My Cowboy Freedom

by Z. A. Maxfield

  Skyler smiled faintly. “Thank you, ma’am, but that’s not necessary. I’ll do my job on what sleep I can get like the rest.”

  “Still, you were very kind, Sky. I won’t forget it.”

  “It was nothing.” Sky sat back and drew his cowboy hat down over his face. I didn’t know what to make of him sometimes. Was he really the humble, kinda-shy guy he seemed to be? Or did he shrink from the spotlight because he couldn’t bear scrutiny.

  Oh, man. I wasn’t sure it mattered to me just then. He met my gaze and—once again–held it a solid second too long. That’s a long time. Eons. Plenty of time to know Sky wanted the same thing I wanted.

  I blurted. “Don’t you think Sky should get a phone as soon as possible?”

  Sky shook his head. “I don’t need a—”

  “For work,” I bolstered my case. “What if the boss needs him for something and he can’t get in touch?”

  As she pulled to a stop in front of the ranch house, Elena breathed out a soft sigh. “I think it’s up to Sky whether he wants a cellphone or not. He can take one of the radios on the trail. You can show him how to use it.”

  “Okay.” Still shaky, I left the cab and busied myself with my backpack and guitar. Maisy stayed next to me until I released her to do her business in the bushes.

  “Let me get that for you.” Elena took my instrument.

  “Give me a minute, Elena. Please?”

  “Come in soon, m’hijo.” Elena shot me a sideways glance before she headed inside.

  Sky’s boots crunched over the gravel behind me. I turned a little too sharply and had to use the truck for balance. Not smooth.

  “Short leash,” Sky said.

  “Yeah. Sometimes they treat me like a kid.”

  “But you’re not a kid, are you?”

  “No.” I asked, “Why did you do that, before?”

  He took a step back. “Do what?”

  I lowered my voice. “Why did you touch my hand like that?”

  “Are you saying you didn’t—” He frowned at me. “Wasn’t that okay?”

  Shaking my head wasn’t smart, given how weak I felt. My brain felt loose and squishy. The motion made me dizzy. Ice-cold fear filled my throat. kept me from saying what I wanted, which was: It’s more than okay. The touch of his hand was everything, when I had nothing.

  I wanted to say, Do it again, but pride kept me silent.

  My mouth dried. “I don’t need somebody to hold my hand, is all.”

  “That was for me.” He took a step toward me without looking directly at me.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Maybe I wanted to hold your hand. Maybe I needed that. I didn’t analyze why I did it.”

  “Are you messing with me?”

  “Why would I?” He pulled his hat off and slapped his thigh with it. Dirt flew everywhere. Moonlight caught it in midair, made it sparkle like fairy dust.

  “I don’t remember my seizures. Then it takes me a while get reoriented afterward.” I gripped my backpack tightly. “What you did was real nice. Thank you.”

  Maisy came back to us, she stopped next to my leg before bounding up two of the porch steps. She glanced back to see if I was coming.

  Skyler looked dead on his feet but still he asked, “You need anything else before I go?”

  I hesitated. I didn’t want the night to end just yet but he was so tired. Could I stretch it out just a few more minutes? “It might be a good idea for me to walk a little.”

  “You sure you’re up to that?”

  “If I go slow. You mind? It helps. I don’t stiffen up as much.”

  “Sure.” His lips gave a little quirk. “I mean, no. I don’t mind.”

  I left my pack on the porch and followed him toward the bunkhouse. We walked at a slow pace, a lazy pace, like you’d go if you didn’t want to get to your destination anytime soon. Maisy joined us like a shadow.

  Incredibly, he laced his fingers with mine. I was afraid if I acknowledged it, he’d take it back.

  So I asked, “How was your first cattle drive?”

  “It went about like I expected.” He smiled at some memory before tugging his hat down so I’d have to bend over to see his eyes. “I disgraced myself. Tad and them were nice about it.”

  “You’ll get the hang of it soon enough.”

  “They said I did okay for a first timer. I liked it.”

  I kicked a dried seed pod, sending it rolling up the path ahead. Maisy glanced at me. I let let her go, watching her scramble off into the bushes to chase it. When I stepped into the shadows after her, Sky came with me. And just then, I remembered Sky’s criminal record.

  I was practically playing hide-and-seek with a man I knew had killed someone.

  At the thought, I froze, but a twig snapped under my foot. I jumped, like in the movies.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Sure.” I knew every inch of the ranch. Because of my size Sky was no match for me. But I wondered if I’d have the will to hurt him. If it really came down to a contest between the two of us—

  “Hey.” He reached for the side of my face—cupped it in his hand. I wasn’t ready. I startled and we bumped noses awkwardly. Our teeth clacked together, bruising our lips. My God, he’d been trying to kiss me. And I’d— I’d jumped like he was holding an ax over my head. I was so embarrassed I could hardly move.

  That was a piss-poor attempt at a kiss, but Jesus, it wasn’t unwelcomed.

  “Ow.”

  “Shiiiiiit,” he whispered. “Pretend you can’t see me.”

  “Huh?” Pretend . . . ?

  “Pretend I’m invisible. Pretend that awkward shit never happened.” He took a low, crouching step away. “I was never here.”

  “But it did happen.” I pulled him back. “And you are here.”

  “Oh, you want the truth.” The shadows aged his face, although his words and his actions—even his grin—were boyish. “That’s important to you, is it?”

  “Somewhat.” I liked this Skyler because he was even more awkward than me. And the moon loved him. In the sallow moonlight he was beautiful and scary at the same time, like my very own personal gargoyle.

  I’ll pretend I didn’t just picture that.

  He licked his lips. “The truth is if we talk about what just happened, I might lose the nerve to try it again.” He eyed me for a couple of seconds, still as stone. Probably, he was waiting for me to say something stupid because that’s what I usually did.

  Eventually he asked, “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

  Oh, come on. I widened my eyes at him. You can’t tell me not to talk and then ask a question. No fair.

  Because I really, really want another kiss.

  Really.

  He gripped my upper arms, or rather, he tried, because even though his hands weren’t small, he couldn’t get them around my biceps which are—ahem—a matter of much personal pride.

  Dazed by my desire, hoping he’d put his hands on me some more, I leaned in. Then he leaned too. Our mouths met. I felt his smile bloom over mine—a warm, granola-bar-flavored sunrise made of lips and teeth and finally, the smooth and sexy brush of a wet tongue. He skimmed his hands down my arms, letting his fingers make a feast as he passed over my elbows, forearms, wrists, and hands.

  When I gave a tug he pulled away, but because he’d kissed me I felt free to reach for him again. I cupped his jaw between my palms and rubbed my thumbs over his stubble, tracing the outline of his soft, full lips and the curve of his jaw like a blind man, and he was perfect. Hard, yes. Rough. But perfect.

  Inside me, some kind of sexual pilot light roared to life.

  I wanted him so bad.

  I wanted him right there, right then, but . . .

  “This okay?”

  He nodded. “Whatever you wan
t.”

  “But”—I hesitated—“what do you want?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  Alarm bells went off in my head, although my dick was still going along with the program at that point. Skyler was exhausted. We were both running on fumes and I’d had a seizure. Elena was waiting. If I didn’t come back soon she’d come looking for me.

  “Anything.” He kissed his way down my neck to my shoulders while his fingers got busy with my belt buckle. Dark desperation colored his words, “You want my mouth or my ass?”

  “Wait. What?”

  I like a man willing but half-conscious?

  “Wait.” With a gasp that felt wrenched out of me, I grabbed his hands. “Aren’t you tired?”

  “If you need me, I’m down. I’m okay.” He didn’t look okay at all. He sank to his knees like a sigh. “I’m so tired I won’t even notice.”

  Oh, hey now. “Listen up, Skyler. If I fuck you, you’ll notice.”

  He glanced up at me with confusion and something more—a momentary flicker of panic. He moved with renewed desperation, as if I’d scold him for doing this wrong.

  “Don’t you want me?” He pulled his hands away. Went for my belt buckle again.

  “Not tonight.”

  His face paled.

  Okay, wow. Weird. “It’s okay Sky, I’m just—”

  “Sorry.” As quickly as he’d hit his knees, he rose. “I’m so sorry. I can’t think what came over me, except it’s been a really long day.”

  As he blinked up at me, he seemed to be looking for a sign. Apparently he didn’t find it because his hands shook when he scrubbed them over his face.

  “You’re not mad, are you?”

  “No. Of course I’m not mad. I’m just tired.” Gently, I pushed him away from me. “You should get some sleep too.”

  “I’m sorry.” He took a step back, eyes stricken. Breathing hard like he’d done something just awful. “I am pretty beat. I’m sorry if what I did back there made you feel—”

  “There’s no need to apologize.”

  “I should go.” His smile was narrow. Sheepish.

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll walk with you as far as the bunkhouse, if that’s okay,” I said.

  Sky jammed his hands back into his pockets and nodded.

  “Not for, um. You know . . . ” I waved off what had just happened with a glance back toward the ranch house. “I’m just not ready to go inside yet.”

  He nodded. At that point, I was frankly worried he wouldn’t make it to the bunkhouse on his own.

  Maisy trudged along beside us. Occasionally, she’d glance up at Sky, and then back at me, like she wanted to know what was going on. I could tell she was wondering what we were doing, wandering around at night like that. Maybe she thought I’d taken on Sky as a project, and now she had to look after him too.

  Maybe I had done just that.

  Chapter 17

  Sky

  It was a motherfucking mess, my coming on to Rock like that. Despite his words, I could tell he wanted me. I’d backed off ’cause he’d said wait, and it was stupid anyway, stepping up to him then.

  I was probably just feeling that desperation I always felt when I was the new guy, whether it was school or prison or this new job.

  I had to fit in. Had to find something I could do or—

  What? Like hulking over my food so no one would steal it, I guess I’d also gotten used to offering my ass up for comfort or protection or whatever. The guards had called us animals, and in a way they were right. Good manners and rank desperation don’t line up.

  By the time Rock and me made it to the bunkhouse I was a walking skeleton. I didn’t feel my limbs anymore.

  “I need to clean up. So...” I hoped he’d at least give me a hint why he was still there.

  “I’ll wait here if it’s okay.” He dwarfed the only chair in the room.

  “At least make yourself comfortable while I’m gone.” I pointed toward the bed before grabbing my towel and leaving the room. Maisy gave me a doggy stare. “You too, Maisy. Mi casa es su casa and all that.”

  Rock’s expression as I left the room was relaxed, so maybe I hadn’t screwed things up too bad.

  I took the quickest, hottest shower I could and still, by the time I made it back to the room I was shaking all over. Rock lay on the bed, sound asleep. His slow, rhythmic breathing was even and soft, absent the snoring you’d think a guy like him would do. It was a little thrill, watching him like that. It was like he belonged to me. He was open and defenseless while he slept but my bed was too small; his calves, ankles, and feet hung off the end.

  He was so beautiful it was hard to breathe.

  While I was staring at Rock, Maisy watched me. I had the strangest notion she could read my mind, and she was allowing me my little crush, my little fantasies, but she was keeping an eye out too, making sure I didn’t get too greedy or too close so she wouldn’t have to rip my throat out.

  I grabbed one of the two plump pillows off my bed—the one under Rock’s head wasn’t going anywhere. There was an extra blanket on the bed and I just pulled that one down over me. You’d think I’d have shoved my face into my pillow and grabbed a little shut-eye. But I’d let my fear build up and now it overwhelmed me. I lay there running hot and cold—shivering with gooseflesh one minute and burning up, sweating buckets the next. I listened to how fast my heart was going while the jagged lightning of anxiety raced up and down my spine.

  First, I jammed my fist into my mouth and curled up on my side hoping it’d pass. When that didn’t work, I pushed the blanket off and started doing push-ups . . . But nope. It wasn’t my body that was the problem. My body had nothing left to give. I fell onto my stomach again, earning a curious grunt from the dog.

  It was my brain, galloping down a hundred miles of bad road, that was the enemy, not my body, and there was no hope I’d sleep until I got my mind settled down.

  I’d learned to quiet my racing thoughts inside.

  With that many people, that much machinery, the noise alone could drive you insane if you didn’t find a way to burn off all that subtle, gut-level irritation.

  The noise was excruciating: The metallic clang of gates and bars, the clank of chains, the growl of ventilation. Trays dropping, carts rolling on metal wheels. All the sounds of industry and human life—laughter, crying, screaming, singing—bouncing off the steel and brick and concrete, raging all around you night and day until you almost started praying you’d go deaf so you couldn’t hear anything at all.

  I’d learned over time to read scripture or draw and it helped to quiet my fears. If those failed, I sometimes benefitted from old-fashioned on-your-knees prayer. I don’t know who I thought I was praying to. I’m not sure that mattered as much as the punishment from a concrete floor.

  But when praying and pain are all you have to work with, you make them work. You pray out loud if you want because no one cares. You pray to whoever makes sense because whoever they taught you to pray to has totally forgotten your sorry ass.

  You pray and then you feel better, or you don’t, and nothing ever changes except the time of day.

  At the Rocking C, it was a different kind of noisy, but I felt stupid praying there. I felt exposed and alone and very, very far away from whatever I was praying to.

  Which was weird, because I used to pray inside with confidence.

  “Father in heaven.” My words were voiceless whispers. I hoped Rock wasn’t listening but I was used to a lack of privacy so it hardly mattered. “Thank you for this day . . .”

  Images flashed in my mind: hot coffee under fading starlight, riding out with the others, the beauty of the landscape, the horses, the rightness and simplicity of nature. Going with Elena, making myself useful to Rock.

  Except working cattle feels like being a prison guard, in that you
’re moving the herd of “inmates” from place to place, keeping them from escaping, and putting them through gates and such. You’re sorting, separating, medicating, and seeing to their feed and care, but there are so many of them, and they are so much bigger than you are.

  They’re contrary too and so you resort to yelling and whistling and sometimes giving them the toe of your boot if you need to, so I was conflicted, because I’m not really that guy—the one who goes around telling people to move. Or cows, even.

  I’m normally the one that moves and cattle are actual animals. But I figured so was I, technically. Plus I’d had firsthand experience at how fast that veneer of civilization falls away. Some of those mature bulls were probably way smarter than me.

  I kept having to watch Tad and Julio and them to make sure I was doing right. None of them were real forthcoming about how things go either. That’s the difference between “Inside” and “The World.” Inside, everyone wants to tell you “their secret” for doing time.

  I wished Rock was a cowboy. That would make things so much easier. Especially if Rock wanted a friend as much as I did—or at least if he wanted someone who wasn’t a family member or a dog to hang around with. Because while it looked to me like everyone loved him plenty, he didn’t seem to smile as much as a guy like him should smile.

  Happiness kind of snuck up on Rock, I’d noticed. But Rock ought to be happy all the time.

  While I watched, a deep V formed between his brows. Was he worried? Or having bad dreams? Whenever I complained about a bad night, ’Nando would wrap his big hands around my skull and press just hard enough to make my eyes water. But then he’d rest his forehead against mine and breathe with me until I knew I’d be okay. Somehow, he always knew what I needed from him.

  Aw, shit.

  ’Nando . . .

  If only I could have taken some of ’Nando’s confidence with me. He was too old for me. When I’d arrived in prison at eighteen, he’d been fifty-four, three times my age. He was soft and a little saggy over the muscle he’d built up weightlifting and he’d had a hawk-like nose and rough dark skin. He wore his hair long, braided beneath a knit beanie, because while his hair wasn’t receding, it was thinning a little on top, and he was vain about it.