by Brandon Witt
It took several moments for Wesley to realize his jaw was hanging open as he stared at Wendy. Missie B’s was a gay club less than fifteen minutes from the Plaza. Dancing, karaoke, drag shows—about as far away from El Dorado Springs as you could get. For the vast amount of time he’d spent there, he hated that he’d missed the nights Wendy Bennett waltzed in with her cowboy boots and turquoise jewelry.
She patted his hand, making him spill a bit of chai in the process. “I can close up for half an hour or so. How about that ride?”
Wesley hadn’t planned on hiding any aspect of who he was, but he wasn’t naive enough to believe it would be a nonissue. His insides warmed up in a way that had nothing to do with the chai. He beamed at her. “You bet! Probably wouldn’t bring Nutmeg, though. That breeze wouldn’t be good for her ears.”
“Glad you mentioned that. Let me go get something to tie up my hair. I have a lot more important things to do than unrat this mess for hours this evening.”
Chapter Three
“I’M TELLING ya, I’m gonna sue your ass off, Bennett.”
Travis let out his breath in a long exhale through his nostrils, doing his best not to roll his eyes and intentionally infusing his voice with boredom. “What are ya wantin’ now, John? Another free fifty-pound bale of alfalfa or maybe just a six-pack of Miller Lite?”
“Not this time. You think you can just waltz into town and learn how to take care of cattle, buy a feedstore, and all us yokels won’t care you’re nothing more than a city boy.” John pulled up on his silver belt buckle, hiking his Wranglers higher on his skinny hipbones. “You don’t know nothing about taking care of a farm. I’m done with this shithole. I’m gonna take my business over to Stockton.”
Crossing his arms across his chest, Travis leaned back, resting his hip on the edge of the counter. He’d never liked John Wallace. Something about the man just gave him the willies. Years ago, John had been one of the best-looking men in town, and if you used your imagination, you could still make out a bit of the attractive residue. Two decades of a diet consisting of nothing more substantial than fried catfish and endless bottles of cheap beer had left him with an aged and pot-bellied exterior. Typically John’s ranting did little more than provide comic relief in Travis’s day. However, he wasn’t in the mood. He’d been on edge all week, even snipping at the twins. And he never did that.
He felt his cheeks flush, which just irritated him more. The last thing you let John Wallace see was that he was getting under your skin. The little leech would just wriggle in deeper. “You’re more than welcome to take your business over to Stockton, John, if they’ll have you. Course we both know you’re too much of a cheap son of a bitch to drive the twenty miles it would take. And, for the last time, I’ve lived in El Do for twenty years and have worked here for just that long. And owned the damned place for over a decade.”
The bang of the front door of Cedar County Feed made both men look over from their bickering. A tall, wiry man silhouetted in the doorway slipped off his ball cap as he walked through. “Not to mention, John, you wouldn’t have anything to do with farming, or any of us hicks, as you liked to call us, until you blew out your knee senior year and lost your dreams of playing pro ball.” The man crossed the room and tossed his hat on the counter beside Travis, lowering his voice in a mock whisper. “Of course, I’ve heard tell that the severity of that particular injury was greatly exaggerated. Could be due more to not catching the eye of any recruiters than it was to torn ligaments or joints, or whatever it was.” He cocked a brow toward John, who was seething. “What’d you say happened to it again?”
John took a step toward the men, spittle flying from between his lips. “You always were too full of yourself, Jason Baker. And yer still mad I stole yer girl.”
Jason’s laugh was loud, large, and genuine. He reached out and slapped John on the arm, causing John to have to steady himself. “You keep telling yourself that, John. You just keep telling yourself that.” He looked over at Travis. “You were saying something about giving Mr. Wallace here a fifty of alfalfa? Make it a hundred. I owe him big-time for stealing Missy Wilson away from me. You seen how fat that heifer has got?”
“Fuck you, you faggot. You can’t talk about my wife like that!”
Travis stepped between the two men, put an arm over the smaller man’s shoulders, and steered him toward the door, his anger at John overtaken by the sense they were one insult from a complete brawl in his store. “He didn’t mean it, John. Calm down. Missy’s a swell woman.”
Jason called after them, not even trying to keep the laughter from his voice. “Did you say swell or shrill? Lord, just hearing that woman hum could give ya a headache.”
“Shut up, Baker!” Travis glared over his shoulder, then refocused his attention to leading John out the door. “I’m still sticking to that you got yourself a case of foot rot, and you need to get that looked at quick. Still, you come back and pick up a fifty tomorrow? That work?” He should just take care of it now, so he wouldn’t have two days in a row of John Wallace—but he couldn’t take another minute with the man at the moment.
“That cow don’t have nothing wrong with its feet. It’s the shitty quality of the crap you sell here that—”
“I’ll throw in that six-pack as well.” Travis had him to the door of his old Chevrolet. “Tomorrow.”
John continued to grumble but gave a curt nod and slid into his truck.
Travis barely waited until John’s extremities were inside before shutting the door and smacking the bed of the truck as if it were a horse getting ready to race. “See ya tomorrow, John.”
Without looking to make certain John was in fact driving away, Travis headed up the short sidewalk that led to the front door of the metal building. He paused just long enough to glance up at the huge tin sign on top of the roof—Cedar County Feed—painted in barn-red letters. It had been years since he’d touched it up, and the sign was beginning to look shabby. Walking the last few feet, Travis shook his head and let out a huff. “More trouble than it’s worth.”
“If you mean John Wallace, I’ve been telling you that for years. We need to kick his ass outta here.”
Travis narrowed his eyes at Jason, which only prompted the man’s smile to widen. “I was talking about the store, but now that I think about it, it’s you who’s more trouble than you’re worth.”
Jason clamped both hands over his heart and staggered backward, running into a cardboard display advertising a new chicken feed. “Your words wound! Is that any way to talk to your best friend? Your blood brother? Your brother from another mother?”
Even though he rolled his eyes, Travis wasn’t able to keep a grin from cracking over his face. “You’re an idiot.” He walked to the side of the counter and knelt down, peering behind it, and slapped his hand on the concrete floor. “Come here, boy. He’s gone.”
From out of the shadows of the counter, Dunkyn padded forward, floppy ears even lower than normal, eyes darting this way and that. When he reached the end of the counter, the dog peeked out, taking in the rest of the space. Once certain the coast was clear, he pushed his head against Travis’s outstretched hands, allowing himself to be soothed.
Travis rubbed Dunkyn’s ear between his thumb and forefinger. “I tell ya, something is wrong with that man. Dunk doesn’t respond to anybody like he does John Wallace.”
Jason snorted. “You’re telling me? I grew up with the fucker. At least now his outsides match what he’s like.” His typically cheery face darkened. “He really did steal Missy Wilson from me, you know.”
Travis grinned up at his friend. “You wanting her back?”
An irrepressible shudder passed over Jason, causing Travis to laugh. “Not hardly. Still, not the point. The guy is nothing but sleaze. We really should ban him from CCF.”
“CCF? Seriously, you’re back on that kick? It sounds like a cross between KFC and the WWF. And banning John Wallace really would be more hassle than it’s worth. He makes me nervous
, but I’d rather keep him where I can see him.”
“Why did you make me the general manager if I don’t got a say? CCF needs to stay updated and cool.”
“Which is exactly why we’re staying away from CCF.” Travis stood and walked behind the wooden counter, swiped up Jason’s hat, and hung it on one of the metal hooks on the pegboard behind the cash register. Dunkyn plodded along at his feet, still glancing back every few steps. “Welcome home, by the way. How was Colorado?”
Jason sighed, walking over to the counter. Putting his weight on his elbows, he leaned toward Travis. “Man, I love that place. It’s so beautiful and rugged. You just feel like… I dunno… a man.”
“You don’t feel like a man here? Is there something you wanna tell me? Should I start calling you my sister from another mother?”
“Fuck off, dude. You know what I mean. Just the mountains and wilderness. It’s amazing. You should go with me next year.”
“You know I don’t like hunting.”
“You could just go to hang out and drink some beers. You haven’t gotten outta town since—” Jason’s words dropped off abruptly, and he began inspecting a knot in the slab of lumber that made up the countertop.
Travis had to tell his shoulders to relax, and he unclenched his fists one finger at time. When he was able to speak, his words were strained. “So did ya get anything?”
Jason circled his forefinger over the knot. “Nah. No luck this year. Paul, one of the guys I meet up there every year, he got a buck. Not a great one, as far as elk go, but decent. Nothing you’d mount, but enough meat to eat on for a bit. He’s gonna send me some steaks once he’s gotten it butchered.”
“You didn’t do it for him?” Travis almost sounded normal again. He cleared his throat.
“Hell no. The guy got the elk and I do the work? I don’t think so. Besides, I had other huntin’ to do.”
Travis groaned, but a smile crept back in. He shoved Jason roughly on the shoulder. “I bet you did.”
Jason finally looked up from the countertop, all grin and puffed-out chest. “I might not have proved myself a master elk hunter, but I got the pussy hunting trophy, don’t you worry about that!”
“God, you’re vile.”
Standing, throwing his shoulders back, Jason lowered his voice to a gravelly decimal. “And virile.”
“I think I need to quit having you around my kids. You’re not a good influence.”
Jason glanced around, exaggerating every motion. “I don’t see any kids now. We can talk about all the pussy you want. You wanna hear about the blonde pussy, the brunette pussy, or the bald pussy?”
“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.” Travis glanced at his watch. “I gotta get Caleb from school in a bit. I need to run by the hardware store and get some new stuff. Dolan ran through the screen door again.”
“Again? I swear Caleb dropped that dog on his head when he was a pup. He’s the most retarded animal I’ve ever seen. And that’s including John Wallace’s mutt.”
“I swear you do that on purpose.”
“What?”
“You try to be offensive. First with the pussy and now with saying retarded. Caleb would kill you if he heard you call Dolan that. And if he didn’t, Avery would.”
Jason looked around the feedstore once more, this time with more genuine intent. “Trav, your kids aren’t here. What’s got into you?”
For just a second, though probably not that long, Travis nearly told him. Just nearly spilled his guts about the dark places his mind seemed to be stuck in. “Nothing. Just in a mood I guess. You cool to handle the store for the rest of the day?”
“I was only gone two weeks, Travis. I can run this place in my sleep.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Travis slipped into his brown canvas jacket.
“And I’d still do it better than you.” Jason grinned and stooped down. “Come here, dog. I haven’t even said hi to you yet.”
Forgetting about the threat of John Wallace, with his short front legs springing in little hops, Dunkyn bounded toward Jason, snorting and nipping at his fingers.
“That’s good, old boy. You take care of your dad tonight, Dunk. Try to get him to lighten up a bit. He’s….” Jason leaned closer to the dog, tilting his head to the left, then looking up at Travis. “What’s wrong with Dunkyn? His face is kinda swollen.”
Travis didn’t meet Jason’s gaze, instead fiddling with the keys in his jacket pocket. “You should have seen him Sunday. I had to rush him into the vet. He’s a lot better now, but he’s still got six more days of pills left.”
Jason returned his attention to the dog, moving his hands in circular motions over Dunkyn’s sides, eliciting a long, contented groan. “Glad you’re better, big man. You’re a vital part of CCF.”
“Let it go, Jason. If I die tonight, you can call it whatever the hell you want. Not that I’m leaving the place to you at any rate.”
Giving Dunkyn a final pat on the rump, Jason stood back up, his voice lowered to a secretive tone, as if there were others in the feedstore who might overhear the gossip. “Did you talk to Cheryl Fisher when you took Dunk in?”
“Actually she….” Travis paused, suddenly knowing where this was going. “Why?”
“Well, Mom took her dog in to see Cheryl the day before I left for hunting. That damned poodle has a constant case of diarrhea. Nastiest thing. Anyway, Mom said Cheryl wasn’t there. That some gay guy took care of Daphne—prescribed her some fancy, new expensive food. Mom said she nearly left, but she was so tired of cleaning up after that damned dog she didn’t want to have to wait for Cheryl.”
“Really?” Travis still didn’t meet his friend’s eyes. “Why’d she think he’s gay?”
“Well, let’s just say that expensive dog food wasn’t the only thing fancy in there. Plus, she saw his girly, yella car in the lot. It’s got some kinda rainbow sticker on it.”
“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Travis mentally kicked himself. Who didn’t know what a rainbow sticker meant anymore?
“Shut up, Travis. Everybody knows only queers get rainbow stickers on their cars. It’s how they know each other.” Jason leaned forward. “So Cheryl was there? You didn’t meet the fag?”
“I swear, Jason, you sound more like a gossipy old woman every day. If I left for a week, I’d come back to find you’d turned this place into a beauty parlor.”
Jason shrugged, unconcerned with the criticism. “Course, Mom said there’d always been rumors about Dr. Fisher being a carpet muncher. Well, she didn’t say it like that. Thank God. She and Cheryl were in school together. I guess there was talk of it even back then.”
“Dr. Fisher was married to Jack for probably thirty or forty years before he died.”
Another shrug. “Hey, don’t blame me. I didn’t make it up, just passing along the word.”
Travis smacked his upper thigh once, and Dunkyn trotted over, waiting as he opened the shop door. “Like I said, beauty parlor.”
“Whatever, Bennett. You’re the one who’s offended by the word pussy all of a sudden.” Jason closed the distance between them and slapped Travis on the shoulder.
Travis sighed. “Good to have ya back, bud. Thanks for covering the place for me.”
“Good to be back. Can’t stay gone from El Do for long.” He started to turn away but then paused. “Dunk will be fine, Travis. You’ll see.”
Travis nodded, his throat tight. Maybe Jason could see where his brain had been stuck lately. “Thanks. I promised the kids and Wendy I’d pick up hickory burgers from Simone’s later tonight. I’ll get ya one. Wanna come by?”
“You bet. Pick me up an order of curly fries too.”
Chapter Four
CLOSING HIS eyes, Wesley concentrated on not vomiting. He released his hold on the hoof, stood, walked a couple of feet away, then took a shallow breath through his mouth. Even that caused him to gag. The smell had permeated his senses, seeming to coat his tongue and throat. Rookie mistak
e. He took a few more steps away from where the cow stood secured in the chute. The rotten stench blocked out all other thought. Grasping the wooden plank of the fence, he leaned against it, determined to keep his breakfast inside his body.
“Well, what do you think, Doc?”
Wesley didn’t respond verbally, only raised a finger asking for another moment and squeezed his eyes shut tighter. When he was relatively certain he could open his mouth without incident, he turned toward the man. “Sorry about that. I should have known better than to take such a deep breath.”
“Is it bad? I can’t afford nothing expensive. Just bought the wife the new TV she’s been wanting. We’re strapped.”
His eyes watering, Wesley looked over at the man. A little shorter than himself and a strange combination of a skinny, nearly malnourished frame, with a protruding potbelly. He’d thought the smell of alcohol radiating from the man had been bad enough, but it was nothing compared to the unfortunate cow. “Mr. Wallace, when did you say you first noticed symptoms?”
“Um, the dumb bitch started limpin’ two or three days ago, I’d say. Yesterday she wasn’t putting any weight on that leg at all.” He raised his hand and swiped out his left nostril with the tip of his little finger. After inspecting, he brushed the finger against the leg of his jeans. “I know what it is. It’s that shit food I get at Cedar County Feed. Charges me a shitload and it ain’t worth shit.”
Wesley grimaced, this time more from the man in front of him than from the smell of the infected animal. His gaze wandered over to the cow. He’d always thought Limousin cattle were one of the prettier breeds, especially the red-golden variety. From what he’d seen of Mr. Wallace’s small herd, their hide was more a sad blonde color. None of them looked like the picture of health.
