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“I got it. Not exactly sure why you’d want me to talk about my bellyache, but hey, whatever lights your candle.” Butch went with humor. “Unless you’ve got this urge to play doctor? And if that’s the case, you can count me out. I hate having to visit the real thing, soyou’vegot no chance.”
Teague laughed. “Okay, I get it. You’re fine. But the offer still stands.” And with that he turned and walked toward the sloping path.
Butch waited until Teague was at a safe distance before shuddering out a breath. Talking was out. There was shit Teague knew nothing about—hell, no one did—and that was for a damn good reason.
They’d never look at me the same way again.
Butch gazed at the house. He should go talk to the boss. Strike while the iron was hot, and all that. Because Sol would be there insix days. Then it hit him. Butch would be the one who had to pick him up from Bozeman.
Fuck that. Fuckall overthat.
He headed for the barn. Butch had no idea why the place exerted such a calming influence on him. Maybe it was the association of pleasant memories. He only knew he liked the shadows, the smells, the odd squeak of mice nesting somewhere… No one would be there, and that was just fine.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside. He loved how the sunlight fell in beams, making the corner shadows appear much darker. He glanced up to where he and Diana had hidden more times than he cared to remember.
Bales of hay stood to one side, a perfect place to sit and think, so Butch took his hat off and sat. He leaned back against a bale, ignoring the prickle.
Supposing I did ask for some time off. What’s the worst that could happen?
Except he already knew the answer. The boss would get curious, he’d want to know what was going on—and Butch couldn’t tell him.
So what’s the alternative? Stick around?
The thought made his gorge rise.
Butch could see a few sleepless nights in his future, because sure as shit, his mind wasnotgoing to let go of this until Sol had been and gone.
I can keep out of his way.
Except logistically, that wouldn’t fly. Sol would be there for a week.
A long fuckingweek.
He might not recognize me.
Yeah right.
Thirty-four years had elapsed since he’d last clapped eyes on Sol, but Butch was pretty sure he’d recognize Sol too.
He breathed deeply. A face from the past was about to collide headlong with Butch’s present, and it could get real ugly. Because Solknew. Sol had been there, hung around with Butch, seen stuff. Although Butch hadn’t been there to see it, he imagined the principal would have spoken to the whole school. He could picture Sol sitting in the school auditorium along with everyone else while the principal spoke about Scott, the deep sorrow felt by all that a promising life had ended so abruptly.
Yeah, and I ended it.
Sol hadn’t been innocent—he’d been part of that group, hadn’t he? —but Butch knew from balls to bones where the blame lay.
Thinking was only going to make things worse. He had work to do, goddammit, and no time to wallow in self-pity, because that was all it boiled down to.Save the self-torture for when he gets here.
There would be plenty of it, Butch was sure about that.
His phone buzzed in his jeans pocket. Butch took it out and glanced at the screen. Teague’s text was short and sweet.
My place tonight if you want to let off some steam.
He couldn’t help but smile. Fucking cured a lot of ills, and maybe it was just the medicine he needed.
Teague had been curing Butch’s ills since 2017, with that serendipitous encounter in a bar in Livingston.
Saturday, May 6, 2017
