Wide Open Country (Endless Sky Cowboys #2)

Chapter 1

Connor

The sky was so big it felt like it was going to swallow me up. I leaned back, fresh air filling my lungs as I stared up at the soft clouds. There wasn’t a bar, wire, or fence to impede my view. It was just me and that endless Montana sky.

“Feel good?” one of the correctional officers asked as they shut the prison gate behind me.

“Y-Yeah,” I muttered, overcome with emotion.

“Good. Remember that feeling,” he said, a tone of warning in his voice. “And don’t go doing somethin’ stupid and fuck it up.”

I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. The officer’s words rang in my ears as he turned and walked away, keys jangling at his hip. That sound had followed me for seven years, two months, and twenty-three days. Now it was fading away.

My parole officer, Ms. Randall, waited by her car in the parking lot.

I clutched my small bag of belongings and walked toward her, feeling strange in these civilian clothes.

The jeans were too loose because I’d lost weight during my time in prison, and the flannel shirt felt rough against my skin after years of sitting in a box in storage.

Between that and my wallet with nothing but fifteen dollars in it, they were all I had in the world.

But freedom… man… that made it all worthwhile.

“Ready to go, Connor?” she asked, her face neutral but not unkind.

“Yes, ma’am.” My voice sounded strange to my own ears. In prison, I’d learned to speak only when necessary, to keep my tone flat and unremarkable. That was how you stayed out of trouble.

The car ride to her office was quiet. I couldn’t stop looking out the window, drinking in everything.

The world was just how I left it. The small towns we passed through had more charm than usual, the ranches sprawled wide across the landscape dotted with cattle, and the mountains in the distance seemed to go on forever.

Colors were brighter somehow, more vivid than I remembered.

“McGrath Ranch is about three hours from here,” Ms. Randall said as we pulled into the parking lot of the parole office. “We’ll go over your paperwork, then I’ll drive you there tomorrow morning with the others.”

Inside her office, she laid out the terms of my parole in clear, unmistakable language. Six months at McGrath Ranch. Regular check-ins. No alcohol. No drugs. No firearms. No contact with known felons outside of those working at the ranch. It seemed I wouldn’t be the only ex-con working there.

“Pete McGrath runs a tight ship,” she explained, sliding a map across her desk. “He’s been taking parolees for almost fifteen years now. He’s fair, but he doesn’t tolerate nonsense. Your first offense with him will be your last, so don’t fuck it up.”

There was that warning again. Don’t fuck it up. What they really meant was, don’t fuck up again. Because that’s exactly what I’d done before, the whole reason I was in prison to begin with. I’d fucked up. Bad.

My hands trembled as I took the papers she offered. Everything, including my future as a free man, hinged on these next six months. One mistake and I’d be back behind bars.

“I won’t mess up,” I said, meaning it more than I’d ever meant anything. “I can’t go back there.”

Ms. Randall’s expression softened just slightly.

“One day at a time, Connor. That’s all you can do.

But stay on your toes, alright?” She leaned back in her chair, giving me the once-over.

“I read your file, you know? You don’t seem like a bad guy.

You just made some bad choices. But your behavior has always been good and, surprisingly, your officers had only good things to say about you.

” She gave me a small grin, leaning forward with her finger tapping on the desk to punctuate her speech. “If anyone can do this, it’s you.”

I had to avert my eyes, feeling the shame and embarrassment creep up inside me. But my expression stayed stoic and flat.

“I won’t let you down,” I replied at last.

“It’s not me you’ll be letting down if you screw up.

It’s yourself.” She pulled a drawer open and grabbed a small envelope.

“McGrath Ranch gives everyone a week’s pay up front,” she said, handing it over.

“It’s not much, but it’ll be enough to get you a good meal tonight and some secondhand clothes.

I’ve got a room for you down at the motel for the night as well.

After I drop you off tomorrow, you’ll be on your own. ”

I nodded. It was far more than most inmates could expect upon release. Usually, new releases were given a twenty-dollar bill and told to take a hike. So this felt like winning the lottery.

“Is there anyone you need to call or inform of your whereabouts?” Ms. Randall asked. “Anyone who could lend you money to get started?”

My heart sank just as quickly. “No,” I said flatly. “I don’t have any friends or family.”

She let out a long sigh. “Alright. Well, I guess let’s get you down to the motel for the night. You can figure out clothes and food from there. It’s right downtown.”

Ten minutes later, Ms. Randall’s car disappeared around the corner, leaving me standing in front of the Sleepy Pine Motel.

The neon vacancy sign buzzed and flickered, casting an eerie red glow that reminded me too much of the warning lights that would flash during lockdowns.

I shook the thought away and walked toward the office.

The motel clerk barely looked up from his magazine when I entered. He slid a key across the counter after I mumbled my name. Room fourteen. Last one at the end.

“Check-out’s at eleven,” he said, already returning to his reading.

I nodded and made my way down the concrete walkway, counting the peeling metal numbers until I found my door.

The key stuck in the lock, requiring a jiggle and firm push before it turned.

Inside, the room smelled of industrial cleaner and cigarettes that clung to the dated curtains despite the “No Smoking” sign on the door.

But it was mine. For tonight, at least.

I set my pathetic bag of belongings on the bed and opened the envelope Ms. Randall had given me.

Two hundred and fifty dollars. More money than I’d held in my hands for years.

I counted it twice, my fingers trembling slightly as I handled the bills.

Eventually I had to put them down, the feeling of actually owning something almost overwhelming.

I went to the bathroom to wash up before I went into town.

But the moment I stepped inside, I paused.

The bathroom mirror revealed someone I didn’t recognize.

I’d avoided mirrors in prison. They were usually just polished metal anyway, giving distorted reflections that nobody wanted to see.

Now, fluorescent lights highlighted every hard line of my face, the dark circles under my eyes, the way my cheekbones stood out sharper than I remembered.

I looked like a man haunted by his past. And I guess, cliché as it sounded, it was true.

I splashed cold water on my face and tried not to think about tomorrow. I just had to take it one day at a time, like Ms. Randall said.

My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since the tasteless breakfast at the prison. According to the faded pamphlet on the nightstand, there was a diner two blocks down. I pocketed some cash, locked the room behind me, and headed out.

The evening air had cooled, but I didn’t mind. After years of having no control over my environment, just being able to choose whether to stay out in the chill felt like a luxury.

The diner’s windows glowed warm yellow against the darkening sky. A bell jingled when I pushed the door open, and several heads turned to look at me. I kept my eyes down, sliding into a booth in the corner where I could see the whole room.

An older waitress approached, notepad in hand. “What’ll it be, honey?”

I scanned the menu quickly. “Cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate shake, please,” I said, my voice still sounding strange to my ears.

She smiled. “Coming right up.”

When she walked away, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

Ordering food was such a simple interaction, but it had my heart racing.

There were only a handful of people in the diner minding their own business, but to me it felt surreal.

To think that I could sit at a table and choose what I wanted to eat and then eat it without being watched…

it was a luxury I’d missed dearly. I glanced down at the table and saw the metal cutlery all wrapped up, the sharp tip of a steak knife sticking out of the napkin roll.

Suddenly, a rush of anxiety and fear filled me from head to toe. Getting caught with a knife could add months or years to my sentence. That was the last thing I wanted. What if the guards saw?

Without a second thought, I grabbed the napkin roll and stuffed it between the cushions of the booth.

My heart raced as I tucked it away, making sure that not a single piece was sticking out.

No sooner had it disappeared than the waitress placed a glass of ice water on the table, startling me half to death.

“Sorry, honey,” she smiled. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“It... It’s okay,” I replied, taking a deep breath. “I was just lost in thought.”

First day out of prison, and I was already lying. That didn’t bode well.

“I swore I put silverware on this table,” she said, making my heart rate spike. But then she just tapped the side of her head with a chuckle. “I swear, I’d leave my head on the dresser in the mornin’ if it wasn’t attached! Let me get you some silverware.”

“No knives!” I called a bit too loudly.

She stopped, turning to look at me with an odd expression on her face. Her eyebrows furrowed, but she didn’t argue. “Okay, honey. No problem.”

The waitress’s puzzled look made me realize how weird I must have sounded. Just another reminder of how prison had rewired my brain. I forced a smile, trying to seem normal.

“Sorry. I, uh... just prefer a fork.”

She nodded slowly. “Sure thing, sugar. One burger, fries, and shake coming up—fork only.”

When she walked away, I slumped in my seat, mortified. Seven years inside and I’d forgotten how to act in public. I took a long drink of water, focusing on the cold sensation sliding down my throat, trying to ground myself in the moment.

The burger, when it arrived, was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Steam rose from the patty, cheese melted perfectly over the sides, and the bun had those little sesame seeds I’d forgotten existed. My mouth watered as I picked it up with trembling hands.

That first bite nearly brought tears to my eyes. Real beef. Real cheese. Real bread that wasn’t stale or tasteless. I devoured half of it before I remembered to slow down, prison habits making me protect my food even when there was no threat.

“Everything good?” the waitress asked, refilling my water.

I nodded, unable to speak with my mouth full. When I finished chewing, I managed a sincere, “Best meal I’ve had in years. Thank you.”

She beamed at that. “Well, aren’t you sweet? You new in town? I only ask cuz I’ve never seen you around here before.”

I hesitated, not wanting to mention prison but not wanting to lie more than necessary. “Just passing through. Heading to McGrath Ranch tomorrow for work.”

Her expression shifted subtly. “Oh, you’re one of Pete’s boys, then?”

My stomach tightened. Was it that obvious? Did I have “CONVICT” stamped on my forehead?

“I... yes, ma’am. Starting tomorrow.”

She patted my shoulder, and I tried not to flinch at the unexpected contact. “Pete’s tough on his workers. My nephew worked there after his... trouble. The hard work straightened him right out.” She lowered her voice. “Most folks around here know about Pete’s program. Don’t you worry none.”

I wasn’t sure if that made me feel better or worse, knowing everyone would identify me as an ex-con. But her kindness seemed genuine, and I nodded gratefully.

“Thank you.”

After dinner, I walked to the small general store down the street and bought necessities like a toothbrush, razor, deodorant, and a cheap cream-colored cowboy hat to keep the sun off my neck when I started work.

I also got a few plain T-shirts that actually fit.

The cashier was a handsome guy in his late twenties, but he barely looked at me. And honestly, I was thankful for it.

He was cute, but I’d learned not to act on those impulses in prison.

Abstaining was far easier than dealing with the consequences of approaching the wrong guy.

I didn’t need the complication, anyway. Men were the reason I ended up in prison in the first place.

I wasn’t eager to make that mistake again.

Back in my motel room, I laid out my purchases on the bed beside my prison belongings.

The contrast was stark. Store-bought items actually had some color to them, while everything in prison was just gray and plain.

I ran my fingers over the new clothes, marveling at how something so simple could feel so significant and so soft.

“Six months,” I said to myself. “Six months and I can start my new life at last.”

And nothing was going to get in the way of that.