Hoyt #2
On the down side, rubbing oil into saddles seemed to be all I could manage right now.
A little rub down with some antifungal perhaps could be done after the conditioner but as for repair stitching with an awl yeah no.
Holding a saddle between your knees while you tried to push polyurethane thread through a hole with the awl was a no go.
As was replacing rivets as a rivet gun required two strong hands.
After about five hours I was done with what I could do, my shoulder was on fire, and my temper was frayed.
Frustrated at myself, I did the only thing I could think of and that was to hit the bunkhouse for lunch.
There were so many new faces. Obviously as I’d been gone a long-ass time.
Most of the cowhands were young or appeared young to me.
They were probably wondering why Methuselah had toddled in reeking of meaty oils.
Then there were old faces. Ruth was still here.
I don’t think she recognized me when our eyes met.
Which was fine. I didn’t need another person leading me down memory lane.
That skipping into the past hurt too damn bad.
A few nodded as if they knew me but most were too busy wolfing down their chow to give me much thought.
I didn’t know the cook but the pulled pork sandwiches with sides looked and smelled amazing.
I took a seat at a long table, head down, hat on the bench beside me, and dove in.
The pork was delicious, the bun fresh, and the sides of cabbage salad, pickles, a tossed salad, and fried potatoes were to die for.
The slice of rhubarb pie—I wondered if the old rhubarb patch was still producing.
The hall hummed with the low drone of male voices, the clatter of silverware on plates, and the occasional outburst of laughter.
Sitting alone didn’t bother me. I’d been a party of one ever since I discovered I liked boys a lot more than I liked girls.
The pie was taken out for a walk so I could feel the sun on my face.
Somehow my feet took me to a paddock filled with horses enjoying the new grass shoots exploding from the rich soil.
Placing my dish on top of a post I breathed in the smell of horse and dirt.
I missed Adobe so much. Maybe coming here to see the horses was a bad idea.
But when one, a bay beauty, ambled over, I could only smile and offer him the crust. A group of teens rode past on ATVs with one of the hands keeping them in line.
More than likely 4-H or FFA here for a field trip.
I’d seen quite a few kids around now that I thought on it.
Which was a new thing. Abel hadn’t cared for loud bratty hooligans racing about when he was foreman.
Course the man pretty much disliked his own kids so…
Soft rubbery lips moved over my palm, taking the treat from me.
The others then trotted over because someone was getting something to eat and they wanted some.
Beautiful horses all of them. A paint, a gray roan, a buckskin, and the bay all vied for my attention and what was left of my pie, which was nothing.
Still, I was happy to pet them while whispering what noble and proud beasts they were.
The paint decided if I wasn’t giving out food they weren’t hanging around and went off to pester another lighter colored horse in the corner.
The bay though lingered long after the others had left.
The afternoon began to get away from me as I visited with the horses.
Deep down I knew I needed to get back to work doing something but what that would be I had no fucking clue.
Lost for a job, I entered the horse barn to fill water troughs and groom the horses that were in their stalls.
A one-armed man could brush a horse out and give it some fresh hay.
A lean man with the look of a weathered soul exited the barn, giving me a steady perusal before making his way over. Square jaw, blue eyes, short dark hair, denim jacket.
“Howdy,” he called out, the horses responding to his voice with soft whinnies. Three herding dogs hounded his heels as he exited the barn. “You new here?”
“Yes and no,” I replied with candor. He cocked an eyebrow. “I’m Hoyt Knox. Jesse’s brother. I lived here as a kid then left to join the rodeo.” No point in telling the sad story behind my unpleasant exit from Snow Creek. “Just here recuperating after a bull did a fine fandango on my clavicle.”
“Ouch, that had to hurt.”
“More than a little.”
“Jesse mentioned you. You’re in the pink trailer on the side of the hay barn.”
“That’s me.” I offered him my right hand to shake. His grip was strong, fingers rough. A working hand. “I’m looking for some light work, something a man with only one arm can do, so if you got anything I’m willing to do it. Sitting in that trailer for days on end will make me go mad.”
“I understand that well. Call me Gunner. Gunner Rockhill. I’m the head horse wrangler.
Be happy to have you curry the horses, fill water buckets, grain them, shit like that.
I’m also behind on paperwork so if you’re good with figures feel free to pull the invoices out of the drawer in the old desk in the barn and make sense of them. ”
“I’m fair shakes with numbers,” I replied. That, it seemed, was the end of the interview. Gunnar walked with me into the largest barn and let me do my thing.
I puttered around in the horse barn for a few hours before taking my empty plate back to the bunkhouse.
Dinner was ready when I arrived, a hearty venison stew with crusty bread, soft butter, and a side salad.
Dessert was a cobbler with apples and a crunch topping served with a dollop of whipped cream.
Alone at the far table by the window I inhaled the fare, pausing only to sip from a bottle of water while checking out the other cowpokes.
A few inclined their heads in greeting so I did the same.
Good-looking men, flushed from being out in the cold April winds.
Most of them were big guys who wore their masculinity well.
A guy who worked this life had to be beefy.
Pitching hay bales and wrestling calves for tagging required muscle.
And while I appreciated muscle I found myself comparing the cowboys to the bookseller in Chance.
Aubrey. Aubrey Lancombe. Such a bright personality with big brown eyes that lit up like a lantern when he talked about books.
I liked his lithe frame. I’d always been a toppy bastard who preferred smaller, thinner men in his bed.
Aubrey was the perfect build, and his chatty nature made me feel less down.
Thinking of him made the melancholy seem a little less heavy.
Maybe I would try that Ginsberg book tonight after I took a shower.
In the bunkhouse. It was better if I kept my distance from my family.
For Jesse because I’d be pulling out as soon as I was cleared to ride and for me because if I found myself face-to-face with Abel it would end in violence.
And this time I would not be cowering on the ground or walking off to save my little brother from having to pick a side.
This time if he came after me I would clean his fucking clock.
The days of Hoyt Knox taking a licking from his pa were done and over.
Next time would be the last time and that promise could be taken to the bank.