by Taylor Moore
At the academy, Joe Bob Dawson used to say crooks don’t recruit model citizens, they recruit other crooks. And if the theory held, it meant his brother was into this thing a hell of a lot deeper than he was admitting. The question was how deep.
No matter what his brother had gotten himself into, Garrett wasn’t going to let threats stand against his family. Blood was blood, and despite their differences, Bridger had been there for him after their mother died, their sister abandoned them, and Butch turned to the bottle. At one time, his brother was the only real family he had.
Turning off the highway and back onto the white caliche road leading to the ranch, Garrett worked to distract himself by looking over at Kate Shanessy’s place. There was something about it that looked warm and inviting. Of course, with the dancing snowflakes swirling in front of his headlights anything indoors sounded pretty good. He looked forward to the fire his dad no doubt had raging back at the house.
If Butch was good for nothing else, he was a master at that. Despite his shortfalls, the old man had always liked to see his family enjoy the warmth he provided. Mama made the meals. Daddy made the fire. That was how it worked.
Deep in thought, Garrett jerked the wheel hard to the left, nearly missing his turn. His truck rumbled over the cattle guard. The only good thing about Bridger’s dilemma was that it took Garrett’s mind off Asadi and the whole mess back in Afghanistan. He hadn’t heard from Kim and didn’t expect to, at least not for a few days. The wheels turned slowly in South Asia, and any investigation they had launched into these corrupt government officials was going to take time.
Garrett parked as close to the house as possible, wanting the shortest distance from his truck to the front door. The snow was falling harder and the wind blew even angrier than it had when he’d left. His dad would complain he’d parked on the grass, but who cared. If it wasn’t that, the old man would find something else to gripe about.
After shutting off the engine, Garrett flipped the coat hood over his head and made a dash onto the porch and inside the house. To his surprise, there was no roaring fire and Fox News wasn’t at full volume. He called out for his dad, then Asadi. When no one answered, a sinking feeling came over him. He shouted again, and the blaring silence made his hair stand on end.
Garrett stepped quickly to the back of the house and noticed the light on out in the barn. There was a trail of steps not yet covered by the fresh white powder. One set big, one set small. As he trudged through the snow, he realized he should have known all along where they’d be. His dad cared more about those horses than anything else in the world. And other than blood, it was about the only thing the two of them had in common anymore.
Garrett swung the barn door open, all the while cursing the cold, to find Butch sitting in a lawn chair by the heater, his old blue heeler Pato sitting on his lap. The dog wagged its tail at the sight of a visitor but didn’t bother to get up.
Asadi didn’t acknowledge Garrett’s presence at all. He was standing inside an open stall, shoveling horse manure into a blue wheelbarrow. Beads of sweat gathered on his brow.
Garrett turned to his dad, who was grinning from ear to ear as he scratched Pato’s head. “Daddy, I didn’t bring this boy halfway cross the world so you could make a slave of him.”
“Slave, hell! The boy likes to work.”
Butch tapped Pato’s butt and the dog jumped to the floor. He scampered to his bed in the corner of the barn, where he slept on a pile of old blankets under a heat lamp.
Garrett walked over, offered his dad a hand, and helped him out of the lawn chair. “How do you know?”
Butch grinned and pointed. “Look at him go.” After a beat he added, “Don’t think I ever saw you work that hard. At anything.”
Garrett was tempted to argue but seeing Asadi in action led him to believe his dad was right. The boy’s face radiated a sense of purpose, maybe even a little pride in a job well done. He didn’t know much about Asadi’s background, other than he’d grown up on a farm, so it was possible doing a few chores made the boy feel at home.
Garrett turned to his dad. “What’d you two do while I was gone? I assume he hasn’t been shoveling horse crap since the second I walked out the door.”
Butch cocked his eye at Garrett. “No, I’ve been instructing him on a few things.”
“Dear Lord, Daddy! I was just joking earlier. I shudder to think what you might teach a ten-year-old boy.”
Butch took a few steps toward the stall and Asadi glanced up. The boy looked eager for a reaction. When their eyes met, the old man gave a single nod of approval. Asadi smiled back and returned to shoveling.
“I’ve got lots of wisdom to pass on.” Butch turned to Garrett. “To those who’ll listen.”
Again, Garrett let it go. “Well, thanks for looking after him, anyhow.”
Butch shook it off. “How’d it go with Bridger?”
“Good,” Garrett affirmed, still watching the determined look on Asadi’s face. “Better than the last time we were together.”
Butch had been there for the big blowout. And although the old man would never admit it, Garrett knew that Butch agreed with him. Getting involved with the Kaiser family was a bad idea. Of course, the truth of the matter was, it was hard to avoid. Mescalero Exploration was as big a part of the Texas Panhandle as wind and isolation. If you didn’t like those things, you might as well pack up and leave, which a lot of people did.
“So, what’d you find out from Bridger?” Butch’s voice went low, clearly reluctant to show his concern. “Everything okay?”
“Nothing to worry about. He’s got his ups and downs, like everyone else. But he says the girls and Cassidy are doing well. Busy as hell with work, but that’s all right, I suppose.”
Garrett didn’t want to reveal anything about any potential threats to the family until there was more to go on. He kept things vague and changed the subject. No sense in worrying his dad unless it was absolutely necessary.
“I might meet with Tony Sanchez for breakfast tomorrow if that’s all right with you?” Garrett thumbed over at Asadi. “If you don’t mind watching the boy again?”
Butch sighed as though it was a big chore. “I guess he can help me cake the cattle.” The old man cracked a smile. “Glad you keep in contact with Sanchez.” He always pronounced it Sandchiss. “He’s the only lawman I know that’s worth a damn.”
Garrett didn’t know if the remark was a blatant insult or an attempt at humor. Either way, he moved on. “You see him often?”
Butch nodded. “He checks in on me about once a month. Always got good county gossip. Brings his mama’s tamales by around Christmastime.
The thought of his dad looking forward to a visit from a sheriff’s deputy made Garrett sad. Sure, the old man was the cause of most of his problems, but nobody deserved to be abandoned. Not even a cantankerous old rattlesnake like him.
Garrett looked around, feeling a little embarrassed it had come to the point where a stranger had to look in on his own father. “Well, I’ll be sure to thank him when I see him. You know, for the tamales and such.”
Butch nodded again but didn’t say anything. He looked a little uncomfortable himself, which was an admission to his loneliness.
Garrett changed the subject once more to keep the conversation moving along. “Canadian seems about the same. I guess the downturn in oil prices hasn’t killed this place like so many others.”
“Yeah, I don’t get to town much. But from what I can tell, things are humming along.” Butch looked reluctant to make his next admission. “For all their ways, the Kaiser family kept this area afloat.” As almost an afterthought, he added, “Honestly, I don’t know how they do it.”
At first, Garrett didn’t think much of the comment but given what Bridger had told him earlier he decided to press further. “What do you mean how they do it?”
“Exactly that.” Butch shot Garrett a confused look. “All the other oil companies around here went bust or dern near shut dow
n to nothing. But not Mescalero. With oil prices where they are, they’ve got to be losing money.” Butch paused a moment before continuing. “Rigs keep running and Preston Kaiser is buying up minerals and leasing everything he can get his hands on.” Another pause. “Of course, he’s getting it all at a discount since he’s pretty much the only game in town now.”
“Humph.” Garrett let out the sound involuntarily.
“Humph, what?” Butch asked.
“Kicking folks while they’re down. Huh?”
Butch chuckled. “Ain’t nobody put a gun to their heads.”
“I know it, but—”
“But what? We got a history with the Kaisers. They did that to us during the drought. Well, I got news for you, son. Nobody put a gun to your granddaddy’s head either.” Butch let out a sigh. “I know you got your issues because of what happened with your mama. Nobody knows that better than me. But the one responsible for that is dead. And he died a miserable old bastard, I’m told. Maybe even more miserable than me.” He chuckled a little. “Don’t let all that ruin what you got with your brother. There may come a time when he’s all you got left.”
Before he could answer, Garrett looked over to see Asadi standing before them, pitchfork in hand, and a big smile on his face. His wheelbarrow full of horse manure sat near the stall door. He said something in Dari and pointed to the wheelbarrow when nobody responded.
Butch elbowed Garrett in the ribs. “He’s asking what to do with the mess, you dolt.” The old man gave Asadi a thumbs-up. “Good work, sonny. We’ll take care of that when it warms up.”
Garrett stood in surprised silence. Who’d kidnapped his dad and replaced him with Mr. Rogers? Butch had never told him good work once in his life and he sure wouldn’t have let him wait until it warmed up to finish a job. He was about to call him on it when his dad patted Asadi on the back.
The boy grinned wide and Garrett decided to just let it be.
12
Awakened in the middle of the night by a scream, Garrett grabbed the holstered Glock on his nightstand. But it took only a moment to figure out what had happened. The boy was having a nightmare, same as before—a desperate plea for his mother.
Leaping from the covers, Garrett moved to the bed and sat next to Asadi, still thrashing beneath the blankets. He rested his hand on the kid’s shoulder. “It’s okay. It’s me.” His voice was just above a whisper. “Your old friend Garrett.”
Garrett attempted to rub his back, the way he’d done on the plane ride over, but the boy lashed out, still fighting the marauders from his village.
“Whoa, Outlaw. You’re safe, buddy. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”
With the boy struggling against him, Garrett turned on the lamp, hoping a little light would break him free from his violent trance. Within seconds, Asadi had snapped out of it, breathless and sweaty. Having no idea what to say or do, Garrett leaned in and gave Asadi a hug, just like his mom had done when he was upset. The boy wrapped his spindly arms around him and squeezed in response. Asadi sniffled, then broke into sobs.
Since the trip began, there were times when Garrett wished he could communicate more clearly with Asadi, but this wasn’t one of them. There was no mystery as to what the boy was dreaming about. And the awful truth was, he’d dream that dream forever. Losing a parent early on left a wound that wouldn’t heal.
Garrett would have yelled at God if he thought it’d help. He’d raised a fist to Heaven plenty of times before, but it never did a lick of good. So instead, he asked for a sign. A miracle. Hell, any damn clue on how to help this poor kid. But with none forthcoming, he did the only thing he knew to do. He pulled Asadi into an even tighter embrace.
A squinting Butch Kohl shuffled into the bedroom wearing his old moth-eaten pajamas and threadbare plaid robe. His midnight voice was more sandpaper than usual. “What’s the matter with him?”
Garrett didn’t want to lie but couldn’t involve Butch in the details about the massacre. “Well, Daddy, let’s just say he’s been through about as tough a time as a kid can go through.”
Butch stared at Garrett through half-closed eyes, letting a little time pass before answering. “Well, I guess if anybody’d know how to help him then, it’d be you.”
Garrett had been waiting for the old man to come up with some kind of nasty retort, and when he didn’t, it threw him for a loop. He couldn’t help but wonder if his dad’s rare vote of confidence was the miracle he’d asked for. He was struggling for a response when Butch turned and ambled into the kitchen. A light went on and there was a clanging of pots and pans.
“Making the boy some hot chocolate,” his dad called from the other room. “Want any?”
Given how rarely his dad offered him anything, Garrett readily accepted. He pulled away from Asadi, who had stopped crying, but was still latched on. The boy looked up with puffy red eyes.
“Hot chocolate?” Garrett asked, having figured out the boy understood a little English.
Asadi got out of bed and held out a hand, which Garrett took, and they both went into the kitchen. By the time they sat, Butch already had the milk on the stove and three mugs on the table. Garrett suspected the tub of Hershey’s cocoa powder on the counter was probably the last one his mom had ever bought. He was tempted to check the expiration date but knew it’d only get Butch riled. If the old rattlesnake wanted to make hot chocolate twenty years expired, he’d let him. Garrett doubted his dad ever made any for himself. He kept it because of her.
While Butch had purged most of her other keepsakes, some memories died harder than others. And in his mother’s world, hot chocolate was as close as it gets to a panacea. From broken hearts to broken bones, if a steaming cup of cocoa didn’t fix it, it couldn’t be fixed. Garrett had sat at that table with a hot mug more times than he could recall.
Butch slid a mug to Asadi and looked over at Garrett. “You know, this kid has the makings of a real horseman.”
Garrett looked to Asadi, who was staring at the cup with a cartoon emblem of Texas Tech’s masked rider, then turned back to his dad. “Is that right?”
“Yep.” Butch walked over and stirred the milk, which was starting to bubble. “Soon as the weather turns, I figured I’d take him out for a ride. If that’s okay?”
“Fine by me.” Garrett followed his approving nod with a question that made him feel like a helicopter parent. “You been riding enough to keep them gentle?”
“Every chance I get.” Butch moved the pot off the burner. “You still ride?”
Garrett repeated his dad’s answer. “Every chance I get.” He laughed at the absurdity of the truth. There was a time in his life when horses meant everything in the world to him. But he hadn’t done much consistent riding since his days at Fort Carson.
“Take it that means not a lot.”
“To tell you the truth, I can’t remember the last time I was on the back of a horse.” Garrett shook his head and gave a quiet answer, mostly to himself. “Years, I guess.”
His dad turned back to the milk and gave it an easy stir. “Nothing stopping you from it while you’re here. Do a little hunting too, if you want. Your gear is still in the hall closet.”
Garrett felt a little guilty. He and Bridger had gone on an elk hunt in New Mexico a few years back and hadn’t invited their dad. It had made for some hurt feelings, but since Butch didn’t mention it, he’d apparently let it go.
“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to move all that stuff down to my trailer.” Garrett let out a chuckle, hoping to keep things light. “Figured you’d be charging me for storage by now.”
Butch cocked an eyebrow. “Who says I haven’t?” Breezing on, he added, “King’s the best hunter. Sure-footed and quiet. Knows how to stalk. Best disposition I’ve ever seen.”
The thought of a hunt put Garrett at ease. He almost couldn’t wait. “King that sorrel?”
Butch brought the boiling milk over to the table and poured a little into each cup. The powder rose from the bottom and swirled at th
e rim. Garrett grabbed a spoon from the center of the table and stirred. Asadi, who’d been watching the process, did the same.
Butch returned the pot to the stove and took a seat. “Yep, that’s him.”
As strange as it was, sitting around the table with the old man and the boy felt as normal as anything had in years. He didn’t know why or how, but Asadi’s presence bridged a gap. It created a portal through time, where he and his dad were speaking to each other in a way they hadn’t spoken since Garrett was in middle school.
For the first time in over two decades, this house was a home.
13
Garrett awoke before sunrise after a more restful night’s sleep than anticipated. He checked in on Asadi before leaving the house and the boy was sawing logs. They didn’t get to bed until around two in the morning, and even once they were back under the covers, Asadi was tossing, turning, and glancing over every few seconds to make sure Garrett was still there. He was clearly scared and who could blame him. Nothing in his world was familiar. Not one single thing.
After about a half hour of restlessness, Garrett sat up, grabbed his phone, and pulled up Google translate on the browser. After typing in his sentence, he walked over to Asadi, and showed him the screen. Although not perfect, the crudely translated message in Dari seemed to work a much-needed miracle: Don’t worry. You’ll always be safe with me.
Asadi smiled, laid his head down, and was fast asleep in minutes. Garrett knew better than to give himself too much credit. As hard as Butch had worked him out in the barn cleaning stalls and feeding horses, the real miracle would be if the boy woke by noon. The old man could work a hummingbird to death.
At any rate, Garrett was glad Asadi was getting some good rest. Now that Butch had a little help, he was probably planning to paint the house or install a new septic system. On a nine-thousand-acre cattle ranch, the possibilities were endless.
