Clearing my throat my sight fell back to the slanted words written in bold purple marker…
Red roans drift where the windy plains run,
Dust on their hides, backs lit by sun,
Wow that was…not bad. I mean sure it wasn’t Badger Clark or Curley Fletcher but it wasn’t terrible. Guess I should write my poems with purple Sharpies while high on codeine all the time. Huh. Now I just needed to finish it. A sharp rap on the door had me snapping the journal shut then stuffing it under my pillow as if it were a smutty gay romance novel I was hiding from my father. Jesus, the shit we haul from our childhoods sure do linger.
“Yeah,” I shouted, rose from the cot, and took the ten steps from my bed to the door to fling it open. There stood Jesse, all combed and spit-polished, looking up at me with a hundred thousand questions in those dark eyes of his. “Hey. I didn’t makeit to breakfast. I think I was more exhausted than I realized. I’m heading to the tack barn now.”
“No rush, I just wanted to stop by to see if you’d be interested in coming to dinner at the house sometime. We need to talk about shit.”
I rubbed my whiskery chin. “Shit like you getting twenty-five percent of the ranch?”
He was surprised. “You know about that?”
“People talk, I listen.”
“Well, yeah, that and other shit. Also, and not to be rude, but you need a shower.” He tipped his cowboy hat back to see me better. “No offense.”
“None taken. I can only deodorize one side so…” I shrugged the good shoulder.
“Gotcha. Well, the other side needs help.”
“Noted.” I stepped down the ramp, coat in my hand, and closed the door with a hard shove. “Latch sticks.” There was no need to lock it up. I had nothing to worth stealing.
“Well, Lucas wanted me to offer the invite to dinner.”
“Oh, Lucas. Not you?” I eased my coat up over my bad shoulder, fuck getting my arm into the sleeve, and gave Jesse a look.
He seemed oddly confused. “Sure me. I just…” He blew out a breath that fogged just a bit before the spring sun warmed it. “I’m trying to not barge into your space. I know you always had this invisible barrier around you that you hated people stepping into.”
“I never minded you stepping through it,” I confessed then ambled off towards the tack barn as the wind carried the song of the morning bird song to me. Jesse didn’t try to catch up, which was probably good. I wouldn’t have known what to say after that so best to leave it sit and see if it rose. Like bread dough. That was what emotions reminded me of. They started out small thenslowly—as they warmed—they expanded. Then they got sticky. Jesse and me were at the sticky phase of things. Perhaps we just needed a little dusting of reacquaintance flour to ease us out of the pan of awkwardness.
I paused about a hundred yards from my trailer then turned to face him. “Thanks for the tarts. I owe you a box.”
Jesse smiled. I returned to my trek to the tack barn, mulling over where to go with my poem and if a certain bookstore poetry lover would like to hear it someday.
On the plus side,after a day in the tack barn I now smelled like neat’s-foot oil and not unwashed-on-the-one-side man.
On the down side, rubbing oil into saddles seemed to be all I could manage right now. A little rub down with some antifungal perhaps could be done after the conditioner but as for repair stitching with an awl yeah no. Holding a saddle between your knees while you tried to push polyurethane thread through a hole with the awl was a no go. As was replacing rivets as a rivet gun required two strong hands.
After about five hours I was done with what I could do, my shoulder was on fire, and my temper was frayed. Frustrated at myself, I did the only thing I could think of and that was to hit the bunkhouse for lunch. There were so many new faces. Obviously as I’d been gone a long-ass time. Most of the cowhands were young or appeared young to me. They were probably wondering why Methuselah had toddled in reeking of meaty oils. Then there were old faces. Ruth was still here. I don’t think she recognized me when our eyes met. Which was fine. I didn’t need another person leading me down memory lane. That skipping into the past hurt too damn bad.
A few nodded as if they knew me but most were too busy wolfing down their chow to give me much thought. I didn’t know the cook but the pulled pork sandwiches with sides looked and smelled amazing. I took a seat at a long table, head down, hat on the bench beside me, and dove in. The pork was delicious, the bun fresh, and the sides of cabbage salad, pickles, a tossed salad, and fried potatoes were to die for. The slice of rhubarb pie—I wondered if the old rhubarb patch was still producing. The hall hummed with the low drone of male voices, the clatter of silverware on plates, and the occasional outburst of laughter.
Sitting alone didn’t bother me. I’d been a party of one ever since I discovered I liked boys a lot more than I liked girls.
The pie was taken out for a walk so I could feel the sun on my face. Somehow my feet took me to a paddock filled with horses enjoying the new grass shoots exploding from the rich soil. Placing my dish on top of a post I breathed in the smell of horse and dirt. I missed Adobe so much. Maybe coming here to see the horses was a bad idea. But when one, a bay beauty, ambled over, I could only smile and offer him the crust. A group of teens rode past on ATVs with one of the hands keeping them in line. More than likely 4-H or FFA here for a field trip. I’d seen quite a few kids around now that I thought on it. Which was a new thing. Abel hadn’t cared for loud bratty hooligans racing about when he was foreman. Course the man pretty much disliked his own kids so…
Soft rubbery lips moved over my palm, taking the treat from me. The others then trotted over because someone was getting something to eat and they wanted some. Beautiful horses all of them. A paint, a gray roan, a buckskin, and the bay all vied for my attention and what was left of my pie, which was nothing. Still, I was happy to pet them while whispering what noble and proud beasts they were. The paint decided if I wasn’t giving out food they weren’t hanging around and went off to pester anotherlighter colored horse in the corner. The bay though lingered long after the others had left. The afternoon began to get away from me as I visited with the horses. Deep down I knew I needed to get back to work doing something but what that would be I had no fucking clue. Lost for a job, I entered the horse barn to fill water troughs and groom the horses that were in their stalls. A one-armed man could brush a horse out and give it some fresh hay.
A lean man with the look of a weathered soul exited the barn, giving me a steady perusal before making his way over. Square jaw, blue eyes, short dark hair, denim jacket.
“Howdy,” he called out, the horses responding to his voice with soft whinnies. Three herding dogs hounded his heels as he exited the barn. “You new here?”
“Yes and no,” I replied with candor. He cocked an eyebrow. “I’m Hoyt Knox. Jesse’s brother. I lived here as a kid then left to join the rodeo.” No point in telling the sad story behind my unpleasant exit from Snow Creek. “Just here recuperating after a bull did a fine fandango on my clavicle.”
“Ouch, that had to hurt.”
