3. Ty
Chapter 3
Ty
H ead tilted back so he could look up at the canopy of trees, Ty just about missed it when Gabe turned onto a smaller path. If Hudson hadn’t grabbed his sleeve and jerked hard, Ty would have kept going. As it was, he followed Hudson through a bit of a thicket to a tent that sat in the middle of a clearing.
The tent wasn’t like the white canvas tents the chain gang used, dirty, old, close to the ground with only a thin air mattress to sleep on. One blanket. No pillow.
No, this tent was huge, made of new green canvas, with a cream-colored rain fly, and it stood on a wooden platform. Three wooden steps led up to the platform, and these Gabe climbed, waving them close.
“You each get a cot,” said Gabe. “The boxes from our admin Maddy should have everything you need. If anything’s missing or if you need anything else, just let me know, and we’ll get it for you. Now, why don’t you grab some clean clothes and we’ll head to the shower.”
Grabbing clean clothes meant going into the coolness of the tent. Ty stood just inside the flap. He could see the two cots with their thick mattresses and clean sheets. Fluffy pillows. And the boxes. So many boxes.
He couldn’t move. Neither could Hudson, and it seemed a very long minute until Hudson touched the first box on the right-hand cot and snatched it back, like he’d been bitten.
“You’re fine,” said Gabe. He stood fully outside and just leaned his head in. “There’s a shower kit, boots, briefs, and an outfit like mine. It’s kind of the uniform of the valley.”
Not moving his head, Ty looked sideways at Gabe. At his blue jeans and blue chambray shirt and opened his mouth to ask—what exactly?
Surely, Gabe was joking about the amount of supplies and gear they were each going to receive. But his face said he wasn’t.
Ty wanted to believe him. That the nightmare part of his life was over.
“ All these boxes are for me?” asked Hudson, saying what Ty had been unable to say.
“They are,” said Gabe. “Tomorrow morning, I’ll take you up to the ranch’s store and you can pick out a pair of cowboy boots and a hat.”
Ty’s whole soul lit up at the word cowboy . The idea of it, riding the range all day, sleeping beneath the stars, looking out for the cattle, had always made him feel buoyed up. He’d been a cowboy, a real one, once upon a time. When he’d been riding out in the hills, those had been the best days of his life.
“Will we be riding?” Ty asked. His voice came out a croak, and now both Gabe and Hudson were looking at him like he’d said something stupid. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Riding?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Gabe. “Lessons if you need them. Or a refresher for you, Ty, since you already have experience.”
Hudson glared at both of them, as though he thought Ty was getting preferential treatment. And it occurred to Ty that Hudson would be outright handsome if he wasn’t always glowering so hard.
“But none of that’s going to happen if we don’t get a move on,” said Gabe. “We don’t want to take too long getting through the tour and miss dinner, believe me.”
The words could have been a threat, but they didn’t sound like one. They sounded like a promise that dinner would be good. That the tour would be interesting.
Ty wanted to believe those words so badly, it broke through his stillness. He rushed into action, going through the boxes, through the piles of brand-new everything and found the shower kit, the clean shirt and jeans, both neatly folded. Socks. A little packet that contained not one but three rolls of extra-moisturizing lip balm. He tore open the packet and smeared his lips with the balm, thinking he’d landed in heaven. Then he found the box containing a pair of yellow work boots.
His mouth watered as he took out one boot and ran his fingers over the eyelets and the soft leather.
“Good, eh?” asked Gabe.
Ty translated the comment into Let’s get moving, so he gathered his bundle and followed Gabe and Hudson to what Gabe referred to as the facilities .
They walked along a dirt path through a deep glade of pine trees. The shade was lovely and cool, a distinctly different environment than the fields around Chadron. Toilets and sinks were on one side, showers and sinks on the other.
Ty’s jaw was about to drop as Gabe pointed out how the showers worked, the little area also behind the curtain where you could get dressed and undressed in privacy. He showed them where the stack of towels was kept, extra soap in the tall shelf, toothbrushes and shampoo and conditioner—all just sitting there for anyone to take.
Ty didn’t remember the last time he’d had access to anything like this. No, he did know. Two years ago. A lifetime, it seemed.
Ty’s jaw did drop when Gabe left them there and said he’d be back in half an hour or so for their tour and to take them to dinner.
“This is some wild shit,” said Hudson, a bit of amazed laughter breaking through his grimness. “We could just take showers and walk out of here.”
Ty shook his head, but only slightly, in case disagreeing with Hudson pissed him off.
“No?” asked Hudson. He strode to the nearest shower stall and shook the curtain.
“Dinner,” said Ty. He barely spoke above a whisper, but Hudson heard him.
“You believe, don’t you.”
It wasn’t a question and Hudson didn’t have to define what he thought Ty believed in. Ty wanted to believe in all of it. Hudson believed in none of it.
He had nothing left in him but the slimmest shred of hope that there was still something good waiting for him. That Mr. Tate was a man of his word. That Gabe was exactly what he seemed, a good man, a patient man.
He wanted to believe in the valley, so beautiful from what he’d seen of it. A valley like that couldn’t be so lovely for no reason.
Finally, with a shake of his head, Hudson disappeared behind the curtain. Ty heard the shower going on, and a low groan as Hudson stepped beneath the spray.
Hustling, Ty took the last shower stall and threw himself into action, ripping off the itchy blue jumpsuit, the shitty slip-ons and crappy thin socks. Then he turned on the shower with the upscale handle and stepped beneath the spray before the water was even warm.
He yelped when the cold spray hit him, but even this was better than the alternative, which was a shower every once in a while when the chain gang guards decided they all smelled too ripe to be around. Five minutes in a mildewy canvas shed to stand beneath a trickle of water. Skin-drying soap. Thin towels. No privacy.
As the water heated up, it felt like a promise. Of goodness. Of tomorrow. Sunshine and rainbows. Ty took the bar of soap and lathered himself up and rinsed himself off. He did it again, sighing over and over at the pleasure of it, the silky feel of his skin coated with water.
“Will you stop humming,” snapped Hudson, his voice coming over the mist of shower spray.
“Fuck off,” said Ty under his breath, for no man, not even Hudson, was going to take this away from him.
Delirious, Ty washed his hair, rinsed it and softened it with conditioner, and then stood beneath the spray and let the water wash over him. Finally, at some point, he heard Hudson turn off his shower and followed suit.
This seemed like the kind of place where he could take as many showers as he liked. He’d have to wait and see, but everything seemed so nice?—
“Come out of there before he comes back.”
Ty did as he was told, and it was out of habit. Besides, getting dried off and half dressed in thick cotton socks, soft cotton briefs, and brand-new blue jeans meant that he could stand beside Hudson at the row of sinks and shave. With a new razor. Nice shaving gel.
There was even a bottle of SkinBracer that somebody had left behind, and both he and Hudson used it, which resulted in Hudson almost smiling as he put on a blue chambray shirt and tucked it into the waistband of his blue jeans.
“Don’t eat too fast, whatever they serve you,” said Hudson as he adjusted his buttons into a straight line. Arching an eyebrow at himself in the mirror, Hudson said, “You eat too fast, you’ll barf again.” He grunted. “It’ll probably be shitty food, anyway.”
Gabe came back just as Ty was finishing buttoning his shirt and tying the laces of his lovely new boots. As Gabe took them on a tour of the compound, Ty did his best to pay attention. Where their tent was, where the mess tent was, the other tents, but it was turning into a pine-scented greenish blur.
When Ty almost walked into a tree, taking in the beauty of his surroundings, Hudson steadied him, then let go as if he simply didn’t care what happened to Ty.
It was only as Gabe led them down a long path through an open field and they came to a wooden paddock that Ty was able to focus. The paddock was a huge circle with wood railings next to a small supply shed. On the other side of that, in the pasture, was a row of lean-to shelters for horses to take shelter when they wanted.
“Zeke gives lessons here,” said Gabe. “He’ll set up a schedule for you. In addition to other chores, some of the work my team does is cleaning the pasture, checking the water levels in those metal troughs over there. And of course, grooming the horses, giving them treats. All the fun stuff.”
The smile he gave them might have been meant to imply that the work wouldn’t be all back-breaking labor. Another promise. Ty wanted to believe it wholeheartedly. And meet Zeke. And ride .
“You’ll learn your way around soon enough,” said Gabe. “But if you get lost or turned around, that over there is Guipago Ridge. Just beyond those trees is Half Moon Lake. Most of the compound is north of the lake and east of the ridge. Pretty much all the paths lead to the mess tent. We might be laying gravel on the main ones. Pea gravel, just to keep them from getting muddy.”
Ty shuddered at the thought of having to shovel any more gravel, but he’d be willing to do pretty much anything if they let him shower every night.
Gabe took them back to the mess tent, where they climbed the wooden steps before stepping inside. Along one wall was what looked like a tiny office area and library, with an old-fashioned push-button phone on a table, along with a cup with pens and pencils in it. There was even a small bookshelf full of books.
There was a line to a buffet, which was how it’d been on the chain gang. A line, a longish wait, metal food trays, slop served from a large cooking pot, day-old bread, and water.
Ty was prepared to believe the food would be horrible, but the smells in the air were amazing, and made his mouth water.
He looked over at Hudson, who was at his side. That’s how you did it in a chain gang. Two by two, which for some reason made the guards feel like they had more control.
Hudson’s eyes were wide, a shocked look on his face as though he was coming around to the idea that yes, their salvation had come. Hot showers, good food, nice clothes. Just like Mr. Tate had promised.
Hudson saw Ty looking at him and looked away. Stepped one step ahead, just so they weren’t standing two by two, probably because nobody else was.
That wasn’t a rule here. Nobody cared. Just that there wasn’t any jostling, and the conversation from the tables bubbled up like happiness.
Three cooks stood behind the buffet, wearing paper caps and serving gloves, handing out bread or tongs or whatever anyone needed.
When they got to the front of the serving line, Ty froze. And blinked.
A little ahead of him, Hudson froze too, as if he couldn’t believe it was real. Then, with what seemed like a force of will, he took a serving tray, a white china plate, silverware wrapped in a napkin, and moved that tray across the metal shelf like he’d been doing this for years.
“What’s good tonight, guys?” Hudson asked the cooks, as though he’d known them forever. Not in a jolly way, but in a matter-of-fact way.
Ty could see the way Hudson’s brain was working. He was trying to act like it was normal, so he wouldn’t draw any extra attention. That seemed to be a big thing with him.
“The meatloaf’s pretty good,” said one cook. “I make the gravy myself, and you can have any vegetables you like. Mashed potatoes, green beans, oven-roasted sweet potatoes. Rolls, too. You name it. Ice cream’s for dessert, and we have five flavors.”
“Strawberry?” asked Ty. He’d grabbed a plate and now held it up to his mouth so he could touch it to his mouth and feel the silkiness of it. Savor the smoothness of it.
Surely the answer would be no, but another cook said, “Yes, that’s a favorite of the crew. We’ve got strawberry, chocolate, vanilla, peach, with real peaches, and pistachio.”
Ty felt like sucking on the rim of the cool plate again but stopped himself and followed Hudson’s lead. Plate, tray, cutlery, glass. And then held it all up so somebody could fill it.
“It’s serve yourself,” said one of the cooks. “We’re just here to make sure it goes smoothly.”
Ty watched Hudson shake his head as though he, Hudson, was totally irritated that Ty simply could not fake it till he made it.
But perhaps the cooks understood how shocking it was to step from the world of a chain gang into this world, for one of them reached to pick up one of the small metal spatulas from the meatloaf dish and handed it, handle first, to Ty.
“Take as much as you like,” the cook said. “Or take one helping and then come back for seconds. That way, the food’ll still be warm.”
Ty was tempted to pile the plate with food but then thought better of it. Taking too much might attract attention, and as he looked over the long tables, he saw men eating steadily and slowly, as if they didn’t expect anyone to take it from them.
Two men were getting up to stand in the very short line, bringing their plates with them. Seconds. They were having seconds, like the cook said.
Ty took some meatloaf and a little bit of each veggie, green beans and carrots, and a ton of mashed potatoes. Then he paused, holding up the line.
“What can we do for you, son?” asked an older cook.
“Is this all right?” He held his plate up for them to see. “Did I take too much?”
He saw the flicker of concern across the faces of the three cooks. How they looked at each other, glanced at Hudson, and then brought their attention back to him.
“You’re fine,” said one.
Another, wanting to help in spite of the fact that it was self-serve, raised a ladle of gravy. “Would you like extra gravy on that?”
“Yes, please,” said Ty, bringing out the manners he’d not had the opportunity to use for over two years and dusting them off.
“There’s plenty more where that came from, son,” said the older cook in a kind way.
Blinking back the heat in his eyes, Ty just about stumbled to the nearest table and sat down in the end seat, where the warmth and smells of the buffet could float around him. Someone came by and plunked down a small plate of sliced bread and a little bowl full of foil-wrapped pats of butter.
For a long moment, his heart pounding, he could only look at the food in front of him. Just last week, his dinner had been freeze-dried scrambled eggs and a slice of bread tinged with mold. And now look at him.
“Better eat,” said a voice next to him. Ty looked up when he felt the nudge, and had not realized who was talking to him until Hudson had taken the seat next to him. Hudson, who didn’t seem to like him very much.
“Evidently they eat like this three times a day,” said Hudson. “Better get used to it.”
He might have meant it as a joke, but he wasn’t smiling. Though, maybe he was as shocked by the sudden changes in their lives as Ty was.
“Okay.”
Then Ty let his stomach lead the way, mindlessly getting food into himself faster than he could actually chew it.
“Slow down, or you’ll puke.”
Ty did his best to slow down, but he even had time to grab a full plate of seconds, and then some ice cream. Hudson, whose plate looked licked clean, was shaking his head.
Gabe told them the plan for the evening was to sit around a campfire while the sun went down and the stars came out.
“Go get your jackets and a flashlight,” said Gabe, coming up to them as they were bussing their places. “It gets cold when it gets dark.”
“Yes, sir,” said Hudson.
“You don’t have to call me sir,” said Gabe. “Gabe is fine.”