeing and hearing about their sweet little romance, plastered
across every tabloid and television trash show. It's managed to completely
break him. If forgiveness is stirring anywhere in his soul right now, it's
utterly inaccessible at the moment.

"So you were in the neighborhood," he mumbles, slouching down a notch in
his chair. "And you just decided to pop by..."

"Yeah, something like that." Jake looks at him, staring at the chiseled,
rugged, achingly handsome face which has haunted him and infected his
thoughts and existence every hour he's been away. In the peripheral outline
of his life he'd thrived, prospering in his career, fooling an entire
universe, while internally he'd completely deteriorated.

"I just needed to see you, Travis," he whispers, half choked with emotion.

Travis offers no consolation, no comfort to Jake's display of sadness. He
simply sighs and shifts his gaze elsewhere.

With a keen, unique animal sense, Spartacus wanders over and lays his chin
on Travis' leg, gazing up at him with dark, alert eyes. There is a fierce
loyalty there, a bond that Jake becomes painfully aware of. "He's so big
now," he comments. "I almost didn't recognize him."

Travis scratches the dog's ears and says, "He's been a big help around
here."

"Where's Derry, anyway?" Jake inquires. "I didn't see her when I pulled
in. I didn't see anyone. Where's everybody at?"

Travis responds, emotionless, eyes averted. "Derry disappeared awhile
back. Pretty sure a coyote or mountain lion got her. Mom and Katy are in
Salida. Amanda gave birth prematurely and Curtis is a mess."

Jake hesitates, staring hard at the floor. "Wow," he finally breathes. "I
didn't even know Amanda was pregnant..."

"Yeah, well, I would have told you," Travis states in a banal tone. "But
you were so engrossed in your own shit."

The words are harsh, biting. Jake unwraps his legs and sits forward. "Even
so, I really wish you'd called me."

"Yeah?" Travis glares at him. "What for?" What the hell is Jake really
doing here? The sorrow he anticipated feeling has swiftly turned into
bitterness.

"Listen," Jake says quietly, "I don't blame you for being pissed off at
me. Shit, I've been fucking pissed at myself for months." He rubs his palms
together. "And I'll go if you want me out of here. But I'm really hoping
there's a chance we can talk. There's a lot I want to say. A lot I want to
try to explain. I'm really sorry for ditching you... us... like I did. I
regret it every minute of every fucking day."

Travis nudges Spartacus' face from his lap and stands up. "I don't know
what you could possibly explain to me at this point, Jake. You made a
choice. It was yours to make, and you made it." He grabs his coat from its
hook and slides it on. "I've got shit to do. Doug and I've been working our
asses off, and we've already lost a ton of cattle."

Jake gets to his feet and takes a step forward, fighting the urge to touch
him, wanting so desperately to pull him close, to lose himself in the feel
and the smell and the embrace of the man he still loved. "I wish you could
know how hard it's been for me," he says, almost pleading, longing to be
understood, if even a fraction.

Travis zips up his coat and pulls the wool cap down around his ears. He
studies the hollowed man before him, wishing for one second that he could
feel sympathy, forgiveness, desire - anything other than the poisonous
thoughts that consume him. "I gotta go," he states, pulling the door open,
welcoming the blast of cold air on his face. Spartacus pushes past him to
run outside.

"At least let me help you," Jake insists, reaching for his own coat. "Put
me to work."

Travis stuffs his hands into his gloves, uncertain if he can let go of his
pride on this one. To agree to Jake's offer means capitulation, caving in,
giving up a stronghold. But it also means a better accomplishment of work
in a shorter amount of time, lightening Doug's load a bit, who is exhausted
beyond measure and moving on pure adrenaline at this point, just as he
himself is. For the ranch's sake, for sanity's sake, it seems best to
accept the offer, even if it also means the acceptance of Jake's apology on
some level.

Do it for the ranch, Cooper, an inner voice urges.

Travis sighs and steps into the snow. His breath instantly freezes in the
midday air, weakening his resolve. "Fine," he eventually says, not looking
back, not wanting to meet Jake's gaze but feeling the man's presence near
him anyway. "Meet me in the barn. We've got a lot to do before the sun goes
down."

Jake catches his arm, keeps him from walking away. Just this one
touch... this one simple touch... sends an electrical current zipping down
both of their spines.

"I won't disappoint you, Cooper," Jake says quietly, sincerely. "Not this
time. Not ever again."

Travis bites the inside of his cheek, concentrating on the pain. After a
moment, he nods. Says nothing, simply plucks Jake's fingers from his coat
sleeve and walks through the snow towards the barn.

Off in the distance, a black-billed magpie squawks through the wind.

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avymac@hotmail.com
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