My Cowboy Freedom

by Z. A. Maxfield

  We sat around drinking coffee and eating breakfast burritos while light cracked the horizon. Some of the hands left for the barn, but Chandler and I went back for seconds. Elena’s cooking was going to spoil me. Scrambled eggs and beans and rice with fresh tortillas. Fresh salsa bursting with heat.

  After a few minutes, I recognized Julio on the back of the mare Tad’d brushed down the day before, Goldie. The boss headed over to give him some last-minute instructions.

  “Morning,” Tad lifted his coffee mug in greeting.

  “Morning.” I refilled my mug and tested the temperature before taking a big sip. I sat down across from him.

  “Did the boss tell you? You and me are heading into town today.”

  I spoke between swallows. “Shopping. Yeah.”

  “Don’t sound so excited.”

  I glanced up. “Since when is shopping exciting? I hate it.”

  “Yeah. Me too.” He looked around like he wanted to make sure no one could overhear. “But my girl works at Dent’s.”

  “I get how it is.” I ribbed him. “There’s a woman involved.”

  “Duh.” He shot me a look. “The town is kinda cool too. You’ll see what I mean.”

  The boss was still talking to Julio, whose horse danced beneath him, eager to be on the move. You could hear Chandler’s voice over everyone else’s. “I’ll get the trucks ready and call the McCaslin boys. Make sure they know to be on the access road at first light tomorrow.”

  “Got it.” Julio reined his horse around to join the rest of the riders. As they headed out, we watched.

  “Okay, Tad.” The boss turned his attention back to us. “You take the Bronco.”

  “Got it.” Tad took a last swig of coffee, tilting his head back to catch every drop.

  Chandler came to stand beside me. He dropped his hand on my shoulder, startling me. “New guy here needs boots, a decent hat, gloves, and real cowboy jeans that ain’t gonna fall off his skinny ass.”

  “Sorry.” I tugged nervously at the waistband of my thrift-shop specials, too big and too low, with thinning fabric on the seat and knees.

  “You don’t want to lose your pants while you’re herding cattle. You’ll moooooooon the cows . . . Get it?” Chandler’s joke was so dumb I couldn’t help laughing.

  Tad scrunched up his face like he smelled something bad. “That was terrible.”

  “I know. I know.” Chandler playfully knocked Tad’s hat askew before he went to get his own coffee. He sat down with us and made small talk while we finished up our food.

  Tad stood to clear his place.

  Chandler stopped him before he left. “See if Elena needs anything from town before you go, all right?”

  Tad gave him a nod. “I’ll check in with her when I get the keys.”

  “Where’s Rock this morning?” Even though it wasn’t too smart, I couldn’t stop myself from asking. I hadn’t spotted him yet, and it’s not like you could miss him.

  “Rock?” Chandler and Tad exchanged a look I couldn’t read. “He’s probably out doing his usual thing. Why?”

  I gestured toward the picnic table. “He doesn’t eat with the hands in the morning?”

  “He eats with Elena.”

  “Does he pitch in with the cattle sometimes?” I asked, glancing from Tad to Chandler, sure there was something I was missing, but unable to decipher what it was. Information is currency. I was curious about Rock precisely because everyone was so cagey about him. I wanted to know why he needed Maisy, among other things.

  Tad said nothing, and Chandler looked like he was debating how much he should say. “Rock don’t ride.”

  “How come?” At this I lost all caution. Why didn’t Rock ride? I couldn’t bear being near all those horses if I didn’t get to ride eventually. “I mean, I guess you’d need a big horse. Is he horse shy? Did he take a bad fall? Is that—”

  “It ain’t that.”

  Because they were being so stingy with answers, I tried a different question.

  “What’s Maisy trained for?”

  That stopped the conversation cold.

  They both stared at me, stony-faced. I guess I’d stepped right on a land mine. I wished I knew what it was. so I could avoid it next time. Well, if I was honest, I wanted answers. I’d just be more careful who I asked.

  “If Rock wants you to know about Maisy, he’ll be the one to tell you.” Chandler turned toward the still-dark western horizon. Then his expression hardened. “But I’d take it as a personal favor to me if you’d keep your distance from Rock. For a lot of reasons, he’s best left to Elena.”

  Well, that isn’t cryptic or anything.

  “Okay.” I pulled myself back from the edge. “I’m here to do a job, boss. Point me in the right direction and prepare to be awestruck.”

  Everyone laughed at that.

  “I’ll hold you to that. But first, Tad there”—he motioned—“is all set to help you get what you need in town.”

  Tad stood. “Yessir. I figure I’ll take him to Dent’s. You okay with that?”

  “Dent’s.” Chandler muttered the name like a curse. “You don’t have to take him to Dent’s. Why not Walmart? You could—”

  “Dent’s will have everything he needs. You really want to give your money to Sam Walton instead of your own—”

  “All right.” Chandler cut him off. “Take him wherever. Get him outfitted and get back here and stop wasting time.”

  I’d followed that exchange while trying to look like I wasn’t listening in. When the boss was out of earshot I asked, “What was that all about?”

  “Family stuff. Nothing to worry about.” Tad rinsed his mug. “I’m going to get the keys.”

  “All right.”

  I let the subject go then, but when we were in the Bronco heading for town, I asked about the boss’s sharp words. “What’s the boss’s problem with Dent’s?”

  “Boss is still pissed off. He don’t want to buy at Dent’s no more because Ryder Dent is Andi’s husband, and the boss just found out Ryder’s gay.”

  “That’s why he’s angry?”

  “Wouldn’t you be angry if you found out your son-in-law is gay?”

  “I guess it would depend on the situation.”

  “In what situation would that be okay?” Tad asked, as though he really couldn’t think of one.

  “Is that one of those questions you don’t need an answer to? Or—”

  “Boss just found out, is all. He doesn’t know who his grandson’s daddy is anymore. That’ll make a man hit the roof.”

  “So the boy isn’t Ryder’s?”

  “Andi says no.”

  That seemed clear enough. “She’d be in a position to know, right?”

  Tad glared at me. “Everyone wondered, because Andi is Chandler’s daughter and Ryder ain’t all that. But she up and married him anyway.” He leaned over and lowered his voice. “Come to find out, it was just some bargain they made. And now he’s fallen for the new doc and the boss is all kinds of fit-to-be-tied because he wanted her to settle down and give him more grandbabies. Andi ain’t the type to settle down. Never was.”

  “So it isn’t only the fact that Ryder’s gay that bothers him?” I crossed my fingers that I wouldn’t be getting my ass kicked anytime soon.

  “No, it ain’t.”

  Well, all right, then. Things were looking up.

  Then Tad dashed my hopes. “But ain’t that enough?”

  Chapter 8

  Sky

  Dent’s Feed and Seed was a homecoming. The big store smelled like sawdust, grains, animal feed, and leather. It was warped and cracked in all the same places and some of the vinyl flooring had worn through. But the retail area still featured brightly lit racks of gardening, ranching, and pet supplies, so I looked around while Tad talked to the girl behind the coun
ter.

  Tad told me the son-in-law coming out threw a wrench in the works at Dent’s too, and now his girl was anxious because she didn’t know what would happen with her job.

  She looked me up and down.

  I couldn’t tell if she liked what she saw.

  “Rainey, this is Sky Brody.” Tad introduced us. “He’s new to the Rocking C.”

  “Hey, Sky, pleasure to meet you.” She held out a dainty little hand and I shook it.

  “Rainey,” I said. “Pleasure.”

  “Sky here needs some gear.” Tad made a little shooing motion at me with his fingers. “Go on back there, now. Don’t be shy. Boss says you need decent boots, some wranglers, and a good hat.”

  Dent’s selection wasn’t that great unless you needed pet food. What really amazed me was all the things that didn’t used to be on the labels: gluten-free, grain-free, game meat, brown rice, organic, vegan . . . ?

  Vegan dog food?

  I found what I needed despite the dizzying refresher course in pet-food trends, and when I got back, Tad was on Rainey’s side of the counter, whispering something in her ear that made her bite her lip.

  I put my things down and decided I should go hunt up a few more. Give the guy some privacy.

  Instead, Rainey pushed Tad away and came around the counter. “Let me see that hat, honey.”

  She made me put it on before taking my face between her hands and turning my head from side to side. She tilted hers to study me from different angles.

  “Okay?” I asked.

  “No.” She picked up a second hat—the only other type they had—rolled it between her hands for a few seconds, and then put it on my head. “Take a look at that one. How’s that?”

  I did what she wanted and checked myself out in the mirror. I mostly didn’t recognize myself. I was twenty-six, but to me, I looked older. What is it they say? It’s not the age, it’s the mileage . . .

  “I need a pretty girl’s opinion, Miss Rainey.” I said, “You like this one better?”

  “Aw, now.” She tucked a little hank of hair behind her ear. “Yeah. That’s much better.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Get him a couple bandanas too, honey. Newbie rides drag.” Tad gave a mocking smile.

  “You, hush.” Rainey waved the unchosen hat at him. “Don’t listen to him, Sky. They take turns.”

  Tad stepped back. “Why you gotta spoil all my fun?”

  “Nobody your age likes what you think is awesome anymore.” She said the words with a certain sparkle.

  “Says who?” he clutched his chest in mock outrage and she sort of sassed him some more.

  These two were used to sparring. Probably, they’d been quarreling since elementary school.

  Tad paid for my clothes with cash from the Rocking C. I left them alone so they could make plans or whatever. While I waited, I walked to the corner and took a look at the town of Bitterroot.

  It wasn’t much of a town. There was a faded glory to the place, like Fourth of July bunting left up too long.

  Its heyday was over, but it was nostalgic. It was an A&W-root-beer-float, drive-in-movie, white-spire-church, and picnic-basket place behind a line of yellow caution tape. It was Happy Days in a Walking Dead world.

  I loathed myself for loving even the idea of it but I wanted that cowboy dream I’d had for so long.

  Going home meant returning to the Rocking C and Bitterroot, with its conservative, shabby pride was part of the bargain.

  Behind me, Tad fired up the truck. By the time I turned around, he’d pulled up next to the curb, so I put my packages into the backseat and got in.

  “Feel like a sandwich?” he asked. “I could use a beer.”

  Anxiety gripped me. No way. “We should probably get back.”

  “Nah, man. We drove all this way to town. We should at least eat something.”

  Didn’t he know? Was he going to make me say it? “I’m on parole. You know that, right?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “So I can’t drink alcohol. I can’t be in a bar. I’m not supposed to—”

  “Wow. No beer, even? That’s harsh. I thought you did your time.”

  “Parole is supervised time you serve outside. You’re not free until you serve your full sentence.”

  “So, technically, they can put you back?”

  “Exactly.” I said. “Not worth it.”

  “Not for a beer.” Tad agreed. “You’re allowed pussy, though, right?”

  . . . and now I knew what was important to Tad. “Yeah.”

  He gave his jaw scruff a rub like he was thinking on it. “Seems to me like between beer and pussy, pussy is going to get you into way more trouble.”

  “What can I say? That’s the life of a parolee for you. The eyes of Texas are upon me.”

  We drove through a no-name burger joint and then back to Dent’s so he could drop off lunch for his girl. He insisted on paying for all three of us, though. Which was good. The envelope ’Nando’s wife had given me was in the bunkhouse where I’d stashed it, unopened.

  I needed to find a better hiding place later that night. My PO could toss my place anytime. No way did I want to have to explain a fat wad of cash.

  “Boss said we shouldn’t ask questions about your past, but—”

  “Wait. He did?” That was news to me.

  For a minute, Tad’s eyes widened. “Okay. Yeah. Maybe that was supposed to be— Shit.”

  “No, it’s okay. Go ahead. Ask me whatever.” I prompted to get it out of the way. “It’s all public record anyway.”

  “What did you do, and how long were you in for?”

  “You need to know that why?”

  “C’mon. You’re living with us. I’ll find out eventually. Someone will tell me.”

  I relented. “I was convicted of voluntary manslaughter. I served eight years of a ten year sentence.”

  He nodded. Raised his brows, like, Go on . . .

  “That’s it. It isn’t any easier when you know, is it?”

  He looked mildly disappointed. “Not really.”

  “So, okay. We cool?”

  “No, we’re not cool. Was it a one-time deal? Or are you going to snap, and—”

  I threw a french fry his way. “Do you seriously think the state of Texas would let me out if I was going to snap?”

  “Parolees snap,” he argued. “They snap all the time on the news.”

  “I won’t snap.” I scrubbed my face with both hands. “Okay. I did snap. But only once in my whole life, man. And that was a very different deal.”

  He watched me warily. “How was it different?”

  “That wasn’t so much a snap as it was a slow-burning fuse. Ten years of taking shit. You know what I mean? It was, ‘You can come after me and it’s one thing, but if you come after someone I love, you’d better bring a fucking army.’ It was that type of snap.”

  “Oh, snap!” He glanced over to see what I thought of his fancy wordplay.

  “Hahaha. Not funny.”

  He was silent for a bit. “But you killed someone? Because they messed with someone you love?”

  “I was convicted for voluntary manslaughter, yes.”

  “Doesn’t even seem like a crime, though, does it? A man’s supposed to protect the people he loves.”

  “I agree.”

  “That is some fucked-up shit right there.”

  He slapped the steering wheel before reaching for the radio. Soon he was bobbing his head in time to Hank Williams.

  Apparently, he was satisfied I wasn’t a secret spree killer.

  “All right.” He nodded. “Back to the ranch. Your secret’s safe with me. I won’t tell a soul.”

  “Again,” I pointed out the obvious. “It’s a matter of public record.”

 
“Well, yeah.” He glanced at me. “I know that.”

  The rest of the ride went quietly. Cattle watched us pass without much interest. The horses seemed more wary. They jerked their heads as we sped by, as if they had to establish their turf.

  We rolled under the Rocking C’s arch at lunchtime, and despite the hamburger and fries I’d eaten, I was glad to see we hadn’t missed it. I piled my plate with fried chicken and potato salad, even as I gave a discreet glance around for Rock. He wasn’t there yet, or maybe he’d eaten before. I didn’t think I was considered an outsider anymore, but I still sat down at the picnic tables behind the bunkhouse.

  Julio appeared a few minutes later.

  “You can join us now, you know.” He lowered his head. “That was some dumbass shit yesterday. Boss says if Texas says you’ve served your time, that’s enough for us.”

  “Well . . . I—”

  “And between you and me, I’d have killed him too.”

  “Who?”

  “Tad says you killed some asshole who . . . you know.” At this, he did some eye thing I didn’t understand. “Raped your girlfriend.”

  Oh. Wait. “What?”

  “Look,” He glanced around and lowered his voice. “I won’t tell nobody. I think it’s cool, you know? Stand your ground.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Shh . . . We don’t gotta talk about it.” He made a c’mon gesture and then disappeared around the side of the bunkhouse.

  I hunched back over my food and ate. Things would probably be better if I kept some distance.

  And not just because apparently Tad was sharing my story and getting it all wrong.

  I pushed my plate away and let my head rest on my arms.

  Murder is complex to define. In Texas, there’s capital murder, murder, voluntary manslaughter, and involuntary manslaughter. In reality it’s like a judicial television with a rabbit-ear antenna. Your lawyer and a prosecutor for the Great State of Texas hold up the wires and twist the dials between them until the picture looks enough like what you did.

  Every murder is different and every bad guy has his reasons. But you can’t bring a dead man back to life and people don’t forget.