The Cowboy and the Wheelman (Farthingdale Valley #6)

1. Hudson

Chapter 1

Hudson

T he blacktop road from Wyoming Correctional went straight west for a while, twisted north, then went west again. Hudson lost track of where they were. The driver might have gotten lost since he kept making u-turns. Now they were zipping down I-25 toward the Wyoming-Colorado border headed south rather than west, as they should have been. Along the roadside, a westerly breeze flattened the summer brown grasses.

The driver was a pleasant older man who went by the name of Joey. He didn’t seem worried that the two of them were ex-cons who’d spent hard time in a freaking chain gang. No. Joey had waved away offers to leave the handcuffs on and had driven them away from Wyoming Correctional, whistling a happy tune.

Honestly, Hudson didn’t much care where they were going, except that each mile they drove beneath the blue sky propelled him farther from the prison and farther from Chadron County, where it had all turned to so much shit he didn’t think he’d ever recover.

Add to that fact, he wasn’t in handcuffs. Sure, he wore a pale blue prison-issued jumpsuit that felt thin as paper and slip-on sneakers that wouldn’t last five minutes in the two prison yards he’d been in, Nebraska Correctional and Wyoming Correctional.

But he wasn’t in prison. He was a free man with a very short parole obligation, due to some very nice deal-making he’d agreed to just to keep the Chadron mess quiet.

Every part of his body ached, though he wasn’t sure whether it was from the still-lingering bruises from a beating he’d gotten last week, or the fact that his body was simply worn out from overwork. From being underfed. From every nerve stretching to its limit, just trying to survive.

His time in the chain gang, a nightmare he’d just woken up from, could also be a nightmare that just might start all over again. It hadn’t yet, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t.

Beside him on the bench seat of the van was a guy he’d once seen getting dragged away to a hot box. He’d been locked in the hot box until the sun went down, and all for the purpose of teaching him some kind of lesson.

Hudson had never been able to figure out, either what the lesson was supposed to teach, or what could justifiably get a man locked away in a small place with temperatures up to one hundred degrees. The best he could figure was that hot box lessons could be for anything a guard might dream up.

The guy’s name was Ty. Hudson only knew that because the driver had called them both by name. He was fair and slender, and not built to withstand the horror of prison, let alone a chain gang. A faint wind could have blown him away, and yet he’d survived.

Ty had survived and so had Hudson. As for the rest of those sorry assholes, they’d been spun into the wind, relocated to different prisons or parole programs, depending.

Scuttlebutt was that once the town of Chadron discovered what was going on, its horrified citizens had called the Nebraska State Troopers and the FBI, in case the troopers were in on it. Then someone high up in the food chain had supposedly wanted to keep gossip low and so had moved fast and given all the prisoners good deals on their parole. Another rumor said that the locals got paid off to keep their mouths shut.

That was probably a good thing. The less anybody knew about what he’d been through, the easier it would be to keep the world and everybody in it at a distance. There was no way Hudson was going to trust anyone. Ever.

All he wanted to do was get to wherever the fuck he was going, wash off the dust and sweat, and hopefully get some sleep where he wouldn’t have to keep one eye open.

His hope was curtailed when Ty rocked forward and then back, wrapping his arms around himself, shivering. His face went ghastly pale, his lank, ash-blond hair sticking to his temples, his forehead.

In another minute, Ty was going to draw Joey’s attention to the bench seat, and that more than anything, Hudson did not want. He flew under the radar and did everything he could to stay there. And now Ty was going to fuck that up.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” asked Hudson, growling as quietly as he could. “Sit still.”

“I’m so cold.” Ty’s voice was a thin quaver that got on Hudson’s nerves even before he’d stopped speaking. “So cold.”

The van’s AC was running on high, but that’s because it was August in Wyoming. To be expected.

As Hudson looked around, trying to see where the air was coming from, Ty reached out, like he meant to block the air. A futile gesture because Hudson couldn’t see any vents.

“Just stop,” Hudson hissed. “We’ll be there soon.”

Making a small sound in his throat, Ty looked at Hudson with silver-blue eyes that made him look fey, his expression one that made Hudson feel like he was Ty’s last hope, irritating Hudson all over again. He didn’t want to mean anything to anyone.

“Driver,” said Hudson. “Joey, sir? Can you turn down the AC?”

“It might get a little hot,” said Joey, glancing at them in the rearview mirror. “But, sure, you can close the vents. Do that, see if that’ll help.”

For a hot moment, Hudson wanted to bark at him: What the fuck are you talking about? Take it in our own hands to adjust the temperature?

Working on the chain gang on Highway 29, amidst the badlands of Nebraska, living in tents in the middle of nowhere, eating crap food. You never did anything without permission. If any man had complained or asked for a fan or done anything to make life a little better for himself, the consequences were severe. And that included getting denied water for sixteen hours at a stretch.

It irritated him to think he’d been so well trained he couldn’t even adjust the air. But Ty was looking at him like he was a lost dog in the snow, and if Hudson wanted Ty’s complaining to stop, he needed to do something about it.

“I don’t see any vents,” said Hudson. He added, “Sir,” and kicked himself. He not only wanted to get through this in one piece, but he also wanted to leave all those boot-licking behaviors behind.

“The vents are below the seat and in the front of the doors on each side,” said Joey. “They might be too far to reach. But hey, check the console, ’cause I think there’s a back seat control. Just lift the lid and turn it down. Let me know if that works.”

Hudson resigned himself to being astonished every time he said something and didn’t get knocked in the head for being insolent and confrontational. That help would come so readily and without consequences.

Feeling Ty watching him, Hudson popped the lid off the console. Sure enough, there was a dial and some switches to regulate the temperature in the back seats of the van.

Had this sort of tech existed five years before, when he’d first been arrested and sent to prison? He supposed a lot of things had changed, and he was just going to have to adapt.

He turned the left dial down and felt the fan speed lessen. Then he changed the other dial from the blue zone to a middle zone, both red and blue. The air warmed up just a tad, but it seemed to be enough, and Ty stopped shivering. He even had a smile for Hudson.

Hudson wanted no part of any gratitude, so he turned away to look out the window and the view was much the same as it had been. He was pretty sure they’d already gone along this stretch of highway. Joey seemed horrible at directions, though it wasn’t too bad to be able to look at the passing scenery and a blue sky that wasn’t edged by razor wire.

Then Hudson was distracted again by Ty, who’d curled forward, clutching his stomach. Was it a ruse so they could escape? Sure, maybe, but there wasn’t any need for that. They were headed to some valley to participate in the Fresh Start parole program there. They’d both gotten the whole spiel from the man who owned the valley, Leland Tate.

Escape might be a whole lot easier from there. If that’s what he decided to do.

“Sit up,” said Hudson, irritated all over again. “What is your deal?”

“I’m going to be sick,” said Ty, the words muffled against his knees.

“No, you’re not.”

The response Hudson got was a low moan. Another rock.

“Could you turn up the AC?” asked Ty. “I’m so hot.”

“Sir,” said Hudson.

Maybe Ty was faking it, but Hudson did not want to sit in a pile of puke all the way to their destination.

“Sir,” he said again, louder this time. “Ty’s going to be sick. Can you pull over?”

In another life, one more like a prison movie with a happy ending, this would have been the part where the prisoners got the best of the driver, who had been foolish enough to believe they’d not make a break for it.

In this life, Joey pulled over as though he believed Ty was going to be sick and that he wasn’t worried about them trying to escape. The van stopped on a broad shoulder, just at an off-ramp leading to a narrow bridge over the highway on the border between Wyoming and Colorado.

Mentally, Hudson calculated speed and distance to that border, and then shook himself. His truck driving days were long behind him.

As soon as the van stopped, Ty grabbed the handle and yanked the van door open, leaping out to kneel in the sunburned grasses on the edge of the shoulder.

Hudson could see the muscles in his back rippling beneath the blue jumpsuit as Ty barfed. He was trying to hold his hair back with one hand and steady himself with the other hand, planted palm down.

Hudson did his best to resist helping Ty until suddenly he couldn’t. Couldn’t just sit idly by and watch the man suffer. He’d had to do too much of that, of minding his own business, while behind bars.

“I’m getting out,” he said, and in his past life, getting out of the van without permission would have been enough to get him clouted upside his head.

He was moving without permission. But Joey didn’t stop him, however, Joey was on his phone, calling it in.

Hudson couldn’t hear what he was saying, whether it was to report an escape attempt or just to state their location, because Hudson was standing on his own two unshackled feet beneath the biggest, bluest sky the heavens had to offer.

It was almost surreal to be standing there with no guards, no razor wire, no walls. Just Ty vomiting his guts out.

Hudson reached to gather Ty’s hair, sweaty and stringy, as if Ty hadn’t showered just that morning, the same as Hudson had.

Ty really was sick, but from what? Bad food? Exhaustion? The shock of finding himself far away from hell on earth?

“I got it,” said Hudson. Why the fuck was he being nice? Nice never got nobody nowhere. But if Ty was barfing, at least he now had two hands to steady himself.

“Is he going to be okay?” asked Joey.

Hudson turned, shock ripping through him that he’d not heard Joey approach. Hudson kept his gaze on Ty because it was never a good idea to look a guard in the face, and Joey was as much a guard as a driver.

“I called it in,” said Joey. “Told ’em we’d be delayed. That I got turned around and now this.” He clicked under his tongue. “I don’t have any water because I didn’t think we’d be this long on the road. We’ll stop at Ranchette’s and get you guys some water. He can use the gents and clean himself up.”

Hudson didn’t allow himself to feel shocked because if he did, he’d be spending too much energy. Joey was being nice because he was a nice guy. Hudson couldn’t expect that trend to continue, but his mouth felt extra dry at the thought of a nice, cool drink.

“He’s good,” said Hudson, still not looking at Joey. “You good, Ty? C’mon, we need to get going.”

How Ty managed to stand up without any help was a mystery because the guy was a mess. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his blue jumpsuit and shoved his sweaty hair back from his face.

Maybe a little color had come back to his fox-sharp face, but he still looked like a keen wind would topple him over, but at least he was doing his best. Hudson always admired a man who had guts, and doing what Ty was doing took guts.

“Let’s get back in the van, guys,” said Joey and now Hudson did look at him.

Joey did not seem concerned that they’d escape. Sure, they were on a highway, a major highway, but nobody would be stupid enough to pick up two men in prison jumpsuits. Besides, Joey had promised water and a restroom, and Hudson decided he was going to take him up on that promise.

“Let’s go, Ty,” Hudson said, and led the way back into the back seat of the van.

Joey closed the van door, and for a second Hudson felt a sense of shock that he’d not simply taken off running. Still, more sensibly, he’d stayed because that was the smart thing to do.

Leland Tate, the guy who’d come to Wyoming Correctional to talk to them about his parole opportunity, had promised clean clothes, hot meals, and decent work. He’d seemed stern, but looked honest, and everyone around him, guards, counselors, and whoever the fuck had met in the warden’s office, had seemed to look up to him. Mr. Tate, everybody had called him with great respect.

Inside of five minutes and a hefty u-turn on a forbidden stretch of land between the two sides of the highway, Joey was driving up an on-ramp to a rest stop dominated by a huge gas station and a convenience store.

“This is Ranchette’s Stop ’n Go,” said Joey cheerfully as he slipped into a parking spot. “Let’s head in and make it quick.”

He said this without any meanness, quite unlike a guard who, when he said Hop to it, really intended the men to hop. Joey was just in a rush because they were behind schedule, that was all.

Hudson followed him dutifully inside, ignoring the stares while Joey got the restroom key from the cashier and purchased three bottles of water. He handed the key to Ty and sent him off, and handed a bottle of water to Hudson.

“Let’s wait outside in the shade,” said Joey, low. “I don’t want to bother folks.”

With a nod, Hudson followed Joey outside.

Together, they stood in the shade of the overhang, both of them gazing at nothing as Hudson undid the white plastic cap from a bottle of water and drank from it.

The water was super chilled and mighty good, and Hudson took a deep breath and swallowed half of it down. Presently, Ty came back, wet from the top of his head to his shoulders, as if he’d sluiced himself down over and over, just to get the stink of vomit off him.

“You feeling better?” asked Joey nicely, like he really cared. Or maybe he did care.

Hudson had gotten into the habit of reading everybody in the room as though they meant him harm. Which was still a good practice to keep up, but Joey was simply a nice guy.

“Yes,” said Ty. His voice was soft, his eyes were silver-blue, and he seemed so gentle it was a wonder he’d made it this far. But he had made it this far, so maybe Hudson shouldn’t underestimate him.

“Here’s your water,” said Joey, handing the plastic bottle to Ty. “Okay, let’s get back in the van.”

They got in the van, and right away Ty opened his water and chugged it down, like he’d been on a desert island for years. When he swallowed, he pursed his lips and smiled at Hudson.

It had been a long time since anyone had smiled at Hudson, let alone like that. Sweetly, eyes bright. Like Hudson had been the one to give him water.

He wasn’t sure what to do with that smile, so Hudson ignored Ty while Joey drove along the highway, whistling aimlessly the whole while. Eventually he took an exit and went over a bridge, and now they were heading west along a curved blacktop road that hugged the summer-tanned foothills.

The sun was drifting lower and lower in the west, and Hudson’s stomach growled in spite of the fact that there wasn’t anything much to eat. As if it believed there was a hot supper waiting for it somewhere.

Hudson ignored the growl and kept his eyes on the road. And he ignored the way Ty leaned against the window, like he wanted to push through it and get outside. Escape to freedom, maybe, or just collapse by the roadside.

He had no idea what was coming next, but he was used to that. He’d had to get used to it to survive.