11. Jake
Jake
“Dairy Queen is my treat,” I said, trying not to stammer. “It’s just down Old Main Street a ways.”
“I can walk.” Dalton lifted his chin as though he thought I’d challenge him on it. He was wearing Lucas’ boots, but they were broken in. He’d be fine. All I had to do was keep my mind focused on ersatz ice cream and hold on until noon, and I’d be fine, too.
I led the way along the sidewalk, past Chance News and the diner, and we crossed the intersection on the diagonal because there simply wasn’t any traffic.
The Dairy Queen was gross, now, in my eyes, with old gum on the red counter, and trash smeared into the concrete in the front, though I’d never thought about it before.
We went up to the outside serving counter, below the red eaves and the white sign, and I pulled out my wallet before he could protest.
“What’s good here?” he asked, and then shrugged. “It’s been a while.”
“I like the Blizzards.” Then I added, “Butterfinger,” and squinted at the menu like I didn’t have it already memorized, all to keep from staring at him.
“I’ll have that,” he said. “Thank you.”
His phone rang, and he grabbed it like he was already mad about whoever was calling him. He walked off toward the outdoor seating with his hand over one ear, and I pretended to ignore him as I paid, though I could hear just about everything.
“No,” he said. “I said no.” A pause. “Why should I use my vacation to house-sit while the two of you go off to Hawaii with your girlfriends? My PTO that I worked hard for?”
PTO was vacation, then. Got it.
“You can afford a house sitter.” The words snapped in the air. “Hell, you can afford a hundred with what Mom and Dad left you. Me and my twenty acres are just fine, thank you very much.”
He listened again.
“No, I don’t owe you.” He was just about shouting. “Why would I? I’ve been there for everything since they passed. Everything! I deserve some time to myself.”
His parents had died. That was bad. But it was the other part that troubled me: how upset he was. The words tumbling as he spoke. The way his voice shook as the person on the other end of the call pulled him into some imaginary obligation that seemed to be ripping him to shreds.
I wanted to go up and reach through that phone and punch whoever was on the other side.
I wanted to go to Dalton and comfort him.
I wanted him to let me.
“No,” he said again. “And I tell you what.” He whirled around, and for a second I thought he was angry with me, his scowl was that deep.
Then his mouth opened, his eyes flashing as though in me he’d found an answer.
“Lucas needs me to—Remember Lucas? Well, it’s his ranch I’m at.
He needs me to go over the accounting. I’ve got that bank examiner’s certificate.
I’ll use that to help my good friend, and you guys can look out for yourselves. ”
He stared at me the whole time he was talking. He clicked the call closed with a hard stab of his thumb, just about vibrating from head to toe.
I knew for a fact that Lucas had gone over his own accounts as best he could. He was a banker, too, after all. But he also had other things to do at the ranch, and some of Walter’s bookkeeping methods were probably not what Lucas was used to. Maybe he could use some help.
I had no idea what a bank examiner was, exactly, but evidently Dalton had a certificate for it. Moreover, he’d just lied about his obligation to Lucas. All to keep him from having to ask how high when his family told him to jump.
He drew his hand across his face as he came over to me, jamming his cell phone into his back pocket as if it was on fire.
“Sorry,” he said. “My brothers. They always want me to, um, come when called. You know?”
I sat down at one of the red metal tables, partially in the shade of an old cottonwood tree, and held his Blizzard out to him. He sat down catty-corner from me and took the cup, his hand shaking.
“Yeah, I know,” I said. Because I did.
“It’s all stupid shit they want me to do, too, which makes me mad because they—” He shook his head. “Never mind.” He poked at his Blizzard with a long red plastic spoon and shoveled some into his mouth.
“They what?” I asked. I hadn’t taken a bite of my ice cream because this was more important.
When he looked at me in that dappled shade, his eyes were serious and sad all at the same time.
“It took me two years to study,” he said.
“It’s like a master’s degree. I flew to Chicago last December for the exam.
My parents were coming to pick me up at the airport when I came back, and they slid into an icy lake and drowned. My brothers blame me.”
“They shouldn’t,” I said, puzzled by the story, but then, I’d never had a family of my own.
“Well, they do.” He sighed. “I didn’t expect a celebration, like my brothers had gotten when they got their master's, but would it have been too much for them to take me out for drinks?”
“I’d take you out for drinks,” I said, speaking before I could think. “Someday.”
“I’d like that,” he said suddenly and rather forcefully. “Because I’m not one for sweet things.”
He scraped his mouth out with a napkin and shoved the Blizzard, with a bit of ice cream melting down the side, away from him.
He was probably used to different. And he deserved homemade ice cream, made in a real churn by someone who knew how. I didn’t. Nobody at the ranch did, as far as I knew.
But had he meant it that he’d go out for drinks with me? Maybe not. Maybe I should let him off easy from what had obviously been an impetuous statement.
I opened my mouth to suggest a visit to the Laughing Fork, which had the best pancakes known to man, when he folded his arms on the metal table and buried his face in them.
In the back of my mind, hopeful tales about love and families still resided, making me want to say something about how his brothers hadn’t meant to be cruel. But it was obvious they had. Dalton felt it deeply, the way they treated him.
After a moment, Dalton raised his head and stood, seeming to shake himself off, rid himself of the leavings of dealing with his family. They’re a piece of work, Lucas had said. And now I could see what he’d meant.
“C’mon,” Dalton said. “If you’ll drive me back to the ranch, I can explain to Lucas why I’m staying a little while longer and why he’ll need to give me access to his files, his ledgers, and his bank account.” He laughed, his sense of humor returning. “I’ll show him my certificate.”
“You’re staying?” I asked. That was all I could focus on. The rest of it was gibberish to me.
“I guess so,” he said, though I heartily doubted he guessed at anything.
I wanted to ask if he’d like to learn to ride, to not be afraid of horses.
To join me for a trip into Fort Collins to pick up the salt blocks that Gunner’s horse, Rogue, especially enjoyed.
To walk together along Snow Creek and watch sunshine flicker on the water like diamonds, then look up at the stars with me after the sun went down.
I wanted to ask him if he’d like to hold hands.
It would be too hopeful of me to expect any of that, let alone more. Even so, I relished the promise of his company for a little while longer. Sure, it would be torture knowing he’d be leaving soon, but for now I’d enjoy the sweetness of his presence on the ranch.
We threw our Blizzards away and used the moist towelettes at the counter to wipe our hands clean. Then I drove us, very slowly, back to the ranch on a beautiful day where the wind blew in the branches.
The birds sang. The surface of the river sparkled as we drove over it. And I’d had a prayer answered, when all the other ones had been met with silence. If that wasn’t a miracle, I didn’t know what would be.
At the ranch, I drove up to the staff building to let Dalton out before circling back to park Daybreak near bunkhouse six. Then I hustled to the barn to help with the chores and catch up.
How were the calves? Had someone remembered that one of the spigots in the small barn was leaking and needed to be tightened and taped before it flooded the stalls?
While I wasn’t vain, I worried that my fellows would think I’d gone overboard with the hat. A Stetson? For working? But nobody said anything.
I got a few glances as we mucked stalls and petted the calves and stood with our hands on our hips for a good ten minutes as we discussed, sometimes heatedly, how the newly baled hay should be stacked.
How many bales under each tarp? How many pallets did we have on hand?
And who had used up all the horse treats?
“I did,” I said. “I gave them to Dalton to hand out.”
“Oh,” Malcolm said, giving me a side-eye that told me he believed me not at all. He’d been there, after all. But he was a good guy, so he didn’t call me on it.
Lunch was a quick sandwich, an apple, and a raisin tart to carry with me as I headed back to work.
I dug a sluice to drain the calves’ pen, which sloped down at one end and tended to get mucky. My left hand, where the lariat had run across it, felt raw against the shovel’s handle, and I wondered how Dalton’s head was doing. How his conversation with Lucas had gone.
Probably Lucas had already been aware of the certificate and had said something supportive and uplifting, in typical Lucas Barrett fashion.
“That trench is wide enough,” a voice said. “You think?”
I blinked and saw I’d cleared far more area than I’d intended to. I looked up to see Jesse, standing at the upper end, on the rim. “Got carried away,” I said.
“It’ll still work,” he said with a shake of his head. “If we flatten out the top portion of the edge, it’ll be shaped to carry any water. Last longer, as well.”
“Yes, boss.”
“Nice hat,” he said.
“Thanks.”
With a tap to the brim of his own hat, he headed to the barn.
At work’s end, I went to my bunkhouse and relished the quiet privacy as I took a shower and washed off the sweat and dirt. Only to replace it, as I dried myself and shaved, with worry. Anxiety, maybe. I dabbed on cologne, as I usually did when cleaning up for dinner.
If Dalton’s bid to stay was successful, which it surely would be, then he’d be spending his days in the office, in the staff building. Going through the accounts. Studious. His head bent over his desk. Fair hair drifting across his forehead. Blue eyes focused.
If it turned out he wore glasses when he worked, I’d melt from the inside out.
I put on a clean t-shirt and blue jeans, tugged my dusty boots back on, and made my way to the dining hall.
The room contained the usual buzz and good smells from the kitchen.
When I reached the front of the line, I filled my plate with meatloaf and garlic green beans.
Two rolls with butter. A pile of fried potatoes on their own plate.
Then, as I reached the end of the buffet, I saw dessert: strawberry rhubarb pie. On little white plates, arranged on a layer of ice cubes.
My tray was already full. Should I grab two slices and balance my way to the nearest table? Or should I find a spot and eat my dinner, then come back? Or would they be all gone by then, and taking two now would be the more sensible thing to do?
“Hey, Jake.”
I looked up, and all thoughts of pie, strawberry rhubarb or otherwise, fled my mind with the speed of a thousand galloping horses.
Dalton was wearing the cotton trousers he’d had on when he’d arrived, and those citified shoes with the tassels on them.
His beige-on-white button-down shirt looked like it had been rinsed in the sink and scrubbed with a bar of soap to get the stain out, unsuccessfully.
But if he was wearing those clothes, it meant that Lucas and he had exchanged handshakes. He’d gotten the job.
He’d showered and shaved, as I had. His hair was dark gold with damp, some splayed across his forehead, where the two butterfly bandages were still intact.
“I see you looking at the pie,” he said. “Is it any good?”
“Like heaven,” I said. “Heaven on a plate.”
He looked at my tray, full to bursting, and then at his own. His portions were half the size of mine—meat, vegetables, no gravy—making me feel rather like a giant intent on stuffing his face until he exploded.
“Do you want me to grab you one?” he asked, gesturing at me with his tray. “I’ve got room.”
“Two,” I said in a single breath. “Please.”
Dutifully, he gathered two plates and secured them on his tray. I followed him to the table he liked near the window and sat down across from him.
“I picked the two prettiest, as you can see,” he said as he dutifully placed those slices of pie in front of my tray.
“You don’t like dessert.” I was doing my best to remain calm, though my heart was thumping against my breastbone at the thought of having dinner with him. Yes. Yes. Yes.
“I’ll have a bite of yours,” he said. “If you’ll let me.”
Let him? I’d hand-feed him an entire pie and take none for myself if he wanted that.
“Sure,” I said.
The food could have been sawdust for all of Ruth’s experience in the kitchen.
Lucas came by to ask Dalton about accrual spreadsheets and double entry, and could Dalton read Grandpa’s handwriting? All I could think about was that I had more time with him. But how much more?.
I had no idea how long an audit took. How many meals I’d be able to sit across the table from Dalton and come up with dumb ideas for ways to reach out. A skill I was none too good at.
Let me take you to the creek. Let me drive you to see a sunset over Greyrock Mountain. Let me take your hand and show you the stars. Let me—
I wanted too much for words. It was all too quick, and my heart felt jarred and uncertain. It could only be friendship, and for a short time. That would have to be enough.