Trouble Tied Up

by Maxine Marsh

  It wasn’t as though she’d meant to fuck him from the start. She hadn’t even meant to get in his truck. He’d seemed pretty straightforward, and her feet were tired. It was when he’d asked her where her room was that she relinquished to the ache she’d held off for so long. Too long, for a woman her age. It had been a part of her outlook on life that she ought to have fun while she could, but now she knew where that had gotten her. Now to try responsibility, maybe some caution. Responsibility wasn’t necessarily something that came naturally to her, but she at least had to build some kind of a new life. This place was as good as any, maybe better. Small and unassuming—it seemed all right here, quiet, calm. She could be somewhat anonymous, which appealed to her.

  The morning after the satisfying little tryst in the stranger’s truck, she rose early, cleaned herself up as best she could in the little motel bathroom, then set off on foot for work. The air was different here, warm but clean. A couple of trucks passed but she got off the road and out of sight, a habit after not having a car for so long, and despite the previous night, she was not in the habit of accepting rides from strange cowboys. Her feet were sore from all the walking she’d been doing, but the freedom made the discomfort incidental.

  DJ met her new boss up in the main office, which was off a way from the group of barns she’d first seen from the road. He was a tall and broad man who wore a long-sleeved, button-up shirt with mother-of-pearl buttons and cowboy boots with spurs that looked too clean to have been worked in. The owner’s name was King. After he made her acquaintance with a kind smile and a firm handshake, he told her a little about the place. The Gooding Township Rehabilitation Ranch was six years open, two before that unofficially, and where the sheriffs from four counties sent the neglected and abused horses they found on a rather alarmingly regular basis. DJ tried to smile and nod and keep her smart mouth shut about what she thought of people who hurt horses. She tended to have opinions, and that tended to upset people. She needed this job more than anything and there was nowhere else for her to go, so she kept her mind to herself while he was going on and on about the rules and regulations and how they kept the place running smoothly.

  She indicated that she understood her duties, which were to keep her equine wards comfy and clean, take daily notes on their behavior, and do whatever her manager—King’s business partner and a retired veterinarian specializing in domestic animals—told her to do.

  King showed her to the barns, handed her a clipboard, and left her to fend for herself. She spent a half an hour just walking through the place, making note of everything she could, then went to the barn containing stalls eight, nine, and ten, which were to be her responsibility.

  She froze in front of stall nine. A tall man stood there, sideways to her, intently writing on a clipboard. His profile was familiar, the same she’d looked at so intently last night while she’d been sitting in his truck, deciding whether or not to jump his bones.

  “You like a mess,” she said finally.

  He swiveled his attention from the horse to her in one smooth motion. She suspected he knew she’d been standing there all along.

  “What’s that?” he said, though she was sure he’d heard her.

  “I said you like a mess.”

  Shaking his head, he said, “Not a mess. A project.”

  “Whatever word you want to use.” She walked up next to him and turned to look at the horse. Its coat was splotchy and dry looking, and its eyes flickered all around, from him to her to sideways to nothing past them and back. Almost frantically. She felt sympathy for it. She knew how it felt. “Small world you’re here.”

  “You know this horse?” he asked, amused.

  “I meant you, Mr. Clayton Walker.”

  “Small town,” he shot back. He hadn’t stopped looking at her. She noticed he liked to watch her hair. “I saw your name on the roster this morning, looked at your resume. Wondered if it was you.”

  “Why would you?”

  “There aren’t that many new young ladies in town.”

  “Don’t call me a young lady, it makes you sound old.” She smirked.

  He smiled too. “All right, Dina Jo.” He went back to his clipboard.

  “DJ’s fine. Should I call you Mr. Walker?”

  “Clayton’s fine.”

  She looked in at the horse again. The large black mare, in visibly rough shape, stood in the corner. “Who’s this?” she asked, motioning to the horse.

  “Sadie.”

  “Sadie,” DJ echoed, looking up at the creature. Sadie stood motionless but her eyes still moved, flickering like fire, as though she could rear or bolt to the other side of the pen at any moment. “What’s your story?” She reached a hand through the fencing toward the horse.

  Clayton caught her wrist gently and pulled her arm back through. “Not a good idea.” He let her go. “Sadie’s been locked inside too much, fed too little, been beat on, lost a foal,” he said. He finally looked away from her and back to the horse.

  “And the man who did it?”

  “Fined heavily.” He sounded unsatisfied with the answer he had to give.

  “Too bad,” she murmured.

  “The laws are loose here.”

  She nodded. “But no one’s got the balls to go and take care of him, huh?”

  He frowned at her. “That what you think should be done?”

  She shrugged. “No. I get it. People only care so much.” She’d been told before that her mouth would get her into trouble until she learned to control it, but she wasn’t a liar. If she thought something, she tended to say it.

  “Is that really what you think?” he said in an offended tone.

  “Where I’m from, men take care of their business.” It was true. Too true.

  “Funny thing for an ex-con to say. Should be you learned your lesson already.” He didn’t say it cruelly, but almost like a father disappointed in his kid, which was worse.

  So he had read what he’d called her resume, which was little more than a few pieces of paper pleading to give her a job so she herself could be “rehabilitated,” like one of these horses.

  “Whatever.” She turned and walked away, knowing it was useless to argue with people who knew they were wrong.

  “Hey, where are you going?”

  “To work. Got shit to clean up. Literally.”

  Later, when almost everyone was gone from the barns and she was finishing her first day of duties, she snuck back in to see Sadie. The horse was standing, facing into the corner. DJ kneeled down and sat, watching her silently, peeking through the slats of the corral and counting her own breaths, like she’d been taught to by the prison counselor. Her breathing turned into humming, a tune she used to sing a lot before, a tune that soothed her. She watched the horse for a while, but she barely moved at all, only every once in a while stomped her back right hoof brutally against the floor, sending up puffs of straw dust each time. DJ took out her notebook, which she’d kept stowed in her work locker, along with a dirty plastic bag of black charcoal. This was a hard one to plan—the subject facing away at an angle, almost in shadow. She listened to the wind start up outside and began to trace a rough outline, humming louder, wondering if the horse even noticed she was there. She worked the charcoal for a few minutes, looked at the lines, then turned the page to start a new drawing. She hated to waste even a piece of paper—good paper was expensive—but it wasn’t right. And when something didn’t feel right, there was no use trying to fix it. Better to start over with lessons learned.

  The second page went better. Soon, her hand was flowing and smudging and shading, and it was a wonderfully thoughtless process.

  Her mind turned to Clayton. He’d smelled good the night before. He’d felt good the night before. She hadn’t expected to see him again, but now realized that was a naïve assumption. He was right, this was a small town.

  Sadie stomped again.

  DJ looked down at her drawing. She knew she could do better, but it was a start. Sadie mi
ght be her favorite, with her black coat just starting to grow back in evenly, and a wildness that would be good practice for her to get on paper.

  Sadie stomped.

  She turned to a fresh page and started a new sketch. A face formed out of the black dust. A mature face, but handsome, overly critical at whomever he was looking at but with something shiny in his eyes. It was Clayton. She wasn’t in the habit of drawing people, but this one came more easily than usual. She didn’t know what to make of him. He thought himself a good man, but then screwed young girls in the front seat of his truck late at night. She didn’t think she was being hypocritical—she’d never claimed to be an angel. Working on his hands, she couldn’t help think again of the night before. The way his hand had held her hips while she rocked and ground down on top of him. The way he’d grabbed her hair and pulled her head back to get at her neck, to get leverage to fuck her harder.

  “You’re a night owl, too, huh?” This time he had surprised her.

  She looked over at him standing in the doorway of the barn, leaning up against the side of it, hat on but tipped up so he could look at her. She closed the sketch book, found the plastic bag, and put her charcoal away.

  She shrugged an answer and asked, “You?”

  “It’s my job to close up,” he said.

  DJ toed the bag at her feet and looked past him into the quickly draining evening sky. The long walk had slipped her mind.

  “Give me a ride home?” she asked.

  He looked at her, still and searching, for a long moment. “Not sure that’s a good idea,” he said finally.

  She laughed a little. “Oh, come on Clayton. There’s nothing wrong with keeping the peace.”

  “We ain’t gonna—”

  “Don’t worry, I’m too tired to fuck right now.”

  He frowned at her. “You better start watching your language here, Dina Jo.”

  “I’m no angel, Clayton.”

  “I don’t like cursing,” he scolded.

  She held up her hands in supplication. “Sorry.” She picked up her bag, slipped the notebook in, and threw it over her shoulder. “I’d better go, then. I got a long-ass walk back to town.” She left.

  The wind was delicious out on the road. Not a car or a light in sight. Just the stars and the swaying of the trees and the wind in her face. She didn’t remember there being wind in Beaumont, even though it was near the coast. Just hot stickiness that made her feel like there was twice as much gravity holding her inside her cell. This she could get used to. If she could stay out of trouble. That was what her parole officer had said, exactly. “Stay out of trouble, and you’ll be fine.”

  DJ had feigned being insulted and rolled her eyes at the guy, but really, she doubted herself more than even he did. It was like a ghost haunting her, trouble. Once upon a time she had tried to be an adult, the kind that kept out of trouble, the kind with responsibility. But trouble still found her. Followed her around, whispered in her ear to be unforgivingly truthful and unforgivingly harsh. At least she liked being around the horses. It was impossible to be annoyed with horses. And they were nice to draw, with their bold bodies, big eyes, fine forms in motion.

  She didn’t realize how tired she really was until she was halfway to town. She could almost lie down under a tree and pass right out. Instead, she focused on her breathing like she’d been taught, focused on the road ahead of her, and kept going.

  Soon the sound of an engine approached from behind her. She got off the road and stood by a tree, hoping whoever it was wouldn’t notice her. A big, black pickup slowed down and stopped near the tree. She recognized it and came back out.

  “Come on,” Clayton said, motioning for her to get in.

  She hopped in the back instead. He looked at her in the rearview for a moment, then kept on until they got to town and slowed down in front of the motel. DJ went around to the passenger side window, which was open.

  “Thanks.” She turned away.

  “I’ll pick you up on the way in tomorrow. No use in you wasting time making that walk. I’m by here at seven. You’re not here, I’ll just assume you’re already walking.”

  He didn’t wait for her answer, just pulled away slowly and left her alone in the small parking lot. She stared after him for a while, wondering. She wished he wouldn’t be so nice. Probably her own fault for that first night, but that was said and done, so she’d have to keep her distance.

  Her room was the same worn-down, depressing box she’d left, but she refused to complain, even to herself. She showered, scrubbing hard to get the horse smell off, then laid in bed naked. After a few minutes, she opened the window as wide as she could. The curtains billowed in with the breeze. She turned the lights off and laid in the dark, feeling the wind and trying not to think too much.

  Chapter Three

  Despite DJ’s attitude, which she seemed faithful to with pride, Clayton decided that she was a good fit for Sadie. No one could approach the horse, but at the end of her first week at the ranch, Clayton had walked in to find her inside the corral, brushing Sadie’s coat and singing to her. He had fought the urge to listen to the softness of her voice for more than a few seconds. It sounded nice and the melody familiar, but soon he had slowly approached the fence and asked Dina Jo to leave the corral at once in his most patient and calm voice, and then, once she had, berated her for being in there in the first place.

  “She’s dangerous. She broke someone’s ribs the first time we tried to get in there with her, DJ. You know you need permission for things like that. She could’ve hurt you, and I wouldn’t have known until I wandered in to check on you.”

  “I was raised with horses, you know,” she’d said.

  “There’re rules to follow here, DJ.”

  Dina Jo had looked at the horse and then back to him. “She’s not bothered by me,” she’d said.

  He tried to be patient with her, but he was irritated and somewhat working off the startle he felt when he’d first seen her with the horse. “I catch you in there again, you’re fired.” He turned and left and cursed himself for getting so upset with the woman.

  Clayton spent each morning looking over each horse, observing their physical progress and also using the time as an opportunity to check up on the interns. There were three new people: Dina Jo, and two young men, Adam and James. The ranch had a deal with the county to take a few interns when they had space for volunteers doing community service, with the belief that working with the horses was as good for character as hard, honest work. Somehow, Dina Jo had been recruited from outside the county and offered a salary. That was all up to King, Clayton’s partner, who, though he was a horse-lover and had an altruistic sort of personality, mostly oversaw the logistical aspects of the ranch’s operations. King left the day-to-day rehabilitation to Clayton and the other employees.

  Of the three new bodies, Clayton had spent most of that morning talking to James, who he liked, not just because that had been his good uncle’s name but also because he came from a military family. He’d gotten himself into some trouble but seemed to be a decent young man who had a good enough attitude about his imposed community service. He was neat, organized in a way the others weren’t, and always made the correct notes on the clipboards outside the stalls of his designated horses, which made Clayton’s job easier. Whenever he got to Dina Jo’s stalls, the paperwork was never done, or if it was, he could barely read her handwriting. He simply waved the clipboard at her and went on his way. She was not the type to argue with; she spat retorts like a teenager and it tried his patience. At least James, and to some extent Adam, would find him and ask him questions about what needed to be done when they weren’t sure. DJ just winged it, did pretty much whatever she wanted, however she wanted. Half the time, he found her simply standing and staring into Sadie’s corral.

  Their rides to and from work were usually quiet. She almost always sat in the bed of the truck rather than next to him in the cab. When he asked her about it, she simply said she liked the b
reeze, but he got the feeling she was avoiding him. He spent a lot of those drives watching her blonde hair whip around in his rearview.

  They’d seen each other in the bar a few times since that first night, but she usually left earlier than him and only drank a beer or two at a time. She started sitting with the other interns more and more, talking to them, but she never seemed all that interested in either of them. To Clayton’s eyes, the two guys had gotten in trouble, but they seemed steady enough. DJ was different—she embodied trouble somehow. It wasn’t his place to judge her, but he couldn’t help it. He thought about her often but couldn’t decide if she was troubled, or was Trouble. He walked in on her drawing in her notebook a few times but didn’t scold her about it.

  It was an odd evening a few weeks after DJ had started with the ranch when she decided to sit in the passenger seat of Clayton’s truck on the way home. Maybe it was because the breeze was hotter than usual, or because the tension they’d had seemed to have dissipated somewhat over time. She spent the ride mostly looking out the window, resting her head against the door and watching the hills rolling past. It was only when he approached her little motel that Clayton realized she was asleep.

  He didn’t stop at the motel but drove past it toward home. He pulled the truck up right in front of the porch and left DJ there to sleep. He got some satisfaction when he climbed his porch steps to the front door and looked back, saw her dozing, and realized she’d been comfortable enough with him to fall asleep there. He took his things inside, started a pot of coffee, and took a mug to the porch when it was ready. He sat there, looking through his mail. The sun began to lower and dip toward the horizon. Still Dina Jo slept.

  The phone rang inside. He got up and answered it to find it was King. They talked for a while about how the new ones were getting along. They usually had time to sit down during the day with the interns but the volume of rescues coming in was higher than usual, and the interns seemed to be making their way through their day with minimal guidance well enough. The day-to-day logistics and finances were enough to keep them on the phone for a good half an hour. Finally, when a glance through the kitchen window showed him it was barely light out anymore, Clayton said good night and went back to the porch. When he stepped outside and made to grab his coffee cup, he saw that DJ was gone from the truck.