After picking up a few empty beer bottles and setting my mug in the sink, with a gleam in his eye, Chad continued. “So…you’re back!”
I nodded my head. "Yep, I'm back," I said, as I slid my shot glass over for him to refill. The Crown was going down smooth and also loosening my tongue. "I came back to Cody — well Meeteetse, really."
Chad's head whipped back like I had taken a punch at him. "Meeteetse, that's thirty or forty miles away."
"Bought a used fifth wheel camper...staying in a campground over on the Greybull River where it’s nice and peaceful,” I said, rolling the shot glass around in my fingers.
Chad looked over at a customer who was trying to get his eye. Then before he walked over to take the man's order, he faced me and nodded. "That's right. Your family doesn’t live here anymore. Now I remember.”
I looked down at the bar and shook my head and waited for Chad to come back before I explained what had happened. "Soon after I left to join the Navy, my folks divorced, and my Mom and her boyfriend moved to Cheyenne and Dad moved back to Dallas — in with my grandmother.” Then I rolled my eyes. “What a fucking disaster! I don’t talk to either of them much anymore, but I do call Granny now and then.”
About the time I was ready to make my retreat, Chad refilled my shot glass again. So I hung around and continued our conversation.
"I'm sorry to hear that."
Then Chad shook his head, and his voice cracked. “Dad is gone now. He died five years ago from a sudden heart attack. And, well, I was already helping out here at the saloon. So I stayed and helped Mother with the business. She was a nervous wreck trying to keep up with the ordering, the cooks, and the waitress schedule, so I took over.” Chad paused a moment and chuckled. “Now all she does is come in to close-out the cash register each day. I think she likes to count the money.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your father,” I said, hoping the tone of my voice sounded sincere enough. After being around the carnage of war, and seeing friends die right before my eyes, I had become callous to death, even though it's icy fingers still gripped my heart at times. No matter what I did — drinking, drugs, women, or meditation — I still had that gnawing, cold ball of despair hidden inside of me somewhere.
“Things aren’t the same anymore, man,” Chad said, as he took the towel off his shoulder and began wiping the bar. Then he looked up at me with a gleam in his eyes and changed the subject. “Remember Sheila Doherty? She broke her back last summer. Fell off a horse or something,” Chad said. “And Paul…” Chad pantomimed like he was slinging a newspaper into someone's front yard. “…the guy who used to do the paper routes. He ran away with Nina Browning five days after she had married Mike Bledsoe.”
Chad went on. I nodded with no expression and glanced around the room. But when he asked, “Do you remember Samuel Turlington?” Chad suddenly had my full attention. I looked up and watched him serve drinks to the couple sitting next to me and rubbed my arm. Then Chad returned, throwing the rag over his shoulder. “You remember him, right? Rachel Turlington’s old man. They live out by the —“
“Yes, I remember them. What about Sam Turlington?”
“He’s real sick ... some kind of disease that makes him tired all the time. Folks around here never heard of it." Chad squinted his eyes, leaned closer over the bar toward me, and added, "Mother says he's just putting it on...his selfish way of keeping his daughter home on the ranch. The way I understand it she had several college opportunities.”
“What do you mean, Chad?” I asked him, trying to keep my voice even.
“I don’t know. I’ve forgotten the exact name of the disease. Rachel had to drive him to Cheyenne for weeks to the doctor — poor girl.”
I crossed my arms over the bar and looked around, like I was afraid someone would hear what I was about to ask. “Not the disease, Chad. What do you mean she didn't go to college?”
Chad opened his hand's palms up and shrugged his shoulders. “I mean that she’s still here, man. She didn't go anywhere. She's running the Pitchfork Ranch all by herself."
"Oh, I see." I swallowed hard and stood up, reaching into my jean’s pocket for my wallet. After hearing Rachel was still in town, my breath began to come in hitches, and I rubbed the back of my neck. I could feel my PTSD kicking in. I couldn't help but think I had made a mistake, returning to Wyoming to try and forget about the last eight years. I had assumed Rachel had gone on with her plans. So I whispered to myself, “I need to get out of this place. Fuck going to the rodeo!”
As I fumbled to take out my credit card, Chad looked over at me. “Are you okay? You look pale!”
I nodded my head but didn’t answer, when he said, “It's on me. It’s nice to see ya.” I didn't even thank him; I just turned and took off out the door.
Out in the parking lot, I yanked open the door to my truck and started the engine. As I pulled into the street and stomped the gas, I was impressed that the old truck still had enough in it to lay rubber for at least twenty feet down Sheridan Avenue. As I glanced up into the rearview mirror and put Cody behind me, I felt relieved, at least for the moment. But I knew come Monday morning I’d be paying Sam Turlington and the Pitchfork Ranch a visit.
Chapter 5
Rachel
Every Monday morning, soon after the sun came up, it was a ritual that I would fix chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. Daddy liked a stack of four, with lots of syrup and three strips of bacon. After breakfast was over it was time for me to get started mowing hay in the field not far from the house. I didn’t mind sitting there inside the air-conditioned cab of the tractor, pulling the sickle mower, but it was hard for me to hitch it up without help — the tongue on the mower was heavy.
After placing the dirty dishes in the sink, I helped Daddy to the porch and set a bottle of water on the table beside his rocking chair. In an hour or so Sally would be arriving to help him with his morning bath and give him his pain shot. She would fix our lunch and dinner and do light housework, but her primary job was to look after Daddy and keep him company and administer his medication.
I bend down to kiss him on the cheek. "Now this morning I'm going to get the mowing done. Just like we talked about last night. Then after lunch, I’ll saddle up Georgie-B and ride up to the east pasture to check on the mares and make sure the new valve on the automatic watering trough is still working. I have my two-way radio clipped to my belt and should be back before eleven o'clock."
I felt the corners of my mouth turn down when Daddy looked away without saying one word to me. Over the last few months, his personality had changed, and his medication for depression wasn't working. Sometimes he had a dark, haunting expression on his face, and on other days his moods were up and down like a yo-yo. One minute he would be talkative and laugh some, the next silent and uninterested in what either Sally or I had to say. I never knew what to expect from him, and not knowing how he would be from moment to moment made me anxious. I didn't blame him though; it was not his fault that he had come down with a debilitating disease.
Just as I was headed back inside to fill a canteen with water Daddy tugged on my arm to get my attention. "Look over yonder." Then he pointed down the lane with a shaky finger. "By the size of that dust cloud, I'd say that was a truck headed up our way and not Sally's car."
I turned to see what he was talking about just as an old beat up red pickup came into view. I was standing there with my hand on my hip and Daddy was rocked forward in his chair. We were both curious about our unexpected visitor.
The first thing I saw was a pair of dusty boots step to the ground and noticed the man who exited the truck was wearing a tan Stetson that had a dark stain from sweat and oil around the hat band. His light hair was cut just below his ears, and he had a scruffy beard. The dark aviator sunglasses covering his eyes made him appear mysterious and distant. When he peered at us without saying a word before he started up the sidewalk toward the porch, I noticed his features were familiar.
All of a sudde
n a warm feeling inside me began to stir, a primal kind of instinct. It started at the base of my spine and moved like a slow wave sweeping the breath out of me. By the time that wave reached my mouth the man was coming up the steps. I swallowed hard trying to find the words to at least ask who he was, but in my heart, I knew it was Kent Walker. My suspicion was confirmed when I heard him say, "Good morning, Sam." I was shocked, though, when he turned to me and didn’t at least offer a simple greeting. Instead, he stared right through me as if I never existed.
“Who's that?” I heard Daddy mumble. I tried to answer but my jaw was slack, and my lips were unable to form a word — or a syllable. I felt that same surprise and hurt that I did when I was collecting the pages of my valedictorian speech off the ground on graduation day.
"Sam," he said. "You knew me when I was in high school." Daddy was gazing at him, trying to figure out who he was talking to, but I was looking at Kent's body. I almost hadn't recognized him; he seemed so different. It was his walk that gave him away. His demeanor was harder and more calloused — even aloof. But he had his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his jeans, just like he used to. He was wearing a thin cotton t-shirt that stuck to his torso and clung to his well-defined abs. His head was turned to Daddy, ignoring me. What was he doing here? I thought he was still overseas somewhere.
"I'm sorry, but I don't recognize you. What is your name?" Daddy asked, looked up at Kent, confused and somewhat annoyed.
“Kent!” I blurted out. I felt my cheeks flush from the frustration of being ignored.
“Walker?” Daddy asked, his confusion turning to surprise and wonder. Instead of speaking, Kent pulled off his sunglasses so Daddy could see him more clearly. I had to catch my breath. Even though he wasn’t looking straight at me, I could see those same sexy sparkling green eyes.
“How are you, Sam?” Kent asked, with a matter-of-fact tone in his voice. I couldn’t even remember the last time he had spoken to my dad. It must have been in our junior year — back when Kent was still coming around to see me.
Daddy had chuckled a bit before he answered Kent's awkward question. “As you can see, I'm more or less a cripple." He paused a moment waiting for Kent to reply, but he didn't, so Daddy continued, "Where have you been, son?”
“Syria, sir." Kent turned to face me for a moment, then looked away as though I was a stranger. My mind was racing, trying to figure things out. If Kent didn't want to see me, why had he come? He must have known I was here — no, maybe he didn't. After all, the last time I had seen Kent I had just told him I was going to New York City and then to college.
Daddy's eyes got wide when he said, "Oh, that's right, you're a SEAL."
Kent nodded his head, "Yes, sir, that's correct. Served on SEAL Team 5.”
“SEAL Team 5! My Lord, son. I remember seeing on the news all about how your team rescued that diplomate and his wife who were being held captive by ISIS." Daddy paused a moment, then looked up and raised his arms for me to pull him to a standing position. Then he turned to Kent. "Since you're here, why don't you come inside and sit and tell me about your experiences."
Kent nodded and held open the screen door, and Daddy hooked his arm around my elbow and we started inside. My mind was in a state of confusion, wondering why Kent had shown up out of the blue and then chose to ignore me, and that wasn’t all that was happening.
My cheeks felt warm, and there was a ringing in my ears. And that spot between my thighs that had been ignored for so long was starting to dampen. The stirring I was experiencing was not one of a simple schoolgirl's crush. Kent had developed into a rugged man, with bulging muscles and had a sexy tattoo of a snake running down his arm. As Kent walked in front of us toward Daddy's recliner, I couldn't help but notice his firm ass was and how much wider his shoulders had gotten.
He stepped back as I eased Daddy into his chair and when I stood up, he asked, "Rachel, how are you?" I was expecting him to smile, but instead, his lips stayed in a straight line.
I felt my eyelashes flutter unexpectedly. At first, I looked away, then back at him before I replied. "I'm pretty good, Kent, how about you?" I was surprised at the sound of my voice. It was high pitched from anxiety, and I could tell I grinned too much in hopes he would respond with a gesture of kindness. Instead, he turned his attention back toward Daddy, who, I surmised, had no clue what was transpiring between us.
After listening to us, Daddy smiled, and said, "I got a curious question. Why the hell did a young cowboy from Cody, Wyoming — not known for developing champion swimmers — make a decision to become a Navy SEAL?"
Kent smiled and tipped his hat back. "I believed in the SEAL motto, sir."
"What's that, son?"
"Only easy day was yesterday. And it pays to be a winner."
Daddy looked out the window for a moment, then he smiled, and asked, "You were a champion rodeo roper if I remember right, weren't ya?”
"Yes, sir..."
Daddy turned back to face Kent and looked at him square in the eyes. “I’ve got a feeling you've come out here looking for a job. Am I right?”
"Yes, sir. I was raised on a ranch by a rancher…it’s in my blood," Kent said, and the two men grinned at each other.
I had kept quiet longer than I thought possible and finally interjected, “Where’ve you been living since you came back from Syria?”
Kent’s grin faded when he glanced over at me. I could tell by the way his eyes became two slits, he didn’t intend to respond to my question. Instead, he turned back to Daddy. “I'd like to speak to you alone, Sam.”
Daddy furrowed his brows at first. Then he looked up at me. "Rachel, why don't you excuse us and go out and check the mares.”
I shook my head in confusion and turned to Daddy. “I thought we discussed earlier that it was time to mow the hay first and check on the horses later.”
Daddy glanced up at me, and I thought I saw a gleam in his eye. “Why don't you take a nice ride on Georgie-B this morning? He could use the exercise."
“But Daddy, what about the hay? It needs to dry out so I can bale it,” I argued. “We’ll be needing more bales in a week or two. We only have five of the round ones left.”
Daddy cleared his voice. “You heard me, Rachel. Go on now and be on your way.”
I wanted to put my hands up over my face and cry, but instead, I smiled, and said, "Nice to see you, Kent." Then I turned to Daddy. "I see Sally is pulling up into the carport." I didn't look back at the men as I walked out of the room and closed the double doors behind me.
I started to walk outside but could see out the window that Sally was taking her time getting out of the car. So I put my ear up to the door and listened for a moment. I heard Daddy say, "So, you must have heard I need help, huh?”
"Yes, I heard it from Chad at the Silver Dollar Saloon."
By that time Sally was getting out of her car with a bag from Walgreen’s on her arm. I slipped out the front door and headed for the stable. I couldn't believe what was happening — Daddy was about to hire Kent Walker!
I ran all the way to the stable, pulled open the door to the tack room and sank onto the wooden floor. I wanted to scream; then I wanted to cry. I couldn’t control the hurricane of emotions whirling around in my head. I never expected Kent to show up out of nowhere — with no warning, with no time to prepare myself. I looked down at my tattered blue jeans and my stained t-shirt. If I had known Kent was coming to visit, or apply for a job, I would have least put on something more attractive.
I leaned back and sat for a few minutes, trying to figure why Kent had been so distant. I had to wonder if he was holding a grudge. Maybe he was still upset that I didn't respond the way he expected me to on graduation day. But that was eight years ago, and he had been to Syria; surely, he was more mature than to still be mad at me after all he must have gone through as a SEAL.
I saddled up Georgie and we headed out, with Frank, our dog following behind. Georgie picked his way along the rocky trail. We took a shortcut i
nstead of following the dirt road. I felt better just being there with the animals, out in the summer breeze. Then I began to wonder how I was going to handle Kent's coldness toward me since it was evident Daddy was going to hire him.
All of a sudden a white-tailed deer ran out in front of us. I gasped and gripped the saddle horn as Georgie bolted and reared up. “Whoa, boy…easy now.” Moments later I let out a sigh of relief as Georgie lowered his head and continued up the trail. I patted his neck. “Good boy! Good boy! That buck scared the bejesus outta me, too!”
After realizing how that dangerous situation could have turned into a tragedy if I had fallen and hurt myself, I knew Daddy was right. The truth was we needed a full-time ranch hand, and maybe Kent would be the one to stick around since he was from Cody and knew what to expect. I had to wonder, though, how I was going to control my desire for him and protect myself from getting hurt by his coldness.
A Distant Heart: A Contemporary Western Page 3