Western Ways

by Tysche Dwai

  “Fucking wind.” Neal pushed through his back door, muttering as he shucked his muddy boots and heavy jacket then slipped on worn house shoes and a tattered flannel shirt over his dusty work shirt. Shivering because of the unexpectedly early winter low temperatures and blustery winds, he warmed a cup of soup. Carrying that and a sandwich to his office, he turned on the computer and connected to the Internet.

  A stout north wind rattled the windows and screeched as it howled around the corner of the house. Not bothered enough to turn up the heat, he sat in a dispirited slump staring at the screen.

  One thing he’d promised himself when he returned from Childress almost five months earlier was that he would still email Jenny. It never occurred to him that she might not answer. But he hadn’t heard a word from her since they parted in her hospital room.

  ‘Not like this.’ Guess she told me. But I ain’t through with her yet. Like a stubborn mule, Neal maintained the same routine he always had. He emailed each day and told her about the ranch, the weather, what he’d read, what he saw on TV, what he was thinking—everything that influenced his life. And he signed it like he always did—Love, Neal.

  Every Sunday night, he sent her a poem. Sometimes it was humorous, like the time he pulled a calf out of the only waterhole for five miles around and how the job was hell because all the other cows stood in the water watching, their curiosity putting them in the way most of the time. Often his poem reflected his mood. Occasionally he wrote a poem about ‘what if.’

  While she never answered his emails, they never bounced back. So he figured she must be getting them—just not writing. Nothing interested him as much as sending her the news of the day. As close as I’ll ever get to telling my wife what’s going on at the end of the day when I come home from working the ranch. He mourned the fact that Jenny was hurt enough to kill their budding romance. Leaving tore him up, but her happiness came first. She wanted to be a Ranger and not rearrange her life for him. So be it.

  Because darkness came so much earlier in the autumn and winter seemed to be settling in for good—another strong gust shook the house hard—he had returned to role-playing on Yahoo. The game was no substitute for Jenny, but it kept his mind sharp. This time he participated in a sci-fi outer space game. With only twelve participants, he quickly teamed up with another player known as Agent Red. Sci-fi not being his forte like a western would be, he came into the game without a lot of knowledge, but this person helped him learn fast enough to stay alive. They worked well together. Over the past three weeks, he wavered between thinking the player a man then a woman. Sometimes the person wrote something that made Neal think Agent Red a woman. That was an interesting concept, but just as soon as he thought it, the player would do something mannish. So, he played and stopped wondering.

  This particular night was the last session in the game. He regretted the ending since he would have to find something else to do. His book list contained several good choices, but he wanted to discuss them, and no one stayed on the ranch at night but him. Jenny would enjoy reading what he thought about the selections, but he’d like to know what her opinion would be.

  Rather than mull over maudlin thoughts, he put his mind to playing the final session of the sci-fi game. Three hours later, he signed off with a thank you to the players. Oddly enough, his email dinged three minutes later, signaling an incoming message. Since he only used email for his brother and Jenny, his heart sped up a bit when he rushed to check it out.

  Agent Red sent a message. He slumped again, more tired than he realized. Disheartened. But he opened the message and smiled. “Enjoyed the game. Not surprised at how fast you picked up the sci-fi concept. Always knew you were a smart man. But there are times when even smart men don’t read the signs right. Seek better understanding. And watch the front gate. Agent Red.”

  Now what the hell does all that mean? Neal reviewed all he knew about the player. Coming up with no answers to the cryptic message, he disconnected the ‘net and headed to the bedroom, but not before peeking out the front room curtain, checking that there was nothing at the front gate.

  The next day seemed doomed from the beginning. He was out of coffee; the tractor got stuck on the far side of the ranch. One of the hands called in to say his wife went into labor early, and he wouldn’t be there for several days. A cow dropped her calf, but he couldn’t find it and feared it might die in the cold before he could. One tire on his truck went flat, and then the water line sprang a leak a mile from the house. He spent the evening fixing that, driving in at the house well after dark. One thing after another plagued him until he wanted to throw up his hands and run away to some place warm and comforting. Nothing had really gone right since...

  Neal refused to think about Jenny. His thoughts were depressing enough. The hot tea did not satisfy him like a cup of hot coffee would have, but at least it warmed his hands. No sooner did he shake the chill than the sound of a horn blared at the front gate.

  All he could see when he looked out the front window was the glare of headlights. Since he locked the gate each evening and didn’t expect company, he wondered what was going on. Cautiously he eased out of the front door, after turning off the porch light and grabbing his shotgun. That might be a misguided tourist, but it also might be someone up to no good.

  Thirty feet from the gate and to one side of the headlights, he stopped and rested the gun on his hip. No one stood at the gate though he thought he saw someone beside the truck door. “What can I do for you?”

  “A cup of coffee and a place to stay would be nice.”

  Her voice shocked him. The last person he expected here was... No, that wasn’t Jenny. He just wanted to believe it was.

  “Who are you? Step into the light!” Despite the temperature, sweat broke out across his brow. His eyes strained to make out the tall figure walking toward the gate though to one side out of the light. He heard nothing further though he strained to catch the sound of her voice again. His stomach muscles threatened to knot up, and his blood thundered in his ears.

  Someone stopped at the gate, in the light, in silhouette. Leaned both arms against the rail and said nothing.

  “Who are you?”

  “You know me.” A chuckle accompanied the answer.

  “Tell me anyway.” The gun in Neal’s hand hung loosely at his side. No way was he shooting this person. Hope existed as a tiny ember.

  “Lately you’ve known me as Agent Red.”

  “I knew it, god-dang it! I thought you were a man for a while, but I really believed you were a woman.” He would not get closer. So how come his feet were moving? “You’re a sharp player on line. But you don’t belong here.”

  If she didn’t want him, he wasn’t going to let her tear his heart out again.

  “Why not?” Still in silhouette, the voice sounded a bit indignant.

  “Why not what?” I’ve lost my mind.

  “Tell me why I don’t belong here.”

  “’Cause you said you didn’t love me.”

  “When did I say that? I did not!” Now the figure stood with both feet apart and hands on hips. Oh yeah, this is a woman all right. A pissed woman.

  “You told me in the hospital.”

  “I think you didn’t hear me right.” The tone of voice smoothed out as if the speaker suddenly realized the problem with the conversation. “What did I say—exactly?”

  By now, Neal stood on the other side of the gate, not three feet from the one person he wanted to see but dared not hope to ever find again. Because he couldn’t take his eyes off her long enough to think straight, she repeated the question.

  “What did I say in the hospital?”

  “Not like this.” He remembered the words with bitterness. And said them the same way.

  “And what did that mean?”

  “What the hell does that mean... ‘What did that mean’? You told me you didn’t love me! That’s what that meant! God-dang woman, you’re driving me crazy.” Neal shot her a frustrated glance and
almost spit when he saw her smile.

  Jenny crossed her arms on the pipe gate and leaned her chin on her wrists. “I said not like this...I meant I didn’t want you to see me like that. I didn’t want to come to you in love all messed up like that.” She snorted. “For a smart man, you sure read that sign wrong, cowboy. Open the gate, Neal. I need to give you a few things.” When he didn’t move, she lowered her voice and asked again. “Please? Let me in?”

  Against his better judgment—he knew she’d break his heart again—he opened the gate just enough to let her walk through. “Tell me what you want, Jenny, then go home.”

  “Okay.” She stopped in front of him and studied him while he fidgeted, wanting to study her just as much. “First off, here.” She held out her purse.

  “What the hell do I want with your damn purse?” He put his hands, gun and all, behind his back.

  “Quit being such a ninny, and take the thing.” One hip cocked and a wicked look on her face, Jenny held the purse out again.

  Hoping the thing didn’t hold a snake or something equally unpleasant, Neal held it with two fingers as if it would bite.

  “Oh, for the love of Pete, open it.”

  “I ain’t going to go digging in a woman’s purse!”

  “Neal!” Her tone suggested she was about two seconds from tapping her foot in extreme aggravation.

  “Shit!” He opened the purse and looked inside. To his surprise, it was empty. He hadn’t noticed how light it was when he took it from her. “What the hell you giving me an empty purse for?” He rolled his eyes up and shook his head as he handed the purse back to her.

  “Notice anything missing?” She slung the purse lightly onto her shoulder.

  “Missing?”

  “Think, Neal.”

  “Well, now that you mention it. Seems the last time you opened that thing, you pulled out a Sig Sauer and a silver Ranger badge.” By now, he was one confused cowboy. “So, Jenny, where are they?”

  “With the captain of Company B.”

  “You didn’t get fired, did you?” Suddenly her happiness with being a Ranger was more important than him being pissed at her. Reminding him of all the things he wanted.

  “No, silly. But I did recover and wade through all those physical therapy sessions so I could qualify again. My shoulder was screwed up so qualifying with my gun took longer than getting my leg back into shape. I had to pass the medical test too. I passed them all and was moved from the disabled list back to active duty. That was my goal before I...” She seemed quite proud of her accomplishments.

  Truth known, Neal was proud of her as well. “Must have been hard work.”

  “Oh, it was. Every day I went to therapy and ran and practiced on the gun range, and each evening I dragged my worn out body home in time to collapse and read your emails and poems.” She gave him a rather flirty grin.

  “You didn’t answer them, and now you’re back on the job so why are you here bothering me?”

  “I’m bothering you?” Her voice teased him.

  He refused to take her bait. “Go home, Jenny.” One hand waved her back to her truck.

  “Can’t.”

  “Why the hell not!” Tempted to shake her or stomp one booted foot, both undignified for a man his age, Neal wanted answers instead of this game of beating around the bush she seemed to be playing.

  “I gave you an empty purse. I gave my badge, gun and commission to the captain yesterday afternoon just after I closed my apartment. I got in my truck and hit the road, headed here to give you something. I met my first goal: qualifying for the Rangers again. Now I can give it up. But I have one thing left to give you.”

  Suspicious of Jenny when she was in a playful mood, especially after he figured out she was the one called Agent Red in that latest round of RPG, he cocked an eyebrow and asked, “What do you have to give me?”

  “My heart.”

  To the count of three, he could not speak. “Say what?”

  “Did you set out to win my heart with your words and poems and handsome face?”

  “Well, I don’t know about all that... But yeah, I did.” He stepped closer. Before he dropped it, he decided to lay the shotgun on the ground. He bent to do it at the same time she swung the purse to the ground. They came up together, in each other’s arms, sort of natural-like.

  “Did I really win the Ranger’s heart?” Afraid to believe, Neal turned her so the truck lights shone on her face.

  “I can’t go home because I am home. With you, Neal. No more Rangers. Just a woman with a heart that belongs to you. Want it?”

  “Oh, sweetheart, I’ll take the Ranger, the heart and the whole nine yards if you’ll tell me you’ll marry me tomorrow.”

  “I think that can be arranged.” And Jenny put a hand on each side of Neal’s face and pulled him down for a deep kiss that confirmed her words: he had in fact won the Ranger’s heart.

  THE END

  About the Author

  In humid beautiful Texas one hundred miles from the Gulf of Mexico, I have been an educator, Challenge Course facilitator, photographer, security staff and now a writer. Wife, mother and grandmother. These titles fit me well. I've held them all—some far longer than others. The title I long strived for was that of writer--now published author.

  As a writer, my imagination creates whatever I want. Once I've written something I want to share, it is time to edit, hone that manuscript until there is no doubt what I want the reader to experience. I'm still working at that. And always will. Any writer who says, "I've got this down pat," is only fooling herself.

  There are no rules to what your imagination comes up with, but there are guidelines to follow if you want that story to be the best it can. So writers are also learners. Constantly attending conferences, taking classes, reading, communicating with fellow writers. The trick is to take what you learn and make it your own. Write in a way that no one else does. Be fresh!

  There is no new story—each has been told. The idea is to tell your story in a new way. So we fill notebooks with ideas, pages with storybook names, jot down dire circumstances then one day, we the writers, pull out an idea from here and a name from there and put it all together. We add tension, conflict, danger, doubt, suspense and maybe love if that's your thing. Polish the words and craft them until you have a story that begs to be read and enjoyed.

  That is my challenge: to write such a story. I strive toward that goal every day. Enjoy...Jane Carver (also writing as Elizabeth Eden and Ruth Bolin)

  Jane Carver (also writing as Young Adult author Jane Grace)

  http://www.romances-by-janie.com

  http://www.JaneGracePresents.com

  Write to me at: janer.carver@gmail.com

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