11 #2
Gordon held the toolbox in one hand and said nothing.
“I became a journalist because I thought maybe if I did what they did, I would understand why it was worth leaving us so often.”
“Did you?”
Her mouth pressed flat. “No.”
“Then why stay with it?”
“Because I’m good at it.”
That answer came fast.
Proud.
Defensive.
True.
“And because stories are still important,” she added. “Even if the people who taught me that lesson were careless with the ones at home.”
Gordon nodded slowly.
He understood more than he wanted to.
People could teach something true while living something false.
Paul had taught him what power looked like, mostly by abusing it.
Lana had taught him morality while loving a married man.
Parents were complicated long before children understood the word.
They started toward the next repair site, walking side by side down a packed dirt path. Gordon carried the toolbox. Talia carried her notebook and recorder bag. Her new boots were dusty now, and she had stopped looking down at them every few minutes.
Progress.
They passed a pasture where two ranch hands were checking water troughs. One lifted a hand.
“Gordon!”
Gordon nodded. “How’s the float?”
“Sticking again.”
“I’ll come by after this.”
“Appreciate it.”
Talia watched the exchange. “Everyone asks you for help.”
“Not everyone.”
“A lot of people.”
“I’m available.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
He glanced at her. “What does that mean?”
“It means people ask the person they believe will show up.”
Gordon did not answer.
Talia looked toward the ranch. “That must be why Luke trusts you.”
“Luke trusts me because I do the work.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
She smiled faintly. “You like arguing definitions.”
“I like accuracy.”
“Reporter trait.”
“Don’t insult me.”
She laughed.
There it was again.
That sudden brightness.
Gordon gripped the toolbox harder.
They reached a smaller outbuilding near the equipment lane. One of the hinges on a storage door hung crooked, the bottom screw stripped and half out of the wood.
Gordon set the toolbox down and crouched.
Talia stayed nearby, watching.
“Is this part of your usual job?” she asked.
“What?”
“Repairs.”
“I do what needs doing.”
“That is a common answer here.”
“It’s a common reality here.”
“Does anyone have a specific title?”
“Yes. Then they do five other things anyway.”
She wrote that down.
“Who decides what needs doing?” she asked.
“Depends what it is. Luke. Edye. Cody. Eli. Travis. LaRiah, if it’s medical. Elise, if it involves the kitchen, manners, or men being stupid. Earl, if something’s leaning, squeaking, cracking, rotting, or installed by an idiot.”
Talia’s smile broke loose before she could stop it.
Gordon almost dropped the screwdriver.
He looked at the hinge instead.
Professional. Be professional.
She asked, “And you?”
“I fill gaps.”
“Is that how you see yourself? As a gap filler?”
He worked the damaged screw loose before answering.
“I used to.”
“And now?”
He removed the screw and examined the wood. “Now I’m starting to think gaps are where a person can become necessary.”
Talia’s pen moved quickly.
He looked over at her. “Don’t make that sound prettier than it is.”
“I don’t have to. You did that yourself.”
He huffed a laugh despite himself.
She stilled.
He felt her looking at him.
“What?” he asked.
“You laughed.”
“I do that.”
“Not often.”
“You’ve known me a day.”
“And yet.”
He shook his head and reached into the toolbox for a larger screw.
“Ask your question,” he said.
“All right.” She shifted her weight. “Why did Luke believe you? When you came with the information about Beau and Logan. How did he know you weren’t setting him up?”
“He didn’t.”
“So why listen?”
“Because I brought proof.”
“What kind?”
“Documents. Messages. Enough to show him my brothers were moving against him.”
“Where did you get them?”
Gordon looked at her.
She clicked her pen once, then sighed. “Your turn?”
“Yes.”
“Fine.”
He drove the new screw into place. “Do you regret coming here?”
The question surprised her enough that she looked away.
“No.”
“That was quick.”
“It’s true.”
“Even after being caught?”
“Yes.”
He stopped and turned to her.
Her expression had shifted again, more open than guarded now. She looked around the ranch, toward the distant main house, the fences, the people moving in the far distance.
“I regret how I came,” she said. “I don’t regret coming.”
“Why?”
“That’s another question.”
He gave her a look.
She smiled. “Annoying, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He went back to the hinge, and after a moment she answered anyway.
“Because there’s more here than I expected.”
He tightened the screw carefully. “Meaning?”
“I expected money. Power. Influence. A wealthy rancher protecting a troubled man with a scandalous family name.”
“And what did you find?”
She did not answer right away.
Gordon felt his pulse change.
Finally, she said, “A family.”
The screwdriver stopped turning.
He stayed crouched in front of the door, his hand still on the tool.
Talia’s voice softened. “Not a perfect one. I don’t think those exist. But a real one. Built, not assumed. That makes the story harder.”
“Harder how?”
“Families protect differently than institutions. They don’t always make sense from the outside.”
“No,” he said. “They don’t.”
“And I don’t know yet how to write about that without turning it into something smaller than it is.”
He looked up at her.
There was honesty in her face.
Not polished.
Not strategic.
Troubled.
That troubled him in return.
“Maybe don’t try to write it too soon,” he said.
She blinked. “Is that advice?”
“Yes.”
“From the subject?”
“From someone who knows what it feels like to be turned into a simple story.”
Her expression changed.
She looked down at her notebook and closed it.
Gordon watched her do it.
“Thank you,” she said.
He nodded once and stood, testing the repaired door. It swung smoothly this time.
Talia stepped closer to see. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“No dramatic finish?”
“It’s a hinge.”
“I’m starting to understand ranch work is less cinematic than city people want it to be.”
“It is when done right.”
“Meaning?”
“When a repair is done right, nobody notices it anymore.”
She looked at the door, then at him.
“That sounds lonely.”
He shrugged. “It sounds useful.”
She studied him too long.
He felt it all the way down his spine.