What kind of legacy, though, could keep him there? The pride that his ancestor had worked themselves to death to start the place? That he rode alongside Houston in a war?
He was beginning to wonder.
That night he spent drinking in front of the television. He hadn’t been back to his place in days but didn’t have anything pending there that needed his attention. No, he had little in his life except the ranch.
Thinking on what his brother said, for him to get a life, to sell the place and finally move on from it, all of it, the past, the family, the headaches. The urn with his father sat on the fireplace mantle, gathering dust. Setting his beer down, Mac stood and moved over to it. On the tip of his tongue were apologies he felt the urge to make to the old man’s ashes. That he couldn’t keep up the place, that he’d have to sell, that he’d failed, but nothing came from between his lips except a rush of air.
To see it, the brass colored metal urn, a light layer of dust that dulled it, like it dulled everything around him. That’s when it happened, when he decided. Wayne was right. This wasn’t on him, the debt, the past, anything. It was on his father, and his father was in that dull urn, burned to ashes and no longer there to lord over things.
Pulling his phone out, he dialed his sister-in-law. “Hello?”
“Shan, hey, it’s Mac. Wayne told me you could help me find someone to help me sell this place.”
There was a long pause, and Mac soon figured out why. She was smiling in that sweet, but all-knowing way Shan had. “I sure can, honey. I’ve already called him, and he’ll be there tomorrow afternoon.”
That should have surprised him, but it didn’t. “You knew I’d call.”
“Of course. You have something your brother had when he married me. Good sense.”
For the first time in days, he had a smile that came from relief. He’d put this in her hands, at least the first, small part, but possibly the most important part. “It’s about time I got some, don’tcha think?”
“Yes, it is. His name is Leo Glover. He’s brilliant.”
Squirming, he thought of the slave quarters, worrying, “Shan, I won’t drive him out to the quarters the second he gets here, no, but I can’t hide them either. If he’s going to sell the place, he’ll have to know some of it.”
“He can handle it, Mac. He’s half black, half Asian, he’s not ignorant that these things happened. You’re not the first person in the south to sell a piece of land where there are remnants of this kind of thing.”
“Okay, okay, well, I’ll be expecting him.”
“Oh, and he’ll want to stay there, he said. He works crazy hours and will want to be there to handle everything as it comes up.”
Thinking on the rooms he and Wayne used to sleep in, filled with boxes, he knew the only way it would work is to give Leo Glover his father’s room. “I’ll get Daddy’s room fixed up for him. He’ll have his own bathroom and everything that way. I’ll go sleep in the bunkhouse.”
“Take care, Mac. Wayne’s worried about you, trying to handle all that and everything. Come see us when this is all done. The kids would love to see you.”
“I’ll do it, Shan. Give ‘em a kiss for me.”
He had only been to his father’s bedroom once since he’d passed. That day, trying to sort through flannel and western shirts, jeans with and without holes, and leather, denim and long coats, to find a suit. He’d found one, far in the back, out of date and faded navy blue. The lingering smell of mothballs and his Daddy’s favorite aftershave, Brut, making him reminisce.
He stood in the doorway, wondering how he’d deal with seeing someone else in the room. Not since their mother died had another soul slept there except for Daniel. He’d never had a girlfriend stay over, the couple he’d dated since. No one but Daniel, as if he were keeping the bed sacred.
He set to task, stripping the bed to make sure the stranger coming would have clean sheets, and then got to dusting, not that it helped much. The wood of the head and foot boards, the nightstands, the two tall dressers, all were faded and in need of refinishing.
Color, light, new paint on the dulled white walls, the room could be nice if it had been given any care, but the care of the home died with his mother. Men like his father, they didn’t care about the niceties of new curtains and lampshades. They got their jobs done and as long as there was a place to set his boots and hat, and a beer in the fridge, they were satisfied.
Up early as usual, Teddy met him in the kitchen while the coffee finished brewing in the stained pot. He held up the sugar to Mac, who took it with a sigh. “A manager is coming today. Gonna help me get this place ready to sell.”
Nodding, Teddy’s straw hat was swept from his blond head, clutched in front of his chest, the cowboy’s equivalent of wringing his hands. His voice was reverent as he promised, “Ya know, buddy, your daddy was a hard man to work for, but he always paid me on time, and he never blinked over givin’ me time off when my kids were born or when my mama was sick. You, you been my friend since we was kids. I’ll do anything I can to help.”
Touched, Mac cleared his throat of the lump forming to say, “I ‘preciate it, Teddy.”
Beside their everyday chores, Teddy set about cleaning up the barn, fixing one of the walls that had a hole kicked out by a spooked horse months ago. In the office, Mac went over the books again, trying to figure out how he’d possibly get things done with his own money, not elevating the debt any further.
All he had in savings was a little over twenty thousand. That wouldn’t be enough to do much, and he wanted to save as much of that as he could to give Teddy and the other hands a decent severance to help them out until they got other positions.
His father had written little down, didn’t so much as have the mortgages in the books. He couldn’t find the papers on the cattle, and figures were weaving in and out that didn’t make sense.
Scratching his head, numbers crowded in, jumbled, becoming a stormy sea of despair. After shoving the keyboard away, he fell back against the hard wood of the chair and sighed.
“That bad, huh?”
Jumping, he looked in the doorway to see a stranger with creamy dark skin and a wide smile. “May I he’p you?”
“I’m supposed to help you.” He came into the room, reaching his hand over the desk for Mac to shake, which he did as the man said, “In fact, I was told to get here as soon as my feet could carry me or there’d be hell to pay.” He pulled his hand back and smiled wider, if that was possible. “Except she said heck to pay. I’m Leo Glover.”
“McCully Blaylock,” he said, then laughed. “And that would be Shan, my sister-in-law,” he confirmed, offering him the old leather chair. “Sorry if she jumped on you.”
“Nah, no problem,” he said while he sat. “She’s a pistol. We went to graduate school together, and she let me copy all her notes. Good people, your brother and her.”
With a smooth voice that was light with amusement, Leo had put him immediately at ease. His looks, well, they didn’t hurt either. His hair was short, a loose afro, eyes a little slanted, showing his Asian ancestry, one that was well hidden otherwise with his milky brown skin and full lips. Full, perfectly shaped, smiling lips…
He was tall, a little taller than Mac by the looks, and lightly muscled, that showed under his light brown dress shirt. Not intending to stare, he pointed to the computer. “Um, it’s a mess. I don’t know what you can do. I’m not even sure how to start with all this.”
“I understand. And don’t worry about the mess. I’ve seen worse, I’m sure. Shan told me your father left debt you didn’t know about?”
“A lot of it. Over six hundred thousand. The place needs work, and now I know why my Daddy kept puttin’ off gettin’ things fixed up. He couldn’t afford it.” Mac was afraid to ask, but he had to lay everything on the table. “Did she tell you about my father, my family? I mean…what did she tell you?”
As his brows rose high, Leo gave him a steady stare. “Oh, you mean like the wa
rning she gave me, that once I dove into inventorying things, I might run across a couple white hoods?”
His chuckle had no humor, and he wanted to sink into his seat. Leo saved him from that.
“Listen, it’s not like I haven’t come across this kind of thing before, and believe me, it’s not fun but it’s not going to make me quit in the middle of the job. I’m not a tender flower. I did hear it in her voice, though, that she and your father didn’t get on too well.”
“That’s an understatement.”
Leo laughed, easing the tension in the room. “He’d have loved me, then, coming in here and going through his stuff. Don’t worry, though, I will be respectful. If I find a white hood, I’ll tag it and place it in a box with care. Okay, I might grumble some really nasty cuss words while I’m doing it, but I won’t throw it on the ground and stomp on it.”
Personable, that was one word he could use for Leo, but Mac guessed in his line of work, he’d have to be. “Well, that’s mighty white of you,” he joked, the first hearty laugh let loose that was almost foreign to him.
Leo laughed, pointing to him. “With that kind of humor, we’ll get along great. Now, where do I park?”
“Is your car runnin’ or somethin’?”
“No! No, when I have places like this, I bring a camper with me. I can bring along all my stuff, then just plug in to the house or use my batteries.”
Surprised, and frankly relieved, Mac said, “I’ll go with you and we’ll pick a spot close to the house. There’s a few trees to shade you on the left side.”
“Perfect. Thanks.”
Once the RV was parked and plugged into the outside outlet, Leo went inside it to clean up and then they were going to take a tour of the property.
Deciding to stay in his father’s room, after it was cleaned up and all, it saved him from sleeping on the couch another night or making the long drive to his place.
Leo knocked a half an hour later, coming into the house and right away, he started looking around. “I guess I expected a big farm house or something. One story, spread out, nice. How many rooms?”
“Three bedroom, two bathrooms, big kitchen, but needs updatin’ bad. Wood floors, sure, but all scuffed and scratched. Wallpaper’s comin’ down in the kitchen, linoleum needs replaced. There’s a helluva lotta work to do on the place.”
Nodding, he walked towards what was once a dining room, though the dining table had been taken out years before. There were boxes stacked on one side of the room, a desk piled with more papers in the place where the table had been. “What are these?”
He was pointing to the papers, and Mac had to admit, “I have no idea. My daddy didn’t like me nosin’ around.”
“Didn’t you help him run this place?”
“Yeah, I did. That doesn’t mean he let me in on the money part of it. He gave me an account that I used to pay the hands, buy gas for the vehicles, minor repairs. Anythin’ big, like buying stock, feed, he took care of.”
It wasn’t a look of compassion or judgement, per se, but he felt that. “Oh, I see.”
His hackles rising, he stood in front of Leo, asking, “What’s that mean?”
“Nothing offensive, I assure you. It’s no wonder he didn’t want you to see what he was doing.”
Deflating, he felt a rush of emotion come over him, tears welling in his eyes. Turning away, he wanted to run from the room before Leo could see him cry, but all he could do was to try to suck it up. “I’m…I’m sorry, I…”
His arm was gripped, and Leo made him turn back, shaking him a little. “Don’t do that. Don’t hold back from this. This is going to be really hard, and you don’t have to put on a show that you’re some tough guy. I can’t guess how hard it is to work a ranch all your life, have a father that was so stuck in old ways that he could see his own son walk out of his life and let him go.”
Sniffing back his tears, Mac searched his face for signs of deceit or derision and didn’t find of hint of either. “She told ya more than you let on.”
“Maybe she did.”
He thought for a moment to ask if Shan had told Leo that he was gay, that Mac had never told his father, but thought better of it. “Let me show you the rest of the place.”
The two smaller bedrooms were crammed with boxes, old saddles and tack, magazines and general clutter. As soon as his two sons moved out, Daniel had recommissioned their rooms for storage. Mac always figured he did it on purpose, so they couldn’t ask to move back in if they got into financial dire straits.
When they came to the master bedroom, Leo walked around to the window, looking out on the property. “You know, I’ve never been to one of these homes that didn’t have the bedroom with a view of the land they worked. Gives them something to look at while they’re fretting, or the satisfaction enough to sleep like a babe.”
“That’s what he’d do, too. He’d pace in front of this window when he was stressed.”
Leo set his hands on either side of it, looking out on the property, and Mac caught himself gazing over Leo’s body while he wasn’t paying attention.
Nice ass, long legs, broad shoulders…
“The land is great. I don’t see how we’ll have a problem selling for what you need and having plenty left over.” Before he could comment his surprise, Leo turned to him, eyes soft and filled with a deep compassion. “If you truly want to sell.”
Chapter Three
“What are you talking about? Of course, I want to sell.”
Leo shrugged and didn’t push. “Okay, then, while there’s still enough light, show me the grounds.”
Wanting to argue, to scream that he had to sell, he didn’t want to have that conversation, so they headed out to the pole barn to get the two four-wheelers there. “You know how to ride one?”
“Oh yeah,” he laughed. “Love it. After we see the place, maybe we can have some fun?”
Brushing his hand over the seat of his to clear the blown hay from it, he joined the laughter. “Wayne and me, we got ourselves into a bunch of trouble on these over the years. Still, Daddy didn’t want us on the horses too much. He was never happy with the way we rode.”
“How did you ride them that was wrong?”
“We didn’t do much right, but he was particular about his horses. He got over it.”
On the four-wheeler, Leo was good, riding like he did it all the time, and for all Mac knew, he did. If he sold a lot of big properties, he might use them for this very thing, checking out the places he was tasked to sell.
Mac led him to the bunk houses, three long buildings with cozy rooms for the hands, common areas with kitchens and laundry rooms. Leo strode through, making notes on his phone. “All three like this?” He asked after the first.
“Pretty much. The one at the other end has less rooms, but also has a couple big freezers and food storage.”
“Oh, nice,” he mumbled, making more notes.
When he looked up again, he asked, “How many hands stay here normally?”
“We have six full time hands, but only three stay here. There are a couple dozen that come for roundup, you know, seasonal. Daddy never wanted too many around longer than that. I guess he didn’t wanna pay ‘em,” he mused, biting the words off before he could comment further.
“Do you have other work for them? If another rancher buys the property, they tend to appreciate having hands that know the layout.”
“I told ‘em they might start lookin’, but I don’t know who has. Teddy generally knows more of the gossip than me.”
For the next four hours, Mac did everything he could to keep Leo busy with the rest of the place, but it came time to show him the disgrace of the ranch. When they pulled up to the former slave quarters, he squirmed as he waved a hand in their direction. “My daddy should’ve torn the things down, but he never wanted to.”
“I’m glad he didn’t,” Leo said, gazing at them with what seemed to be a mixture of hatred and reverence.
“What? How can you say that?
”
Leo’s eyes landed on him and he asked in a calm and firm voice, “Because I’m part black? I should want them burned to the ground?”
More squirming, but he couldn’t avoid the question or Leo’s piercing eyes. “Well, yeah, I guess! I hate ‘em. I can’t stand knowin’ they’re here, and everythin’ they stand for.”
As he climbed off the four-wheeler, he explained, “This isn’t a garish display of celebration. It’s not a statue erected to honor a racist and seditionist. This is where people lived, forced or not, and raised families. If anyone should decide, morally, not legally, if they stand, it should be those that came from the slaves who lived here.”
Not once had he thought of it that way, and he knew Shan didn’t think so either. She’d been the biggest advocate to rid the ranch of them. “I’m not going to pretend that I understand how anyone should think on this. It ain’t my ancestors that were made to live here. If you think they should have a say, I’d agree with you, but how the hell would we ever find any of ‘em?”
“A lot of these places had records. I’m sure your people kept them. Any idea where they might be?”
There was only one place that held the kind of paperwork Leo was asking about, and that was the loft of the barn. “I know where they could be. It would take us about a year to go through ‘em.”
Leo winked at him, making Mac’s body warm. “I’m quick.”
The sun dipped close to the horizon in the west and Mac’s stomach started to rumble. “How ‘bout we get some food and rest for the night? I’ve got a couple nice steaks.”
Leo stared off at the slave quarters for a long moment, and Mac forced himself to do the same. With the colors of the twilight over them, playing tricks on his mind, he thought he saw the shadows moving, the ghosts of those that had lived and died there.
Maybe there were ghosts, restless that they’d died while in captivity that felt a change coming for the land they’d worked. The cotton fields were long gone, cactus and scrub oak covering the spent soil. Still, once they’d been there, tending to crops that weren’t their own, forced into labor that they saw little reward for besides ramshackle roofs over their heads and the scraps of food the owners gave them.
Remember the Alamo (Legacy Book 1) Page 2