by Devon McKay
“Trent Mathis. Nice ranch.” The red-headed counselor returned the handshake with a firm grip. His gaze searched the landscape before he nodded his head in the direction of the boys. “And these guys...piece of cake,” he said with a smile. His freckled face transformed into a boyish expression before as he excused himself to gather the teens and help unload the bus.
Nate watched him walk away and blend into the group. The counselor wasn’t much older than the teens. Yet, the boys responded to his authority as Trent barked an order to grab their duffle bags and head to the sleeping quarters.
The teens scrambled to do as they were told as Doyle tossed the last of the bags outside the back exit. He joined Nate and they watched for a few minutes.
“Looks like Trent has this under control,” Nate remarked as the final boy disappeared into the bunkhouse.
“Yep, even though he’s not much older than a kid himself, he’s got a way about him. The boys listen to him.” He dropped the large, black duffle bag he was holding on the ground, casting a concerned stare in Nate’s direction. “You sure you’re up for this?” He questioned. His words sliced through the air in an easygoing, nonjudgmental way. “There’s nothing to it, really. You’re a natural with the boys,” the tall man reassured him before he had time to answer. “I brought along six horses to keep ‘em busy though, just in case.”
Nate nodded as Taylor raced up to the fence, interrupting their conversation with a series of questions about the ranch. His curious, brown eyes bright with the excitement of a new adventure.
J.W., alerted by the commotion, met the group by the fence, searching for a possible treat. Taylor’s eyes widened at the sight of the animal and his endless chatter came to a sudden halt, his love of horses evident on his face.
Another boy joined him, tossing a cautious glance in Nate’s direction before he and Taylor climbed the fence rails to pet the gelding.
“That’s Justin. I’ve never heard him utter more than one word at a time,” Doyle explained, scratching his head. He leaned closer to Nate, lowering his voice to explain the boy’s past without being overheard. “He has a story similar to Taylor’s, maybe worse, I’m not real sure. Nice kid, quiet...a little jumpy. He could bolt, if triggered.”
Nate nodded his head, taking in the boy. He was fair skinned with hair so blond it was white, and all too knowing, ivy colored eyes. The teen looked frail, but not broken—another boy who had seen way too much in his few years of life.
Two more boys joined them on the fence, and Nate recognized both of them. Chris, a sixteen year old with a habit for story-telling, and his cohort Stephen. The latter made an exaggerated effort to push Taylor off the fence, catching the boy before he fell off his roost. The teenager then ruffed up the younger kid’s brown mop of hair in an affectionate big brother kind of way.
“Hell, I guess we could all bolt, if triggered, isn’t that right, Nate?” Doyle stated more than asked, causing him to face him.
Uncomfortably, he placed the tip of his scuffed right boot on the bottom rail and leaned his weight into the fence. The insight of his friend’s words hit home. At the moment, he felt a little like bolting himself.
A few minutes of silence followed before a low rumble escaped Doyle and Nate caught on the man had been teasing him.
“Knock it off. I’m not going anywhere.” Nate slugged his friend on the arm, shaking off his thoughts of running. “I’m staying put. Hell, I stayed at the O-K Corral for three years and didn’t go anywhere. And there were times...” he finished with a laugh.
“Besides, why else would I have you drag these boys down?” he questioned, observing the promise of a breathtaking sunset as streaks of orange-red light spread across the horizon. It had been a long day for them all he figured as he heard two of the boys letting off some steam behind them.
Doyle released a low growl of warning to the boys and their heated words ceased immediately. The tall man shrugged his shoulders and they continued their conversation.
Nate kicked the bottom rail, speaking his thoughts out loud. “There’s just so much to do. I don’t know where to begin. Starting tomorrow, I think we’ll be repairing the fence line. So far, it’s been keeping J.W. in the pasture, but I close him up in the corral at night. I’m sure there are several repairs needed to be made. I’ll be getting more horses in few weeks. Maybe buy a four wheeler or two. I’ve got big plans for the ranch.”
“That’s a good idea,” Doyle replied, drawing his words slow and gradual. “But you can take it at your leisure. Take your time. There’s no hurry for toys. These boys would be just as happy to rebuild the fence for the summer. They just want to belong somewhere. Although, I’m sure they would enjoy the toys, too.” A wicked grin transformed his face. “Sides, I wouldn’t much object to riding one myself. I’ve been eyeing a big green Yamaha,” he admitted. “I would have already bought it had Sandy not put in her two cents.” His eyes sparkled with mention of his wife of twenty years. “The little lady likes having her say. I just bide my time. Sooner or later she’ll give in. For now, it’s just easier letting her believe she’s won the battle.”
His friend’s profound words inspired a moment of thoughtful silence. He was right. The boys just wanted to feel appreciated, even needed, which also happened to be a tender point hitting a little too close to home. Is that what he wanted also? To feel appreciated?
He ventured to a safer topic. “I guess you’ll want to get settled. Do you want to sleep in the bunkhouse with the boys or my house?”
“I’ll take a room in the house, if you don’t mind.” Doyle bent down to pick up the overstuffed, duffle bag at his feet. “I’ve spent my fair share of roughing it. Trent can bunk with the boys. ‘Sides, you and I have some catching up to do.”
He nodded and helped gather a few bags for the kids. “You go ahead into the house. Let me get these guys settled in, and I’ll join you in a few minutes. There’s some soda and a six pack of your favorite beer in the fridge.”
Doyle replied with a wide smile and a roguish wink, heading toward the direction of the house without another word. Nate shook his head with a smile. He’d be lucky to get one beer out of the six pack.
He stepped inside the bunkhouse and into the middle of a brawl over a bunk with a window view. Taylor had a younger teen named Ben pinned to the ground by the time he drew them apart.
“Whoa, now, there won’t be any knock down, drag outs here. Not over a cot, got it?”
He separated the two, a fistful of shirt collars in each hand. “Are you done? If I let you go, you’re not gonna continue to beat each other’s brains out, are you?” Both boys shook their heads.
Noticing Ben had gotten the worst of the beat down, he released his grip and handed him his handkerchief to wipe off his bloody nose.
“Now, we are gonna settle this like men,” he said, directing the question to Ben. Reaching inside his pocket, he withdrew a quarter. The boy held the bandana to his nose, but a steady stream of blood still flowed so Nate tilted the thin chin up. “What do you think, heads or tails?”
“Tails,” Ben said.
“Okay tails, but you gotta keep your head back like this, got it?” He tipped the boys chin upward again before flipping the quarter in the air. The coin landed on the floor, heads up
Taylor released a yelp of joy. “Heads, I win, loser,” he squealed, dancing a victory dance before leaping onto the cot.
Nate bent down to pick up the quarter, coming up with a swift solution so both boys would be happy. “There are no losers. Ben, how about if I let you be the first one to ride J.W.? Sound good?”
A broad smile lit the teen’s face before he gathered his duffle bag and headed for the last empty cot, flipping a finger at the other boy on the way. Taylor, in response, shrugged his shoulders as if the consolation prize hadn’t affected him.
“Don’t worry, Taylor. There will be plenty of times for you to ride J.W., too.” He ruffled the boy’s hair. Taylor released a smug smile and tucked himself
neatly into the bed as Nate left the bunkhouse.
After a final check of the premises, he headed toward the house. The bright flash of lights and a sharp siren stopped him. Caught in the glow of red, white and blue, he fought the suspicion one of the boys had done something wrong.
Nothing to get too worked up about, he told himself, maintaining a sense of clarity. Most likely just a friendly visit to make sure the boys would be kept in check. There’d been one or two such calls made at the O-K Corral also. Regardless, the intrusion was far from welcome.
“Nate Walker?”
A short, stocky man exited the vehicle. The policeman appeared entirely too young to be a cop. As a matter of fact, he could have easily passed for one of his boys, not looking much older than Trent.
“Yes,” Nate answered, crossing his arms over his chest. “Is there a problem?”
“I’m Deputy Andrews. I heard there was a bit of an altercation at the Lucky Horseshoe Bar last night? I’m just following up a lead. I understand you were one of the parties involved?”
He nodded, clamping his mouth closed, refusing to offer any more information than necessary.
Deputy Andrews paused as if observing his reaction before retrieving a notepad from his back pocket and jotting something down.
“Has there been any contact with Mr. Greenwood since the encounter?” the policeman asked.
“No,” he replied, short and sweet, which Andrews wrote on his pad.
“And I understand you’ve opened your home up to a group of disturbed teenage boys?” The deputy’s eyebrow quirked.
In an instant, Nate’s mood accelerated from slightly annoyed to a full rage. “What are you implying by disturbed?” The anger swept through him, demolishing his calm facade. How dare someone already have a complaint against his kids? They just got here. “My boys are just...” Attempting to regain his composure, he paused, sucking in an exasperated breath. “They are just boys. And yes, I’ve opened my home to them. Any problem I had with Jimmy Greenwood has nothing to do with them. They got here today, not last night.”
“That’s good to hear, Mr. Walker. Perhaps I can dwindle down my list of suspects then.”
“List of suspects... Are you kidding me? Jimmy and I got into a little spat. We’ve had a lot of them. He’s still bitter about a fight when we were kids. This time, I never even hit him,” he admitted in fury, his patience riding on a very thin thread.
The deputy’s head shot up, cocking an eyebrow in interest. “You’re not planning on leaving town anytime soon, are you, Mr. Walker?” His question implied a dark meaning.
“What? Leave? No. I’m here for the long run,” he snapped, debating why this question reared its ugly head for the second time. “What is this about anyway?” His thread split in two.
“Good, that’s all the information I needed from you. I recommend you staying put for a while, so if you happen to be planning a vacation in the next couple of days, don’t. According to a frantic call from his wife, it seems Mr. Greenwood never made it home from the bar.” The young officer paused, searching Nate’s face. “So far, you are the only person we know of who had any type of recent altercation with him. Because of the dispute, we’re forced to look into the case before the standard 48 hour protocol. I’m sure it’s nothing you should be too concerned about.”
Nate gritted his teeth and forced himself to remain silent as the officer eyed him warily.
“However, we do have sworn witness statements of seeing the altercation—one you have not denied, I might add. Just don’t leave town.” Deputy Andrews snapped his pad shut and returned to his patrol car.
Leave town. Bolt if triggered. Nate scowled as the words sank in, making his mood raw and dangerous. Just because he thought it a time or two, didn’t mean he was going anywhere. And Jimmy not making it home last night? No big surprise. The man had been so drunk he was sleeping it off somewhere. Probably in a ditch, Nate smirked to himself.
He went over last night’s events in his head. Sure, he had wanted to kick Jimmy’s ass, but that’s where it ended. Though he had threatened to kill the man, when he had left the Lucky Horseshoe, Jimmy was very much alive.
No doubt Greenwood had plenty of enemies, besides himself. Yet, the shock of him missing was hard to swallow. He watched the taillights of the police car until the red lights disappeared then headed into his house.
As soon as Nate walked through the front door, Doyle assaulted him with questions.
“So, who’s the skirt?”
He shot him a confused glance, still digesting the news of Jimmy’s disappearance. Undaunted, his friend continued prodding. “The girl, Nate...who is the girl?”
He pictured Jessie, unable to hide the guilty raise of his lips.
“Give it up. There’s always a woman involved. ‘Sides, if there wasn’t some skirt you were chasing round here, you’d be back at the O-K Corral by now.”
“Jessie Calhoun,” he finally confessed, knowing his mentor would see through any excuses. “She’s the one who got away. No, let me rephrase...she’s the one I lost because I was young and stupid.”
“Is this her?” He asked, holding up a picture Nate hadn’t noticed.
“Where did you get that?” he inquired, laughing as he grabbed the wooden picture frame out of the tall man’s grasp.
Doyle shrugged. “It was over there, on the floor by the recliner. I take it you haven’t seen it yet?”
He shook his head, glued to the expression on Jessie’s face. She looked so content holding on to the two children.
Were the children some distant relatives he hadn’t met? Nate focused on the uncanny resemblance of the girl and Jessie. And the boy...
His heart stopped, and he dropped the picture frame, the wood thudding against the floor in a loud thump. No...it wasn’t possible.
Stunned, he knelt down and picked up the picture again studying the boy’s small, smiling face...it was like staring in the mirror.
Chapter 13
Not thinking clearly, Nate stormed out of his father’s house, grabbing his jacket off the coat rack by the front door on the way. In a second flat, he transformed into the old teenager from his past. The boy with such strong, uncontrollable rage had returned. And he was angry at being angry, adding fuel to the fire.
He was so pissed off, he didn’t even explain his need to leave to Doyle. Nor did he bother to saddle J.W., simply jumped onto the horse’s back and rode like the devil was chasing him across the Walker land. He ended up at the creek.
Now stopped, anger no longer heated his body. There was a chill in the air, and he tucked his hands in his jean jacket. His fingers found the envelope from his dad and brought the letter out. He’d forgotten about it, discarding it in the pocket.
His father’s last words couldn’t be any more of a surprise than what he had just found out. Opening the envelope, he discovered how wrong he was. It wasn’t even a letter, but another picture.
Nate turned the photo over, noting in his father’s handwriting the word, Family. He staggered back, grasping the photo with both hands. How could he have been so blind-sighted? Even a man soaked in whiskey had figured it out before him. For the second time tonight, reality slapped him in the face. Hard.
He stared at the picture. The girl, laughing, was sitting on his father’s lap. The boy, adorned with a wide smile was on one side holding his hand, and Jessie, on his other side was kissing his cheek with both of her arms wrapped around him in a loving embrace.
Nate shoved the picture back into his pocket. As if removing the photo from sight could take away the sting. It didn’t. He pulled the picture back out, tracing their faces with his index finger.
His thoughts ran rampant in a wild fury of anger and pain.
How could she not tell him? A father. And the children seated on Jessie’s lap weren’t babies. What were the kids, about six years old? He did the math in his head. The numbers added up. And she never told him? How could she have hurt him so? He’d missed so much o
f their lives.
Six years.
He breathed a large intake of air, trying to calm himself. The exertion did little more than make his lungs ache. The coolness of the evening permeated, and some of the shock began to subside, allowing him to get control, his disappointment centering on one thought.
Jessie had lied to him. Never once had she mentioned anything about children, much less him being a parent.
A father!
It took every ounce of his self-control not to head to the bar, knowing she was working tonight.
Instead, he returned the picture to his pocket, jumped back on his horse and continued riding, reaching her ranch in less than fifteen minutes. Choosing to wait outside of her home, he paced a worn dirt trail in the grass in front of her house. Spitefully, he cursed at J.W., who was quite content chewing on the grass around the corner.
A few minutes later, Thomas sauntered onto the porch with a cup of hot coffee. He placed it on the porch rail and watched for a few minutes while Nate continued his wrathful pace.
He stopped long enough to shoot a heated glance in the old man’s direction. Neither spoke, only stared. Thomas wore an expression of painful understanding. He could relate to the emotion, but couldn’t forgive him. Not yet, his hurt too shadowed by rage. The man seemed to understand, and turned back into the house.
Nate raised a tired gaze at the skyline, then glanced at his watch. Just past ten. Her shift ended at midnight. That meant he still had a couple of hours to get his head straight and fight the strong urge to run.
It would be easier to head out. So what if it was a coward’s choice? Why not? It was what everyone expected him to do anyway. Besides, what kind of father could he possibly be? He could tell Doyle and Sandy he made a mistake, changed his mind; they would understand.
But could he live with the decision?
The thought didn’t sit well.
Nate made his way to the porch and drank a sip of the coffee Thomas had left for him. The hot liquid was gratifying, strong and rich. The man always had a knack for making a decent cup of coffee.
