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Hank’s mouth twitched. His lips spread, and white teeth flashed above his tobacco-lumped chin. “Long as you’re quiet about it. No mean looks, either. Gypsy and Cuervo will get along fine, I expect.”
Daisy looked over Gypsy’s legs, still wrapped for the 105 mile trip.Patting the mare’s smooth, slick-groomed chest, she led Gypsy around the back of Hank’s trailer. Pulling her saddle off, she tossed the knotted lead rope over Gypsy’s back.
Blowing air through her nose, the mare whinnied, quick-stepping up the ramp and into a slanted stall next to Cuervo. Hank’s gelding squealed, stomping a forefoot in hello. As Hank pulled up the ramp and latched it, Daisy caught sight of a dimple on his left cheek.
He took her saddle, swinging it easily on one arm. “I’ll stash this in the overhang, next to mine. Leave a flag or something on your rig. It won’t be in anyone’s way before Monday.”
So now Hank’s giving orders. . . Her father’s voice cut through the steam that boiled between her ears. Just follow directions, Daisy Mae. It’s a free ride. Let him play boss.
“Grab your stuff and climb in,” Hank called. Huffing angrily, Daisy tied a bandanna on her truck’s antenna, unhooked Gypsy’s hay bag from her trailer and tied it in front of her mare. The horses settled companionably, munching their sweet Bermuda grass.
Grabbing the rest of her gear, she opened the passenger door of Hank’s rig. Cool air blew from the vents as she shoved her bags onto the back seat and set her cooler on the floor.
Climbing into the truck’s grey leather interior, Daisy took a long, strained breath, her stomach in knots.
In the side views, she watched Hank finish up in back. The tension across her shoulders pinched tighter as he ambled up alongside the truck, all loose-limbed and cocky.
He spit the wad from his mouth onto the road before opening the driver’s door then snatched a Styrofoam cup from the console and tossed its smelly brown contents on the road. Climbing in, he eased under the steering wheel, put the truck in gear, and pulled out slowly, tires squeaking on sand.
Swigging from a water bottle, he swished his mouth and spit a stream out the window.
“I don’t care if you chew tobacco, Hank. It’s your truck,” Daisy told him.
Jawline firm, he plucked his action-hero reflector shades from the dashboard and set them back on his peeling nose. “Not in a lady’s presence, Daisy Mae, you know that. Ella doesn’t take to tobacco chewing. You may have reason not to like me, but at least you’ll admit my Ma raised me right.”
Her eyes rolled.
“The gooseneck has A/C and fans running. We’ll check on the horses at Pettus and refuel there,” he said, trying to get a smile out of her.
Having none of it, Daisy turned to the window, arms crossed, fuming over the chain of events that left her beholden to Hank Gallagher for whatever success she and Gypsy Girl might have this weekend.
Better be worth it, Daddy.
*****
Hank took it easy on the back roads, giving the horses a smooth ride. Once on the highway, he flicked the CD player to Steely Dan and started making time. It was early, still.
Daisy stayed against the door, as far away from him as possible. Knees pressed together, stiff-backed and tense as a board, she stared out the window at the same flat ridges of blackjack oak and red alder and little-leaf sumac she’d seen every dang day of her life.
The six-change CD player turned over and in the moment of quiet, he asked, “You gonna hit the kegger tonight after warm ups?”
“Might as well say ‘hi’ to everybody,” she answered, her voice clipped.
“Hell, Daisy, I don’t know exactly what went on between our daddies, but your pop was real good to me, back when he worked our ranch. I always liked Buck, and I was sorry to hear he passed. Must be real hard on you girls. I sent a card. Daphne said y’all got it. You saw it, right?”
She barely nodded.
Hank cleared his throat. “I’da shown up for the funeral, but I didn’t think you’d take to seeing me there. I did pay my respects down at the cemetery, afterward. I want you to know that.”
He thought he saw her shoulders flinch, but she didn’t say a word.
“My Daddy’s not working our ranch anymore. He and Momma spend most of the week down in Corpus Christi now. He gets dialysis there, coupla times a week. He’s got a heart condition, too. You mighta heard.”
But she offered no response. . . Huh, some things didn’t change. Not that he’d expected them to, or hoped they would, coming over the hill to find her stranded. Impatient, he took a last shot.
“Look, I’ve been meaning to tell you, if I’da been runnin’ the ranch back when, I’da taken better care of a neighbor that was as good to me as Buck was, no matter the circumstances. My daddy and I often don’t see eye-to-eye on things. He can be a difficult man.”
There was a long silence. Then, in a voice smooth with derision, Daisy spoke to the window. “Red, a difficult man? You think so?”
