No More Tears

by Sandy Appleyard

  I catch myself before growing defensive. “It doesn’t. He was wearing wedding rings on a chain around his neck.”

  Will lifts a brow. “Who does that?”

  “Dunno.” I shrug. “Maybe he bought her a new one. Mine didn’t fit me after a couple of years.”

  “Why isn’t he wearing his then?”

  Another shrug. “Maybe his doesn’t fit him, either.”

  “Isn’t wearing jewellery more of a girly thing? If neither of the rings fit either of them, then how come he’s wearing them both?”

  I laugh out loud. “Will, lan sakes! I don’t know! I just met the man!”

  With the conversation at hand, Will has lost interest in whatever he was doing on his phone. “Well, don’t yell at me!” he laughs.

  “Please…as if you would know the proper place for a wedding band, anyway.” I tease. “I’d pay money to see you walk down the aisle and wear one until death does you part.”

  “Thirty, Laura.” He says, pursing his lips into a cocky smile. “Told you I’m not getting married until I’m thirty.”

  “Well, then you’ve only got a year to meet missus right.” I guffaw.

  He waves. “Plenty of time.”

  “Not necessarily.” I correct, opening my emails and my calendar, readying myself for tomorrow.

  “Aren’t you a hypocrite.” He says, baiting me.

  My jaw drops, but I’m smiling. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You got married when you were nineteen, Laura. You and Quentin were barely together a year.”

  “I also knew him all my life. We fell in love in high school.”

  Another wave. “Details.” He says, and then he goes silent, knowing that this is a sensitive topic for me.

  “Laura,” Quentin gasps, his face is covered in blood. “Go get the gun. Put Tiger out of his misery.” He speaks over the horse, crying blood-curdling cries of pain.

  Quentin had been out riding Tiger, when a piece of old barbed wire fence that my grandfather must have put up years ago, tripped the horse, causing Quentin to be forced off Tiger, and the horse had fallen on Quentin, not before severing his leg from the force of the fall.

  “I can’t get him off me, Laura.” Quentin grunts. “I can’t breathe.” The blood all over Quentin’s face is not his own, it’s Tiger’s.

  After repeated warnings to Quentin that my grandfather had fencing up in that area of land, and not to let it grow over into greenspace, especially if he wanted to ride there, were for naught. But Quentin, my beloved husband of ten years, was stubborn as a mule and did not take the word ‘no’ lightly.

  “I’ll go get it. Hang tight.” I say, holding back tears. ‘Now is not the time to be emotional’, daddy would say if he were alive. Daddy had a massive heart attack and was taken from us way too young. Mama had terrible asthma, and we’d lost her a year before. My daddy’s words rang in my head as I ran to the barn to get the shotgun. How the hell we’re going to get Tiger off Quentin is beyond me. I figure after the horse is dead, it will be more difficult, but Quentin always knows the way out. That’s one of the reasons why I fell in love with him.

  Picking up the shotgun, I check the magazine, making sure that there’s a round inside. When I’m sure that it’s ready to be fired, I run back out to the pasture. My lungs burn from exertion, and my eyes burn with unshed tears. The beating from my heart inside my chest I can feel to my toes as I run faster than I’ve ever run before, so I can save my husband from being smothered or crushed, or both.

  So many things are running through my head as I run, seeing Tiger’s head lolling in the distance, and hearing his cries. Like, that I should have called for help, but there was no time. Maybe I can help pull Quentin out from under Tiger once he’s dead. Maybe the gunshot blast will startle Tiger and he’ll move himself? I don’t know.

  As I reach Quentin, it feels like it’s been a year since I saw him last. What seemed like a bleak situation a mere two minutes ago, now appears hopeless. Tiger’s whole body covers Quentin’s. Only my husband’s legs and feet are visible from under the horse; kind of a sick, twisted version of the scene in ‘The Wizard of Oz’, where the Wicked Witch of the West’s feet and legs are the only thing visible from under the house from the tornado that launched moments before.

  Tears flood my face as I pump the hammer on the barrel of the gun and shut my eyes tight, so I can fire at Tiger. When the shotgun blasts, I watch Tiger’s body go limp, and I wait for him to roll off Quentin, praying like hell that he’ll jump back up and dance, like he once did when he played a joke on me, after his older, much larger brother, fell on top of him when they were wrestling in high school. But he doesn’t.

  Squeezing my eyes together tightly, I start screaming for help, hoping that somebody in the area heard the shot. My vocal cords betray me as the tears flow, but luckily, a minute later, I see someone running to me from the house. It’s my brother, Clint. There was once a time when I begrudged my family for showing up spontaneously, especially when Quentin and I were newlyweds, but today, I couldn’t be happier to see my brother.

  “Laura?” he screams, running to me. “Will!” he screams again, calling my other brother from inside the house.

  “Help, Clint! Heeeeellllppp!” It seems that my vocal cords work better now that I see hope in sight. I see Will running from the barn.

  His legs carry him at lightning speed, and when he finally approaches, we don’t even exchange words. Will is here seconds later, and all three of us pull the horse off Quentin. As we get the horse off, Will grabs his cell phone from his back pocket, calling an ambulance.

  Being a doctor, Clint kneels to check his vitals. Quentin is unconscious.

  “Is he breathing?” I ask. My hands are trembling.

  Clint doesn’t answer, but slides his hand under Clint’s neck, and begins administering C.P.R., answering my question.

  The look on his face as he pumps his chest makes me nauseous. His chest looks like it’s made of dough. Tiger’s weight has crushed Quentin. My hand goes to my mouth as the tears pour.

  “Laura? Laura!” Will says, startling me out of my reverie. “Jesus. You’re like a million miles away.”

  “Did you ask me something?”

  “I asked if you’re going to hire Grayson, or if you need to check his references first?” his eyes bulge with frustration. “God, would you get your head out of the past?”

  “You were the one who started talking about wedding rings!” I chide.

  “Geez…remind me to never do that again.”

  I’m exasperated. “Yes, I’m going to hire Grayson. But, yes, I need to check his references. I’d be a fool not to.”

  “I’ll be here in the morning. Do you want to divide and conquer?”

  “Sure.” I say, making notes in my online day planner. Will is punching something into his phone, and is silent.

  “Holy…what the….” Will says, but I ignore him. My heart is still pounding from my flashback moments ago.

  “Err…Laura?”

  “What?” I turn to him.

  “Have you got any questions prepared to ask Grayson’s references yet?”

  A ‘v’ forms between my brows. “No, I was just going to do that now, why?”

  He turns his phone to face me. It’s showing a search for Grayson Thomas from El Paso, Texas. The picture is definitely him, and my eyes go right to his image; a penchant of mine for seeing what people, including celebrities, looked like once upon a time, and what they look like now.

  With slightly shorter hair and a younger-looking face, Grayson looks very much the same. “Yeah, that’s him.”

  Will guffaws. “Do you not see what I see?”

  “No…what do you see?”

  “Are you blind?” he blurts, almost squealing.

  “What are you talking about?” I demand, thinking that maybe he has a big zit on his forehead that I’ve missed. Will can be that petty at times.r />
  “Uh…Laura…you better tack on to your list of questions for his references, why a near middle-aged man is seeking work at a horse ranch when he’s a goddamn doctor!”

  Sure enough, the suffix after Grayson’s surname says, clear as day, ‘M.D.’

  Chapter 4

  Grayson

  The phone rings as I’m perusing the job postings. I haven’t heard from Mrs. Warner, Laura, in two days. I’ll assume that I didn’t get the job. Swiping the answer button, I pick up the call, seeing as it’s one of my brothers.

  “Dude. How’s it hanging?” Kurt asks.

  “Aside from living in a shabby motel, pretty good.” I admit with a little chuckle.

  “I told you to go crash at my buddy Tyson’s place.” Tyson lives just outside of Dallas. Maybe a half an hour out of Huttonville. He’s the one I visited recently.

  “Na, that’s okay. I’m hanging in out here.”

  “See any cute chicks out there?”

  “I haven’t been paying much attention.”

  “Hot.” He’s being facetious but decides to change the subject. “Hey, so, I got a call from some Laura today.”

  I guffaw. “You waited a whole thirty seconds before telling me the most important reason for your call?”

  “What? I like suspense.”

  “Read a novel then.” I sneer. “What did she say to you?”

  “Some stuff.” He teases.

  “Uh huh. Care to elaborate?”

  “She sounds cute. Your type.”

  Is there smoke coming out of my ears? “Kurt. Cut the crap.”

  “Fine. She asked me about your work history, and I stretched the truth like a good little brother, just like you asked.”

  I wait.

  “She asked me how long I worked with you and I told her since I was born.”

  “Next time I see you, remind me to punch you in the face.”

  He chuckles like he’s enjoying this. “Okay, I told her that we used to work together at that fabricated farm you cooked up.” His tone is on the snide side. “I almost slipped up, too, when she asked for Kurt Willis, not Kurt Thomas.”

  “She would have known that you’re my brother if we have the same last name, stupid.”

  “No kidding, stupid. I know. I suppose it’ll be easier on Rachel, seeing as she’s using her married name. But Mitch will probably think she’s a telemarketer and hang up. Don’t you think she’s going to check out this farm you supposedly used to work for?”

  “I thought of that.” I admit. But it was worth taking the chance for. My other brother Mitch took some convincing to lie on my behalf. Not only is he a real straight-shooter, but he couldn’t lie his way out of anything.

  “Anyway, did you get the job?”

  “Don’t you think I would have told you by now? God, how dumb are you?”

  “I’m not dumb, Grayson. You’re a closed guy, man. Ask anyone.” He says levelly.

  “Even so.”

  “So, what’s the ranch like? I’ve seen it from Google Maps, but I’ve never seen the inside.”

  “It’s perfect. Just like home.” I say honestly.

  “Hey, did you hear about that suicide that happened just up the street from there?”

  I’m silent.

  “Grayson?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I heard about it.” A pause. “I was actually…at the ranch when it happened.”

  “Seriously?” Kurt is shocked. “I read that he shot himself with a hunting rifle. His kids and his wife were home. That true?”

  “Yeah. It was a pretty sorry sight.”

  “Geez…were you like…right there? Did you see it happen?”

  “No, we heard the shot though. Went running towards the house. Got in seconds after he’d done the deed.”

  “Holy Toledo…just when you thought you witnessed enough in life, huh Grayson.” Kurt’s voice is solemn. “I bet that brought you back, eh.”

  “Yeah,” my voice is a murmur. “A little bit.”

  “See, and now you know why I say that you’re a closed guy.” Kurt states. “If I hadn’t mentioned anything, you would never have told me that you were there.”

  “I don’t usually go around telling people that I saw something like that, Kurt.”

  “But I’m not people, Grayson. I’m your brother.” Kurt and I are the closest out of all my siblings. He’s been there for me for more than I could ever repay him for.

  “I know it.”

  “Any idea why he did it?”

  “He lost his job. Has a sick wife and six kids, all under age ten.”

  “Wait a minute…the paper said…wasn’t he…the paper said that he was an employee over at that ranch you applied to.”

  “Yeah, that’s right.” I admit.

  “So, wait…did you…apply for…his old job?”

  “You catch on fast.”

  Kurt laughs without a trace of humor. “Oh, Lord, Grayson. You sure know how to pick them!”

  “It isn’t what you think, man. Laura explained it to me. She had a right.”

  The chuckle out of him tells me that he isn’t convinced. “I hope for your sake, that she finds out the truth about you, man.”

  “Yeah, I figured that you’d eventually say that. Thanks for the support, man.” I hate to admit it, but my decision-making abilities have been hampered for the last five years, and my little brother might actually have a point. He’s been right about everything else so far.

  Kurt ignores my comment. “You know that all she’s got to do is an internet search on you and she’ll find out, right?”

  “I’ll take my chances.” I pause. “She didn’t…ask you about my background, did she?”

  “Now that I would have told you straight up.” His voice is cocky but honest. “I wouldn’t count your chickens, though.”

  “I know I didn’t get the job, so us talking about this is moot.”

  “What about the next one?” he tests me. “Aren’t you applying to be a ranch hand as part of your ‘new you’ strategy?”

  “Maybe it’s time I find another career counsellor. Maybe this whole plan isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.”

  “Don’t lose hope yet, Grayson. You don’t know if she’s called Rachel or Mitch yet.”

  “Or if she’s even going to bother.” I interject.

  Kurt changes the subject. “Come back. Just pack up your stuff and come back to El Paso.” Kurt and my other brother, Hawk, run the family ranch in El Paso.

  “Sure. Just what I need.” I’m being facetious. “To come all this way and give up after two days.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Thanks for the support.”

  “Call me. Keep me posted.”

  ***

  After an internet search on employment centers in the Huttonville area, it’s quickly determined that there isn’t one. Anything like that I’ll have to drive to Dallas for, and I’m not up for that today. Instead, I check out the listings again, and another ranch not far from Kelsey’s is looking for a ranch hand. It’s not a Lead hand, but if they offer lodging, it may be a good start. Just as I’m about to dial the number provided on the listing, my phone rings. The display says that it’s Kelsey Ranch.

  “Grayson Thomas.” I answer cordially.

  “Grayson. It’s Laura Warner, from Kelsey Ranch. How are you?”

  “I’m well, thank you, and you?”

  “I’m well. Are you able to come by the ranch today, for a second interview?”

  “Sure. I’m open all day.”

  “Why don’t you come by in an hour?”

  “Sounds good. I’ll see you then.”

  Second interview? That’s a good sign…I think. It’s been so long, as I said before, I don’t know. I half consider calling Kurt back for his opinion, but after last night, I’m not in the mood for his mouth.

  As I pull up to the ranch, I see Laura sitting on the front
porch. The ranch hands are busy at work; three of them are exercising the horses, and a couple others are in the pasture, doing various things. A young woman pokes her head outside to speak with Laura as I exit my truck. She’s wearing an apron tied around her waist. She looks like she’s in her early twenties or late teens. When I approach, she’s asking Laura about a meal that she’s planning, and I keep back, while they finish their conversation.

  “Oh, hi, Grayson.” Laura says. “This is Grace. She prepares the meals for the hands part-time while completing her Hospitality program. Grace, this is Grayson. He’s being considered for the Lead Hand role.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Grace says. She’s so shy, she can barely look me in the eye on introduction.

  “Pleasure.” I say, holding my hand out for her to shake.

  Grace then addresses Laura. “I’ll go pick up the things when I’m finished clearing up in here.”

  “Sounds good. Let me know and I’ll give you the credit card.”

  Grace disappears, and then another lady comes out. She’s a little older, but not by much.

  “Laura, err…sorry.” She says shyly, as she sees me on the porch.

  “That’s okay, Wendy. Meet Grayson. He’s applied for Lead Hand. Grayson, this is Wendy, another student from the college, working on her program as well.”

  “Pleasure.” I say again, starting to feel like a broken record.

  “Hi,” Wendy says, shaking my proffered hand. Then she addresses Laura. “Is it okay if I go with Grace? We need a few things for the house.”

  “Certainly. You two can take the company van if you like. That way you don’t have to expense your mileage.”

  “Okay.”

  Wendy gives a little nod and scurries back into the house.

  Laura chuckles. “Sorry about that. It’s a busy place around here.”

  “I see that.”

  “Why don’t we go into the study, where we won’t have any more interruptions.” Laura says, and I follow her into the house. The pocket doors are open this time, so I can see the house in its glory.

  Beautiful antique furniture is set all over the house. Including one of those old record players, or phonographs, set in a glass case in the living room. The furniture is refurbished antique, with tufted plush material on the couch. Two armchairs have been finished in leather, and the drapes are thick, velvety material, pulled back with tassels. There is no television, just a stereo system, and a huge bookcase filled with various volumes; some older with leather and gold-leaf bound spines, but others appear to be more modern romance paperbacks. I see a few shelves lined with old photo albums and even some modern scrapbooks.