One second, he's riding after him, both sets of their horse's hooves heavyset on the ground like thunder, kicking up black dirt, Rian calling out after him. And Beau can only half hear him, the beat of Pete's hooves blending with the drum of his heart in his ears. The next, Rian's lunging at Pete's reins, and Beau's eyes widen as he gives him only a frantic glance and a cry, his name muddled in agitation and worry. The hell was he thinking? Beau pulls back on the reins, leaning back in his saddle, too shocked to get any words out to his horse. At the same time, Rian's hand connects with the leather fastened around the bit.
Pete kicks up mud as he skids to a halt, the force of the stop nearly throwing Beau -- who hadn't realized how fast they'd been riding. Something Rian said offhandedly had been enough to cause tension to resurface. The strain between them, tangible in the air, like the smell of rain, like the tingle on your neck after lightning streaks across the sky. And Beau hadn't said a word when he took off.
"You're a damned fool!" He finally exclaims, his tone harsh and scalding. Part of him wants to climb off his horse and start walking- the part that wants to know if Rian would follow him or decide that Beau is more trouble than worth him. It's partly the fear that Rian would let him walk away that keeps him in the saddle.
"Could've gotten yourself-" he makes eye contact with Rian, and his throat catches. His cheeks are bright pink, frustrated tears forming in the corners of his eyes. There's a silent fury that coils in himself, that rattles its tail like a warning, and a tongue so apt for venom that reminds him much of his own father. He bites down on it hard. Beau glances away, pursing and gnawing at the inside of his bottom lip. He can't stand to look into his wandering brown eyes. He catches Rian's lips moving out of the corner of his eye, but he's not paying attention. A wound won't heal when you touch it, but what happens when the wound's already infected? If the infected won't let anyone close enough to clean it? Do you sit helplessly and watch it fester? Do you leave? "Talk about what? You're real goddamn hellbent on doing what you want. And telling me I can't say nothing about what you should and shouldn't do."
