Assassin

by Seiters, Nadene

  “Keep Cassidy from yapping my ear off, that woman talks too much.” To his surprise, the old man chuckles under his breath as he scrapes the eggs and fries onto both plates. Then he pulls ketchup out of the refrigerator and sits down at the table with it.

  “Can’t fault you for that son. She sure does talk a lot.” They eat in silence after that, but it’s not as tense as it was the other night. Troy wasn’t asked, but he felt compelled to tell Mr. Grant why he lost his emotional stability in the barn, at least the short end version.

  She wouldn’t be quiet, and I didn’t want to remember what it was that lead me here. Mr. Grant had understood then, too.

  “I’m going to go to the feed store this afternoon, would you prefer that I took Cassidy with me?” There’s the implied, ‘I don’t want anyone in town to see you yet’, within those words. Troy understands the concern, but wishes it wasn’t reality.

  “No, if she wants to stay here and ride a horse or whatever it is she does, then she can stay. I’ll just find work somewhere else on the farm.” There’s a silence between them as they load the dishwasher up with their dirty plates, and then Mr. Grant turns to Troy with a small grin on his lips.

  “You could just throw the hammer across the barn this time. Just try not to hit a horse with it.” Unable to help his reaction, Troy cracks a small smile at the joke.

  “I’ll try,” he says quietly as he heads for the doorway to the kitchen. He stops with his hand on the frame and turns just his head back enough so that his ear is facing in Mr. Grant’s direction. “What’s your first name, Grant?”

  “Robert, , but everyone just calls me Grant.” He nods once before he heads out to grab his shoes and get started on one of the stalls. That should be an easy enough task, and the hammering will go nicely with his head that is starting to pound. He’s glad that Robert Grant wants to be called Grant because it would be odd to call someone by his old first name.

  He needn’t use a hammer for this job. Troy roots around the tool room until he finds a drill to put the screws in. By the time he gets the right bit in for the proper sized screws, Grant is waiting for him by one of the horse stalls. He’s leaning against the wood with his arms crossed lightly over his chest and eyebrows furrowed.

  “You plan on doing that while the horses are still in here?” Glancing at the horses still sleeping or remaining still in their stalls, Troy shrugs one shoulder and looks back at Grant.

  “Why not?”

  “Because if you start using something loud and noisy in an enclosed space around a spooky horse, it might start bucking and kicking. An upset horse is a dangerous horse. So we’ll let the horses out before you start using that power tool.” He’s not used to orders, but Troy sets the power drill down on the bench and opens up one of the stall doors. Before Grant can stop him, he marches into the stall to get the horse to hurry out the door.

  His first warning is the foot stomp, but Troy doesn’t have a clue about a horse’s behavior. The next clue is when the horse shies away from him with a worried tone, and then comes the hoof out of nowhere. He has excellent reflexes, Troy, and he manages to dodge the first hoof, but he gets a solid hit to the chest that plants him on his ass in the barn aisle.

  Grant steps aside as the horse comes barreling out and into the pasture where it whinnies and paws at the ground with its agitation. Then he kneels down beside his new house guest with two fingers to his lips as if he’s attempting to hide a smile. Troy’s unable to draw in enough air to give a response to the mirth dancing in the man’s eyes because the wind has been knocked out of him, and he’s starting to become dizzy.

  “That’s you’re first lesson, son. Don’t go into a horse’s stall with a bad attitude. They don’t understand what you’re upset about, and assume that you’re going to hurt them.” Troy’s trying to draw enough air to tell Grant that he is going to hurt that damned horse, but it’s useless. He leans forward as he coughs, and he’s surprised when there isn’t blood in the spittle on the ground.

  “Think…I…broke…a…rib!” He chokes out between gasps with his hand clutching at his chest. He feels something damp on his fingers and looks down to see that there is blood on his shirt.

  “No, you were hit too high for that. If he broke something, it would be your collarbone. Now get your hands away from it and let me see. I doubt it’s broken. You’d be passed out by now.” Unfortunately, there is no way for Troy to fight back against the man’s hands as he pulls Troy’s away from him shirt and begins to pull it up. He feels heat gathering on his face and ears, which just makes him more upset.

  Grant makes a few grunting noises and mhmm noises as he pokes around the wound, and then he lets the shirt fall and stands up from his crouching position.

  “You won’t need stitches, but you’re not going to be able to do the heavy lifting today. Cassidy will have to clean out the stalls, I guess. C’mon, let’s get you inside to clean that up.” Holding out a hand to the new city boy, Grant tries to keep the grin off his face. To his shock, Troy gets up on his own, wipes his hands on his pants, and opens up another stall. The boy has a death wish.

  “I’m…fine.” He huffs out as he squares his shoulders and steps aside for the horse. The poor mare gives the puffing man a sideways glance before she retreats into the pasture with her ears laid back. None of the horses are happy with him because he’s large,smells strange, and he has a predator vibe about him. Yet not another one of them kicks him because he lets them come out on their own. Grant wonders if this is progress and goes back to helping with the release of the herd.

  His breathing is somewhat back to normal by the time all the horses are released, and he forgets about the power drill on the bench as he heads for the tack room. Grant follows him in and watches him grab the pitchfork and shovel from the rack they’re hanging on. He crosses his arms over his chest as he observes Troy go into the first stall and begin to shovel the dirty straw onto the conveyor belt.

  “I told you Cassidy would do that.” Grant finally says when he sees the sheen of sweat on Troy’s brow from the exertion and pain.

  “She’s…too small…for this.” He sounds like an emphysema patient the way he’s breathing and trying to speak.

  “Oh boy, don’t ever let her hear you say that she can’t do something. You’ll end up being proven wrong one way or another, and she’ll kill herself doing it if she has to. That girl’s stubborn.” Troy leans on the shovel handle as he looks at Grant with curiosity.

  “Like her father?” He gets out in one breath. The pain is starting to subside enough for him to appear normal, but it’s going to ache for days. Grant ought to know. He’s had more than one horse kick him somewhere in his lifetime

  “No, like her mother,” With that said, Grant leaves Troy to his work and wanders off to his own. It’s obvious the man doesn’t want to speak about Cassidy’s mother, and Troy tries to remind himself that he’s not here to swap family stories. In fact, he’s not supposed to speak about any of his old life, to anyone.

  It still nags at the back of his mind as he shovels and grunts along with the spasms of pain. After an hour, he only has three stalls fully finished, and Cassidy tromps in through the barn with boots on. She doesn’t say a word to the hulking man as she grabs another shovel and pitchfork from the tack room, but he grabs her upper arm as she’s passing.

  “I don’t need your help. Go ride a horse, or something.” Their eyes lock, and he wonders why her father didn’t call her something like Hurricane or Tempest. The way her blue eyes darken and narrow makes his gut clench as he keeps eye contact with her. If Grant did not choose this moment to walk in through the barn door, the staring contest would have gone on forever.

  If she knew who I am, she wouldn’t stare at me like that. Troy promises himself. The thought does nothing to ease his heart rate and the feeling that he may have met his match.

  Cassidy smiles at her father warmly as if she’s trying to appease the worried look on his face, and then she heads into the
furthest stall from the one Troy is working on. Her father exits the facility begrudgingly after informing them both that he’s heading out to the feed store early. Troy grunts to let the old man know he heard, and continues to pile on the soiled hay. He stinks, he’s sweating, and his chest is still throbbing like a freight train hit him. He’s beginning to wonder if the collarbone is cracked, but he’s not a pussy.

  “Dad said you were kicked by Beethoven this morning.” Her smug voice washes over him and he turns around with a shovel full of horse dung and a scowl.

  “So?” He realizes it sounds a little petty and childish, but something about her reminds him of playground brawls with the other children. He always lost until he started working out when he was in middle school.

  “Huh, it just proves my point that you don’t belong here. So why don’t you just put that shovel down and scat like a good little boy?” He can’t help it. Troy never said he wasn’t rude to women, just never hurts them.

  “Whoever said I was a good little boy?” He asks with a wicked grin, and then he flings the shovel full of shit in her direction. He wasn’t aiming for her face, but a few tidbits splatter onto her cheeks while the rest runs down Cassidy’s front. For a split second, they both stand there with different expressions on their faces. Hers is a mix of shock and fury, and Troy’s is a mix of amusement and worry.

  “You are going to pay for this!” She stomps her foot on the ground once, and, to his shock, she scoops some of the sticky crap off her shirt and flings it at his face. He ducks and it misses, but the second scoopful she throws hits him square in the jaw. With a dangerous growl, he drops the shovel and it clatters to the ground.

  Cassidy squeals when he starts after her with fury in his eyes, and she turns to run. It’s too late. He has her by the back of the neck and begins to smear the shit across her face, but she wriggles loose before he can do anymore damage. Letting instinct kick in as he used to, Troy ducks through the barn and barrels after her outside.

  Shockingly, by the time she reaches the hose outside of the house her tinkling laughter is filling the air around him. She thinks this is funny!

  I’m going to fucking kill her!

  The thought passes through his mind, and an instant later cold water is hitting him in the face. He puts up his dirty hands to block the flow, but she’s relentless. Troy is as clean as he’s going to get and soaked from head to toe when the water finally stops. But his rage has only built during that minute it took to hose him down, and he grabs her slick arm in a grip strong enough to keep her still but not hard enough to bruise.

  He starts with her head and makes sure to get her face exceptionally good before he hoses off the rest of her. Cassidy grunts as she tries to get away, but he has her wrist in exactly the right position. “Let go of me!” She screeches, but he only sneers at her as he keeps going.

  “Fuck you!” He growls at her, and finally lets her go. Her shirt is clinging to her like a second skin, and her hair is in her face. Their shoes are soaked, but Troy stomps back to the barn to finish his chore. At least he won. Well, he hopes he won.

  The rest of the morning while her father is gone, Cassidy cleans up stalls, but she doesn’t say another word to the asshole beside her. They work in tandem, her scooping with the pitch fork while he scrapes with the shovel. When it comes time to rinse down the stalls, Cassidy disappears as if she’s afraid of the hose, and Troy feels a little pang of regret. What if he scared her?

  The thought haunts him as he finishes off the stalls and picks up the drill off the bench. Grant pulls the pickup truck to the barn and starts unloading the feed bags without a thought as to why his daughter’s clothes are still damp, and why Troy’s boots squeak when he walks. He does wrinkle his nose when he smells the remnants of the horse shit scent on their clothes as they walk up to the house for lunch.

  “We slipped.” Cassidy offers as an excuse, and starts to wash her hands and up her arms outside with a bottle of dish soap and the hose. Troy waits his turn patiently and keeps his eyes from making contact with Grant’s as the old man stands there with his arms crossed over his chest. He doesn’t buy his daughter’s excuse, but he won’t push them for the answers yet. He won’t be leaving them alone together again anytime soon, either.

  They’re sitting down to a meal of leftovers from the night before of another roast when Cassidy sits down at the table with yogurt. Troy idly wonders if the girl eats anything else when she plops it in front of her father and takes the roast right out from under his fork. She plucks the fork from his hand before he can comprehend with is happening and starts eating his leftovers instead.

  “So I think Sky Runner is ready today.” Her father grunts as he dips into the yogurt.

  “You said that yesterday.” He tells her, makes a disgusted face when he tastes the yogurt, but swallows it anyway. “And the day before.” He reminds her.

  “I know, but I really think today is it!” She doesn’t say any more on the subject, and Troy wonders if this is how their conversations normally go. Do they usually just say a few sentences and quiet down? If this were his family, he cuts that thought off and focuses on his leftovers. He’s starving after this morning and doesn’t think that this will be enough to hold him off until dinner. But it’ll have to do.

  As soon as lunch is through, Troy grabs his dirty boots and heads back to the barn. He starts on Beethoven’s stall first and replaces a few worn looking boards. With the drill, the work goes pretty fast, and he has half the barn done within a few hours, so he decides to take a quick break. What he doesn’t bargain on is hearing Cassidy arguing with her father in the training ring. Thinking they’re arguing about the horse, Troy steps up to the barn door opening closest to the ring and watches.

  “You don’t have to worry, Dad! He’s a convicted felon in my eyes, and I don’t go for that type.” Cassidy’s voice carries over the lawn, and she sounds indignant. This must have been going on for a while now.

  “I know you don’t, Cass, but I just don’t want you to forget that. I don’t think he’s an awful person per se, but he’s dangerous.” Her body is positioned towards the horse, but her shoulders and her back stiffen as she stands up straighter.

  “I can handle myself. I don’t need you to protect me all the time!” She has to be in her early to mid-twenties, and Troy’s not so sure about the fact that she can handle herself. Her way of making friends is a bit unconventional, and she has a pretty crass mouth on her when she’s upset. Overall, Troy’s glad that he’s not her type. He’d rather go for a woman who knows how to be gentle and kind, not one that could turn on him in a heartbeat.

  “Honey,” Grant’s voice trails off in Troy’s direction and he steps back into the shadows of the barn. If they don’t want someone listening, maybe they should have this conversation elsewhere. Cassidy turns back to her father with her arms wide.

  “You don’t have to worry!” She lets out a laugh as if that’s supposed to make the argument better and turns on her heel just outside the barn door. When she’s in front of him, she stops but doesn’t turn. Her eyes remain on the floor of the barn aisle as she puts her hands in her jeans pockets.

  “He doesn’t have to worry, right?” She whispers to the man standing in the dark. Troy crosses his arms over his chest and doesn’t answer her for a long time.

  “No, he doesn’t have to worry.” He’s not sure if she was asking about the possibility of him being attracted to her, or the possibility that he can hurt her. Either way, her father has no reason to worry about Troy Red slipping in bed beside his daughter. She’s too dangerous for that.

  Cassidy walks away from him with her chin held high, and her back ramrod straight. Just before her face is out of his sight, he sees a flash of indignation and figures that the look is actually meant for her father. After she’s out of sight, Grant comes stomping through the barn. He stops by Troy and glances at him. Then he looks forward as he works his jaw for a second.

  “You heard that.” Troy doesn’t an
swer. His silence seems to be an answer enough for Grant to go on. “I don’t think you’re a bad person, son.” There is a ‘but’ at the end of that sentence that’s not spoken aloud, and Troy lets his arms uncross.

  “I am a bad person, Robert Grant. Don’t ever forget that.” Grant looks in the eyes of a killer and nods once before he heads after his daughter. It’s best to destroy the fantasy now that Troy Red will be anything but a dishonest person. He may work hard, and he may not hurt women, but that does not make him someone to respect.

  Hours after the argument and after Troy’s confession of being someone to fear, he sits down on the front porch with his dinner. He doesn’t feel right eating at the kitchen table with people who make an honest living without hurting others, and he can’t take the pitying looks that Cassidy is throwing his direction any more. He licks the last drops of yogurt off the spoon and figures that eating this will make up for all the calories he consumed this morning.

  The front porch door closes audibly behind him, but he doesn’t turn around to see who it is. Cassidy doesn’t say goodbye or look back as she walks to her truck. She slides in behind the wheel of the old pickup and just as she’s about to reverse, she glances up. Troy makes sure not to smile when she tries for one, and turns his attention back to his yogurt cup.

  She’s going to be sour in the morning, but even though she’s feisty, she’s not malicious enough to get into bed with the likes of him.

  There’s some clanking around inside, and then a silence followed by the front door opening and closing. Grant positions himself on the porch swing as he packs tobacco into a pipe and lights it. He takes a few drags before he sets the pipe down and looks out at the barn while the sun starts to become low in the sky. The horses are still out, and he’ll be putting them away in about ten or fifteen minutes.

  “You want to tell me about it?” He asks as he looks at the glowing trees. People in town have already been asking him about the late night visitor he got, and they’re not going to stop gossiping until Troy shows himself. He has to have some type of backup story soon, or it’ll attract too much attention and Troy will have to leave like the last one.