by Reed, N. C.
-
Clay watched as Darrell Goodrum hobbled his way down to the clinic. He would be seeing Jaylyn today, and then Beverly when his medical checkup was finished. One of the active team's members would be present for both meetings, though each professional woman had informed him that they no longer thought it was needful.
Clay thought it was, and he was in charge.
“Still wish X would have killed him?” Jose asked softly from Clay's side.
“Not as much,” Clay admitted. “I'm not certain that his choir boy act isn't an act, just yet, but I will admit he's better. Beverly says that Goodrum was abused himself as a child, and saw his mother treated the same way by his father, and so it was learned behavior from a young age. I can accept that, I suppose, so long as there's not a relapse.”
“Think there will be?” Jose wanted to know.
“I have no idea,” Clay shook his head. “If I thought for sure there would be, then he'd have an accident and die. But I don't, and the bastard has three children, so... here we are. As if we didn't have enough problems.”
“We haven't heard or seen anything these last three weeks or so,” Jose pointed out.
“And we've been nowhere off the farm in those three weeks, either,” Clay reminded him. “For all we know, they're dragging through the whole county, ripping it apart.”
“I thought this wasn't our problem unless they made it our problem,” Jose frowned.
“It isn't,” Clay replied at once. “And I don't intend to have it become ours, either. We are not going to leave this place unguarded again, for any reason. None. If they hit us here, then we will chew their ears off and use them for mile markers. Until and unless that happens, we're farmers.”
“I think I'll wait on breaking out my straw hat,” Jose managed a weak joke. “At least for another week or so.”
“Probably a good idea,” Clay nodded.
-
“Better. Much better. Don't hold the reins back so much, though. She's a good mount so you don't have to be so controlling. Let her have some slack and she'll do just fine.”
Charley Wilmeth had slid into life on the Sanders' ranch without a hitch. True, her first week had been one of ups and downs, but she had gradually pulled through them with help from everyone around her. She had lost so many friends and neighbors, most of them in the attack and all at the same time, that her shock was delayed at times. She would be fine one minute and crying the next.
Fortunately, she was on a farm that had plenty of people who had experience with PTSD. They knew how to help and were more than willing to do so.
Charley had few friends or acquaintances among the ranch residents, having actually attended school in Lewiston rather than Peabody. She had known Daisy and the other Webbs due simply to being what rural people often called 'distant neighbors'. They would see each other at social functions or church gatherings and had come to know one another through those interactions rather than being classmates.
When it came down to placing her somewhere to live, Clay had seen only one acceptable option. After speaking with both Brick and Janice, Clay had placed Charley in the room Marla Jones once used at Leon's house. Since Charley's primary job would be working with the horses and training others to ride, it made sense for her to be close by. Brick and Janice were happy to have her, and made her feel welcome at once. Charley would later say that a sense of peace had settled upon her in the house and that she had instantly felt at home.
Today, she was teaching Kade Ramsey and Corey Reynard the finer parts of horse handling.
“Corey, let her have some slack,” Charley repeated. “She doesn't require so much control.”
“Sorry,” Corey replied, trying to loosen his hold without losing it altogether. “It's... you make it look easier than it is,” he finally added.
“No, you're making it harder than it is,” Charley said kindly. “It's okay to be afraid of a horse, Corey. They're huge, much stronger than you, and sometimes can be just as cantankerous as any human. But not all of them are like that. The trick is to learn how to read a horse and let that determine how you handle it. The mare you're riding is older and more settled. She's also been saddle broke for a good while. She's accustomed to being ridden, but she's not used to having someone pulling against her so much. Let her have her head and then gently but firmly indicate when you want her to turn or stop. She'll understand.”
“Gently but firmly,” Corey repeated. “That sounds contradictory.”
“It's an art form more than a science,” Charley semi-agreed. “You'll learn eventually, but you have to start easing up. When you're nervous, the horse will sense it. Some horses will become nervous with you while others will see it as a chance to act up. Neither is good. So learn to control your anxiousness and relax. When you're relaxed, but in control, the horse will sense that too, and behave better. Your confidence will give the horse confidence. It's a partnership, Corey. Both of you, working together.”
“I'm not sure this horse wants a partner,” Kade spoke up, the gelding he was on stomping the ground on occasion and fighting the bit in his mouth.
“That one has a bit more spirit,” Charley nodded. “He remembers the time before he was gelded and thinks as a stallion, still. He's high-spirited and wants to run. To burn off energy. Let him take a couple of laps around the corral and that will help him settle down. You're holding the reins just about right, so use your heels and pull gently on the reins to pull him around. Once you've done that, goad him gently with your heels and he'll move. Be prepared since he'll probably jump a bit at the chance to move.”
“Great,” Kade almost moaned. “A jumping horse. Just what I need.”
“You'll be fine,” Charley fought a laugh but did smile. The former barrel racer was almost the perfect person outside Kurtis Montana to teach the others how to ride. Using horses as opposed to ATVs would save fuel as well as prepare them all for the day when horses were the primary source of transportation. A twenty-minute ride to Jordan in a Hummer would be a three to five-hour horse ride, depending on the skill of the rider and the stamina of the horse. It was important to build both now, while the time was available without strain.
That was Charley's job.
There had been a bit of concern over whether or not she would stay. Some wondered if she would want to go into Jordan instead. Her horses would make her very popular there as would her other goods. But Charley had flatly refused to entertain living anywhere other than the Sanders' farm, so long as they had no trouble with her staying. Almost every person she knew that was still living, at least in the immediate area, was already there. She, her horses, her knowledge of horses and riding as well as the goods she had brought would be well used here, and she would have a job to do that was needed and important. Here she wouldn't be a burden, but rather an asset.
Charley was smart enough to know that, and had already picked her place in the new world, so long as the people already there approved. And they had, without qualm.
Charley Wilmeth now had a new lease on life. A life she had thought was going to end very badly only scant weeks before. She had a new, safe home. And a new job.
“Corey, you're still holding her too stiff. Look, loosen your grip and let the reins rest on the saddle, just behind the horn. Like this...”
-
JJ muted the speakers as Uttermost Annoying Boaz, as the crew in the radio room had taken to calling him, dove into the meat of today's sermon, promising eldritch horrors for all who dared not listen to and heed the words of the Uttermost, blah, blah, blah. It was mostly repetitive at this point, and once someone listened to the recording for anything they could gain intel from, the disc used to make the recording would be erased and used again.
“Man, that guy is pouring it on, today,” he mentioned to Gwen Paige, who nodded without looking up from her book.
“He's a nutcase alright,” she agreed. “People like him scare me with their hate and ability to influence others.”
“Rightfully so,” JJ replied. “He should scare all people, everywhere. You can bet with him, there isn't any color or orientation or anything else he's interested in other than obedience. He wants loyal followers and will likely take anyone he can get, so long as they do as they're told.”
“That's even more scary, to be honest,” she said after a moment of thought. “There are far too many people out there that will sell their soul to someone like him if he can feed and clothe them. He can literally raise an army that way. The damage he can do is almost off the scale in our current state.” She hushed suddenly, casting a side-eye glance at JJ as if she had just remembered she was talking to a minor.
“Hey, I'm clued in,” he promised. “I know I'm still a kid, but I'd like to think I'm not an average kid,” he grinned.
“There's nothing average about you at all, kiddo,” Gwen agreed with a smile. “This place is insanely lucky to have you, the twins, and Janice. Just off the charts insane.”
“I keep telling them that myself, but am I appreciated?” JJ laughed. “Where's my raise? My 401k? My pension plan, medical benefits-,”
“Well, medical is provided,” Gwen interrupted there. “Can't complain on that one.”
“Fine, I'll give you that one,” he snorted. “Still, it's slave wages around here! Slave wages, I tell ya!”
“Did I hear someone crying about getting to live here and go to sleep with a full belly at night?” Beverly Jackson appeared in the door almost as if she'd been summoned.
“No mom!” JJ spun on his chair, quickly covering the look of fear that crossed his features. “Not at all! We were just talking about the Nutty Reverend is all! Right Gwen?” he spun to face his partner with pleading eyes.
“Right, JJ,” she nodded, smiling. “He's a riot.”
“See?” JJ spun back to face his mother, almost catching her wink at Gwen, but missing it by a nanosecond. “No complaints here!”
“Alright, then,” Beverly nodded. “That's what I like to hear. Keep up the good work.” With that she was gone, headed outside.
“You got it, Mom!” JJ called to her retreating back, wilting in his seat once she was gone from sight.
“Damn, that was close,” he blew his breath out.
“Language, young man!” her voice drifting back to him. “Language!”
Gwen couldn't help but laugh as JJ groaned and covered his face with his hands.
-
Amy Mitchell slowed as she neared the end of the obstacle course, her breathing only slightly labored. She knew she'd been carrying a few extra pounds when the lights went out, but felt like she was carrying them well, to quote an old joke. Between her lack of appetite when she had first arrived at the farm and now the intense physical training that all able-bodied people were required to go through, she felt as if she were almost in as good a shape as when she had been a cheerleader at Calhoun High.
She shook her head as she worked to get her breathing regulated again. She was thinking of herself as old again. Sometimes she felt that way, to be sure, but... she wasn't even thirty, yet. Life was often a real bitch to a single mother, but Amy had fought it every step of the way. She had often felt old and tired simply due to the physical and emotional strain created by trying to raise a child on her own, despite said child's bastard of a father being from of the wealthiest families around.
Amy's anger wasn't for herself, but rather for the things that her daughter, Lisa, should by right have had access to. Better clothes than what Amy could provide, better toys, better everything, really. Had Will not been a complete and utter son-of-a-bitch, then her daughter's life would have been full of good things that she deserved.
Of course, had that been the case then Amy might not have ended up here on the farm, with Lisa beside her. She was under no illusions as to Will's ability to defend her or her daughter in this new environment. While Amy had gone through a terrible ordeal on her way to being here, with all other things considered she couldn't even continue to be bitter about it, now. Will was probably dead, or at least in a lot worse shape than she was, and if he was then he damned well had it coming. Meanwhile, not only were she and Lisa safe, or at least as safe as possible under the circumstances, Amy herself was learning how to defend them both, and getting stronger in the process. Learning everything she could to help the two of them survive their harsh new reality.
Her breathing now under control, Amy left her thoughts behind her as she walked back to the beginning of the course. She would run it two more times before stopping. She would be strong enough to do whatever she had to do to keep her daughter safe.
No matter how hard she had to work to make that happen.
-
Kurtis Montana studied the leather laying on his workbench, eyeing it carefully to determine the best way to trim the piece to avoid any waste. While leather would not be in short supply on a ranch this size, particularly with those Webb boys tanning and gluing the hides, Kurtis had been taught not to waste anything.
He had to admit that the quality of the leather the Webb brothers produced was excellent. He understood they had learned from their father, who likely had learned from his and so on, which was something he had encountered more than once in his home region. Leather work was considered a craft as well as an art out west, where saddles and other tack were not just for show, but for hard work. While the Sanders' ranch was fairly large by eastern standards, Kurtis had worked on ranches so large that the Sanders' land could be set inside them and be lost. The largest ranch he had worked on had owned or controlled over seventy thousand acres, and he had spent many a summer night under the stars as he rode fence lines or looked for calves that might have wandered from their mother. That far away from the bunkhouse, a man didn't want his horse or his gear to go bust.
This was the second saddle Kurtis had managed to put together since they had secured the tools and equipment from Charley Wilmeth's horse ranch. Her father may have just done leather as a hobby, but he had done it in style, with top quality equipment and supplies of all kinds. Kurtis had known more than one saddler out west who would have been impressed by the late Mister Wilmeth's tastes in gear.
Currently, Kurtis was using a model that Wilmeth had owned, and probably made himself, to mold a saddle of beautifully tanned cowhide with pigskin strapping that should hold up well in the environment of middle Tennessee. As he carefully moved the leather into position before cutting it to fit the model, Kurtis wondered again at the long, strange trip that had found him a long way from the place he had called home for all his short life.
Abandoned as an infant on the steps of an adobe church building that was older than the state of Wyoming, Kurtis had bounced from foster home to foster home until he was fourteen years of age, at which point he had struck out on his own rather than continue to be used as he had been. If he was going to work like an adult, he figured he'd be paid like one as well.
It had been the wildest of chance that he would meet Shane Golden in Arizona. Kurtis had traveled to Arizona on a hunt for the Wildlife service, chasing an unknown predator that was killing livestock on BLM land, as well as a small Indian reservation. He had been riding hard scrabble back country looking for sign of what he had determined to be a large cat that had wandered a long way from the normal hunting grounds that such animals preferred. Since the cat had not yet killed or attacked a human, Kurtis had a pack horse that carried a large animal carrier. If he could tranquilize the cat, then he could call the Wildlife service to come and pick him up, carrying the predator to a better place for all concerned. Somewhere he could hunt with little interaction with humans or their livestock.
Gunfire had caught his attention as he rode one dusty afternoon, and he had stopped, trying to determine where it was coming from. Heading south and little east he soon came to an arroyo that had been converted into a gun range by someone who knew what they were doing. Kurtis had dismounted and led his horses down into the gully behind the shooters, wondering if he had happened upon crim
inals of some sort, or perhaps outlaw bikers. After a few tense moments once he made himself known, Kurtis was relieved to find out that the men were simply former service members who were out keeping their skills sharp. Kurtis had eventually been invited to join them and had done well enough to impress the former soldiers.
After spending the night at their rather nice compound, Kurtis had gone on his way, returning to the hunt. Just as he was about to go, Shane had invited him to return once the hunt was finished. The vague promise of work had sounded fuzzy, but there was no question that Shane and his group were well heeled, and Kurtis had agreed to come back once he found his target.
He needed ten days to track and capture to cat, call for the cat to be collected, return the horses he had been using to the BLM, and then drive his truck back to Shane's compound. Once there, the small group had shared a fantastic tale of what Kurtis privately thought of as mystical bullshit, but they were obviously not nutters, so Kurtis had accepted the invitation to stay on for a few weeks and teach them all to better handle horses.
Six weeks later the sky had caught fire and the lights had gone out. The mystical bullshit had turned out to be accurate despite the dubious origins. After that, Kurtis had easily fallen in with the small group and now, after a long, dangerous journey, here he was, doing pretty much the same thing he'd done since he was big enough to sit a horse, just in a different time zone.
Not that he figured anyone was using the time zone table any longer. Most watches and clocks had stopped when the lights went out.
The truth was that he had traveled a long way to put this saddle together. He decided that meant he should stop ruminating on how he had gotten here and concentrate instead on the work at hand.
This was merely the second of several saddles he would eventually have to build.
