Before they’d hit the dance that night, he had already made up his mind to leave home and find his brother, had planned to tell her of his decision, those words derailed by the evening. Then, lying there beside her, heat from her skin bleeding into him where they touched all along the length of his body, he’d decided he would simply continue with his plans, making the pain-filled decision to let Brenda go without a fight.
She hadn’t been his to begin with. Reuben had always been just a buddy for her, their shared childhood making it so he was firmly stuck forever in the friend zone, knowing she would never look at him the way he suspected she looked at Tommy. So he’d gotten up and dressed quietly, had written her a brief note expressing his affection and explaining where he was going, and then he’d left. He’d stood in the doorway for a long time, watching her sleep, impressing the memory so deep he knew he would never lose the feeling of love and loss. Then he’d left, walking away, his path not returning him home until now.
He let his gaze travel over the rest of the pictures on the board, as well as the ones in frames on the wall. There were a bunch of Elias, a few of Elias and Tommy, but the bulk of the pictures were of Brenda and Elias together. They were shown riding horses side-by-side, Elias up on General. The corners of Reuben’s mouth turned up when he looked at the image which had quickly become his favorite, one of her wielding the business end of a water hose, using her thumb to create a powerful spray of water she’d turned on Eli. The shock on his face at behavior he didn’t expect from his mom was plain, as was the self-satisfied smirk on hers.
Looking across the display, he tracked the boy’s growth in those pictures with his mother. Guessing the boy was about ten now, it was knowledge that hurt in a way he didn’t like. Eli’s age meant she and Tommy had moved fast, the two of them quickly becoming serious enough to create their family. Moving fast…moving on. Now Tommy was gone, and she was alone. Shaking his head, Duck reached out to touch the edge of the water fight picture, then stepped to the side and opened the door, walking through and closing it tightly behind him.
Looking around the buildings within sight of the barn, he cataloged the work that still needed to be done, as he had every day since coming home. Not the normal list of chores, but the maintenance parts, which got pushed aside all too easily. They were chipping away at his mental list, had been making steady inroads in the past few days. His other mental list, the one to do with Brenda, in contrast had been growing every day. He needed to either let her say her piece so he could leave, or decide he was going to dig in, try to find something he had been craving for years. He could begin by talking to her, he decided, turning his steps to the house.
Back inside, he hoped to find Brenda, but the entire structure felt empty, the silence conveying a sense of solitude. Not sure where she would have disappeared to, he decided to wait and strolled to the mantle. Taking his time, he surveyed the pictures of the Calloway family displayed there. At the second image, Reuben stopped in his tracks, startled. It was Tommy and Brenda’s wedding picture. She looked much taller than Tommy, which was surprising. But what really startled him was recognizing her maid of honor, Chelsie Transom.
He knew from talking to Slate, the Rebel’s president in Fort Wayne, that when he’d traveled through Lamesa years ago, he’d hooked up with Chelsie. That was when Duck first met the man, back before they were club members, well before either of them were in the life. Before Duck had walked away from the best thing he’d ever had. Slate, whose citizen name was Andy Jones, had been working at the Transom ranch repairing fence for some fast cash when Reuben had ridden up to say hello.
They’d hit it off quickly and even after Slate had moved on down the road, they’d kept track of each other for a time, until circumstances brought them back into close contact. Both of them joining the Rebel Wayfarers had not been planned. Andy patched into the club first, earning his road name of Slate long before Reuben darkened the door of the club’s bar, Jackson’s. Him knowing Slate had made his entry into the club smoother, had gained him important indulgences from Mason, the club’s national president. Those favors had allowed him to track and watch over Mica Scott, now Mica Rupert.
What a twisted web my life has been, he thought, remembering the times he and other members had ridden down to Springfield to check up on Mica, back when she was in college. She was the reason his brother, Ray, wound up dead, but it was no fault of hers. That shit sat firmly on Ray’s plate. The result of feeding the twisted desires their father had left in him.
Reuben had left the circuit earlier that year, rather than watch the slow destruction of the beautiful young girl at his brother’s hands. But, once he was home, he’d struggled with guilt and second thoughts, heading back out only to find she had already fled. That was when his brother became obsessed with her. Dangerously fixated on finding her, Ray’s intent had been to return her to his bed as if she were a possession that could be owned and retrieved at will.
With a driving need to keep her safe from Ray, for months Reuben had looked for Mica across the southern and western states. Every circuit town found him scouring the locals for information and each one saw him coming up dry. Finally, he’d gotten wind of a lead, then another, and ultimately received a solid tip from an old ER doc in Oklahoma, pointing him towards Chicago.
Strolling the streets of that city hadn’t turned up any clues as to her location. Frustrated, he had nearly given up entirely when he’d found himself in Jackson’s for the first time. He’d walked in and met Mason, not knowing his world was on the cusp of change. A single meeting which would set the course for the rest of his life, bringing him to the man he was today. Without thinking, he muttered, “Rebels forever, forever Rebels.”
“What does that mean?” The first soft syllable had him spinning on reflex, half-crouched in a defensive move before he realized it was Elias. Extending the movement to stretch back to his full height, he looked down at the boy without saying anything, his heart racing in his chest. Warm, dark brown eyes met his and they stood there for a minute staring at each other before Elias asked again, “What does ‘Rebels forever’ mean?”
Reuben shifted his shoulders, missing the weight of his leather vest. The absence of his cut left him feeling exposed. Like a raw nerve, the lack was a constant, painful reminder he wasn’t home, had no backup, and was entirely on his own down here in Texas. The garment bearing the club’s patches hung in the guestroom closet—Mason having agreed for the short time he would be here, it would be best to be anonymous.
“It’s a pact. I belong to a motorcycle club. It’s a promise to my brothers that there will always be a club, because men like me will always be loyal to it. ‘Rebel Wayfarers forever,’ that’s the club being true to me, then the last part is ‘forever Rebels,’ and that’s me. It’s a different way of saying once a Rebel, always a Rebel.” Nodding to the boy, he turned to look at the pictures on the mantle again.
He didn’t hear the kid move, but Eli’s voice came from beside him when he said, “That’s Dad and Mom.”
Eyes fixed on the bride in the picture, Reuben quietly said, “Brenda told me about your dad earlier. I’m sorry. It’s hard to lose someone you love.”
“Yeah,” Eli muttered, his voice thick with emotion. “Even when everyone tells you to get ready, to expect it…even when the pastor talked to both Dad and me about it, it still…” He trailed off mid-sentence. Reuben looked down to see Eli’s eyes were wet, looking at a picture of him and his mom: A proud Eli sitting on General, spine straight and grinning, while a beaming Brenda reached up to hand him a ribbon. “Sometimes things just go bad. Mom’s had it hard, so I don’t…” His voice trailed off again, then he picked back up the thought, “You can see it hit her, sometimes.”
“I don’t know if you could ever be ready for something like that. Like a gopher hole, it’ll catch you off guard, throw you off balance,” Reuben offered, and the kid’s gaze swung to him. Lips pursed tightly, he gave Reuben a solemn nod, then stared at the pi
cture for another minute before turning to walk out. Reuben stopped him with a gentle, “Eli, if you need or want to talk to me? You can. Anytime, kiddo.” Without looking back, Eli nodded, then slipped quietly outside, the screen door’s wooden frame absorbing all sound as it closed softly behind him.
As Reuben turned to look at the pictures again, the room faded away and he had eyes only for Bee’s face. After everything she had been through, she deserved some goodness in her life. He would make her go with him tonight, see to it that she had a chance to laugh.
Hidden blessings
Boots discarded in the mudroom, Brenda stood in her sock feet and stared up at Reuben for a minute, unable to decide if there was a joke behind the question. Finally, she asked, “I’m sorry. What does that mean?”
“It means I want you to come with me to Mitchell’s.” Reuben shook his head at her, staring into her face with an intensity he didn’t try to hide. “Not a hard idea to fathom, Bee.”
“But you’re meeting your friends.” She allowed her confusion to shadow her voice, and he looked annoyed.
“They’re your friends, too,” he countered, but she quickly shook her head.
“Nope, they’re yours, Reuben. Steve’s married to my friend, but it doesn’t sound like Chelsie is going. So that will make it one awkward evening I’d really rather skip. Thanks for the invite, but no thanks. Will you be eating at Mitchell’s or with us?” She turned to the sink, reaching for a glass from the drain board. She filled it with water from the tap, drinking about half the liquid before she realized he hadn’t answered her. Twisting back to look at him, she saw his eyes had narrowed on her. “What?”
“If Chelsie comes, would you go with me?” He was being persistent about this, and she wasn’t sure why he was digging in this way.
“No, I have to cook for the ranch hands. It’s part of the manager gig, making sure everyone has food in their bellies. Then there’s the evening feeding of the bottle calves, and I’m pretty sure I saw a half dozen invoices in today’s mail that need to be entered into the computer, along with the breeding results for those new heifers.” Shrugging, she quipped, “Normal for a Tuesday,” before drawing back slightly at the dark scowl her words seemed to provoke.
“Hands can cook for themselves for once,” he offered, but she silently shook her head, still not sure why he was chasing this so hard. “Well, then, they can do the bottle feeding for you.” She snorted at the thought, shaking her head again and his features darkened even more, brows lowering over narrowed eyes. “Invoices can wait for tomorrow morning.”
“Reuben, it’s not a big deal. There’s always work and chores that need doing. Today isn’t any different from the last thousand days.” She shrugged, pulling the pan of marinating pork chops out of the refrigerator, setting it on the countertop. Shuffling around the kitchen, she gathered the rest of the things needed for supper before realizing he had left, as soundlessly as ever. The way he moved was graceful and quiet. “He’s not a Mexican…he’s a Ninjacan,” she muttered with a smothered giggle.
Thirty minutes later, the meal prep was done and supper was in the oven with the timer set. Resting for a moment on the mudroom’s built-in bench, she pulled her boots back on with a groan, yelling up the stairs, “Elias, come help with the calves, honey.” She waited until she heard what sounded like an agreement, before standing and walking outside. Halfway to the pen where they kept the calves, she heard a commotion and picked up her pace, hitting a quick trot. There had been trouble with predators in the past, but it would be unlike them to come up this close to human activity in broad daylight. Unlikely, but not impossible, she thought, heart rate spiking with a sudden push of fear, which is why I’m running.
Rounding the barn, she stumbled to a halt, a surprised shout of laughter escaping her lips at the sight greeting her. Reuben, Gill, and a half dozen of the ranch hands were in the pen, each wielding a bottle in either hand. Which was all well and good, but there were fifteen calves more than the men had hands between them, leading to a free-for-all melee among the hungry calves not currently attached to the nipple of a bottle.
Slowly walking the remaining few feet to the fence, she propped one foot on the bottom board, silent laughter still shaking her shoulders. Brenda was trying hard to hold it together, and was succeeding until one of the calves became more impatient than its pals, walked up to Reuben and butted him with its head. She knew from experience how hard those bovine noggins were, and given the location the calf was aiming at, the pained grunt from Reuben wasn’t unexpected. She lost control over her laughter when she heard him mutter, "Jesus. God. Stop it. You could still be called veal, you turd calf."
At the sound of her amusement, he twisted and looked over at her, a hopeful look on his now light green face. “Help,” he pleaded, and she laughed again at his desperate expression.
Moving to the gate separating the pen from one of several smaller ones next to it, she dragged it open and whistled, calling one of the dogs from the barn to her. She and the dog put a half-dozen calves in that pen, and then repeated the process for the next two enclosures, effectively separating the hungry calves from the ones being fed. This left the ones already on a bottle in the larger pen and no longer having to fight for their hold, they made quick work of the bottles.
She lined bottle holders along rungs of the gates for the small pens, and began loading the rest of the pre-mixed bottles into them, creating an assembly line of food for the divided groups of self-sufficient calves. By the time Reuben walked over to her with an embarrassed grin on his face, she had already moved back to the first pen to release the fed calves back into the larger one.
“Hilarious, Reuben. Best show I’ve seen in a while. What were you thinking would happen?” She grinned at him and caught up in the moment, acted without thinking, reaching up to wipe a streak of dirt off his cheek with the pad of her thumb. Brenda wasn’t prepared for the look of passion that filled his eyes at her touch.
He quickly lifted his hand to cup her palm against his cheek, holding it in place before she could pull back. She glanced away, having to press her lips together, pushing down a responding heat of her own at the look on his face. They stood like that a moment, their bodies close enough for her to feel an exposed intimacy. His voice held a sheepish note when he spoke softly. “I forgot how demanding the little boogers can be.” Tone deepening, his voice was rough when he continued, ”I just…want you to come with me tonight, so I thought if I took care of feeding the calves, you’d be able to find the time.” Releasing her, he reached out, resting a hand on either side of her waist. “Brenda—“
“Calves are already done, Mom? Why’d you call me then?” Reuben’s words were interrupted by Eli’s irritated questions and she looked down to see her son’s eyes narrowly focused on her middle, where Reuben’s hands were touching her.
“They weren’t done when I called you,” she explained. “It’s just someone took his sweet time getting ready for chores.” Eli rolled his eyes and she snorted, turning and twisting out of Reuben’s hold. “No worries, the job’s not finished. You can help me wash bottles.” Her son sighed, lifting his still-narrowed gaze to Reuben when the man blew out a frustrated sounding breath.
“Brenda, stop it.” Reuben reached out, flattening his palm at the small of her back, the heat of the contact warming her skin through her clothing. “Gill, get the hands to wash the bottles.” He shouted across the pen towards the men, who had all begun to walk away, and she heard a collective groan from them as they turned to slog back to where she had tossed the bottles on the grass outside the pen. “Brenda’s working on dinner. I’ll be in the office for a half hour, and then meet y’all up at the house, yeah?” Reuben looked down at her with a grin. “I’ll have invoices entered before supper. Then there are no excuses left, Bee.”
Shaking her head, she frowned at him before asking, “It matters that much to you?” She watched as he pulled in a deep breath, his chest rising and falling as he blew it back ou
t with a silent nod. Staring into his eyes for a moment, she saw the hope rising in them, and gave in with a soft, “Okay, then. Okay, I’ll go.” She looked down at Elias and smiled at her son, “I guess I’m going out tonight, Eli. You’ll need to clean up the dishes after the men get finished.” He groaned as loudly as the ranch hands had a moment ago, pulling another laugh from her. “If you can rinse them and load the dishwasher, I’ll take care of everything else when I get home. Essa will be just down the hallway, so you’ll have company if you want it.”
As she spoke, he cut his eyes towards Reuben, frowning. Without looking back at her, he muttered, “Yeah, whatever.”
“Elias Thomas Calloway, is that any way to speak to your mother?” His attitude surprised her because he wasn’t a sullen child. His moods were generally easy, even right after his fa—her brain stuttered for a minute, and she realized what was wrong. Reuben. Eli has to be upset about him being here, she thought.
Before she could say anything else, he responded with a contrite sounding, “Sorry, Mom. I can handle the dishes.” He paused and the sound of his swallow was loud. “You…you’ll be back before I go to sleep?”
“Yeah.” With one soft word, she promised him he wouldn’t go to sleep without her telling him goodnight. It was a ritual they’d started back when Tommy’s condition had worsened to the point he couldn’t be part of their daily lives. She thought of it as droplets of normality, a few stolen ordinary moments out of the day when it could be just him and her. The predictable routine meant he always had a chance to talk to her about his dreams or fears, or just the funny things that happened to him throughout the day. Or, as often transpired, they could say nothing at all, sitting in companionable silence while he fell asleep, head on her thigh, her fingers running through his hair. “Wouldn’t miss it, Eli.”
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