“Gil Jones,” he said.
Steve thought he’d look more at home on a motorcycle.
Dr. Grayson waited, but Jones said nothing more.
Next to him stood a very young black man in a stocking cap. He was as tall as a basketball center but scrawny, as though the bone growth had outstripped his muscles. “Robert Dalrymple,” the boy said. His tone and expression were sulky.
She inclined her head and smiled at him. Newman growled in the background. “You rode horses?”
“My granddaddy had a couple of racking horses,” the kid said. “Ain’t been on no horse since.”
“Let’s hope the skill stayed with you.”
Finally she’d come back around to the giant. “You’re our last man,” she said with surprising gentleness. “What should I call you?”
He raised his head and glanced around at the others. “My name is Bigelow Little, ma’am.” He sighed. “See, folks call me Big.”
Sweet Daddy guffawed. “Big Little? Look at the size of him. Word up, man, you a freak.”
Big hunched his broad shoulders again and ducked his head between them like a turtle.
“That’s enough!” Dr. Grayson snapped. “Big, I’m glad to have you on this team. May I call you Big, too?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Newman snapped.
“It’s okay. When you work as hard as we’re going to work, we can’t stand on ceremony. Now, gentlemen, I’m going to go get the tractor, and we are going to clean out as much of this barn as we can manage before quitting time.”
For a civilian and a woman, Steve thought, she handled herself extremely well. She hadn’t allowed Newman to walk over her, and she’d shown real compassion toward Big Little, who was obviously used to being taunted. There hadn’t been a lot of kindness in Steve’s life these past years, and he realized how much he missed it. And from a beautiful woman…
Allowing Dr. Grayson to become a distraction would be a mistake. He’d have to watch himself.
ELEANOR WAS MILDLY ANNOYED when she found that the men had to march all the way back to the mess hall for lunch. She decided to ask the warden if they could bring their lunches with them in future. Although the cows wouldn’t require a great deal of coddling, she’d need the men on site for as many hours as possible during the day if she was to teach them.
She drove to her cottage for a quick lunch, looked at the pile of packing boxes and the small empty rooms with dismay, and wound up eating her salami-and-cheese sandwich standing at the counter in the galley kitchen before she drove back to the barn.
The men had returned before her. Like soldiers detailed to dig latrines, they didn’t seem anxious to start without her. They lounged on the grass, enjoying the late-October weather. She heard Sweet Daddy groan as she got out of her truck, and she motioned him over to her. He smirked at the others and sauntered toward her truck.
“Move it!” the CO snapped. She knew from Precious that Newman had a reputation for sadism, and that his nickname was Lard Ass. She doubted he’d be pleased if she called him that.
Sweet Daddy’s saunter changed to a lope.
“Hold out your hands,” Eleanor said when he reached her.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I noticed you seemed to be having difficulty earlier. I don’t know how you’ve managed to avoid manual labor thus far in your sentence, but at the moment you’re courting a bad infection in those blisters. Possibly some of the rest of you are, as well. Mr. Newman, I believe I asked that these men be issued heavy leather work gloves.”
Every head turned toward the guard. For a moment he said nothing, simply glared at Eleanor with angry, piggy eyes. “Yeah. Some kind of mix-up.”
Eleanor inclined her head. “You don’t by any chance have the gloves with you, do you? It would certainly be easy to forget to give them out.”
Newman glared at her.
“Oh, well, I can call the supply office on my cell phone. No doubt they’ll issue the gloves in the morning,” Eleanor said. She kept her voice mild, but she could see Newman knew a threat when he heard one. She was furious with herself for not checking on the gloves earlier.
She also didn’t know why she guessed that Newman might have the gloves, but one look at his enraged face told her she was right. She had to fight to keep her eyes on his. He looked away first. Good thing. She was starting to shake.
“Yeah. Maybe I forgot I had ’em.”
“Perfectly understandable. But I’d appreciate your distributing them now. Elroy, let me clean those hands and put some bandages on them.”
“And I get to sit down, right?”
“No. You’ll be fine with gloves.”
She heard the snickers from the other men. Sweet Daddy curled his lip and threw her a glance of such malevolence that she stepped back a pace.
She treated his hands and watched as Newman gave him a pair of heavy gloves, which he pulled on with a grimace.
“Anybody else have bad blisters?” she asked. No one answered.
“Fine, then put on your gloves and let’s go back to work. I think we can finish cleaning out this muck before quitting time if we really try.” She knew she sounded like a schoolmarm with a bunch of kindergartners, but she couldn’t seem to strike the right note with them.
The way they watched her and moved around her reminded her of Rick Hazard’s remark about her whip and chair. It was like being in the midst of a pride of lions. She had no way of knowing whether they’d had their fill of prey or not.
Newman couldn’t have forgotten he had those gloves. He had withheld them out of pure meanness. And for half the day he’d gotten away with it. She’d be more careful in the future.
She squared her shoulders and walked ahead of the men toward the tractor, which sat on the concrete pad in front of the barn. They followed.
Without warning, she felt a pair of muscular arms around her waist. She was lifted off her feet and swung violently away from the tractor.
“Hey!” Newman yelled.
She was hoisted across Steve Chadwick’s chest. His cheek brushed hers. She could feel the stubble and smell the musky scent of his sweat.
“Snake!” Big screamed.
From her position on Steve’s hip she looked back at the concrete. In the shadow cast by the tractor curled the largest copperhead she’d ever seen. One pace more and she’d have stepped on it. It had been sleeping, but now it lifted its triangular head and prepared to defend itself.
“Damn!” Newman hauled out his gun.
Steve said quietly, “If you plan to shoot at that concrete, I’m sure the doctor and the rest of us would appreciate the chance to take cover from the ricochet behind one of the posts.”
“How else we gonna kill it, smart ass?” the CO hissed.
Gil Jones, as though his dragon tattoo conferred immunity from copperhead venom, took one step to the side, reached down, grasped the copperhead right behind its skull, hefted it one-handed while with the other he kept the writhing tail from wrapping itself around his arm. He took a couple of steps toward the open meadow and hurled the snake end over end the length of a football field into the tall weeds.
He threw an arrogant glance at Newman and returned to his place in the group.
“Thanks. You can put me down now,” Eleanor gasped.
“Right,” Steve said, and let her slide down his body.
She could feel her pulse thrumming in her throat. Her skin tingled where his hands had touched her. Fear. The residue of fear. That was all it was.
To cover her nervousness, she went to Gil. “Thanks. How on earth did you learn to handle snakes? I have to work with them from time to time, but I’m still terrified of the poisonous ones.”
For a moment she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he looked across the meadow to the general area where the snake had fallen and said so softly that she could barely hear him, “My people’s into snake handling. They say that if you got enough faith, you can drink poison and handle sna
kes and not be hurt.”
“Have you been bitten often?”
“Hell, no. I had faith, all right, faith that if they sank those fangs into me I was dead. I can throw a rattler clear to the Mississippi River. First chance I got, I run away, and I ain’t never been back.”
He smiled. Eleanor thought it was even more chilling than his normal stony expression.
“I was a great disappointment to my daddy,” he finished.
Not for the first time, Eleanor wondered if she was doing the right thing by not finding out what the members of her “team” had done to wind up in prison. Maybe imagining was worse than reality. Even if Gil looked like an ax murderer, he might be inside for nothing more sinister than stealing motorcycles.
She realized that Big hadn’t moved since the snake was spotted, and his face was ashen. If such a man could cower, that was what he was doing. “Big?”
He made an inchoate sound deep in his throat. He was petrified.
“Big man, scared of a little ol’ snake,” Sweet Daddy crooned.
“Hush, Elroy,” Eleanor said. “I didn’t notice you stepping forward to deal with it.” She touched Big’s shoulder. “It’s all right, he’s gone.”
“He’s out there someplace. He could come back.”
“Unlikely. And hey, we’ve got Gil to protect us, right, Gil?”
Gil shrugged.
“What if there’s more of them in there?”
“Too late in the season for a nest,” Gil answered. “We need us some big ol’ king snakes—keep the bad ones down.”
Until now, Robert Dalrymple had stood silent at the edge of the group. Now he took a step toward Gil. “Snake is snake. I see me another one, I’m gonna chop it in bits.”
“Yeah.” Newman said. “Hey, Jones, why the Sam Hill didn’t you kill the thing when you had it?”
“Got a right to live same as us. Just trying to find someplace warm before dark. This late in the year they get sluggish, can’t run away from you.”
Eleanor hesitated, then turned to Steve. She couldn’t hold his eyes. “Thank you again.”
“My pleasure.”
That deep voice as much as the words sent a jolt of heat through her. The others sounded as though they came either from the country or the “mean streets,” but Steve spoke like an educated man. He must be one of those white-collar criminals. He didn’t seem to belong with the others.
“So, barring unforeseen critters, let’s get back to work,” Eleanor said. She looked carefully around and in the tractor before she climbed aboard.
“I can run a tractor, ma’am,” Slow Rise said. “No call for you to have to do it.”
“Thanks, Slow Rise, you can take over tomorrow or when I’m not here. Today I’d rather have you on the ground directing where to drive and how deep to dig.”
“Yes’m.”
They worked through the warm afternoon without further incident. Sweet Daddy kept up a litany of complaints, but the others worked in near silence. At one point she looked around for Newman and found him propped against the side of the barn in the sun sound asleep. Great protection. Any of the men could have overpowered him. She didn’t wake him. She’d already made an enemy of him.
Maybe she could get another CO assigned to her. Preferably one that wasn’t vicious or ill-tempered—and one that didn’t sleep on the job.
She was beginning to feel more comfortable with the inmates—at least some of them—than she did with the guard.
ELEANOR LOOKED DOWN at her grimy arm and brushed the dirt off the face of her wristwatch. Four-thirty. The men were supposed to work from eight in the morning until five in the afternoon—later if she needed them for something special.
Since Warden Portree agreed to let the men work nights and weekends when necessary—the animals would have to be fed and watered Saturdays, Sundays and holidays—she had to agree to see that they were properly checked in and out of their dormitories. And to have a CO with them. “I’ll set up a roster,” she’d told him.
Today the men must be completely exhausted. They weren’t yet used to the hard physical labor they’d been doing for hours. With the exception of Sweet Daddy, who she was pretty sure goofed off every time her eyes weren’t on him, the inmates had worked harder and longer than she would have believed possible.
Tomorrow she’d have a private talk with Sweet Daddy. He’d either do his share of the work or she’d find someone else who would. This evening she wanted to give them all a break.
Everybody was filthy and sweating. She was certain her own face was streaked with grime. All she wanted was a shower. No doubt so did the men.
But could they have showers? They might only be allowed to shower on certain days of the week. If so, she’d have to get Warden Portree to make an exception for her crew. Tonight she’d request an exception from Newman. He’d better not refuse, or she’d see that Ernest knew how he’d slept on the job.
The pile of rotted manure and shavings that they’d dug out of the barn was as tall as Big, and looked rich enough to nourish the weakest vegetables. Portree should be pleased about that. He could never buy fertilizer one-tenth as rich for his hydroponic vegetable gardens.
But he could darn well have somebody else move it from the back rear of the barn to his gardens.
“Okay, guys, let’s knock off.” She leaned back in the tractor seat and pulled the kill switch for the engine. “I’ve got a cooler full of soft drinks in my truck if you’re interested.”
“Got beer?” asked Gil. “I could go for a brew.”
She shook her head. “You know better than that.”
Newman grumbled. “You got no call to supply sodas.”
“Sure I do. Big, how about you help me bring over the cooler, then we can all sit in the shade.”
He ducked his head and followed obediently. The cooler was large and full of semi-melted ice and soft drinks, but Big hefted it as though it were a roll of paper towels and carried it back to the concrete pad in front of the barn.
The shed roof over the pad projected ten feet or so beyond the walls so that trucks and stock could be unloaded in bad weather. At the moment that side of the barn was in shade, and the evening was already cooling, but the concrete still radiated warmth. She considered suggesting they bring the cooler inside. The men, however, seemed to prefer being outside—anywhere outside—to being within walls.
She handed out drinks, then realized as she took one herself that she’d have to sit beside someone. Even so small an action could be misconstrued. She sat on the cooler, instead.
“Plenty more.”
The men had simply opened their throats and poured the soda down. She stood, bent over, and realized all they could see was her upended denim-covered rear. She straightened quickly. “Big, why don’t you hand them out?”
He seemed grateful to be chosen and shuffled over.
When she sat again, she said, “Here’s the plan for tomorrow.” Groans. “The worst part is over. Tomorrow you’ll be helping the painters, setting up the office and the storeroom, and rebuilding the fences that divide the pastures. The old barbed-wire fences are twenty years old but still in fairly good shape in most places. The posts are concrete and broken ones have been replaced during the years. We’ll still have to walk the fence lines, mark the few posts that may need to be replaced, restring wire and enclose the bull’s stall and paddock in electric fencing to keep him in.”
“Just like us,” Robert said.
She caught her breath. He was right, but what could she say to that? “This electric fence will simply give him a jolt when he touches it.”
“Yeah, up at Big Mountain, we touch the fence, we get a lot more than a jolt.”
“Will it stay on all the time, ma’am?” Slow Rise asked.
“Good question. Depends on the bull we get, as I’m sure you know, since you raised cattle.”
“Yes’m.”
She turned to the others. “Bulls are as individual as people. Some of them will te
st the electric fence a couple of times and never go near it again. Others will try it every time they go out to pasture. Still others will take the jolt and keep right on going—straight through.”
“And some jump over.” Slow Rise grinned at her.
“If we get one like that, we send him back where he came from. Once a bull learns to jump out, there’s no way to keep him in.”
Robert again. “Come on, man. Bulls can’t jump.”
“Hell, they can’t,” Slow Rise said. “Why, I’ve seen a bull jump a five-foot fence soon as look at you.”
“Nah, old man, you’re crazy.”
Slow Rise surged to his feet with blinding speed for a man who had to be over sixty. In an instant he stood over Robert, his fists clenched, his face dangerously red. “You take that back.”
The kid raised his hands in front of him. “Hey, man, chill, okay?”
“Sit down.” Newman’s voice was dangerously hard and flat.
The moment passed, but Eleanor realized how close to the surface violence flowed among these men. She glanced over at Steve, who hadn’t moved, his knees drawn up, his fine-boned hands dangling between them.
He was watching her, possibly had been watching her throughout the exchange. She felt her skin flush and looked away quickly. The connection between them had been—was—visceral. As though they were alone. She shivered and knew he’d seen her reaction.
“Okay, guys, drop the empties into the cooler, and, Big, would you put it back in my truck for me? Thanks.”
“Up.” Newman prodded Sweet Daddy with the end of his baton.
“Ow, man, ain’t you got nothin’ better to do with that thing?”
“Don’t you sass me, little man.”
The men stood and formed a ragged line.
“Oh, La—Mr. Newman—the men will be allowed to shower and change into fresh clothes when they get back to the compound, won’t they?”
“Huh?”
“Let me rephrase that. They—we—all smell like goats. We’re filthy. They should shower and change before they come in contact with any of the other inmates, not only for comfort but for health reasons.”
The Payback Man Page 4