My Cowboy Freedom

by Z. A. Maxfield

  “Should be anyway. How come you stopped playing?”

  “I have company.” His words were light but he stared at me hungrily. “I can play anytime.”

  Well, shoot. Remember the no-eye-contact rule? You’re breaking it. I stepped out of the light.

  “Your playing is why I came up here. I’m sorry I interrupted you.”

  “Well, don’t give up yet. It could still happen.” He started to strum again. This time it was a song I’d heard a few times on the pop radio station.

  He sang the familiar words, his deep, pleasing voice clear as crystal bells in winter. He wasn’t trying to be operatic or sexy or win American Idol; he was just singing, and the sound went straight through all the barriers I’d put up between myself and other people. It went through my hard candy shell, into my gooey center—straight to my heart.

  “Aren’t you afraid you’re going to lose your country card?” My voice was a bare whisper.

  He kept playing. “I like all kinds of songs.”

  “You’re good.” I acknowledged.

  “I should be.” He picked a little more of the familiar melody. “For a long time after my accident, playing guitar was my only thing.”

  I could picture that: Rock as a kid—an injured athlete, forced to rest his body while his mind wants to go a hundred miles an hour.

  “You’re good at it.”

  He gave me a lazy smile as he started playing “Stardust.” He sang it just like Willie Nelson. Slow and sweet and impossibly sad.

  I wondered what he was sad about. Being different? Being gay? Needing Maisy or living with relatives at his age? Lost opportunities? Lost love . . . ?

  Whatever it was, the boy on the porch sang “Stardust” like a man who’d lived a lot longer than twenty-three years. It occurred to me then how easy it was to judge someone.

  Maybe I thought because he smiled a lot he hadn’t really lived . . .

  Just then I glanced up and through the window, I saw Elena dancing in slow, small circles with her arms around Foster Splint. He’s a good dancer. She rested her head on his shoulder. They talked while they turned, and when he laughed, Elena joined him, tilting her head back, showing off the long column of her throat.

  “Looky there.” I motioned for Rock to look behind him. He stopped playing to turn around, but I waved my hands, “No, don’t stop.”

  He picked up the tune again, without singing. Despite the interruption, I don’t think Elena and Foster missed a step.

  “That’s sweet,” I turned my attention back to Rock because I didn’t suppose I’d like it if someone peeped into a window at me.

  He lifted his shoulder. “I guess.”

  “I think it is. How old do you suppose Foster is?”

  “What’s it matter?” His chin jerked up. “Nina’s older than him. So what?”

  “Whoa.” I left the shadows. “I didn’t mean anything by asking. She doesn’t look older than him, and anyway, they’re great together.”

  As soon as I was under the porch light I knew I’d made a mistake. Rock’s gaze raked over me from head to toe and his interest wasn’t casual. I started to step back, but he spoke.

  “Don’t run away.”

  “I’m not. I’m”—I glanced toward the bunkhouse but stepped onto the porch and leaned back against a post.“—all keyed up, I guess.”

  “Can’t sleep?”

  “It’s early yet.” I shrugged. “The guys are still having fun.”

  “You’re bothered by the night sounds?”

  “Funny thing is I am, although believe me when I tell you I’m used to all kinds of noise.”

  He changed up his style of playing but not the song itself. The result was a lot more like jazz than country. I don’t know how long I stood there listening. How many tunes he played or moods he explored.

  There was only the guitar, and Rock’s voice, and the breeze playing over us. Then the chirps of cicadas and the sudden flapping of an owl’s wings as it captured its prey.

  It’s strange to listen to the night. Sounds carry.

  Rock changed gears again, shifting into a song so hollow with yearning, so transparently lonely, it was hard to watch him perform it. I listened with gooseflesh on my arms. When he finished, I bobbed my head to thank him as I went backwards down each step.

  “You know what? You always look just a little bit guilty.” He eyed me as he played three off-key chords in quick succession. His gaze slid lower, dropping to the top of my jeans where it stayed too long before traveling slowly back up again. “Turn around and let me see your back.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I watch Ink Master. I want to see.”

  I obliged him by turning around, hands on my head—more out of habit than anything. When he didn’t respond, I glanced over my shoulder and asked, “Seen enough?”

  “Hm . . .” He narrowed one eye. “Good money says the ladies around here are going to develop a sudden appreciation for ink.”

  “Oh Christ, no.” I turned back to face him. I wished to God I had a shirt to pull over my head just then. “Imagine that.”

  “I’m trying not to. Turn around again?”

  I did.

  “Do they tell your story?” he asked.

  “Some do.”

  “What’s the knife mean?”

  “It means, ‘Don’t get stabbed in the back’.” If I twisted my head around just right, I could see the very top of the stylized dagger ’Nando inked on my right shoulder. I thought I was so badass when I got it. I’d gotten into a beef with one of ’Nando’s rivals and he’d fucked me up pretty bad. Later, ’Nando inked me to mark the occasion. Oh, hey. How long did a tetanus shot last? “It’s good advice.”

  “Doesn’t look like you took it, though.” He pointed the neck of his guitar toward the nasty-looking scar on my lower back.

  “I got that before ’Nando inked his little reminder.” Rock stopped playing again. The past was the past, but it was also right there between us, written directly on my skin. Words and pictures from another life. Inked by an old lover. I took another step away. “Anyhow, I’m going to see if I can get some sleep now.”

  “Once he gets you up to speed, the boss’ll give you plenty to do. You’ll sleep like a country boy soon.”

  “I’ll be glad for that. Good night, Rock.”

  “Night.” He waved. “Sweet dreams.”

  When I was about fifty feet up the trail, he started playing the old Roy Orbison tune, “Dream Baby.” I gave a soft laugh as I walked, hands shoved into my pockets. One of the dogs—I think Jason had called this one Digger—joined me. Looking for a handout, probably.

  “I’m sorry little dude,” I said. “I got nothing.”

  “He’s a big mooch anyway.” Julio materialized from the shadows and fell into step beside me. He gave me a curt nod, eyes on my shirtless condition. “You collecting mosquito bites?”

  “I’m immune.” I glanced down at myself. How did I come to be out there half-dressed again? Oh yeah. Following the music like an idiot. “My mom used to hate that. She’d practically bathe in DEET and still get bitten to hell. Bugs just don’t dig me.”

  “I’d say that’s pretty lucky.”

  “Suits me.”

  “You know what’s unlucky?” He tried drilling pilot holes into me with his gaze, tried seeing right into my brain. “Getting hit by lightning.”

  “I’ll bet.” Or I could imagine anyway. “Boss told me about Rock. That’s a real unlucky break. He seems like a nice kid.”

  “Yeah, well. He’s also twenty-three but he lost some growing-up time after the accident, so maybe he’s not the most mature kid, ever. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  I was starting to. “I’m sure—”

  “What would be even more unlucky is some ex-con coming into his life and
confusing him about what he needs, or worse, turning his head away from what’s good for him.”

  I glanced back toward the porch where Rock’s fingers were probably hovering over the strings while he listened to snatches of our conversation. Sounds carried out there in the ranch country. “I don’t know what you think that was about, but—”

  “Most of us don’t go around half-dressed out of respect for Elena.”

  I lowered my head. “Sorry, sir. I was just having trouble sleeping. It won’t happen again.”

  “Good night.” He made the word a dismissal.

  “Good night.”

  Once I was back inside my room, I shucked my jeans and lay down again, listening to the faintest strains of Rock’s music on the wind.

  Now every song choice had me wondering. Why is he singing that?

  And on some deeper level, I wished I knew what he was thinking about.

  Because I . . . I was thinking about him.

  How he looked. How he smelled. How he laughed and smiled. I was thinking about his short wavy hair and those blue eyes I had to look way up to see.

  And maybe it just made sense.

  Maybe I’m the kind who needs someone to fixate on.

  Maybe I am a human remora, looking for a shark to groom.

  My ears knew his voice now and my body responded. Once my gaze found his I didn’t see anyone else.

  In bed that night, long after he stopped playing and went inside, it was as if I heard his music. As if I still heard the words . . .

  But it was my mother I dreamed about.

  Her howl of sorrow when she realized my stepfather was dead.

  The screams that got lost in the sound of sirens.

  My mother’s mouth, forming the words, No, and Why, and Liar, over and over, until the police dragged me away.

  The tap on my door came none too early for me.

  “Sky?” Tad called. “Get up, princess. It’s time to move some cattle.”

  I tried to swing my legs over the side of the bed, only to discover someone had—from the feel of things—ridden a dirt bike over my ass all night.

  I let my head fall back on the pillow.

  Bang, bang, bang! “C’mon, Brody. It ain’t going to be any easier ten minutes from now.”

  Ten minutes later, I left the room, dressed and ready.

  “You looking forward to riding out?” Tad asked when I caught up to him.

  “You bet,” I lied.

  Because of the distance, we put the horses into trailers and climbed into the cabs of the Rocking C’s trucks. On the ride out to the service road, where the trucks would let us off, the men ribbed one another.

  This is it.

  This is why I came to the Rocking C.

  Not to find some new guy to moon over.

  I’d been warned off Rock McLean by three different—three really important—people, but wouldn’t you know it? My heart didn’t want to listen.

  Once the truck came to a gliding stop, and me and the boys got the horses down to tack them up, there was no more time to think about sweet, smiling country boys and their guitars and their adorable damn dogs.

  Cowboying is hard work. I knew that. But I didn’t. Not really.

  Not until that day.

  Chapter 12

  Rock

  That morning, I helped Elena get breakfast ready, not only for our guys but also for the neighbors who would be coming to help. We scrambled dozens of eggs, browned off bunches of Elena’s homemade chorizo, and oven-roasted a wagonload of potatoes to wrap in big, soft flour tortillas. We made bowls of salsa fresca and sliced a couple dozen avocados.

  The boss asked me to help load up the horses while the hands ate. Tired of listening to the hands tell Skyler all about this big adventure he was about to go on, I was grateful for the work. It was still dark out. We led the horses to the trailers one at a time, and put them inside.

  “I thought Ogre’d be a good fit for Sky.” The boss led the gelding out to the truck. “What do you think?”

  “What kind of rider is he?” I don’t ride, but I like horses a lot. Maisy’s not afraid to be around them and they mostly ignore her, so I fill in at the barn sometimes.

  “He’s rusty, but he’s a fair horseman. Ogre won’t be too much for him.” Chandler grinned. “Better not tell Sky how Ogre got his name. “

  Ogre was epically flatulent. I wrinkled my nose. “I’ll bet it won’t take him long to figure it out.”

  The boss’s smile was genuine, but then concern filled his eyes. “Sky asked about you some.”

  As soon as I saw his expression I knew I didn’t want to hear this. “What’d you say?”

  “I told him about your accident. Why you need Maisy.”

  “Aw, man.” Didn’t anyone get that I could talk for myself? “I’d rather you didn’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “The preemptive strike. The second someone even looks at me, it’s like you have to vet them, to make sure it’s okay for us to play together. I wish you and Elena would treat me like a regular employee.”

  “Elena and I are only looking out for you.”

  “By telling people what they’re getting themselves into with me up front? You make it sound like anyone who hangs around me is going to need a medical degree to—”

  “Now you wait just a gosh darn minute. I only told Sky what I’m going to tell you right now. I expect my hands to keep their focus on running this ranch. His job is to work cattle. He ain’t going to have time to entertain you.”

  “Entertain—” I clenched my hands. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Elena says you’ve taken a shine to Skyler, and that’s only normal, under the circumstances. There ain’t a lot of men your age around and you were a stranger here at one time too. But Skyler needs this job, and if he’s spending time with you, he’s not going to be able to do it very well, is he?”

  Fury built up in me. “So I can’t talk even to the hands now?”

  “How’s that?” The boss tipped his hat back and stared like I was speaking in tongues. “I never said you couldn’t talk to the hands. I’m asking you not to monopolize Skyler’s time, because he’s on parole, and he’s on probation here at the ranch.”

  “Yesterday I couldn’t go into town with Sky, and now I can’t even talk to him? What the ever-loving fuck? Are you afraid I’ll throw myself at him too? Or—”

  “Watch your language, son.” Chandler’s eyes turned glacial. “Apologize to your godmother, please.”

  Honest to God, I hadn’t noticed her standing there. “I’m very sorry, Elena. But—”

  “Elena and I will finish up here, Rock.” Chandler dismissed me. “You go on back inside. Once you eat breakfast, if you could head out to the shed and see what you can do to get that busted tractor running, I’d be much obliged.”

  “Sure,” I swallowed my anger before I said something I’d regret. “Yessir.”

  Most everyone had left the ranch house by the time I got there. I walked in through the back door, still muttering to myself.

  Robbie was inside, finishing up a cup of coffee. “Who lit your tail feathers on fire?”

  “Nobody. I’m just—” My agitation made Maisy anxious. She tried to get my attention by blocking my path, which was really not helping at all. “Shit. Wait . . . It’s okay, girl. I’m just . . .”

  Deep breaths. In . . . one, two, three, four . . .

  “You okay?” Robbie asked.

  “I’m not an invalid. Why don’t people just—” I glared at him. “Do I look like an invalid to you? I can bench-press twice your weight.”

  He lifted his hands. “I know, Rocky.”

  “Christ.” Robbie’s concerned expression didn’t help either. And now Maisy was whining at me, and if I didn’t chill, she might bark an
d the boss and Elena were going to come running.

  I got to my knees and held out my arms. Maisy flung herself at me. “It’s okay, girl. It’s all right.”

  Elena entered the kitchen. “Everything okay?”

  “It’s fine.” I watched Robbie drift out. He was probably relieved that he didn’t have to deal with me when I was in such a foul mood. “She’s not alerting. I got pissed off and it upset her.”

  “Aw, poor baby.” Maisy adores being the center of attention. She goes out of her mind with joy when more than one person pays attention to her.

  “I already apologized.”

  “I got a new bag of chicken jerky.” Elena kept treats for Maisy in a glass jar in the pantry. I got a couple strips out and broke them into bite-sized pieces.

  “Good girl, Maize.” As I tossed each piece in the air, Maisy snapped them right up. She could field for any team in the MLB. “Who’s a good girl?”

  Elena started loading the dishwasher. “You gonna be okay, m’hijo?”

  Dang it. No point in taking things out on them.

  I picked up a towel to dry anything not headed for the machine. The routine of my day was so set I didn’t even question it anymore.

  “I just . . . You see me, right? I look like a guy who can take care of himself. I look normal. Why do we have to let everyone know my business up front? The dog’s bib is enough, right? We don’t need to stamp the word disabled right on my forehead.”

  “I’m sure he only told Sky what he needed to know, in case—”

  “No. You know what?” I crumpled the towel and threw it down. “Nobody told Robbie and Jason every little thing about me when they came.”

  “Sky’s closer to you in age, but he’s also had a lot of life experiences you haven’t. We wanted to make sure—”

  “Nobody has to know why I need Maisy,” I ground out. “They don’t need to know anything about me. If you let him make up his own mind, maybe he’ll treat me like a man instead of the village idiot—”

  “Jesus, Rocky.” Elena’s pained expression told me my words were a knife that cut both ways. “Do you really believe that?”

  “I don’t know what I believe. All I know is I want people to treat me like a normal person and I can’t catch a break. I know it’s Friday night, but the cowboys will need picking up later, when they get back from the trail ride.”