8. Dalton
Dalton
I’d done everything I could to keep my fear under wraps on that trail ride, but I’d failed. Buddy had been antsy—I didn’t know any other way to describe it—as soon as we’d gotten out of sight of the barn and gone over the hill to the west of the ranch.
I tried not to pull on the reins. Tried to sit like the others were sitting, those kids who’d come from the city and were having a good time, calling to each other. Laughing out loud. They weren’t hanging on for their very lives. They were enjoying the experience.
Cameron rode up beside me. He squinted in the bright sunshine because he’d not brought his hat. Only Colt and I were wearing hats, and mine was borrowed.
I was grateful for the loan, but even as I rode off, I wondered if Jake ever smiled.
His expression as he’d plopped his cowboy hat on my head was a glare, as if he’d judged me and found me wanting.
Those sharp gold-and-green eyes watched me ride off, maybe with the hope that I’d never come back to disgrace the air that he breathed.
Once over the hill, the horses had gone from being bunched up to a single-file line, with Colt in the lead on a copper-penny-red horse and me in the back, not sure whether I should let Buddy jump to the front as he wanted to do or if I had the guts to turn around then and there.
We were about an hour out when I saw the mountain lion. At first, I’d thought it was an illusion, some trick of my eyes. The animal, sand-colored and lean, was weaving in and out of the trees, and whether it was just curious or actually stalking us, I did not know.
I sure as hell wished I’d refused to go on the ride. That I’d said no to Lucas, to everyone, and gotten in my car and driven back to Denver.
It got worse when I pointed the mountain lion out to the rider nearest me, because the word spread and everyone was on edge. Colt didn’t have a rifle or anything, so we needed to get back.
“A fast walk only, folks,” he said, gesturing that we should turn and head home. “Any faster than that, and it’ll think we’re something it needs to chase.”
We lasted to the hill, trotting, and then Buddy had enough and took off. Took off and shook his head, nearly unseating me, and the left rein went flying.
It was all I could do to stay in the saddle as Buddy raced over the hill, down the hill, and there, of course, the cowboy who intensely disliked me was waiting. Hatless in the bright sunshine, arms crossed over his chest. He looked like he’d been pacing.
At the sight of him, maybe, Buddy jerked his whole body, and off I flew, to land almost at Jake’s feet. My whole spine felt the impact, and there I lay, looking up as he came close. Close enough to feel, like a blow. Like he’d just crossed the threshold to somewhere inside me.
He was very tall.
He knelt down and touched my neck, and he stayed very calm as he checked me over and asked me what had happened.
I hesitated before answering, thinking he’d dismiss my fears.
Dismiss me as someone unworthy of worry.
But as he helped me sit up, my head was pounding, and I slipped, defenseless, into his arms. His body offered shadow, a place to hide and catch my breath.
He didn’t push me away. I didn’t understand why. Or why he touched my face with the edge of his pinky, so gently.
My vision was fine, but the sun was so bright that I let him help me into the barn. There, after some deft and intimate first aid, I faced the further torture of going down a line of dancing hooves and swishy tails attached to powerful hindquarters.
Jake, of course, strode forth like he was walking in a bed of flowers. And he dragged me with him.
I lasted through grooming Buddy and feeding biscuits to each horse I could find, to make amends.
For what, I didn’t know. For being a bad rider.
For being afraid of each and every one of them.
For disappointing Jake, of all people, who would surely speak derisively of me when alone with his fellow cowboys.
Though why I cared what he thought was beyond me.
He’d described himself as an average blue-collar man. Who obviously didn’t have time for scaredy-cat bankers from the city.
Sure, he’d taken time to patch me up, but no sympathy had been forthcoming. I needed to get over the empty feeling that thought gave me. I needed to give Lucas back his secondhand boots, and I needed to take some Tylenol and drive home, even though everything hurt.
I made it to the bunkhouse, fumbling with the combination before bursting inside.
The air was hot and still. I turned on the AC split and went into the small bathroom. The bruise beneath the two parallel—exactly parallel—butterfly bandages was a well-blossomed flower of dark purple, dark blue.
I didn’t remember bumping my head. My pupils weren’t dilated, which meant, hopefully, that I didn’t have a concussion. I had gotten lucky.
I took two Tylenol, then two more, because who cared what the proper dosage was. I needed to get home and leave stupid cowboy country behind me.
The Tylenol had to kick in, because if it didn’t, Jake had instructed me to tell him so he could carry me to urgent care. Riding alone in a truck cab with him was the last thing I needed. He’d be grim and ask me, Why didn’t you just say no? Say no like a man?
I lay on the twin bed to wait for the drugs to take effect. And thought about how pretty the sky had been. So blue against the velvet green of the pine trees and the shiny green leaves of the row of cottonwoods by the river.
Or maybe it was a creek. Yes, Snow Creek. Lucas had told me about it. About fly-fishing with his granddad and swimming with horses in the deep pools.
Any pleasure in the ride had been erased by the mad, fearful dash back to the barn. I didn’t belong here. Certainly, Jake would prefer me gone. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe slowly. Mapped the route home in my mind. Did my best to let the painkillers do their thing.
The next thing I knew, I was awake and someone was coming into the bunkhouse. The sky through the windows was edged with lilac and pink and deep blue. I didn’t know what time it was. Too late to leave, probably.
“Mr. Dalton?”
I half sat up, balancing on my elbows. My headache was a dull, low thud, and something in my back protested.
Cameron, dusty and smiling. Behind him was Dillon. They were covered with hay and horsehair and seemed very pleased to be so.
“What time is it?” I asked, mumbling.
“Almost dinner,” Dillon said. “We’ve come to wash up. They’re big on washing up around here.”
“Jake was asking after you, Mr. Dalton,” Cameron said. “I said your car was still parked, so—”
“We hauled hay,” Dillon said. “It was so cool! There was this big machine that made bales from dried hay on the ground, and we walked behind and threw the bales up onto a flatbed. It’s for the horses—”
“And the cows,” Cameron added. “It’s the second cutting, Mr. Malcolm says.”
“I need to get home,” I said. My mouth was dry as cotton.
“No,” Cameron wailed in a dramatic fashion that sounded like he’d practiced it a lot. “Come to dinner, Mr. Dalton.”
“Yeah,” Dillon said. “It’s over in the dining hall. It smelled really good when we walked past.”
I imagined Jake responding for me. Say no if you mean no. Say it like a man.
“Sure,” I said. Not because I couldn’t say no like a man, but because I found that I wanted to stay, at least a little while longer. “I can drive home later.” Maybe after I ate something, I’d have more energy and everything would hurt less.
After Dillon and Cameron washed up, I stripped off my dusty, bloodstained button-down shirt and hobbled into the small bathroom to wash what was left of the blood off my face. Then I changed into a t-shirt and followed them to the dining hall.
We went over a dirt road and walked along the large riding arena to the dining hall. It was in one half of a low building, set up like a grander version of a cafeteria, with the kitchen at one end. The tables were wooden, as was the floor, as though the building it now occupied used to be a barn.
It was a little busier than it had been at breakfast, and a little louder. I followed the boys to the end of the buffet line, grabbed a tray and cutlery, and looked out over the gathering of people.
It felt like high school. Where should I sit? With Lucas and the foreman? With Colt, whom I’d just met? I was never a popular kid, so the feeling of not fitting in was utterly familiar.
Over on the far side of the room, I saw Jake. His broad shoulders in that faded blue t-shirt. The casual lean, elbows on the table as he ate, sitting across from another cowboy I’d seen in the barn after the trail ride.
Jake was shoveling it in, because of course he was.
He was probably on his feet all day, was six feet of pure muscle.
Had never counted a calorie in his life.
I never had either, being on the thin side, but I somehow envied him not having to keep up with office mates bragging about this cleanse or that new smoothie.
When I got to the front of the line, there was a large Crock-Pot of stew, with sausage and bacon and ground beef and corn and beans all mixed together.
I took some of that and the succotash and a large biscuit, and two of the small paper cups of butter.
A drizzle of honey. Some iced tea from a tall brown plastic tumbler.
Everything smelled great, and suddenly I realized how hungry I was.
The boys had already gone off to join their fellows, so I took a seat at a long table that was empty. It was near the window, and I sat with my back to it and ate as I watched the ranch hands and wranglers and LGBTQ kids mingle and laugh and go up for seconds.
As I finished, I considered heading home, anyway, even though I still felt a little raw.
I could take more Tylenol and drive very cautiously.
Better that than stay on the ranch, where every day was a new adventure, more adventure than I cared to deal with.
Or maybe I would miss those blue skies if I left. Maybe I should stay.
Busy folding my napkin, I didn’t notice when someone walked over until they plunked a white china plate in front of me. On it was a slice of what looked like flourless chocolate cake. A large dollop of whipped cream was sliding along the angle of the slice.
Another plate with a similar slice of cake was plonked on the other side, and by the time I looked up, Jake was already sitting down.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“It’s very good,” he said. “We have a German cook helping out. She doesn’t speak a lick of English, but then I don’t speak a lick of German. Whatever she makes just melts on the tongue.”
“I don’t really eat dessert,” I said with silent apologies to the German cook who was, no doubt, highly skilled in all ways.
“This is red wine chocolate cake,” he said, then pointed at it. “And that is real whipped cream. No fake stuff.”
I looked at him, and my intended repetition about desserts stayed silent on my tongue. He’d showered and shaved, the tanned skin along his cheek still moist, a curl of hair behind each ear sleek with water.
He smelled of aftershave. Probably the drugstore kind that anyone might buy, cheap and robust, but which on him smelled the way dust smelled after it rained. Like something new and good was expected and already on the way.
“I really don’t have time,” I said, the half-lie tasting bitter on my tongue. “I was planning on driving home right after this.”
“You oughtn’t to do that,” he said. His fork clinked on the plate as he cut a bite of cake. Then it paused in front of his face before he slid it into his mouth. I was mesmerized by every step of the process.
“Why?” I asked. “I’m good to drive.”
“That you may be.” He talked with his mouth full, cheek puffed with cake, and looked me over with his gold-flecked eyes. “There’s ten miles of too many curves, just to Chance. In the twilight, the deer come out. Foxes and such. You’d run ’em over. Can’t have that.”
Hiding a chuckle that he was more concerned about the animals than me, I looked down, and my eyes caught on his bare forearms, tanned and corded with muscle. Arms that worked hard all day, every day. He’d be able to drive if he had to.
As could I. But did I have to?
“I guess I could stay for another day,” I said. “Or two.”
I took a bite of the cake, just to be polite. It tasted like chocolate, but more than that. It had depth. I didn’t like desserts, too sweet for me, but this was really good. The whipped cream made it special.
“You can,” he said, like it was decided. He watched me. His body was turned toward me. All his focus was on me. “You can settle back. You don’t have to ride. Just go for a long walk along Snow Creek. Do some fly-fishing. Or come into town with me, as I’ve a need for a new hat.”
I had no idea why he was so set on spending time with me. Or why I thought I saw a smile in his eyes. A tiny curve of his mouth. Like he was teasing me about the hat, but maybe didn’t realize he was. Or didn’t want me to know he was.
Before I could puzzle that out, let alone respond, Dillon and Cameron came up to the table and slid into seats, one of them next to each of us.
“Mr. Dalton,” Cameron said, “they’re having a bonfire later. They’re going to use this old pan to pop popcorn.”
“Over an open flame?” I asked, never having heard of such a thing. I looked at Jake, thinking the boys were joking.
“It’s a tin box with a long handle,” he said. “And a sliding lid with holes in it. So the popcorn can breathe. The ranch has a few of them. They’re all old but still work.”
“Oh,” I said.
“You going to stay, Mr. Dalton?” Dillon asked.
“I’ll stick around for that,” I said. As though popcorn popped in an old-fashioned box was the draw, rather than the way Jake was looking at me. Like he might smile at me someday, and not just look at me with a hard glare.
The two boys got up and cheered, raising their fists as though they’d accomplished some rare victory. “Yeah, Mr. Dalton!” they shouted before racing off to tell their young fellows.
“Guess I’ll be sharing the bunkhouse with those two for another night,” I said, dropping my chin to attend to my cake. Speaking to my plate, I added, in a voice meant for only my ears, “More fart jokes for me. Yeah.”
I heard Jake snort. Honest to God, I did. I looked up to catch him in the act. And though he wore no smile, his eyes were dancing like glittering gold-and-blue stars that had found their way merrily to earth.