Rancher Daddy

by Lexi Whitlow

  In November my show at Mary Boon’s uptown gallery opens. Hayes’ mom is loaning my father’s work for the exhibition, which has served as inspiration for everything new I’m producing for the show. So far, my work for the collection is technically and visually strong. Conceptually, it’s shockingly hopeful. Mary has her concerns about all the upbeat messaging, but if happiness kills my art career, I’m fine sticking with my day job. So far there’s no indication that the investors or collectors out there snapping up my stuff as quick as I can produce it, are the least bit phased by my improved mood.

  Until Harvey & Chandler can open in the building in Soho, we’re renting the basement of The Foundry. I quit my job there back in May to focus on freelance work, and Hayes started doing freelance for them, while actively pursuing new clients for our partnership. His connections have landed us several gems, with more opportunities presenting themselves weekly.

  Hayes doesn’t always like to admit it, but he’s every bit as good managing the schedules and budgets, talking to clients, and pitching our work, as he is creating. Those are things I don’t do well. I’m coming to appreciate that doing them correctly is a real skill; every bit as essential to our business as concept, craft, and color. I couldn’t imagine trying to run this business without him. It wouldn’t be fun, and it would go broke for lack of clients and lack of business savvy. As it is, Hayes and I complement one another perfectly.

  There’s no better feeling in the world than knowing my best friend in the world is also my partner at work and in life. As Hayes likes to remind me, together, we make a pretty good team.

  Epilogue

  Hayes

  Ten Years Later

  It’s too quiet. Which is good because I’m brain dead from looking at numbers, deductions, insurance, and social security taxes. Getting all the files together for the CPA isn’t light work. But still, it’s too quiet.

  I peek around the edge of my monitor.

  Guy is at a desk by the window. He’s in a chair with a pencil in his hand, intently working at something, his face stern in concentration.

  “Whatcha’ doing there, buddy?” I ask.

  “Bodoni,” he says. He doesn’t look up.

  Our son is a curious creature. One minute he’s bouncing around, rattling the roof, trying to take the computers and scanners apart. The next minute he’s focused like a cat, lost in the wonder of some drawing or photograph, almost as if he’s attempting to imprint the image on his memory for all time.

  I get up and walk around behind him to have a look at what he’s up to.

  He’s got the Fontbook out, and a piece of paper laid over the open spread. He’s tracing Bodoni straight from the page.

  “Guy, why are you doing that?” I ask him, almost afraid to hear his answer.

  He shrugs, still not looking up. “I like it. Looking at all the little pieces of the letters, figuring out how they’re put together. Put all the pieces together right and the letter fits together with other ones to make a word. Then fit all the words together right, and that makes the story real.”

  “That’s right,” I say. “Everything starts with the small pieces. How’d you know that?”

  I know I’ve never said it to him, not in so many words.

  He shrugs again. “Doesn’t everyone know it?”

  “Not everyone,” I say.

  I’ll never understand what I’ve done to deserve all I’ve been given. I’ve lived a charmed life. I had the best parents any kid could hope for. I was given a wonderful, horizon broadening education. I’ve collected a few, dear, long-time friends. I love what I do for a living—except at tax time. The love of my life, my angel Chloe, still makes my heart skip a beat every time she smiles at me, which is almost every time she sees me. Together we built a successful business partnership, and we made this incredible little boy who just takes my breath away.

  “Love you, kiddo,” I say, laying my hand on his head.

  He ignores me, keeping his focus on his work.

  I finish assembling our tax files, sending everything to the CPA, then I go off in search Chloe, leaving Guy to himself.

  I find Chloe in her studio, hunched over the composing table, setting lead type.

  She’s beautiful, all long legs, intense eyes, and a cascading mane of hair the color of autumn honey. Right now her flowing curls are tied back, wound with a scarf into a pony tail while she works with the ink and heavy equipment.

  I glide up behind her, suggesting she take a break. She’s like Guy upstairs, fixed in deep concentration.

  I know how to get her attention.

  I slip my hands down to her hips and pull her close, then lean over her and gently kiss the nape of her neck.

  “Angel, I’m feeling over-worked and neglected,” I speak softly in her ear. “I want to take you and Guy for a walk to Chelsea Market to get some sushi and ice cream.”

  She leans back into me. “Is that all?” she asks, dropping her head on my chest, looking up at me with a sweet smile.

  I nod. “For now, while the kid’s awake. I’m hoping the ice cream will put him down. It usually does.”

  “Okay,” she agrees smiling, taking off her apron, unfurling her hair. “Let’s go.”

  I kiss her, and I remind her that I love her. I remind her every single day. She reminds me, by her mere presence beside me, that I’m the most fortunate man in the world.

  Guarding Her

  Prologue

  Seven Years Ago

  Tonight, I’m asking Avery Thomas to move away with me. Mexico. It’s a hell of a drive, but I just had the oil changed in my pick-up.

  I have it all worked out. MapQuest directions printed. I sent them to Avery last night, but there wasn’t a response. I’m hoping that means she’s down and just couldn’t get back to me. Maybe she’s scared her parents will find out.

  I’ve got it all planned. It’s beautiful down there at this time of year. Gray whales. Avery likes whales. And the sea.

  It’s a good plan. A good idea.

  We’ll leave downtown San Francisco as soon as the crowds clear, and we can take the old highway down to Big Sur, camp by the beach. Or stay with my brother’s friend—he has a bed and breakfast right by the shore. He might have a spare room.

  Avery is a virgin, I think. That’s what she said when we were sitting on her parents’ roof three weeks ago. Avery had consumed half a bottle of Boone’s Farm by that point, and we’d both smoked three or four clove cigarettes I stole from my brother and half a joint that Avery picked up from her friend Ella. I think that’s what she meant when she said she’d never done anything with a guy before.

  Her parents didn’t ever let her out of the house—that’s probably why.

  Funny how they’re not here tonight. They’re at some rally for Avery’s asshole mom, fucking Evelyn Thomas. And Richard is right there with her. You’d think a career politician and her military husband might give a damn about their daughter delivering the salutatorian speech at her own damn high school graduation, but apparently fucking not.

  Here I am. The only person in Avery’s reserved row.

  Because nothing is about Avery. It’s always about Evelyn.

  I watched Avery walk across the stage alone, orange-red hair falling over her face in waves. Her bright blue eyes glinted in my direction when she took her diploma, but her expression was blank. She was looking for her parents. I listened to her speech, which was better than the valedictorian’s speech by a long shot. And I’m standing here by the exit, waiting for her. There are three or four guys trying to chat her up, and there are at least five of her girlfriends flitting around her like moths around a flame.

  She’s all fire and elegance. High cheekbones and red-tipped eyelashes, cool clear skin and a smattering of freckles across her nose. There are freckles on her shoulders too. I noticed that three Fridays ago when we smoked and drank, and she fell asleep in my lap. I wanted to touch her, trace my finger over the hollow in her neck, her pulse flickering like a but
terfly’s wings as she slept.

  But I didn’t. I leaned back on my hands, trying to will my cock to lie low. I concentrated so hard that I didn’t notice when she woke, until she spoke my name softly. Full pink lips forming the sounds.

  Maddox, why don’t you kiss me? I’ve been waiting all night.

  “Avery!” I cup my hands to my mouth and shout in her direction. She turns at me and smiles, but the joy in that expression doesn’t reach her eyes.

  “One second,” she shouts back. One of the guys puts an arm around her shoulder, and her friend Ella pulls her back towards the stage. I hear some rumblings about a party, and knowing Avery, I bet someone will talk her into it.

  I shuffle from side to side, anxiety building in my gut. I shove my hand in my army jacket, checking for the directions. I find them, pat them.

  I watch Avery as she disappears with her gaggle of friends behind the bleachers set up on the graduation stage. I can hear the peals of her laughter. Is it fake or real? I can’t tell.

  I know underneath it, she’s hurting. I can read it on her. Back when I was in college, the teacher in my freshman psych class told us that adult children of alcoholics can read micro-expressions. I can. Fuck. I spent my childhood trying to read my dad to see if he was in a good drunk mood or a real shitty one. My safety depended on it. So did my brother’s.

  I take a pack of cigarettes out of my coat pocket. There are seven still in there. Enough to make it to Los Angeles, maybe. I’ll quit then. I take one and put it in my mouth, clenching it between my teeth. My eyes are still glued to the stage. I see a burst of bright red hair every now and again. I can almost taste the tobacco, but I don’t light it yet.

  A hand claps me on the shoulder, nearly making me jump out of my skin.

  “You can’t smoke those things in here, son.”

  I turn, and there’s Avery’s dad. Her mom stands behind her hulk of a husband, hands daintily clasped in front of her. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. Her pinched, angry face says everything it needs to when she looks at me.

  My heart sinks. Shit. Fuck. I hadn’t counted on them showing up.

  “General Thomas.” I shake the man’s hand, and he claps me on the shoulder again, this time a little too hard. “Mrs. Thomas. Nice of you to show up.”

  “That’s Senator Thomas, Maddox,” Evelyn says, her mouth pinching even tighter. “And we were at a rally for my re-election.”

  “For state senate,” I say. “That’s not quite the same as the regular senate, is it, Mrs. Thomas?”

  The woman crosses her arms and nearly growls at me. A corner of my mouth raises into a smile. I can’t help it.

  General Thomas bellows in laughter. “He’s got you pegged, Evelyn. I like this kid—”

  Evelyn rolls her eyes. “You know my opinion on the Bryant family.” She says the words like we’re a disease she picked up in a third world country.

  “Let me have a word with the kid, Evie. You go see Avery.”

  “Don’t call me Evie, Richard,” Evelyn huffs. She looks at me suspiciously, but she walks back down the aisle to call for Avery.

  A lump grows in my throat.

  Not tonight. We can’t leave tonight now. I hadn’t counted on these assholes showing up. Tomorrow. They’re leaving for the big campaign push. I center myself. Keep calm.

  When Evelyn is out of earshot, General Thomas leans in closer. He puts a hand on my arm. His grip is a little tighter than necessary.

  “Maddox, son. You and my daughter have been spending a lot of time together recently.”

  “Yessir,” I say. I glance sideways at him. His eyes, so much like Avery’s, bore into mine. “We’re good friends. Nothing more, sir.”

  General Thomas laughs again, but the mirth is gone from his voice. “Is that a fact? Then why did I find this in Avery’s email?”

  He pulls a neatly folded paper from his coat pocket. The paper makes an ominous hissing sound as he opens it. It’s the first page of directions.

  “What’s that, sir?” I gulp and try to act like nothing here is out of the ordinary.

  “Something I deleted very quickly from Avery’s Gmail account when I saw it. Looks like a little vacation route to Mexico. Nice down there this time of year. You were planning to take my daughter away from me—” General Thomas pauses, and his face goes ever so slightly red.

  “No sir. I wasn’t. I swear—”

  His grip on my arm tightens. “Cut the shit, son.” He leans in close and whispers. “If you take my daughter anywhere, I’ll have half the police in the great state of California on your ass before you get to San Diego. It’s a long drive from here to the border. Do you doubt that I could find you? Do you doubt that border patrol would call my wife as soon as they saw Avery’s passport?”

  The anxiety and rage swirl together in my gut. This is the man who skipped his own daughter’s graduation to go schmooze with his wife for her stupid-ass state senate seat.

  “We were going to come back, sir,” I bleat. My heart is pounding hard now.

  “Don’t fuck around with me, son. I know you and your kind. If my wife didn’t owe your mother the debt of her fucking soul, I’d never allow you in my goddamn house. And neither would Evelyn. But Nadine saved my wife’s life, so you’ll always have a place in our hearts. That doesn’t mean we like you. Or that we think your good enough for our Avery.”

  “Sir—” I start. But I can’t think of anything to say. I clench my hands into fists. I want to tell him that he and fucking Evelyn aren’t fit to be in the same room with Avery.

  “Your father is a piece of scum not fit to grace the bottom of my shoe, Maddox. And you’re cut from the same cloth.”

  “I’m not. I’m planning to get my mechanic’s license. I’m not going to do the same shit he did—”

  “You were kicked out of school, Maddox. You’re twenty. You had a scholarship to San Luis Obispo. You blew it with a 0.1 GPA and multiple counts of vandalism and violence on campus property.”

  I look at him, and I know now that the rage and anger have risen to my eyes. “How do you know about that? Avery doesn’t know that shit, and I’d prefer she didn’t—”

  “It’s a matter of public record, Maddox. My wife has her ways.”

  I try to pull away from him, but his fingers dig into my bicep. For a fifty-year-old man, he’s far stronger than he should be. Finally he lets me jerk my arm away, but he pushes me out the door of the auditorium before I can even catch my breath.

  I pull myself together. “I haven’t had a drink in over a year. Thirteen months,” I say.

  “And you can’t re-enter the University of California public college system any time in the next five years. And you don’t have a pot to piss in since your parents died.”

  I don’t respond. It’s all true. My heart sinks. I think of gray whales. Avery and I saw a slideshow of a guy petting the gray whale babies in Baja California. They come right up to your boat.

  “With you around, my daughter has gone to shit. She didn’t study a goddamn thing the last month of school. She’s up in her room smoking pot—”

  “Avery doesn’t smoke pot—”

  “Her piss was positive for it last week. We had her tested. She didn’t tell you? Avery told us that it was you who gave her that shit.”

  “She didn’t. She wouldn’t have—”

  General Thomas shrugs. “She did. I have no reason to doubt her. Look at her. She’s beautiful, intelligent. She’s going to Berkeley. Then law school. Then she’ll probably go and do something great, like her mother. Do you think she’ll marry a mechanic? Or a welder? Or whatever stupid fucking shit you decide to do with yourself?”

  He points his finger right at my chest.

  I growl. “You’re the one who missed her high school graduation.”

  He gives me a Cheshire cat smile. “She’ll have a graduation from Berkeley. And one from Stanford Law. We’ll make it to those.

  “But we might not if she sticks around with som
eone like you. I’d rather my daughter didn’t get knocked up the summer before school, and I’d rather she didn’t start a little drug or alcohol habit with someone like you.”

  “She won’t, sir. We’re not like that.”

  “You are like that, according to her journal. Her mother found it late last night. And you feature as her knight in shining armor and her Fabio-style romance hero.”

  I can’t help but smile when he says that. And I instinctively turn to look inside. Avery’s mother is lecturing her about something.

  “You pay attention to me, son. You won’t be seeing Avery again. Not in the next five years. I’ve secured an opportunity for you with the Marines. That’s where you’ll be going. There’s stability in it. Honor. Training. Purpose.”

  “No. Fuck that,” I growl. “Never.” I try to step away and call Avery’s name, one last ditch effort to get her to come with me. She’s eighteen. She can leave.

  “Maddox. Son. You don’t have a home. You have a pick-up truck. What do you have in your wallet? Seventy-five dollars? Fifty? You think you’ll be able to provide for Avery, even in a shit hole like Mexico? Do you think you’re saving her?”

  I turn and look at him. “Yeah. I do.”

  “You’re not. If you stick around and she keeps running around with you, it’s very likely you’re doing the opposite. Avery has the chance to be great. To campaign with us. Make a name for herself.”

  “She doesn’t want that—”

  “It’s better than your plan for her, Maddox.”

  I turn and walk to the auditorium doors. Fuck that guy.

  “You’ll go to the Marines, Maddox. Complete basic training. Move up the ranks, maybe. Get an actual salary. I’ll deposit ten thousand into your account to get you started. You’ll have every opportunity to turn your shit around. When you’re done with your tour, you can come back and go to college on the GI bill. Get a house. I’ll even guarantee you a job with our security when you get home. You never know. Avery might welcome you with open arms.”