No More Tears

by Sandy Appleyard

  No More Tears

  A Town Without Pity Series

  Sandy Appleyard

  Keep in touch with the author by Subscribing.

  ISBN 978-1-989427-30-9

  ISBN 978-1-989427-31-6

  Copyright © 2020 Sandy Appleyard

  All rights reserved.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  No More Lies

  Keep in Touch

  You Can Make a Difference

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  Laura

  They all stare at the floor with their Stetsons laying in their laps, as I chide them, one-by-one. The rickety, wooden chairs are lined up, a foot apart, like a set of dominoes, and none of the men dares to move.

  “It belonged to my mother.” I continue, using a curt tone I don’t often use with my ranch hands. “It’s very special to me, and, like my mother, it is irreplaceable.”

  Simon, the only one with a Fedora, speaks. “Ma’am, I apologize. I found it laying on the floor beside the beds.” He explains tritely. The ranch hands have shared living space. Only the Lead hand, Louie, has his own quarters, and I know that he didn’t take my beloved mother’s brooch. He just returned from family leave this morning.

  “Then how did it get there?” I quiz him. But he just shakes his head, looking at the floor.

  “I suggest that whoever did it confess. Otherwise, all of you are fired.” I say firmly. “I cannot have thieves living under my roof.”

  My Lead hand, Louie, rises. He’s been with me since the beginning. Since Quentin died. Since Reggae, my youngest colt, was born. Since my family all moved on, and I was the only one falling apart. Since Huttonville, my hometown, started thriving, seemingly leaving me behind. “It was me, Laura.” He admits, holding his head down, ashamed. Louie started addressing me by my first name a year ago, after he saved my prized mare from drowning in the brook. She had escaped the pasture following a thunderstorm responsible for taking down the fence that kept her safely in our keeping.

  “Donald told me he could give me a tidy sum for it. It was in jest, of course, but with Myrtle’s medical bills piling up, I figured it was worth taking a chance.” Donald runs the town pawn shop. He’s also Louie’s brother-in-law.

  Utterly shocked, I feel my jaw clench. “You’re all dismissed. Get back to work.” I seethe, as I address my ranch hands, but look only at Louie. Louie is stock still. His eyes are on the floor. With a quick murmur, “Yes, ma’am,” out of all of them, they scurry out of the feed barn like a stampede of elephants is chasing them.

  “Sit down.” I say to Louie. He does as he’s instructed.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He says, as the chair whines with his girth. Louie is short and stout, and he’s the only one of my hands who lives close by. He never uses his living quarters, but I keep it vacant. With six children and a wife suffering from a laundry list of ailments, the man is spread so thin, it’s clear that his head isn’t on straight.

  Pulling a chair out, I sit opposite him. My voice softens like I’m talking to a friend. “Why didn’t you tell me that you needed money.” I ask, leveling with him.

  His face is ruddy with sweat and dirt from hard work. He has large, brown eyes, and he keeps his thick hair in a buzz cut. There is a small indentation circling his crown where his Fedora sits on his head. “Because my money problems are my business, I suppose. I was never raised to ask or tell anything regarding finances.”

  That’s fair. “Louie, now that you’ve tried to steal from me, you’ve made it my business. Do you understand that?”

  His eyes focus on the floor again. “I suppose so.” He agrees.

  I sigh. “I can’t…trust you anymore.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I understand that.”

  “Pick up your things. Be out by lunchtime.” I say, feeling a lump form in my throat.

  Louie rises. His hat is on his chest in a gesture of good manners. “If it’s worth anything, Laura, I really am sorry. I know how much that brooch meant to you.”

  “If you’d told me you were having financial troubles, Louie, I would have helped you.” Grudgingly, everyone in this town knows that Kelsey Ranch is the richest ranch in Huttonville. My parents were very well off, and now that they’re both gone, my brothers and I inherited a tidy sum, and I own the ranch that my father, Grant Kelsey, inherited that his father, Art Kelsey, built from scratch.

  “I figured it was the lesser of two evils.” He states. “I was taking a chance, of course, of getting caught. But if I had that brooch, I would have had the money to pay for Myrtle’s surgery, and I wouldn’t have to beg Stan down at the bank for a loan.” His voice darkens. “Stan would have loved to see me grovel again, just like I had to do when Tommy had his appendix out.”

  With his litter of children, one would think that he would be smart enough to purchase health insurance. Being the richest ranch, I pay my hands very well, even though there are no group benefits here. But Louie, although very hard working, is not the sharpest knife in the drawer. “Well, now you’re out of a job, Louie.”

  “I know it.” He admits. And with that, he walks towards the door, placing his Fedora back on his head. “Can we...um…keep this between us?”

  “If I’m called for a reference, Louie, I’m not going to lie.” I say, my voice has returned to all business.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  ***

  The twilight shines into my study as I fill out Louie’s dismissal paperwork online. It’s almost painful to complete. I never thought I would see the day that I would have to fire him. There have been plenty before him, mind you, but Louie, I thought I’d have to build a plot for his grave somewhere in Kelsey Ranch, with a stone and an epitaph that read, ‘Here lies Louie Prescott, a loyal father and husband’. As I fill in my digital signature on the form, I hit send, and at the same time, I see an email arrive from the job posting site that I use when I have a position to fill. The email confirms that the job was posted, and it shows me how many views the ad has received.

  Shocking, it’s already had at least ten clicks, and it was only posted an hour ago. The last time I posted a job, it had only a handful of clicks in its lifetime. As I read through the listing again, the land line on my desk rings. “Kelsey Ranch, Laura speaking.” I answer.

  “Good evening, ma’am. This is Grayson Thomas. I’m calling about the job posting.”

  His voice is smooth and polite. He sounds like he’s younger, maybe even my age. Many of the calls I get for these positions are from teenagers who dropped out of high school, or older men who want to migrate here from Mexico or some third world country. This Grayson fellow sounds grounded and put together. Sometimes I tell the person on the other end that the position has been filled, before I even set up an in-person interview, but this man, I’ll surely see face-to-face. “I’m Laura Warner, owner of Kelsey Ranch.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard some great things about your ranch. I just moved here from El Paso.”

  I’m impressed. “I have a friend who recently moved to El Paso. She loved it here in Huttonville, but she says that El Paso is beautiful, too.”

  �
��It’s lovely there, yes.” He clears his throat. “Is the job still available, ma’am?”

  “Yes, it is.” I say, switching to all business again. “When would you be able to come in for an interview?”

  “Well…I’m not sure if you run business after hours, but, I can come by in the next thirty minutes if you can spare the time.”

  “Lots of unpacking to do?”

  He pauses. “Something like that.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, but I ignore the sensation. “Sure. I can see you then. Do you know where Kelsey Ranch is?”

  “It’s just up past that big farm, isn’t it?”

  “Chuck’s Farm, yes. You can park right in the front. I’ll be waiting on the porch.”

  “Perfect. Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Oh, and don’t forget to bring your references.” I remind flatly. I never hire anyone without checking their references first.

  “Yes, ma’am. Will do. See you shortly.”

  Just as I hang up the phone, my door knocks, and I hear my brother Will’s voice. “Laura? You in here?”

  “In the study.” I call.

  His footsteps come closer. He’s alone, not with my other brother, Clint, who he’s normally joined at the hip with.

  “Hey. Long day?” he asks, coming through the door, giving me a perfunctory kiss and hug.

  “Yeah,” I answer, hugging him back. “I had to let Louie go today.”

  My brother Will is a foot taller than me. He’s got sandy blonde hair like me, but his eyes are deep brown where mine are blue. “No way. I just saw him with his youngest kid there, just down the street. He didn’t say a thing.”

  It’s been a large convenience all these years, having Louie and his family living so close. I never dreamed that one day it would come back to bite me in the ass. “He asked me to keep it between us.”

  Will guffaws. “And have you?” as if I wouldn’t keep my mouth shut.

  “Of course I have!” I smack him playfully on the shoulder.

  “You know that mouth of yours gets you into trouble sometimes, Laura.”

  If I didn’t need him to fill the position until I hire someone full time, I’d chastise him right here, right now. “No more than yours does.”

  He laughs out loud. “Well, then, one of the other hands must have run off at the mouth. I heard through the grapevine that Louie got the boot today.” He purses his lips together. “When do you need me to start?”

  I sigh. “Tomorrow morning. First thing. That why you’re here?”

  He rests his thumbs on the loops of his jeans. “That, and to remind you that it’s Clint’s birthday next weekend.”

  “That’s why you’re not with him.”

  He shrugs. “He’s out on a date.”

  My interest is piqued. “He is? Who with?”

  “Oh…he doesn’t want me to say.” He warns, but his mouth quirks up into a smile, like he’s enjoying keeping a secret.

  “Because the last time he went on a date that I knew about, it went south?” I guess.

  He nods, but his verbal answer contradicts his body language. “No.”

  I laugh out loud. He smiles.

  Will changes the subject. “Did you do a job posting yet?”

  “A couple of hours ago.” I nod. “The first candidate should be here any minute.” Just as I say this, the front doorbell rings.

  “Shoot, that’s him now.”

  “You want me to stick around?”

  “Sure.” I answer, walking to the door.

  Opening the door, I have to look up, as the man on the other side is incredibly tall. “Grayson?” I ask.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He says, taking off his Stetson, shaking my hand. “You must be Ms. Kelsey.”

  “Mrs. Warner, actually. But you can call me Laura.” I say, shaking his hand.

  “Grayson Thomas.” He introduces.

  Will takes a step forward, offering his hand. “Will Kelsey. Pleased to meet you.”

  Grayson closes one eye. “So, that would make you, Laura’s…?”

  “Brother.” Will adds. “Our father owned this ranch. We inherited it when he died.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” Grayson says respectfully.

  “Thanks.” Will says.

  “Shall we go to the study?” I offer, gesturing with my hand towards the study, just off the front foyer. The inside of my house is very rustic. Everything is made of wood, including the two rocking chairs I have in the living room. I have matching chairs on the front, wraparound porch. During the day, I leave the two pocket doors; one leading to the living room and stairs to the upper floor, and the other leading to the kitchen and basement door, closed, so only the front door and study are open to the ranch hands. Daddy was brilliant when he installed those doors. They even have locks on them.

  As Grayson walks into the study, I offer for him to sit on one of the wooden chairs. Will takes the other one. The hardwood floors gleam from a recent polishing, as do the wooden bookcases, which house all the textbooks that I’ve purchased over the years, trying to refresh my memory on how to do various things around the ranch that daddy once taught us. The books are freshly dusted, and my little oak desk is also clean and polished. The desk is an antique, inherited from my maternal grandmother, along with the antique banker’s lamp, which is turned off during the day.

  The curtains are open, and I leave them open, as I take a seat at the desk. Grayson is wearing a pair of blue jeans, a blue linen shirt with the sleeves folded to his elbows, and a denim vest. He reaches into the inside pocket of his vest and produces a document folded into quarters. “Here’s my resume.” He says, and he removes a second copy from the folded sheets, handing a copy to Will, impressing me.

  “A man who comes prepared.” I comment, nodding my thanks as he hands me a copy.

  “I didn’t suppose you had a photocopier here.”

  “I have a scanner, but this is fine.” I say, perusing his resume.

  “You haven’t worked at a ranch in some time, mister Thompson.” I comment.

  “I lived on a ranch all my life, ma’am. Like you, I was raised on one. And you can call me Grayson.”

  “You should put that on your resume.” I say. “I was about to end this interview.” I look at him. “This position is for a Lead Ranch Hand, not simply a ranch hand, which requires little experience.”

  “Sorry, ma’am. I had a few interviews back at home, and I was told that unless the experience is recent, I shouldn’t add it to my work history.”

  Will chimes in. “When the experience is relevant to the job, it should be there.”

  “You mentioned you’re from El Paso.” I ask, changing the subject. “What were you doing before you left?”

  Just as he’s about to answer, we hear a gunshot blast.

  “Jesus Christ.” Will blurts out quickly, as we all, including Grayson, tear out of the study and through the front door. Our footsteps thumping along the wood floors sounds like a stampede of elephants. Grayson is right behind Will, running as fast as he can, as screams come from up the street.

  The horses are whinnying to our right, trotting around nervously in the pen outside. Grayson peers over, making some odd noise, and it seems to settle them. Normally, I would be awestruck, but I can hear a familiar voice crying, pleading, calling, and little children shrieking, squealing in terror.

  “Oh, God, please don’t let it be one of the children.” I beg, praying to myself.

  I see familiar children, who were likely playing on the side of the road a moment ago, are now wailing and shrieking in horror.

  We’re still running towards the screaming, and I try to pretend that it isn’t coming from the house that I pray it isn’t coming from…but it is.

  …Louie Prescott’s house.

  Chapter 2

  Grayson

  There wasn’t much to bring to Huttonville, I admit. Just myself, and a pickup tr
uck load of stuff. A fresh, new start, is exactly what I need, and that’s what I’ll get. It’s stupid, but I made my location choice because I’d been to Dallas recently, and I knew that I wanted to stay in Texas. Huttonville is a small town just outside of Dallas. I mean, it’s a grand gesture to sell all your stuff and move to another city. But it’s another thing entirely to move to a different state or even a different country. If everything goes south in Huttonville, then I’ll…move to Canada or something.

  With the little cash that I scrounged together selling everything down to my collector’s team jerseys, I found a cheap motel in Dallas, and settled in. After a somewhat restful night’s sleep, the plan was to make a few calls, get a job, and find a place to live. Some would say that I should have found a place first, but, I wanted to feel the area out first. I’d made up my mind by ninety percent, but it’s always that ten percent that is the toughest.

  Being born and raised on an El Paso ranch by my parents and my maternal grandmother was exactly what it sounds like, and you’d think that after growing up in a Mayberry style town, being raised by parents who might as well have been the Cleavers, and siblings who were all kind to me, that I wouldn’t have turned out as messed up as I did. But I did, all the same. Now, the messed-up part didn’t happen right away, of course. I mean, I married the love of my life, had the career of my dreams, and all was well and good, until that one day that I’ll never forget.

  Even after five years, I still can’t talk about it. Not that I haven’t tried. No psychologist, not even my favorite brother Kurt can get me to talk about it. Maybe I’ll never be able to talk about it. Now that I’ve moved away, maybe I won’t have to talk about it.

  After I get up, do what workout I can inside the motel room with my own weights and other homegrown exercises, I get showered, shaved, and dressed, and I bring my phone to life, browsing the local job listings. When I see the posting for a lead ranch hand, a lightbulb goes off. Before I left El Paso, I saw a career-counsellor, who thought I was nuts for starters, because of my background and education, to be striving for positions that I took before I had a post-secondary education. But I asked her to direct me to the best way to set up my resume specifically for that purpose. We ran through a couple of templates and I printed off dozens of copies of various scenarios, plus references, made up mainly of my brothers and friends. It took some doing to convince said friends and brothers to lie for me, but since I’ve never asked for anything from them, even in my time of need, they couldn’t say no.