3. Dalton
Dalton
Dinner in the dining hall was a blur of noise and movement. Other LGBTQ kids, already ensconced at the ranch, were happy to pull Dillon and Cameron into a variety of conversations and happy to sit with them.
I’d no idea teenagers could be so loud, and sitting across from Lucas at a long table near the wall with my back to the room made it only marginally better.
“It’s always like this on a kid’s first night at the ranch,” Lucas said. “You’ll get used to it.”
“Sure.” I knew I wouldn’t. I focused on the food: a simple stew, cornbread. Iced tea. There was some talk about what was for dessert, but I wasn’t a big dessert eater anyway, so I let the chatter float over me, only surfacing from my thoughts when I felt Lucas looking at me.
“What?” I wiped my mouth with a paper napkin.
“It’s too windy for a trail ride after dinner,” he said. “But maybe we can have one tomorrow. Someone can find you a pair of boots.”
“I’m not staying past tomorrow morning,” I said, keeping the exasperation out of my voice. “And I’m afraid of horses. You know that.”
“Still?” Lucas shook his head in disbelief.
“I told those two kids that on the drive up here, and they just laughed.”
“I’m not the biggest fan, either,” Lucas said, “but I am learning to ride because you need to on a ranch.”
I turned my attention to the last of my cornbread. I didn’t want to get into it. Horses. They were too unpredictable, too big, and weighed too much for me to want to go near them.
But I knew the more I protested, the more Lucas would try to talk me into it. So I kept my mouth shut and went up to get a slice of blueberry pie that I most certainly wasn’t going to eat. Which would be a waste, but I needed the distraction to get away from an unproductive conversation.
On my way back to the table, going along the aisle between the rows, I spotted Jake. He was sitting with another wrangler, it looked like. By the shiny ends of his dark hair and his clean t-shirt, he’d washed up before dinner, which meant he had some manners. The ratty hat was nowhere to be seen.
I managed a few bites of the blueberry pie, just to be polite, and was grateful that someone else came over to talk to Lucas. He introduced himself as Jesse Knox, the ranch’s foreman. When Lucas brought up the subject of the trail ride and how I needed to borrow some boots, Jesse was happy to help.
“What size are you?” he asked. “We’ve got some old boots around. Broken in, but solid. Better to wear them than city shoes.”
“No, I’m fine,” I said, not bringing up my fear of horses. Not because I thought he’d laugh in my face, but more because he appeared to command respect everywhere he went, and I, for some reason, didn’t want to fall short. A good boss did that to me every time.
“Suit yourself,” Jesse said. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
I nodded, although I had no intention of changing my mind. I watched Lucas’ eyes track the foreman as he walked away and wondered how long everybody here had known each other, and whether Lucas, never a man to gossip, had told anyone about me. And if he had, what?
I had a headache that had started up on the drive back from town, and it wasn’t quitting. I decided to get out of the dining hall and grab some Tylenol from my overnight bag.
By the time I’d taken my dishes and cutlery over to the busing cart, I knew the Tylenol on its own wouldn’t be enough. I needed a hot shower and lots of silence. Except when I got to the door leading outside, someone was in my way.
I looked up and up and up. It was Jake, and he was holding out a plastic bottle of water. “Headache?” he asked.
“Yeah, uh.” I stopped, feeling foolish as I rubbed my forehead. “How did you know?”
“We’re at least a thousand feet above Denver,” he said. “Higher altitudes cause dehydration. It’s a little drier up here, too. A lot of newcomers get headaches.” He held out the bottle further. The only thing for me to do was take it.
“Thank you. I’m a city boy, for sure,” I said, wanting to pass my weakness off as a joke.
“Nothing wrong with being who you are.”
“Well, thanks again.” I didn’t quite know what to do with the expression in his eyes, the spark of understanding. “I guess I’ll see you at breakfast.”
“Sure.” Then he stepped out of my way, a gentlemanly movement.
It was still light out as I made my way to bunkhouse four and pressed the code into the keypad.
Inside, it was a bit stuffy, so I turned on the AC and downed the bottle of water Jake had given me.
That plus Tylenol and a long hot shower seemed to do the trick, my headache easing by slow but consistent degrees.
By the time Cameron and Dillon showed up, I was in the single bed, playing solitaire on my phone. I’d already scrolled for news and weather—news bad, weather sunny and dry—so I expected that they’d shower and hop into bed, like sane human beings.
But they didn’t. Sure, they showered, and sure, they got into bed, but then, with Cameron hanging over the edge of the top bunk and Dillon below in the bottom bunk, reaching up and speaking loudly, they were clearly planning on staying up late.
Youngsters had the energy of never-ending batteries, and those two seemed to have an unlimited supply of things to laugh about. Which I supposed was better than either or both of them jacking off.
I didn’t have earplugs. I should have brought them with me, but hadn’t. And I didn’t want to yell at them, because it must have seemed like they’d arrived at summer camp, and who was I to deny them their pleasure? It was only for one night, anyway.
At least that’s what I told myself more than once as I turned on my side and, with my cheek to the mattress, held the pillow over my ear.
By the time they calmed down, I sensed it was the wee hours of the morning.
The next thing I knew, my pillow had fallen to the floor, and everything was still.
The night outside the windows seemed pitch-black.
When I tapped my phone, its glaring display told me it was almost five a.m. Just before sunrise.
I slid the phone to the top of the mattress.
Got up to pee in the small bathroom. And realized that I’d never witnessed a sunrise in the country before.
In the city, sure. I’d seen plenty of sunrises and sunsets through the filter of tall trees, over rooftops, and against the silver-edged reflection of skyscrapers.
This would be my only chance out in the boonies, so maybe I should take it.
Before I could ask myself too many questions about the impulse, I slid on jeans and a t-shirt, and the flip-flops I always traveled with when I went on business trips.
Stepping outside into the cool darkness, I realized that I could see a glow off in the distance, along the horizon: a pale pink ribbon. More like a smudge, really.
I walked into the open space between the barn and the bunkhouse, rubbing my bare arms with my hands, and looked up to see thousands of stars, thickly spread, brighter than jewels. The city’s night sky had nothing on this.
Along the other horizon, looking like a bright silver-yellow coin, was the moon, or most of it, sinking down into the purple-black darkness. In another half an hour, I would have missed this: the sunrise paired with the moonset, a startling sight to my city eyes.
The edges of my toes pushed into the dust, and, on another impulse, I kicked off my flip-flops and stood barefoot, the dirt cool against my skin. I imagined I could feel the energy of the earth pulsing up into me, a low, low beat, as old as the planet itself.
With a laugh, I shook off the fanciful thought. It was enough to experience all this wildness with nothing between me and it, stretching limitless up and up and up—
“What are you doing out here?” a voice asked. “Are you barefoot?”
I saw a flash of light and turned, and there was Jake. It had to be him, a tall, hard-cut silhouette against the darker dark. I could barely see his face, but easily imagined his scowl. “Just looking,” I said, a little breathless.
“At what?” he barked.
“At the sunrise.” I pointed, even though it was too dark for him to see what I was pointing at. “And the moonset.”
“You never seen a sunrise before?”
“No,” I said. “Not like this. Not without something between me and it.”
“Oh.” With that one word, I sensed a change in his attitude. Maybe it was the tone of his voice, or the fact that he came up to me silently, clicking a light on and off in his hand. A flashlight.
“What are you doing out here?” I asked.
“I heard some coyotes howling nearby,” he said.
“Wanted to make sure they weren’t bothering the cattle or the horses.
We’ve got young calves, too. I could have brought out a rifle, but the flashlight’s enough to keep ’em back.
” He paused before adding, “We used to have dogs, but dogs grow old. Jesse and Lucas aren’t sure what kind of livestock we’ll have moving forward, so I think he doesn’t want to get a dog that we might not need later. ”
The flow of words ended, as though Jake didn’t want to come across as complaining.
“That makes sense,” I said, my teeth clacking together. Who knew a summer morning in the foothills would be so cold? “I know Lucas wants to make something of the place.”
“It is something.” Jake huffed out a breath. “Or at least it was.”
I didn’t know what he meant by that, but it was obvious something was wrong. Maybe it was as simple as the fact that he didn’t like Lucas making any changes. Or maybe he thought he should have inherited the ranch, rather than the grandson who’d never had any connection to it before.
“I’m sure he appreciates you being out here this early, checking up on things,” I said. I rubbed my arms and felt for my flip-flops with my toes, doing my best not to seem obvious about it.
“I reckon he does.”
My attention was on how cold it was, so I didn’t really notice until he was right next to me.
For a hard second, I thought he was going to hand me the flashlight and tell me to help him keep the coyotes at bay.
Then he’d mock me, because in my mind coyotes were as big as wolves and just as dangerous, and I’d be timid about it.
In the city, I didn’t think twice about waiting on a sidewalk for a taxi at two a.m., but ward off coyotes? No thank you.
But that’s not what happened. Instead, as he moved near me, I was struck by his closeness and the quiet swoosh as something was draped over my shoulders.
It was a denim jacket; it smelled like the cologne he wore. And like dust. And fresh air. And woodsmoke. An embrace in the dark.
“Thank you.” I said and pulled the jacket around myself. I was warmer instantly.
Had this occurred in broad daylight, I might have refused the gesture, made without him even asking if I wanted it.
But now, in the dark, he’d given me something I’d not known I needed.
Or had been too foolish to realize, but then I was a city slicker out here in the foothills, on a ranch that seemed more wild than tamed.
“How was your sleep?” he asked. “I heard ’em talking.”
“All night long,” I said, so unbelievably grateful to have someone to complain to, even for just a second. “But they’re kids. You know, with all the energy in the world.”
“I don’t remember ever being that young.” He cut the last word off, as if he hadn’t meant to say so much.
But then, the darkness did that, or at least that’s what I’d found. Darkness put a mask on everything, letting you say things you might not normally say. Truth came out. And vulnerability.
“I don’t remember having that much energy,” I said, to keep him company, at least partially. And because it was true.
He made a small sound. Of agreement, perhaps, or at least acknowledgment. Then he touched my shoulder in a way that made me shiver. “Best not to go barefoot.” Before I could open my mouth in protest, he added, “It looks like soft dust in this area, but there could be sharp rocks or goat’s heads.”
“Goat’s heads?”
“Small, uh, burrs with curved spines. Go right through your foot.”
“We don’t have those in the city,” I said. “Or maybe we do. I just never go barefoot there.”
I sensed, more than saw, his answering nod in the darkness. Together we watched the sun come up, a gentle light filling the sky, a predawn yellow and pink blossoming into full gold. There was nothing between me and the horizon, and I absorbed every minute of it to take back with me to the city.
By the time the sun was halfway up, I knew I needed to give Jake his jacket back. I needed to take a shower and ask which end of town the nearest gas station was. Then I needed to be on my way.
I hesitated before holding the jacket out to him. He took it, sparing me a glance as I said, “Thank you. For the jacket.”
“My pleasure.”
If I’d had time, I could have asked him about the scar on his chin, the color of his eyes, and why he seemed so unhappy when surrounded by nature in that beautiful place.
Instead, I walked away, thinking I might stay for breakfast, but that was it.
I needed to go home and figure out why I myself was so unhappy, when I had everything anybody could want.