10. Jake
Jake
As I tucked into breakfast Wednesday morning, I knew I needed a new straw cowboy hat. This meant that after the main barn chores, I should head into Chance. It wouldn’t take me long, as I’d pick out a hat similar to the one I had before.
This wasn’t anything much out of the ordinary.
I’d let Lucas or Jesse know about my errand.
Neither would begrudge me an hour or two, and I could always make up the work later, anyway.
So, all good: The morning was bright, the day was shining ahead of me, and soon I’d have a new hat to shield me from the sun.
The problem, as it had been for two days, was the man sitting on the far side of the room, beneath a window that cast his fair hair into a frenzy of light, like a golden crown.
Maybe he preferred eating alone, or maybe he simply didn’t want to spend the energy to get to know anyone and sit near them at breakfast.
Of course, it was the latter. Dalton Gayle was headed home in a little while. I couldn’t hardly say I blamed him for his hasty exit. Not since the night before, around the campfire, when I’d presumed I’d be welcome company but had probably outstayed that welcome inside the first handful of minutes.
Probably. Dalton had been cheerful and pleased to share a bowl of popcorn. When he’d teased me by holding it back, I could see in his eyes that he regretted it. I didn’t know him, hardly at all; how could I imagine that I did?
Maybe he could see in my face that I hated having food taken away from me. Or maybe he’d figured that enough was enough.
I’m only joking, he’d said. He’d held out the popcorn and kept most of his attention on me. Which was unsettling, even though I’d welcomed it.
And he’d seemed pleased that I’d sat down next to him. He’d watched me pet Jasmine. He’d paid attention when I’d pointed out the stars above our heads doing their lazy, dark-skied dance.
But anything between us, a push or a pull, was fleeting because he was leaving. That very day.
Getting up the gumption to tell him how I felt would be pointless come lunchtime. I’d be a memory as soon as he left Snow Creek Ranch behind him in his rearview mirror. A door opened and then quickly shut. An opportunity that would never be.
I didn’t have the balls to tell him, anyway.
A man as pretty, as sweet-faced as that would have plenty of men lining up to ask him to dance.
To hold hands while they walked down by the bend of the river where the cottonwoods grew.
To kiss beneath the open sky flecked with stars.
To make something magical and wonderful between them.
It had been a very long time since my hopes had soared that high.
I’d dated a man two summers ago. A smart man. A journalist doing a piece on small-town America. He’d stayed at the motel in Chance, and for six months, those hopes had found enough wind to fly. But after that time, his project was done, and he’d been on his way.
The wound was too quick, too near, to get over easily. That man, with his brown eyes and warm smile, had seemed interested in sticking around—or so I’d thought. He’d not lied to me. I’d assumed, was all.
I knew I should be more wary about doing that again.
In a short while, Dalton was going to bus his plate and silverware, pack his bags, and get back into his sleek little car. Never to set foot on the ranch ever again.
I wouldn’t stop him to say goodbye. It was better that way. Quick, impersonal. Like a cut to castrate a young bull calf. For the betterment of everyone.
On my way out of the dining hall, I stopped to talk to Jesse about going into town. “Fine by me,” he said, as I’d known he would. “Take your time.”
I wouldn’t take my time, and he knew that, but it was nice of him to say, all the same.
As I was patting my front pocket to be sure I had my keys on me, Dalton rushed past me.
He had his cell phone to his ear, and he was listening hard. Those pretty eyes unhappy. That sweet mouth drawn tight, trembling.
When he reached the dirt road that went down the center of the ranch, he stopped and shoved the cell phone into his back pocket. He turned to look at me as if suddenly noticing I was there.
“Everything all right?” I asked.
“Do you have brothers?” he asked, then he shook his head. “Sorry. Of course you don’t. It’s probably better that way.”
Something had shaken him to the point where, instead of getting a move on, he stood in the middle of the dirt road, looking like a lost thing on the verge of being run over. Not that there was much traffic on the ranch, but still.
“Say,” I said, keeping it casual, as though it didn’t matter to me whether he said yes or no, except I very much wanted him to say yes. “You figure you might want to come with me to the Mercantile? I need to get a new hat. And you being from the city, knowing all the fashion stuff and all—”
I stopped. The invitation was already a disaster, and surely he would say no.
He had far more interesting things going on than an invitation to accompany a ranch hand like me on an errand that wouldn’t benefit him any.
Plus, even though the chance to spend a few hours with him would be like rain from heaven, it wouldn’t be enough, and I’d be left panting.
“We could stop by the Dairy Queen when we’re done,” I added, a desperate swing of the lariat.
He looked at me as though I’d introduced a novel idea. “I’ve not been to one of those in years,” he said. “The only one I know of is pretty gross and in a not-very-nice part of town. You guys probably have a nice one.”
“Oh, this one’s gross,” I said. “Like they all are.” I swallowed the push of nerves that made my mouth dry. “You reckon you might want to come and check it out and see?”
His breath hitched, like he was stumbling over something inside himself. His eyes were bright and quite blue, and the sun danced in his fair hair, a low breeze trailing it across his face. All of this made my knees buckle.
“Sure,” he said. “That’d be nice. I just need to get back by noon to drive to Denver.”
“Of course,” I said. The errand wouldn’t last that long, though I planned to draw it out as much as I could, because I was a weak-willed sucker for his sweet face and the trouble in his eyes that I wanted to make disappear. Self-torture was my middle name.
We walked together in the breezy midmorning over to where Daybreak was parked, by bunkhouse number one. She was unlocked, but he didn’t know that and waited for me. And I, like a fool, made the gallant gesture of opening his door for him.
“Thank you,” he said, all mannerly and sweet.
As he buckled himself in, I raced around to the driver’s side. Buckled myself, as well, though I usually didn’t. Daybreak started like a dream, as she always did, and I circled her around on a patch of dusty grass before pointing her in the direction of town. She knew the way.
I drove along the dirt road from the ranch to Stonewall Road, which led into town.
I rolled my window down right away to catch the fresh air, and after a glance in my direction, Dalton did the same.
Which turned the truck’s cab into a wind tunnel, the breeze blowing bits of hay around, this way and that, along with a scrap of paper I’d neglected to pick up.
Dalton’s hair billowed around his head like a soft cloud. But he didn’t close the window as some might have. Instead, he scraped his hair back from his face and smiled at me like he was having a good time. Maybe he was.
Was it enough to make him say yes if I asked for his number and promised I’d drive to the city to see him? I could do it, though I wouldn’t want to go so far from the ranch. But sweet glory, what that singular smile did to my heart.
All too quickly we went from the bumpy gravel road to the smooth blacktop one. All too soon we were in town, on a lazy midweek morning. I drove along Old Main Street to the Mercantile and parked. Checked for my wallet and led the way up the wooden steps.
Inside, it was much as it had been the day before, with creaky floors and dusty ceiling. I went over to a rack of hats and the two shelves of hatboxes. Dalton followed, and I figured he must be enjoying the fact that it was a great deal less rambunctious with just the two of us.
Lost in the moment, I looked at the array of hats. When I noticed the style I’d worn for many years was no longer on display, my dismay was real. I wanted what I was used to so I didn’t have to think much about it.
The lady behind the counter pointed at a rack just to the left of her at the end of the counter. “Those just came in,” she said. “You might find something you like.”
Dalton was at my shoulder, almost brushing against me. I imagined he was seeking comfort from the contact, though I knew that was only a fantasy. “Those are all pretty,” he said politely. He didn’t know a durn thing about hats, of course. Did he want to? Then he added, “There’s a Stetson.”
“Way too fancy for the likes of me,” I said, speaking before thinking. Drawing unwanted attention to myself, as both the clerk and Dalton looked at me.
“You could try it on,” the clerk said.
I looked at the hat as she held it out. It was made of creamy straw and had a wider brim than I was used to. A sharper-edged look, and the narrowest hatband with small brass pieces cut into long diamonds.
“Go on,” Dalton said, looking at me with wide eyes. “This one’s on me, anyway, for having crushed your other one.”
“No,” I said. “No.”
But he reached to take the hat and rose on his toes to place it on my head. There was no fighting back, not with him that near and careful, gently adjusting the crown, the lay of the brim.
I let him. With those city-soft hands of his, I let him. When he turned me to look in the mirror on the wall behind the clerk, I let him, and shivered as he withdrew his touch.
My expression was blank, as it always was.
As I’d trained it to be, to stay out of trouble.
My eyes, that weird color that always drew the wrong kind of attention from all those mothers and fathers, stared back at me.
I’d missed a spot while shaving. My hair was too long behind my ears.
I had a scratch on my neck from something.
I looked at Dalton to see what he would say, sweating because I was unused to being looked at the way he was looking at me. Eyes wide, mouth open like he was holding back a gasp.
“It doesn’t suit me,” I said with as much finality as I could muster, being so undone by him as he stepped closer, tipping back his head to look up at me.
“Oh, it does,” he said, heartfelt. “It suits you exactly.”
“It does suit you,” the clerk said. “Shall I ring you up? Would you like to wear it out?”
A lot of times in my life, decisions had been made for me.
What to wear. What to eat. What to say. How to behave.
And now it was happening again, with that most personal of items: my cowboy hat.
Only this time, it was different. The way Snow Creek Ranch was different.
More welcoming. More accepting. And all because Dalton had chosen for me and not anybody else.
My mind was made up. I could happily torture myself for years and years to come with the memory of the way Dalton had just looked at me in this hat.
“Yes,” I said, reaching for my wallet, but Dalton slapped his credit card on the counter before I could get that far.
“I ruined his other one,” Dalton said to the clerk, and with a nod she rang up the sale.
At the very last second, the clerk took the hat off my head to clip the tag, then handed it back to me. I wanted to give the hat to Dalton so he could put it on me again, but I didn’t. The memory I had was enough. Would have to be enough.