by Jake Mactire
“You think someone’s goin’ up there and herdin’ the cattle toward the roads for ’em?”
“I dunno. I don’t see as how it could be one of us who work or live here. Did you notice last night that Sheriff Johnston seemed to think it was weird also?”
“Can’t say I did, Jeffy. What makes you say that? Did he mention something?”
“No, but he did ask one of the search and rescue guys if he’d gotten something for him, and the guy gave him a couple of plastic bags. I couldn’t see what was in ’em though.”
“I was so shook up, I didn’t notice too much of anything. I will say one thing. Sheriff Johnston is really good at what he does. He asked about what each and every one of us was doin’ every time the cattle was rustled,” Mike said.
“You got that right. Let’s stop and think just what do we know?” Mike had his face screwed up in concentration.
“The rustlers have hit us twice. We’ve lost about twelve head of cattle. They’ve hit a couple of other ranches too. If they take six head each time, they must have a stock trailer to haul ’em in.”
“Unless they have a truck that they process the cattle in right there. It’d be safer for ’em. I sure as hell wouldn’t want to get caught with a truck full of cattle carryin’ someone else’s brand.”
“Makes sense, Jeff. That’d mean they’d need three trucks, one to process the cattle, a refrigerated truck to carry the meat, and a truck to carry horses so they could herd the cattle.”
“I don’t know, Mike. Think about how much a beeve weighs. If they were processing the cattle in one truck and keeping the meat in another, how’d they get the carcasses from one truck to another?”
“Good point. I wonder—”
I suddenly cut Mike off, “I wonder if there’s been more rustlin’ than just around here. Say they were hittin’ down by Pateros, or over by Tonasket or Okanagan. You look at that area, and the national forest is smack in the middle of it. Maybe somewheres in the middle of the forest, they have a camp where they process the cattle. They could truck ’em in from the different areas they stole ’em from. They could set up a pulley and generator to run it. That’d explain the lack of any signs of them butcherin’ the cattle right where they was rustled.” Mike was looking at me open mouthed.
“Yeah, it does kinda fit together. You gonna tell the sheriff?”
“I want to get a real detailed map of the area, including all those forest service roads. I want to make a bit of a case first.” We continued conjecturing and talking about what ifs all the way into Wenatchee.
We got to the hospital just as visiting hours started. We checked in at the front desk and headed up to Wayne’s room. Wayne was there, propped up in bed watching TV.
“Hey, Wayne, how ya doin’?” I asked as Mike nodded to him.
“My side hurts like hell. Ya know those hero movies where the hero just keeps goin’ after gettin’ shot? Well, they sure as hell are heroes.”
“How long they plannin’ on keepin’ ya here?” I sat down in one of the chairs and pulled it up close to the bed. Mike sat in the other one.
“They said they’re gonna keep me another night. Seems the wound got a bit infected on the ride back.” He gave Mike a long measuring look. “I wanted to thank you, son, for keepin’ your head and getting me back okay. Seems I was a damn fool to have us separate; either one of us could’ve gotten our heads blown off. Lucky they missed you when they shot at you.”
“No problem, Wayne; yesterday was a bit of a blur. I was just thinkin’ of getting the two of us to safety and stoppin’ your bleedin’. I was so riled, I don’t even remember what we talked about or me tellin’ you they shot at me too.”
Wayne took another long look at Mike.
“I heard the shots and assumed, son. Ya didn’t tell me. So, Jeff, you mind if I take a couple of days off after they let me outta here? I dunno just how much use I am gonna be at work for a week or so.”
“Sure, Wayne, take the week off, and don’t worry about your pay. You got it.”
“Mighty nice of ya, Jeff, much obliged.” We chatted with Wayne for another hour or so. I promised to bring him some airline size bottles of whiskey if they didn’t let him out tomorrow. He was gettin’ cantankerous, so I reckoned he was healin’ up just fine. We said our goodbyes, and Mike and I headed out to the street.
“You hungry there, buddy?”
“Hell, Jeff, I can just about always eat.”
“Anything special you got in mind?”
“Nah, nothing really comes to mind. We can get great burgers in Winslett, and Mexican don’t come no better than when José or Maria makes it. Anything’s fine with me.”
“How ’bout Chinese then?”
“Sounds good to me.” Mike smiled at me.
“Okay, there’s a place a couple of blocks down that has great sweet and sour pork.” We walked up the street and past the door to the Wenatchee Western Wear Emporium. Just as we came even with the door, Jonathan, the guy who I’d winked at yesterday and who I invited Saturday, stepped out the door with a package.
“Hi, Jeff.” He said, sticking out his hand to me and taking an appraising look at Mike. “Remember me?”
“Of course, Jonathan. This here’s my good buddy Mike. We were just gonna get a bit of lunch at the Chinese place down the street. Wanna join us?” Jonathan stuck his hand out to Mike, and they shook and exchanged “Pleased to meet yous.”
“Sure, I would be happy to join you, if I’m not intruding.”
“Not at all.” Mike was welcoming, but something told me he had thought lunch might be something special for us. I winked at him when Jonathan was turned away, and he grinned and turned red. I clapped him on the shoulder. I left my hand there just a moment longer than I might of, and he got even redder. His smile got bigger though. We headed into the Great Wall of China restaurant and got a booth. The waitress came almost immediately with water and tea. Mike and I sat on one side, facing Jonathan.
“So, Jeff, Mike, how long have you guys been together?”
“Hell, Jonathan, we ain’t a couple. Mike’s just about my best buddy in the world.”
“Sorry if I was a bit out of line there, just watching the two of you together, I assumed.”
Mike had this serious look on his face. I was about to ask him who kicked his puppy, but then he said, “Naw, we ain’t a couple, just friends.” He did mutter under his breath, “I’m workin’ on it though.” I smiled.
Jonathan looked at the two of us and asked, “You guys are out though? I know it can be difficult in a small town.”
“I been out since high school. Everybody in town pretty much knows about me. Since I grew up in Winslett, nobody seems to mind much. I had to kick ass a few times when I was in high school and even a bit after. After that, my football letter, and the fact I can rodeo, cowboy, and fight with the best of ’em, I ain’t had any trouble. Mike’s just stickin’ his head outta the closet once in a while.”
Mike looked down at his menu, but did add, “Jeff’s kinda been showin’ me there is a life outside the closet. He’s kinda hell-bent on draggin’ me out.”
I punched him lightly on the shoulder and added, “Hell, buddy, you’re venturin’ out all on your own. No need to drag you. And we all come out in our own time right, Jonathan?”
“That’s true. But one thing, you guys just better invite me to the commitment ceremony. I would bet you’re going to be together before too long.”
“So what do you do in Seattle, Jonathan?” Mike was still a bit uneasy about his sexuality with anyone but me and apparently Sandy.
“I’m the editor of a gay travel magazine called Out and Traveling About. What about the two of you?”
“I’m just a cowboy.” Mike looked down like he’d said something to be ashamed of.
“I’m a cowboy, too, I just happen to own the ranch,” I added. “I also kinda fancy myself as an artist. Artists’ co-op is gonna do a story on me sometime. It don’t pay the bills yet, but it
’s fun. I do bronze castings. By the way, Mike’s more than just a hand; he makes a mean son of a bitch stew, and he’s the best effin’ cowboy ever was born. Even if he says so himself.” Mike turned beet red.
Jonathan started to ask just what I meant, and the waitress showed up. He asked me to order, and Mike seconded that as I “knew what was good.” I ordered sweet and sour pork, almond chicken, beef chop suey, six egg rolls, beef and broccoli, barbecue pork fried rice, and the house special lo mein. I also ordered three beers looking at Jonathan to see if that was okay.
He nodded and then asked, “You sure you ordered enough food, Jeff? That sounds like enough to feed an army.”
“You ain’t seen us eat. We do a lotta hard work outdoors. We eat quite a bit; it doesn’t seem to go to fat.” He looked at both of us and let out a small whistle.
“That it doesn’t. That it doesn’t. So just what is ‘son of a bitch stew’, and what did you mean by the ‘best effin’ cowboy’ remark?”
Mike jumped in this time. “Son of a bitch stew is a cowboy dish we make most often durin’ calvin’ season. You take a fresh slaughtered calf, and chop up the marrow gut, liver, heart, kidneys, maybe the spleen and some good choice meat and cook it most of the day with some onion, garlic, salt, and a whole hell of a lot of red chile. You can add potatoes too.” Mike had skipped right over his song.
I jumped in saying, “The best effin’ cowboy line is from an old cowboy song. It’s pretty off color; you gonna be offended if I say the words? Otherwise I can just give it to ya in a nutshell.”
“No, I won’t be offended.” He laughed.
“It’s called the ‘Old Jism Trail’. It goes, ‘Ass in the saddle and hand on the horn, I’m the best fuckin’ cowboy ever was born, whoopee tie ay yay, whoopee tie ay yo, whoopee tie ay tie ay yo. I’m sick of pullin’ my peter on the old jism trail, so I’m goin’ to Kansas City to get a piece of tail, whoopee tie ay yay, whoopee tie ay yo, whoopee tie ay tie ay yo. Cutest little guy I ever saw, he lives on the rim of wiggle ass draw, whoopee tie ay yay, whoopee tie ay yo, whoopee tie ay tie ay yo. I’m gonna get that guy and chase him up the hill, I’m gonna fuck ’em in the ass god damn I will, whoopee tie ay yay, whoopee tie ay yo, whoopee tie ay tie ay yo.’ Mike sings it when he gets drunk. I been known to join in.” Jonathan laughed.
“I can see why you asked if I’d be offended. Do you guys sing together often?”
“Not so often, but we do sound good together huh, buddy?”
“Yep.”
“Why don’t you guys sing something?”
“Here?” Mike and I asked in unison.
“Why not?”
“Hey, buddy, you know that song that Blake Shelton and Trace Adkins sing, ‘Hillbilly Bone’?”
“Yeah, I’ll do Blake Shelton, and since you got the deep voice you take Trace Adkins’s part,” Mike said.
“You got it, bud.” And with that Mike started to sing. I joined in on the chorus and did the second verse.
As we were finishing, clapping from the other tables interrupted us. Just then the waitress brought our order. We’d finished our first beers and she had three more.
“The beer is on us. You sing very good.”
“Thanks!” both Mike and I said at the same time.
“Who were the folks you were with, Jonathan?”
“The two women are my sisters, and the guys are their husbands.”
“They don’t got no problem with you bein’ gay?” Mike was interested in families that accepted their gay sons and daughters.
“Not at all. They’ve been very supportive. Jeff, why’d you invite all of us over on Saturday?”
“You seemed like nice folks. The little guy, Harrison, could be the author of ‘My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys’, so I thought I’d give him a vacation to remember. I hope I didn’t throw you too much off balance when I winked at ya.”
“No, actually it made my day. It’s not every day, or even every month, a hunky cowboy winks at me. And then having lunch with a couple of hunky cowboys, well, Jeff, Mike, you’ve made my vacation.”
“Always nice makin’ someone feel good.” I noticed that Mike had scooted a bit closer to me when I mentioned winking at Jonathan. His knee was touching mine. It was nice. I reached down, squeezed his knee, and then continued to eat. He gave me a big smile.
“You know guys, I mentioned I’m the editor for a gay travel magazine. Would you mind if I did a story on Winslett and the valley if I included you?”
“Okay by me. Mike’s the one you gotta ask.” Mike had a bit of a panicked look on his face. I squeezed his knee again.
“Yeah, it’s fine with me too. What a way to venture out of the closet.” We all laughed. The food was good and we continued to eat. Jonathan stopped well before Mike and me. We ended up cleanin’ up just about everything. Jonathan insisted on payin’ the bill and would not take no for an answer. We thanked him several times.
“Jonathan, we gotta be headin’ back to the ranch. We got some work to do there.” I had looked at Jonathan’s watch and saw it was almost two. I was gonna have to give José and Josh the day off tomorrow. We said our goodbyes and our see ya Saturdays, and Mike and I headed back to my truck.
As we walked, I put my arm around Mike’s shoulders and asked him, “You up for tossin’ around a football after we’re done with the corral tomorrow?” He looked around nervously, but leaned into me.
“Sounds like fun.” I took my arm off his shoulders and patted him on the back. By this time we were back at my truck. I used my cell phone to call José and let him know we’d be late and he and Josh had the day off tomorrow. He was fine with that arrangement. Then Mike and I jumped in the truck, buckled up, and I pulled out onto the road.
“You’re really somethin’, Jeff.”
“Why’s that, buddy?”
“You’re really good with people. You just go and make friends. And everyone likes you. Me, I ain’t no good with people. I’m always waitin’ for them to hurt me or say somethin’ mean, so I just kind of avoid folks.”
“I hope you don’t mind me sayin’ this, and if I’m stickin’ my nose in somewheres it don’t belong, you can tell me to go to hell. You gotta accept and learn to like yourself before you’ll start likin’ others and be at ease with ’em.”
“I’d never tell ya to go to hell, Jeff; I wanna hear what you got to say.” He looked at me so seriously and with such a hurt puppy dog look I couldn’t help laughing.
I patted him on the knee and said, “Mike, don’t ever sell yourself short. You’re a good guy, from what I can tell sharp as a whip, and as I said before real easy on the eyes. When ya let yourself go and enjoy yourself, you are really someone special. You just need to believe in yourself, buddy. I believe in ya.”
Mike was quiet for a minute or two and finally said, “Thanks. That really means a lot to me. All my life I been havin’ people tell me I’m evil, I’m stupid, I’m never gonna amount to nothin’, I’m the spawn of Satan, and all these put downs. It really means a lot that a guy who has it all together and is as special as you, sees enough in me to wanna be friends.”
“Whaddya mean wanna be friends? We are friends, Mike. Besides, who but a good friend would undress your cute and drunk ass and put ya to bed twice in one week?” I added the last line tryin’ to make him lighten up a bit. He chuckled, but sounded a bit nervous.
“That don’t bother you does it?”
“Hell no! You and Robert did the same for me that one time. I get the feelin’ it was actually more you than him.”
“It was. All he was doin’ was tryin’ to get me in the sack.”
“That’s water under the bridge now.” Changing the subject, I added, “I can’t believe it’s already Wednesday and the rest of the week and weekend is already taken up. Next week I gotta work on some sculptures, and really take a good hard look at the books. I gotta come up with a way to make this ranch work.”
“You will, Jeff, you will. I got faith in you too.”
>
“Thanks, buddy. That means a lot to me too. You’re the first guy I’d pick to have at my back.” Mike laughed at that statement. I was puzzled until he answered.
“I just hope when I am backin’ you up, I notice what’s around rather than focusin’ on your ass.” We laughed together on that one.
“I think it’s pretty great that you’re able to be in an article in a gay magazine with me.”
“Like you said, I gotta accept me for who I am sometime. I guess jumpin’ right in is one way.”
“Ya told Sandy. You ever think of tellin’ José and Josh?”
“I’m kinda afraid they’re gonna make fun of me.”
“They will make fun of you, buddy. They make fun of me. But we’re laughin’ together. They won’t be laughin’ at ya but with ya. They’re a pretty open minded couple of guys. Hell, they may already know.”
“Whadda ya mean?” There was a slight note of panic in Mike’s voice.
“It’s pretty apparent we’re good friends, and we do flirt a lot. They’ve been around me as a gay man for a while. I wouldn’t doubt they’ve developed a bit of a gaydar.”
“You’re right, Jeff. I do need to tell ’em. I want to be friends with them, too, and I’m sick of hidin’ who I am.”
“Good for you, buddy. Go ahead when you’re ready. I’ll be there to back ya up.” We rode the rest of the way back to the ranch in a companionable silence. When I parked the truck, we said good night. We were both tired, so Mike headed to the bunkhouse, and I headed up to the ranch house. It was too early to go to bed, but I had a book I wanted to relax with. Just as we were about to turn away from each other, I said to Mike, “One thing you’re gonna have to learn if you’re comin’ out is gay men hug each other. A lot.” I stepped toward him and gave him a hug. He didn’t seem to know what to do for a second, but then hugged me back.
“Good night, buddy. You sleep well.”
“You too, Jeff.” And we parted for the night.
Chapter Six
I’D ACTUALLY slept in a bit for once. For the first time since I’d gotten back, I had actually slept well. It looked sunny outside. I threw back the covers and went to my dresser and got a pair of socks. I pulled them on and pulled the covers back up and made the bed. I brushed my teeth and then headed downstairs. As I got about halfway down the stairs, I smelled coffee. I walked through the living room and saw Mike in the kitchen. He was wearing jeans, gray wool socks, and a blue T-shirt. I could see he still had on my gray long handles. He was standing over the stove, and the aroma of bacon hit me. He laughed when he saw me.