...be like the others

Following Chuck's lead, Susanne gets the helmet back on again and has an easier time mounting the bike this time around. Getting situated behind him, she wraps her arms around him once more, this time ready for the little jolt before they took off down the road.

About halfway back to town, she finally dares to open her eyes and stare around Chuck's shoulder, her grip still tight around him but no longer a death grip. There was something about having him in total control on the motorcycle that was exciting, once she got around her initial fear. Here she was, on the back of a bike, holding onto one of the most dreamy men she'd ever met, completely at his mercy. Going sixty miles an hour down the highway with the wind pelting against them, the roar of the motorcycle muffling all other sounds... Susanne leans her head on the back of Chuck, leaning with him as they take a curve. And a little smile comes to her lips.

Once parked at Mom and Pop's, Susanne takes off the helmet and shakes out her hair, throwing a silly look at Chuck. Taking a deep breath, she lets it out slowly. "I don't see Darlene's car, so we can get settled before they get here." She rolls her eyes. "Just so you know, I really can't believe I'm doing this."

Taking his hand, she dismounts the motorcycle and retrieves her purse from the saddlebag. Still hand-in-hand, they amble to the front door of the little restaurant, letting themselves in. Susanne points to a corner booth that was back out of the way, but able to be seen by the table at which she was sure her friends would be seated.

Not sitting right away, she gestures Chuck to the booth. "I'll be right back," she hints, nodding down the hall to the restroom. Leaving him be for now, she heads to the bathroom, mainly to straighten her hair and fix whatever makeup was left on her face. Staring into the mirror, she runs her fingers through her hair and pulls it back and up into a clip again, a few strands still falling down around her face. With a finger, she smudges off some of the mascara that had been smeared and she grimaces. She didn't have any with her to fix it, and she couldn't believe Chuck actually liked seeing her in such a state.

As satisfied as she could be, she heads back out to the table, slipping in across from Chuck and grabbing a menu. Her jitters were back again, and she tries to not let it show, just swinging her legs a little under the table.

"Good evening." Carson grins and gives them both some water. Seeing Susanne, he'd told Aerith, he'd take care of this table. He liked breaks from the kitchen, especially when it was for a customer he knew. "And how are we tonight?"

Susanne glances up at him, her cheeks gaining color. She hadn't thought about him seeing her here. "Um.... fine... thanks...."

Carson quirks an eyebrow, then gives a sidelong glance to Chuck, wondering who he was. Was Susanne actually on a date, or was this just an acquaintance of hers? He didn't seem to be her type, though Carson didn't sense a bad nature.

Susanne can see the question in his eyes, and she'd rather get the jump on it before any assumptions were made. "Carson, this is um..." A friend? A date? A... what? And for a horrid moment, his name slipped from her mind. "Um... Chuck." She forces a strange sort of smile. "Chuck, this is Carson. I work with him... sometimes... kind of."

Carson tries not to laugh at Susanne's odd behavior, but the twinkle in his eye proves that he found this quite humorous. "I'm on call for the Elite," he explains briefly. Seeing how flustered Susanne was, he moves on for her sake. "You guys think about what you want and I'll be back in a few minutes."

Once he's gone, Susanne plants her face on the table. "I'm sorry," she mumbles. She felt so silly, she didn't even know what to do. Could she not relax? All she had to do was sit here and eat a meal with Chuck and then leave. That simple. And she was already wanting to bolt for the door. "I don't know if I can do this."


Shifting a little with Karla, Kip leans his face into her hand and lets his eyes fall shut, wanting to trust her words. It was hard though. "I don't hold anybody together," he mentions softly. He wasn't trying to talk down about himself - he really did believe what he said.

Turning his head, he kisses her palm, letting his lips drift over her fingers, then back to the other side over her knuckles. Moving around so he's facing her a little more, he lets his head rest down on her shoulder and plants several light kisses on her neck while his hands play with hers. "I don't want to think about it anymore," he mumbles, sighing deeply. "I just want to... not be so... me."

Straightening a little, he lets go of her hands to lift his palms to rest on each side of her face, his thumbs tracing over her lips and her cheekbones. His eyes were so far away and lost, mirroring his soul that seemed to be drowning. "Thank you for trying to make me feel better though. I just... don't know how I can be any better than I am and... I'm not good enough for the band anymore."

Inside, his heart was in pieces and he was just scrambling, trying to figure everything out and trying to know how to move on from where he was. He knew he was loved and knew the band didn't mean to hurt him, but... they'd spoken the truth. Searching Karla's eyes, he isn't even sure how to tell her any more than he had... there weren't many words for what he was feeling.

Moving aside the sack of food, he gently pushes Karla onto her back and lies next to her on his stomach, hooking one leg around hers and curling an arm around her waist, his face buried in her shoulder. "Why can't I be like the others?" he asks, almost in a whimper. "Why can't I just..." His statement goes unfinished - he doesn't even know how to finish it, so it's left to drift into the silence as his lips softly kiss her cheek and neck once more before returning his head to her shoulder.

Not having been satisfied by only a few french fries, his stomach growls loudly again. Kip can't help a little chuckle, though he doesn't move. "My stomach apparently knows how to ruin a perfectly good moment." He sighs, but maybe this was the change in subject he wanted. "I guess it has a right to since I haven't fed it all day."


Being picked up and spun around so suddenly, Ariel lets out a little squeal, hanging onto his arm. Startled, but not scared, she laughs as Trey sets her back down again. "You turkey," she teases. She smiles though at his comment. "You're doing it because something about this beach at night makes a person uninhibited."

Watching him walk towards the water, she cocks her head, finding him intriguing. He had an air of confidence about him, yet there was something underneath that said maybe he was just as lost as anyone else, just as eager to find himself as anyone, and maybe not quite so confident on the inside. Something said that he maybe hadn't had a hard life, but there had been things that chiseled his heart with rough edges needing to be softened.

Ariel finally wanders behind him, her hands clasped casually in front of her. Stopping a short ways from him at the water as well, she wriggles her toes in the lapping water. As she hears his invitation for tomorrow, she raises her head but doesn't look at him right away. She swallows hard, wondering what his intentions were. "Lunch, huh?"

Coming a little closer to him, she stands with her bare feet next to his and looks at them for a moment. "I like lunch. And you seem to be pretty good company." She shrugs. "I've got off work tomorrow too so if you were looking for a good time to ask, coincidence was on your side."

She tosses him a sidelong glance with a little grin. "Wanna meet me somewhere? Or..." She knew he was new in town and both nights now, he'd come with Pete, so wasn't so sure he had his own vehicle. "...I could give you a ride if you tell me where you're at."


"Hey, Mick, have you seen Jim?"

Mick is startled from his thoughtful stare and he straightens from leaning on the wall in the barn. Turning to see Becky, he shakes his head. "Not for a couple hours. Need anything?"

"It can wait." Becky smiles and is about to leave when she cocks her head, studying Mick's pensive expression. "You okay?"

Mick gives her a wry grin. It seemed the older he got, the more obvious his moods were to the world. "Yeah. Just thinking." He nods down the aisle to where someone was cleaning out a stall. "Mr. Quiet is still refusing to be anything but."

Becky knew he was referring to Dylan. "I noticed he didn't seem to be any more social since he decided to stay. He seems lonely."

"I think he is," Mick agrees. "But he's not putting any effort into remedying that. He hangs out with Dan and Jade more than anyone, but even then, you can tell he's trying to give them their own space too, and I can't blame him. Hanging out with an engaged couple could get a little tiresome." He manages another grin.

Becky chuckles and nods. "I suppose. I've seen Clint try to get him involved in the shop but he seemed disinterested."

"He seems disinterested in most things. I honestly don't even know why he decided to stay here. I mean, I'm glad he did but... I just wonder what his reasoning was, if all he's going to do is mope. You know I don't think I've ever seen him smile. Let alone laugh or have any amount of fun. It's been what - several months? And he's still an outsider by his own doing."

"He's working though, isn't he? I mean, better than when he first came?"

"Oh, tons better. It had something to do with Dan, but I never did find out what. One minute, Dylan was leaving and the next, he was back here, willing to work in order to stay." Mick shrugs. "But even so, he still won't talk. I'd be happy if he talked to anybody, let alone me, but I think he hates me for life."

"I don't think that's true." Becky looks down at the floor for a moment before looking back up at her brother-in-law. "If he did, he wouldn't be here. He probably just doesn't know how to express himself."

"But I'm his father. He shouldn't-"

"You can be a scary guy, Mick." Becky chuckles, but she does get her point across. "We all love you to death, but even you would be the first to admit that you can be a little hard on people sometimes. And poor Dylan, probably thinking he has to live up to your standards? That's not an easy task."

Mick bites his lower lip and glances down the barn aisle again. "Is it all my fault, Becky? Is this whole thing the way it is because I've been too hard on him?"

"No, I don't think so. We all have different ways of doing things and I couldn't condemn you for the way you've treated him. If I did, someone could turn around and blame me for raising my own kids the wrong way. Look at Clint. Thankfully, things are working out for him and Wendy, but someone could say that Jim and I must have been bad parents to have raised a boy who would make those kinds of choices."

"Well, that was all him. You and Jim did all you could to teach him right."

"Exactly. You did all you could, Mick. Then for not even knowing Dylan for half his life... just the fact that he's willing to stay here is pretty good." Becky tries to reassure him. "What is it you want from him?"

Mick shrugs lamely. "I guess... just to talk. To know what's on his mind... to know where things went wrong. He still won't tell me about how he got into trouble. Something that was said a few weeks ago though, gave me the impression that Dan knows the story, so why could Dylan tell him and not me?"

"He almost got your other son killed, and you think he wants to admit to you what happened with him being hooked on drugs?"

It did sound a bit silly, and Mick sighs. "Point taken." Watching the stall down a ways, he sees someone return the horse to the stall and Dylan moves quickly out of the way, moving on to another stall and avoiding the animal. "He hates horses," he muses. "You'd think after this amount of time, he'd at least have gotten used to it, but he still appears to loath working in the barn."

"Yet he cleans stalls every day," Becky returns. She eyes Mick. "That doesn't seem to quite add up, does it?"

"No."

"Then maybe there's more than one mystery here." She pats him on the shoulder before turning to leave. "It'll work out, Mick... God will see to that."

"Yeah... thanks, Beck..." Mick keeps his eyes on Dylan working until finally he just shakes his head and goes out to the pasture to bring in some of the other horses for the night.


Dylan throws another shovelful of manure into the wheelbarrow and squints as some sweat drips down in his eye. His t-shirt was wet with sweat and dirty from working all day in the barn. Most days were the same. He spent most of his time in here... even though he was allowed free time, he rarely took it. There were things he hated about this place, but keeping busy seemed the best thing to him.

Since deciding to stay, he'd become more skilled with using the tools around the barn and he'd started to fill out again, losing the pale, thin look from before he'd gotten off the drugs. He'd been able to gain back some weight but was kept in shape from the daily work. He didn't notice much though... day in and day out, it was all the same. He hung out with Dan sometimes... sometimes with Jade... but mostly he was on his own.

Pausing, he wipes some sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. Looking into the next stall over, he peers through the bars at the tall horse. Wandering a little closer, he cautiously studies the big animal. When the horse turns around and sticks her nose up to the bars though, Dylan jumps back. Scoffing at himself, he grabs hold of the shovel again and gets back to work. He'd never fit in here. The only reason he stayed was because he was afraid to return home. Well, maybe that wasn't the only reason, but it was a main one.

Stopping his work again, his mind turns with questions, theories and consequences. He still hadn't explained everything to his dad. Maybe he was still afraid to. At least without having said anything, he hadn't faced rejection or disbelief. Dan had believed him, but there was no telling if his dad would or not. He didn't want to be accused of lying... he'd been in enough trouble around here without that.

"Dylan - five minutes?"

He looks up to the sound of Sparky's voice. He knew his uncle would be bringing the horse back in shortly. "Yep." Digging his shovel into the manure again, he works a little faster so the stall can be finished by the time the horse returned.

The rest of the day goes by quickly. Dylan keeps busy in the barn as usual - doing his work, doing it well, and staying out of everybody's way. There were times when some of the other ranch hands would go to do their tasks, only to find them finished without knowing who had done them. Later, they might discover it had been Dylan, only feeding his reputation as the "ghost man."

Once the barn is closed up for the night, everyone filters their own ways for supper. Some go to their own homes or bunkhouses, but most gather, as usual, in the main dining hall. There is chatter, laughter and fellowship amongst friends and family - the older generation and those still brand new to the world. It was a warm scene on a chilly night. The smiles on faces were genuine and contagious, making for a happy evening, just like most were. There was peace here. Peace and love.

Outside, the sun has set and the ranch is quiet. Dylan leans against the pasture fence and stares up at the dark sky, witnessing the stars as they begin their nightly watch. The sounds of happy voices and laughter filter from the main building and his eyes lower to the glow coming from the windows. Yes, it was like most every evening. There was rarely an unhappy mealtime here - which was amazing for as many different people and personalities that were here. Even when some weren't getting along, the disputes were usually quiet and settled within a reasonable amount of time.

The sound of a door opening and closing catches Dylan's attention and he sees Clint, Wendy and the baby head off towards their own place. That meant supper was wrapping up and everyone else would be filtering out soon. It was also Dylan's cue.

Wandering to the dining hall, he lets himself in the back door and slips quietly around the noisy room to the kitchen. A few women were in and out starting on the dishes, but they seemed too busy to notice him. He'd learned how to be quiet and not be noticed. It wasn't hard blending into the background when he really wanted to.

Grabbing a bowl from the cupboard, he spies leftover stew on the stove and helps himself, also grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. Finding a spoon and napkin, he heads back along the wall to the back door, letting himself out again. The trek to his bunkhouse only takes a few moments and he's soon sitting on the porch, eating his meal alone. Leaning back against the railing, his eyes roam the ranch as he eats. He sees dark figures moving about and knows who each one is, even with lack of light. Judging just by the way they walked and what time it was, he was rarely wrong. They all had routines and patterns, whether they realized it or not.

Taking another bite of stew, Dylan knows that Rosetta had helped Becky in the kitchen tonight. He could always tell who had cooked, and Rosetta was one of his favorites. He'd probably missed out one some kind of dessert - he hadn't stuck around long enough to nose around and see if any of Rosetta's cookies from yesterday were left or not.

Settling back, he sighs and eats slowly, making the bowl of stew last longer than it normally would. After this, all he had was bed, unless he found something lame to watch on television for an hour or two.