Flowers To Give

Chapter One

THE MORNING DEW clings to the blue sagebrush, world calm.

Clearing the crest of the mountainside, the incline that had slowed the climb lets out to a rocky clearing.

Galloping with a burst into the field, the wind whooshing past is cut by the stiff brim of Jeremy’s cowboy hat.

He doesn’t dare glance behind him to see how closely he’s being followed, gripping the reins and poking the tips of his spurs into Asher’s belly.

The faithful black Morgan horse bucks her head as she manages to pick up another inch of speed, racing towards the bushel of junipers.

They cross the tree marker, Barry and his steed right on their tail.

Jeremy pulls on the reins and squeezes his thighs as Asher rears back, neighing in protest of stopping.

Barry rounds his dun horse back to them, shaking his head low in defeat.

Asher takes a few steps closer to the watering hole and they both dismount as Jeremy tells the ranch hand, “How many times you gonna put your poor animal through that ‘fore you realize there ain’t no beating me?”

“Imma catch up to you one day, just you wait and see,” Barry touts, leading his horse to the water too.

They loosely toss the reins over the thicket of nearby branches, Jeremy giving Barry a clear warning, “Well watch it, one day you’re gonna clip a rock and blast off.”

Grabbing for the canteen from the saddlebag, Barry’s chest pushes up against Jeremy’s back. His abdominal muscles fill the space where Jeremy’s spine dips as he leans in to whisper, “You really wanna see me ‘blast off?’”

Jeremy turns to face him, pushing back against his intrusive chest and asking, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Making a pass at you,” Barry’s chestnut eyes search the other’s, grinning, “Obviously.”

“Hm, hitting on a coworker and racing company property on the clock? Really breaking all the rules today, aren’t ya?”

“I’ll break some laws too if you’ll let me,” his smile turns toothy, gaze hungry.

Stepping to the side, Jeremy takes off his hat and rests it on the saddle horn before allowing Barry to infiltrate his personal space again.

The rim of his own hat pushes against Jeremy’s ear and falls to the ground as he wraps the cowboy in a bear hug and mouths at his neck.

Jeremy’s skin tingles but he doesn’t fight back too much, loosely fisting the other’s flannel shirt although he does groan a weak protest, “Dude, stop. I said no kissing.”

“What? I’m not,” Barry nibbles insolently against Jeremy’s skin, intimate and not at all their typical dynamic.

Reaching his hands between their bodies and grabbing for the ranch hand’s groin, Jeremy is stopped by the radio clicking on each of their belts, “Scout One, you read?”

Separating from one another and deflating, Jeremy answers while Barry readjusts himself in his jeans, saying into the radio, “Munday here, read you loud and clear.”

“Have you roundup the herd yet?”

“Negative.”

“Redirect and come on back, boys,” Sheila’s order is tinny but clear cut.

“Should we finish the roundup?” Jeremy asks into the radio, wondering if they should still go after the free roaming cattle to put to pasture.

“Negative. Repeat, come back home.”

Barry rolls his eyes while Jeremy gives her the over and out.

They let the horses finish drinking before hiking back up on their saddles and making their way down the rocky mountain.

The late winter day has been gray and overcast, the darker storm clouds in the distance rolling towards Jeremy grow black on the horizon.

Hoping the cattle are bunkered down, Jeremy is all but soaked to the bone by the time he and Barry make it back to the ranch. They hurriedly put the horses under Marie’s care before rushing through the downpour to the bunkhouse, Jeremy eager for a shower.

“Wonder why they called us back,” Barry says as they make it under the overhang out front of the house, lighting a cigarette and handing it to Jeremy before sparking his own.

Jeremy sips at the burning tobacco between his lips while shaking out his soaked hat, replying, “Maybe for the storm?”

Barry scoffs, “On Willmaker Ranch? We work at the same place? Nuh-uh, no way old man Wilcox would care about us more than his cattle. Somebody must’ve died or something.”

“Don’t say that,” Jeremy rolls his eyes, giving up on the hat and flicking ash from the Marlboro into a puddle.

The door opens between them and another ranch hand, Jose, steps out. He pauses as he notices Jeremy and Barry, nodding, “Yo. You guys about to head to the arena?”

“Huh?” Barry blinks.

“The arena. They’re calling for a ranch wide meeting there.”

Jeremy steps closer, “Who is?”

“I don’t know,” Jose shrugs, “Everybody’s just supposed to meet there. So c’mon.”

Jose rushes out into the rain, Barry and Jeremy sharing a grievous glance before tossing the half smoked cigs and reluctantly following.

They all hop into an ATV Gator, mud and slushy left over snow getting kicked up by the tires as they race through the storm and around the ranch to the indoor arena.

Lightning flashes all around and thunder quickly follows as they hurry inside.

The crowd is dense, pretty much every ranch worker huddled around in the dirt inside the rails and muttering amongst themselves.

Jeremy breaks away from Barry when he spots Yana, the horse trainer and his dear friend, nodding to the familiar faces he squeezes past as he makes his way to her.

In reach, he touches her elbow and greets her, “Hey.”

She turns to him and grins, “There you are.”

“They called us down from a roundup. Do you know what’s going on?”

“No clue,” Yana shakes her head, “But you should be grateful. Saved your hide from gathering cows in a storm.”

“Yeah, but not from the rain,” Jeremy grumbles, still plenty wet.

Barry reaches them and nods to Yana, “Sup?”

“Look what the cat dragged in,” she says, eyes to the front of the crowd.

“Yikes,” Barry turns Jeremy, “I really look that bad?”

He’s about to respond when Yana cuts in, “Not you, moron. Look. It’s Wilcox.”

Both Jeremy and Barry turn towards the entrance, the geriatric ranch owner entering with Sheila.

The workers quiet down as the pair slowly make it into the center of the arena, Wilcox using the ranch manager’s arm for balance as he shuffles his well worn boots through the dirt.

They finally make it to the front of the crowd and step up on a wooden winners’ podium, carefully scaling to the top while gripping Sheila’s hand.

Wilcox at last looks to all his workers, smiling at them and gripping his liver spotted hands in front of his chest. Opening his mouth, his words are so quiet that the group collectively leans forward.

Nobody gets a single word, Jeremy even going so far as to cup his ear.

Barry catches his eye and mouths, “What the fuck?”

Wilcox’s whispery voice stops, beady gaze looking over his workers expectantly. Some awkwardly clap but most people looking at one another in confusion. Sheila gets Wilcox’s attention, whispering something in his ear. He nods and slowly steps down with her assistance, Sheila taking his place.

“Hello, everyone," Sheila’s authoritative booming voice says over the crowd, “Thank you for joining us today. Mr. Wilcox has an announcement to make. He has decided to sell Willmaker Ranch.”

Everybody bursts into conversation, some comments directed at Sheila and others at one another.

Jeremy remains quiet and focused, wondering what that means for him.

Sheila, claps her hands to get everyone’s attention, yelling over them, “All your questions and concerns will be answered in due time. As of now, there is no change to anyone’s employment status.

Final transfer of ownership will be completed tomorrow. ”

“Who’s the new owner?” Clarice loudly asks at the front.

“That cannot be disclosed until everyone has signed the non-disclosure agreements emailed to them this morning.”

The group erupts once more into mayhem as some push forward and Jeremy’s shoulders get squeezed. Sheila unsuccessfully attempts to calm them, shouting over everyone, “This is a delicate situation!”

“We have a right to know!” Someone yells over the crowd. Everyone shouts in agreement, Jeremy keeping his eyes trained on Sheila. There’s a hush as she leans down to Wilcox and they whisper in each other’s ears.

Standing straight once more, Sheila sighs and finally gives in, “Clark Radison will be the new owner.”

Jeremy’s heart is in his throat, hearing everybody’s excited chatter as if underwater. Even Yana’s question directed at him and Barry sounds a mile away, “The actor? The one in Final Reclamation?”

“Oh, yeah! Didn’t he get an Oscar nomination for that?” Barry answers, “What’s somebody like him doing coming to li’l ol’ Limerick, Colorado?”

Jeremy feels like he’s about to throw up, pushing away from his friends and out through the crowd.

He beelines for the exit as Sheila fails at settling down the rowdy workers.

He walks through the rain all the way back to the bunkhouse, numbly gliding through the house and making puddles on the hardwood floor with each step.

Drifting to the bathroom, he draws a hot bath and strips.

The soaked clothes wetly plop on the tile, not caring to wring them out or hang them up to dry.

He steps into the steaming water and lowers himself until he’s fully submerged.

Thinking of Clark Radison being his new boss, Jeremy holds his breath and dunks his head under the surface.

The rain has ceased but a swath of clouds still hang low in the sky, diffusing the bright moonlight and casting the earth in soft glow. Jeremy sips at his cigarette as he sits on the fence’s top rail and stares at the racing clouds above.