13. Ty
Chapter 13
Ty
S urely he was imagining that Hudson had been giving him the cold shoulder for days
Hudson seemed fine when they went to the showers, but other than that, he’d rebuffed Ty at every turn. Didn’t sit with him at mealtimes, preferring to sit in cold silence with someone else. Or he worked on the other side of the glade, never even acknowledging Ty’s presence, not even when they stood in the shade together and drank ice-cold bottles of water.
And they never made remarks to each other, not anymore, about how easy the work was compared to what they’d done in the fields around Chadron. Or made any comments about how surreal it was or anything.
Ty kept trying to sit next to Hudson at mealtimes, but Hudson was still keeping his distance. Ty couldn’t bring himself to ask Hudson what he’d done to get on Hudson’s bad side. He was afraid Hudson would tell him he was annoying, and maybe he’d be annoyed enough to ask for a change in tentmates.
Anyway, it was better to have Hudson for a tentmate than someone else because even if Hudson wasn’t really talking to him, Ty liked Hudson. Liked the way he was quiet unless he had something to say. Liked the way he was so sure with his movements, and how he moved, graceful for so big a man.
And Ty liked the way Hudson had looked at him as they’d driven back from picking up hay for the horses. His eyes were warm and deep and brown, as if he liked what he saw when he looked at Ty.
Being in Hudson’s arms that one night had been like being in heaven. Warm and safe and secure. Nothing could have gotten at Ty that night.
That’s how it had felt. But ever since then, Hudson had been treating him like he was bad news and nobody Hudson wanted to be near.
So, Ty managed on his own, not talking to anyone about anything that was important, and saying Pass the salt did not count.
He also didn’t remember about the weekly counseling sessions until after lunch on Saturday, after everything was cleared away, when the men started putting metal chairs in a circle. This was a familiar pattern from prison, when the guards would insist that everybody attend, even though it didn’t make a damn bit of difference.
Ty didn’t imagine any counseling would make a difference here in the valley, but maybe it would. After all, everything else was different, so why not this? The counselor was a young man who said his name was Micha, and he invited everybody to sit and make themselves comfortable.
The very best Ty could manage was to sit where he could at least see Hudson. Hudson’s face said that he didn’t think very much about the counseling session, and though it would have been nice to sit next to each other so they could quietly complain to each other, that was not to be.
Micha sat down with his clipboard and began talking about the Fresh Start Program and all its benefits. Some of the men were bored, others were more attentive. Hudson was glaring, as though Micha had offended him just by breathing.
“Now, in the past, we’ve had you fill out job applications, just to get the feel of it, but I think most of you have done that already.” Micha looked at his clipboard. “Ty, you’re new this week,” he pointed at Ty. “Hudson, you’re also new, and I read in your file that you drove a truck for a living?”
“Eighteen-wheeler,” said Hudson, crisply, as if he’d rather not have to say it out loud.
“Would you be interested in doing that again, after the summer is over?” asked Micha.
Everybody was looking at Hudson, but Hudson just glared at Micha, as if he blamed him for the counseling session he’d rather not be a part of.
“Maybe,” said Hudson, not moving from his half-slouch.
“Well, I’ve done a little research,” said Micha. “You can get your Class-A license back, if you want it. There’s some extra paperwork involved, and you’d need Mr. Tate to give you a recommendation, but I can help you with all that, if you’re interested.”
Hudson’s arms were crossed over his chest, and his glare would have melted any other man. There was a small staring contest and finally, Hudson nodded.
“Sure,” he said. “Whatever.”
“Great,” said Micha. “And Ty,” he said, “I understand you rode with the Diamond Bar Diamond up along the Wyoming-Nebraska border.”
“That’s right,” said Ty, nerves rattled at suddenly being the focus of attention, and now he understood why Hudson had been glaring. It was hellish to have all those pairs of eyes on him, waiting for him to answer.
“The owner thought—” Ty stopped to take a breath. “It’s better for the grasses and riverbanks to keep the cattle moving. Otherwise, they just trample it down.”
He stopped again. Maybe nobody was interested in what he did or why that job had been important to him. He looked over at Hudson, who gave him a slight nod. Maybe of encouragement, Ty had no idea, confused by the sudden support.
“I was a swing rider,” he said. “Mostly.”
“Would you like to go back to that?” asked Micha.
“Yes,” said Ty, his mouth dry.
“Maybe you could give the Diamond Bar Diamond a call after our session today,” said Micha. He leaned forward, his face bright, as if this was the most exciting idea he’d had in ages. “Ask them if they’d give you your job back. You can use the phone over there.”
As Micha pointed, Ty looked at the little office area, where an old-fashioned push-button phone sat waiting on a small table.
“Sure,” he said. He had the number to the ranch memorized. While he’d been in prison, he’d thought of nothing else but going back there, if they’d have him.
Across the circle, Hudson was looking at his hands, as if he was thinking of the work those hands had done and might do again.
Maybe if he talked to Hudson about truck driving, Hudson would warm to him again. Or maybe he should give it up as a lost cause.
After the counseling session, Zeke came into the mess tent to ask for Ty’s help at the paddock. A small herd of horses had been dropped off and needed to be groomed, and Zeke wanted Ty’s opinion.
Ty said yes, of course, and told Hudson where he was going, half stepping in front of Hudson as he went down the wooden steps from the mess tent.
“Do you want to come with?” he asked Hudson hopefully. It didn’t hurt to try, after all, and maybe Hudson wasn’t mad at him anymore.
“I’m no good with horses,” said Hudson, in a low growl. “Besides, weren’t you going to call your old job?”
“I will,” said Ty, though in truth he was afraid of the answer. “Just after dinner.” Then he added, “Sure you won’t come?”
“I’m sure,” said Hudson. “Chopping wood this afternoon.”
Watching Hudson wield an axe was its own pleasure, but Hudson wouldn’t want Ty watching him, and the draw of the paddock won out in the end.
There he met Cal, Zeke’s assistant, a skinny guy around Ty’s age, who looked like he’d be more comfortable at a desk, but who obviously thought Zeke was the sun and the moon. Ty could see it in his face, the way he was attentive to everything Zeke said or did.
They groomed around ten horses, dusty and tired from their travels. They weren’t mustangs, though some of them were pretty rangy.
“Mrs. Tate rescued them from the kill pen in Cheyenne,” said Zeke. “Some of them will go to new owners, others will go to petting zoos. We should be able to get all of them placed within the week.”
It was pleasant work, with good results, as the horses’ coats responded to the brush, and their manes and tails to the comb. With the horses lined up, each with a green halter, the three men looked them over one by one, and determined what would be the best fit for each.
By the time they were done, the sun was filtering through the growing clouds just above the ridge, and Ty had to race to get a shower before dinner.
The mess tent was hopping. It was pizza night, and the cooks had brought out four pizza ovens, round pans ready with dough, and plates of toppings, pepperoni, onion, Italian sausage, the works.
Ty didn’t know when the last time he’d had pizza was, so he made the most of it, waiting for his turn at one of the ovens. He saw Hudson and tried to sit beside him, but those seats were taken. He ended up sitting with Cal and Zeke and some others.
He enjoyed his pizza, though his stomach felt a little tight. What if he called the Diamond Bar Diamond, and they said no? What if they said yes? Would they hold his job for him until he was done with the Fresh Start Program?
After dinner, he cleared his place, and started down the steps, on the way to the fire pit, and made a plan to call the next evening. It was too nerve-wracking to imagine doing it now.
From behind him, he heard, “Ty.”
Ty whirled on the top step. Hudson was right behind him. His heart sped up. Was Hudson going to be nice to him again?
“Aren’t you going to call?” asked Hudson.
Had it been anyone else, Ty would have told them to mind their own business. But this was Hudson. He searched Hudson’s face to find out what Hudson was thinking or feeling. But it was impossible. Hudson wasn’t giving anything away.
“I was,” said Ty.
“Good,” said Hudson. Hudson went past him and down the steps.
“I’m afraid they’ll say no,” he said to Hudson’s back.
“No better time to find out,” said Hudson, not stopping.
Loneliness swamped over him. Now, except for the cooks cleaning up, Ty was alone in the mess tent. Everyone else was on their way to the fire pit or their tents. He might as well do it. Get it over with.
Biting his lip, Ty pressed the numbers and sat down, holding the phone to his ear. It rang two times, and then someone answered.
“This is Darlene at D-Bar-D,” she said. “Can I help you?”
“Hey, Darlene,” said Ty, being as upbeat as he could. “It’s Ty. Tyler Donovan. Do you remember me?”
“Sure do, hon,” she said. “You got in that terrible mess two years ago. Where are you now?”
“I’m out,” he said, then clarified. “I’ve been released on parole. I’m in the Farthingdale Fresh Start Program, and the counselor said maybe I should call and see if I can’t get my old job back.”
“Oh, hon—” She stopped and started again. “We’re all full for winter, and don’t start recruiting the spring team till the new year. But Mr. Basford, he doesn’t like taking on ex-cons. He wants only the best, you see.”
“But it was just a bar fight.” Ty’s throat closed up as he pressed the phone tighter to his ear. “I was just trying to protect those kids.”
“That’s not the way the police report reads, hon,” said Darlene, and though there was sympathy in her voice, he’d worked with her for two years and knew she wasn’t the kind of person to budge.
Ty gritted his teeth. “Can you ask Mr. Basford?”
He wasn’t begging. Or maybe he was. The idea of giving his old ranch a call to ask if he could come back was a good one. But Darlene had already said no. Mr. Basford wasn’t likely to turn around and say yes.
Still.
“Please, can you try?” he asked.
“I’ll ask him, hon, but I can tell you it’s not even close to maybe. What’s the number where you’re at?”
He looked at the phone and the faded number and gave it to her.
“I have to go, hon,” she said. “I’ll try to give you a call when I can, if I find out what he says.”
It was a promise that was not a promise. He was never going to get his job back.
He hung up and was so glad to be sitting down while the earth rocked beneath his feet. He curled forward, hand still on the receiver, and took several low, slow breaths to steady himself.
The idea—the hope —of getting his old job back had burned like a flame for so long. It had burned even brighter when Micha had made his suggestion. Now he knew it was all but impossible. What else was he good for but driving cattle? He had no family to turn to, no resources. Nothing and nobody.
Slowly, he made his way to tent number eight, climbed the wooden steps, and turned the overhead light on. Hudson was probably at the fire pit, or maybe he was taking a shower. Either way, Ty was on his own.
Sitting on his cot, he looked at his new cowboy boots, just waiting there for him. Sure, he’d get to ride a bit in the valley, but after the summer was over, what was he going to do with them?
Maybe he could get a job on a different ranch, but nothing would match the D-Bar-D. His other options included working the rodeo circuit as a pick-up man or helping around stock yards when stock shows happened. Thoughts of what could have been, him, a cowboy again, were pierced with thoughts of Hudson, with not knowing what he’d done for Hudson to cut him off so hard, or even what Hudson was thinking.
He took off his work boots and socks, thinking he might take a shower, but then he stopped and rested his chin on his hands, elbows on his knees.
He’d graduated high school and gone straight out west to be a cowboy. It had been a good life, but now, having been in prison, his options were limited to grunt work.
Dropping his hands, he let them dangle between his thighs as he watched his bare toes curl and uncurl on the wooden floorboards of the tent. The only thing he could do was hang on until the end of summer and maybe try again. Talk to Mr. Basford again. Explain what happened.
He didn’t let himself hope too much because it would hurt too much when Mr. Basford said no.