19. Jake #3
Any more details would have been too much for Dalton. He was already under enough stress. He reached out to touch my thigh, and that meant more to me than I’d thought possible.
When he got out of the car, I got out as well. Being familiar with handoffs like this, I knew that the man would want to know who he was sending young Xander Brooks off with. Not like those interchangeable, impersonal social workers of years gone by.
Both the older man and Xander looked at me like I’d appeared from nowhere and might be brandishing a weapon.
It took everything I had to not dismiss their concerns. Not to simply open the back door and usher Xander into the back seat so we could be on our way.
Right then, my feeling was a desperate desire to not revisit those first moments of having come from a bad situation and into a new one, a potentially good one. Because that leap of trust? Was bigger and bolder and braver than any kid should be expected to make.
“I’m Dalton Gayle.” Dalton offered the older man his hand. “Lucas sent me from the ranch to pick Xander up. Hi, Xander.” He waved.
The older man looked at me, his eyes narrowing.
“I work at the ranch,” I said. “Came along today to keep Dalton company. Jake Colter.” I held out my hand as well. He could make a quick phone call to check us out, and he seemed so protective that for a moment, that’s what I thought he was going to do.
Finally, he shook my hand and nudged Xander to do the same. “I’m Buster Finch. Sorry about the less-than-warm welcome. Mr. Brooks, Xander’s father, has friends. But you’ve got calluses none of those idiots would have.”
I caught Xander’s gaze. There was emptiness in his eyes. A thinness to those shoulders. Defiance in the lift of his chin. It was like looking in a mirror at my younger self.
The ranch would do him good, and all at once I understood what Lucas’ main goal was.
Of course he meant to help these kids that the city spat out.
Threw aside. Was prepared to ignore and forget.
But the ranch wouldn’t just give them help, it would give them hope.
There was no way Xander could spend even an hour on the ranch and not feel better about his life.
“Dairy Queen,” I said to Xander. “Or iced lattes, your pick.”
Xander looked surprised, his expression shifting between confusion and I-don’t-give-a-fuck. He tried to hang on to the latter. I could see it, the way I might watch a deer attempting to cross an empty road. Was it safe now? Or now?
“Iced lattes, bro,” he said. It sounded like a test. I just hoped we wouldn’t fail.
“You got it,” Dalton said. He turned to Mr. Finch. “We’ll call you when we get there. You can call Lucas now, if you like. Let him know we’re hitting the road.”
“I’ll do that. Thank you. And Xander, you’ve got my number. Call anytime. Yes?”
“Yeah,” Xander said with a wave that was meant to be casual, though I could see—remember, even—how hard it was to let go of the known, even if it was horrible, and step into something unknown, scared of what was to come, even if it might end up being good.
Xander slid into the back seat, I got in the front, and Dalton pulled out onto the street.
“I need more cinnamon on my latte,” Dalton said, as if we’d been in the middle of a conversation about coffee and were simply picking it up again. “They didn’t put on enough last time.”
“That’s the place in Chance,” I said, trying to follow his lead. “Always stingy. Someplace in Denver is bound to have more.”
“Little Owl Coffee,” Xander offered unexpectedly. He pointed from the back seat. “Go up Blake Street.”
He seemed to know what he was talking about, so that’s where Dalton drove us, along city blocks, the sun behind tall buildings that cast even taller shadows.
There was no drive-through at Little Owl, and no parking, so Xander and I got out while Dalton went around the block.
We went into the place, which was packed with young people who all seemed to have some artistry about their person: purple hair, nose rings, flowing clothes. Xander ordered. I paid with cash, which made him look at me askance.
When we went back outside, Dalton was waiting in a no-parking zone, blinkers going like it was an emergency. We got in, Xander in the back, which he seemed to prefer, and me in the passenger seat. And off we went.
Dalton drove more swiftly this time, his foot heavier on the gas. I wasn’t used to it, but one glance back at Xander told me that he was.
Bit by bit, as we moved away from the city along I-25, Xander seemed to relax. Dalton as well, and though I needed, wanted, to make sure of him later, for now, we drove. A little road trip taking us into the afternoon.
The coffee was lonely in my belly after a while, so I looked over at Dalton. “Something to eat?”
“Five Guys,” he said. “There’s one a few exits ahead.”
We stopped for some tasty double cheeseburgers, though really they couldn’t hold a candle to what was on offer at the Saddle Up Saloon. But there would be time enough for that later.
A few miles out of Longmont, bellies full of food, I glanced into the back seat to see Xander was fast asleep.
That sometimes happened after a handoff.
A back seat or a front seat. Nobody yelling or puffing smoke in your face or jingling keys to a metal cage that was on the verge of being too small.
At that point, you fell asleep. There was nothing you could do to control it, anyway.