by Frank Hayes
When he glanced back at the body, he was shocked to see one of Everett’s fingers twitch. Realizing he had made an amateur’s mistake, being thrown off because scalp wounds bleed so profusely, he ran to his car, put in a call for emergency responders, then grabbed his bottle of water from the console along with a first aid kit.
For the next fifteen minutes while he was waiting for the EMTs, he carefully washed the head wounds, two of which were going to need a lot more skill than he could provide to stop the blood flow. The old man felt real cold, so Virgil took off his own coat and covered him with it. He also managed to get some liquid past the old man’s bruised and bleeding lips. The blood flow seemed to have slowed somewhat. He figured that was attributable to the cold. The only reward for his efforts was the moan that came when the EMTs arrived and slid Mr. Jessup’s body onto a stretcher.
“That’s as bad a beating as I’ve seen in a long time on this job.” The comment came from one of the attendants as they rolled the gurney into the back of the ambulance. “Why would anyone do an old man like that?”
“Likely they wanted something from him that he wouldn’t give up,” Virgil responded.
By the time they pulled out of the driveway, the old cowboy was hooked up to an IV and his eyes had opened. For just an instant they locked on Virgil. Virgil thought he saw a glint of recognition, then the back doors swung shut. By the time he got to the end of the long driveway, he saw a couple of people standing on the porch of the café across the little square. Virgil crossed the road, pulling into the small parking area in front of the roadhouse. He felt their eyes on him as he sat in the cruiser. Before he got out, he called Rosie, updating her on the events of the day.
“Did you cut Cecil loose?”
“He’s long gone, Virgil. When I had lunch at Margie’s she said she saw him heading into the Lazy Dog.” Virgil switched off the radio and got out of his vehicle.
“Howdy, Sheriff. Mr. Jessup having some trouble?” The words came from a man named Clint, who extended his hand and introduced himself as the owner of the café. “Come inside, sit a minute.”
Virgil followed the man through the door. The rustic décor was full-on western. Saddles on wooden frames were lined up facing the bar. It was bright and clean, polished wide-board floors, checkered tablecloths on round tables in the middle, while compatible booths lined the walls. Bridles and hackamores hanging randomly on wall pegs were interspersed with rodeo posters along with some western art. Virgil was impressed. He even saw an authentic-looking McClellan cavalry saddle, set on one of the wooden frames. He had the feeling that this place could be really jumping on a Friday and Saturday night. For just a moment he thought about the Black Bull. This place might not have been on the same scale but it was more evidence of the growth in this part of the county.
“Did you happen to notice any activity over at the Jessup place?” Virgil asked.
“Sorry, Sheriff. Not a thing, but that driveway is close to a mile long. Besides, we don’t open until noon.” Virgil gave a brief accounting of what happened. The man was genuinely shocked.
“Can’t believe it. That kind of thing just doesn’t happen around here. I mean, he was a real gentleman. Come in once in a while, sometimes with his son. Tells me stories about the old times, the way it used to be around here. How his folks were the first settlers in this part of the country. Used to sit right over there.” The man gestured toward a booth near a raised platform, where Virgil could picture a couple of musicians standing on a weekend night. “He enjoyed sitting over a meal with a couple of beers listening to the music. Even liked some of the more current stuff.”
“What about his son?”
“He was just like his dad. Everybody liked him. But I don’t think he was much interested in ranching. Think he was an accountant. Some of our regulars used to go to him at tax time. I do believe he gave me his card a while back. He was partnered with some other fella.”
“I understand he did some work for the sand and gravel company.”
“Don’t know about that, but it don’t surprise me none. Nine out of ten of my customers work for Mesquite Sand and Gravel. Hell, if it wasn’t for Mesquite, I’d still be commuting to Hayward selling tires in that Firestone store. Yeah, last couple of years this area has changed a lot because of Mesquite.”
“Wonder why it didn’t happen earlier?” Virgil commented.
“Can’t say. It all started when it got sold five or six years back. Before then, it was mostly a cash-and-carry kind of operation. The office was in an old trailer. Folks would drive in with their pickups, load up whatever they needed and pay on the way out. Sometimes there wasn’t even somebody to help you load up. You had to do most of the shoveling yourself. No delivery. Now it’s a totally different operation, streamlined, all kinds of options, delivery, the works. Best of all they hired a lot of people when they expanded, then built that development, keeping a pool of employees nearby. Most folks are just happy the new management showed up and took over. The place has been humming ever since. That’s the main reason why I decided to try becoming an entrepreneur. Got tired of working for other people.” Virgil stood to go.
“Well, thank you for your time. Listen, Clint, could I ask a favor?”
“Sure, Sheriff.”
“I’m trying to get a hold of Mr. Jessup’s son, but until I do he’s got a horse and a cow and calf over there. I let them out in the fenced-in field before I came over here, but they’re going to need some looking after. Can you take care of it?”
“Not a problem. I have a young boy who does odd jobs for me. I’ll put him on it. He’ll probably jump on that horse, do a little cowboying, if it’s okay.”
“Sure enough,” Virgil said. “It’s a nice-looking horse. His name is Ranger. Probably could use the exercise. I’ll be happy to pay,” Virgil said. Clint waved his hand and shook his head.
“I’ll take care of it, Sheriff. Be happy to do that for the old man. I like him. Didn’t deserve the hand he was dealt. Hope he is going to be back sitting in that booth listening to some music over a couple of cold ones.”
Virgil shook hands with Clint then went out to the front porch, glad that he had made the stop. He took note of the sign as he left the parking lot, Clint’s Dream.
• • •
By the time Virgil got back to Hayward, nighttime shadows were drifting across the landscape. He noted a few stars already visible in the sky when he stepped out onto the crushed stone in the parking lot. Rosie had left. Dif was alone in the office. Virgil took off his hat as he stepped inside.
“That’s showing some serious wear,” Dif said as Virgil dropped his Stetson on the desk. Virgil looked down at the hat.
“Yeah. I guess.”
“Looks good on you. Looked good on Sam too.”
Virgil picked the hat back up, fingering the brim in a couple of places where the piping was seriously worn. The sweat stains at the base of the crown from years of wear had permanently discolored the felt. No amount of cleaning would remove them. He looked at it in the midst of a flashback. He was so much younger, standing outside the old corral and the old barns. It was raining slightly. The sky was leaden, that gunmetal gray color that offered the promise of a lot more rain. The man holding the hat, who was standing in front of him, looked like he’d rather be in any one of a thousand places other than there.
“Don’t know what to say, Virgil. I’m sorry, but I thought you would want this. Can’t resurrect a picture of your dad without it.” Virgil reached out and took the hat from the extended hand of the state trooper. He had worn it ever since.
“Lot of history there.” Dif made the comment as Virgil once again lay the hat back down on his desk.
“Anything going on, Dif?”
“No. Real quiet. Jimmy’s been in and gone. Making his first rounds. Rosie left early because Dave was home. Guess he’s planning on heading down to Redbud now that the holidays are almost done.”
“Just one more holiday . . . tomorrow nigh
t, New Year’s Eve. Then it’s back to normal, whatever that is. Dave might as well wait for the New Year with Rosie. He can head down to Redbud after that. If you are talking to Rosie later, tell her what I said. I’m going to call over to the hospital. Get an update on Mr. Jessup, then I’m heading home.”
Ten minutes later Virgil was on the road heading out of town feeling a lot better. Mr. Jessup’s condition was stable. As the doctor put it, he could still take a punch. Fortunately, most of the beating was confined to his upper body, which although it looked real bad, did not result in any major organ injury. He wouldn’t look good for quite a while, but barring any complications he would walk out of the hospital. The last thing the doctor told Virgil was that the knuckles on the old cowboy’s right hand were cut and swollen. He said he was pretty sure somebody was walking around with some loose teeth in their head. Virgil had smiled after hearing that remark as he hung up the phone. He shared the last comment with Dif as he had stood to leave the office.
“If you’re going down, go down fighting,” Dif had responded.
Chapter 22
New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day were surprisingly quiet in Hayward. It was almost as if everyone was partied out. Clara had decided to stay on at the ranch until after the holiday season was over. Virgil was surprised by her request on New Year’s Day to be dropped off at the hospital. He had told her he was going into the office for a couple of hours.
“Think maybe I’ll go sit with Everett for a while. Do a little catching up. Doesn’t look like he’s going to have many visitors.”
“No. Don’t think that’s likely. Wherever his son has got to, he might not even know about what has happened. Probably just as well. Someone wants to find him real bad. Just hope I can get to him first.”
While Virgil was in the office he took care of some paperwork, answered a couple of calls. He wrote a note to himself about getting something for Virginia. Rosita stopped by, reminding him again of his obligation.
“What did you get Virginia for Christmas?”
Virgil hesitated.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t get her a Christmas present?”
“Not exactly,” Virgil answered.
“What the hell does that mean? You didn’t get her something for all the work she put in on that party. Now you’re telling me you didn’t even give her a Christmas present. Virgil, I’ve been coaching you about this stuff for over ten years. Damn it all. You’re making me feel like a failure.”
Virgil raised his hand.
“Calm down, Mama. Didn’t say I didn’t get her a present. Just haven’t found quite the right time to give it to her, and I’ve finally decided on what I’m going to give her for the great job she did putting together that party.”
“Well, there’s no time like the present.” Rosie picked up the phone. Virgil reached across his desk, taking it from her and shaking his head.
“You are worse than my conscience.” He put in a call to Virginia. After a few seconds Rosie heard him leaving a message.
“She wasn’t there. I left a message.”
“I heard. She’s a young girl, Virgil. She’s got a life. She’s not sitting by the phone waiting on a call from you. If you want to be part of her life, you have to work at it. Don’t forget, in another couple of weeks she’s going back to school. Relationships take work.”
Virgil looked at Rosita almost like he was seeing her for the first time.
“Is Dave allowed to have an original thought?”
“He did once. That was when he asked me to marry him.”
While Virgil was laughing, the door opened and Dif walked in.
“Hey, Virgil, Rosita. What’s going on?”
“Let me guess,” Rosie said. “Edna suggested you get out of the house for a while. Probably said Dif, why don’t you go down to the office for an hour or two.”
“Why, that’s exactly what happened. How did you know?”
Rosie looked at Virgil.
“See, Virgil. There are people who have original thoughts. Then there are people who just have to follow the script as they’ve been told.”
Virgil jumped to his feet.
“Omigod. You’re killing me.” He grabbed his hat off the desk while he headed for the door.
“Where you going, Virgil?” Dif asked.
“Ask Rosie. She can tell you. If you’re interested, she can probably tell you where you are going after you leave here. Also where you are going tomorrow and the day after that.
• • •
Clara was waiting for him when he pulled into the hospital parking lot. On the way out of town she filled him in about her visit with Everett Jessup.
“He recognized me right off. It was like we had seen each other yesterday. Real nice. We had a nice time. Promised him I’d come again.” They had reached the driveway to the ranch. “You know, Virgil, I was thinking you ought to do something or get something for Virginia for all she did to make that Christmas party such a success.”
Virgil looked at Clara as the car slowed to a stop in front of the corral.
“You know, that’s a great idea, never would’ve thought of that.” He smiled at her as he opened her door.
“Sure you would, Virgil.” She patted his hand. “Eventually.”
He stood there in the sunlight watching as she navigated the stairs up to the porch. She missed the second smile that crossed his face. Rosita and Clara were cut from the same cloth, he thought. Then he followed her into the house. They ate a late lunch together. Cesar came in as Clara was cleaning up.
“Virgil, you should be doing that.” Virgil was sitting at the table over a cup of coffee Clara had just poured for him.
“It’s okay, Cesar. I need to move a bit. When I sit too long my bones get cranky. Here, have a cup of tea with us.”
Cesar pulled the chair away from the wall, placing it in front of the table where she had just placed a cup. He took off his hat, laying it across his knee. She filled his cup with tea from the brightly flowered teapot. Wisps of steam rose in the air as she poured. Virgil passed the sugar and milk across the table.
“You know, this teapot belonged to my mother. It’s nothing special but somehow just knowing that makes the tea taste better.”
“Si. I still have a sweater that mi madre made. I take it out sometimes on cold nights. I have other sweaters but that one keeps me warmer.” Clara nodded. “I also have those old bones you spoke of, but yours did not keep you off Sugar.”
“No, they didn’t. I really enjoyed that ride. Like to do it again at least one more time before I go back home. Virgil, do you ever visit that cabin in the back country that Grandpa Dalton built when he first came to this country?”
Virgil had a distant look in his eyes.
“No, ma’am. Haven’t been there since . . . since I found out about Rusty. Don’t even know if it’s still standing.”
“Didn’t mean to bring up a bad memory.”
“I have no bad memories of Rusty,” Virgil said. He took a sip from his cup. The only sound in the room after his comment was Cesar stirring the sugar in his cup. The quiet was finally broken by the sound of a car’s tires scattering stone as it came to a stop outside the house. Cesar pulled the curtains on the kitchen window aside to look out.
“It is Miss Virginia.”
“Right on cue,” Virgil said. “Guess it’s time to give an overdue Christmas present.” He got up from the table. By the time Virginia got out of the car, Virgil was waiting for her at the bottom of the steps.
“Saw you called as I was driving decided to just stop by. So here I am. Hope it’s okay.”
“Anytime, always.” Virgil smiled then drew her close, wrapping her in a bear hug. “Take a short walk with me.” Virgil took her by the hand. He led her across the driveway, then they walked the length of the barn, opening the stall doors as they went. Cesar had already mucked out the stalls and provided the evening grain ration. A flake of hay was in each stall. At the end of the barn Virgil th
rew open the double-wide doors. The fading day flooded in as they stepped outside. Virgil gave a high-pitched whistle. Two more followed in quick succession. More than a quarter mile away, a young bay mare who was swollen with her first foal raised up her head at the first sound and pricked her ears. When she heard the second whistle, she started at a light trot for the barn. Immediately picking up on her response, the others at some distance from her called, then started for the barn. Within seconds, they had all come together, breaking into a full-on gallop with the young mare out in front. Virgil and Virginia stood side by side enjoying the scene as they charged toward the barn, a cloud of dust rising in their wake.
For an instant they morphed into one pulsating mass. As they drew closer, Virginia and Virgil could feel the earth beneath their feet tremble. Virgil stepped to one side, drawing Virginia with him. With only the slightest hesitation, the horses thundered past into the barn. Virginia let out a slight gasp as they ran by. Inside, as if it was choreographed, one by one they slipped into their respective stalls. It all happened before the dirt they had stirred up in their charge had settled. As the light once again filtered into the barn through swirling dirt clouds, its slanting beams showed that each horse had found their true home except one. Alone, standing outside the stall he shared with his mother, Star, stood the little six-month-old colt.
He snorted as he threw his head from side to side, resisting the temptation to go inside, join his mother at the grain bucket and give up his outside freedom. But the slurping crunching noises he heard from her and the others proved too much to resist. He bolted through the opening. Virgil then went quickly down the passageway, closing each of the stall doors. When he returned, Virginia was standing by the first stall, where Star and her colt were cleaning out the last of the grain from the buckets hanging on the wall.