He’d heard this same story from Bill, when he’d visited him in the hospital in December. Quinn’s disappearance had brought Bill down sorely low as the season ended. Then, just before Christmas, Bill had experienced shortness of breath. Maddy had raced him to the hospital in Cheyenne. There, he’d been checked in, looked over, and, having closely averted a heart attack, spent a few nights hooked up to machines and tubes.
Bill had been given some good drugs, and told Leland all about it, how Quinn had wanted to know more about some guy named Old Joe, who’d been looking for his little red fox. Quinn had also wanted to know how to wish upon a star, Bill added. That’s when it had gotten more strange than Leland cared to deal with, for Bill had insisted that there was a ghost story he’d personally been telling all the guests for years on chuck wagon night, setting the mood and the tone so he could get people to look up at the stars rather than at their phones.
Only thing was, Bill had never toldanysuch story, not to Leland’s recollection, and he’d been hanging around the ranch for years. Even Maddy had no idea what Bill’d been talking about.
Sure, Bill told the guests marvelous stories, and tall ones, too. And yes, some of those stories were about vivid encounters with a herd of wild ghost horses, or a pair of buffalo wolves along Chugwater Creek, which would then typically lead into a lively discussion about land conservation and the sad plight of animal extinction. But none of the stories were or ever had been about a guy named Old Joe, and certainly none included anything about a little red fox.
In spite of being quite certain about this, Leland had stopped arguing with Bill about it when Bill would bring it up, which he did at least once a month. Leland didn’t think Bill was going either crazy or senile, but maybe the heart attack scare, along with those very good drugs, had danced this story into his brain, where it refused to leave. And now it looked as though Brody was taking up the baton of the story.
“I know what fey means,” said Leland again. “How does it apply here, with Quinn?”
“It was the look in his eyes,” said Brody, in the same story-telling voice Bill used around the campfire. “When I was helping pull the chuck wagon in, he was standing right there by the fire pit. He was looking right at me, you see, but it really felt like he was looking through me, like there was something more important behind me, only there wasn’t.”
This wasn’t any kind of explanation that cleared things up or told Leland what he wanted to know to even begin to believe Bill or Brody. It was the same fairy tale it always was: Laurie Quinn knew about his own impending doom. Which was impossible, and certainly nothing anybody at the ranch needed to be spending their time and attention on.
Everyone at the ranch, from the greenest ranch hand to the experienced trail boss, needed to focus on running the ranch, and on delivering individual care to each and every guest. Everyone Leland had kept on the payroll needed to be concerned with the length of stirrup on each guest’s horse, the quality of their coffee at breakfast, and their ability to see nice sunsets over Iron Mountain. Those were the memories Leland wanted the ranch to give guests, for it was such positive, glowing images they’d share with their friends, which would then, in turn, bring the ranch bookings for next summer.
He couldn’t make Brody and Bill stop talking about Quinn, except in the presence of guests, which he insisted on. There was no point dragging the awful events at the end of last season into this new, shiny one. No point in scaring the guests, some of whom were already full of trepidation about riding a horse for the very first time.
Like Dorothy, who he was developing a special affection for, even before he’d met her. She and her husband had booked a spot in week three at the ranch, and had been planning on staying in Cabin #1. This was the smallest cabin the ranch had, but it was the cutest one with the best view of the river, the best view of the valley stretching out to the foot of the mountains beyond.
Sadly, Dorothy’s husband had suddenly passed away, and a tearful Dorothy had called about her husband’s death. Only it became apparent during the conversation that one of Dorothy’s friends had convinced her to come on her own, as a tribute to her husband and as a way of making her way in the world, now that she was alone.
He and Maddy and Bill had discussed the situation at length. All of them had agreed that even though, given the refund policy, they could not have refunded her for her husband’s portion of the reservation, they told her they would. Only Dorothy had insisted on not taking the refund and suggested maybe they could donate her husband’s week to someone in need?
That wasn’t how things normally worked, but it had been nice of Dorothy just the same, and they assured her they’d do their best to set up some kind of grant of a free week. Currently, Dorothy was expected on the bus from Cheyenne a week from tomorrow, with the shadows of her recent widowhood swirling all around her. If anybody deserved a fresh start, it was Dorothy for being so brave. Hence, she was going to get to ride Gwen, the best of the best of the best the ranch had to offer. Or maybe Brody was right, and she should ride Travelle.
“You remember him, right?” asked Brody, as though Leland’s lack of response indicated a kind of amnesia about the tragedy surrounding Quinn. “He had really dark, red hair, and the most expressive brown eyes—”
“Let me stop you there,” said Leland, holding up a hand, palm out. “You met himonetime—”
“Guy like that,” said Brody. He shook his head, hands on his hips. “Sometimes, that’s all it takes.”
“Well, he’s gone now,” said Leland, pushing his most pragmatic tone into the words. “And we need to get on with things. Need to get the ranch ready for the guests of week two. And we really need to make the Ayers family pack up and go home.”
“Their chauffeur is still waiting?” asked Brody. The main lodge building wasn’t quite visible from the horse barn, so Brody’d not been seeing what Leland had seen, that Mr. and Mrs. Ayers were still drinking on the shady wooden porch of the dining hall. Their luggage, evidently, was still in Cabin #2, which was larger than the other cabins, and had a wider, less sloped walkway to the road, and their chauffeur was in the parking lot with their sleek black Cadillac Escalade.
“Yes,” said Leland, sighing. “Maybe I’ll swing on over there and put a bug in their ear.”
“I could do it for you, boss,” said Brody. His smile was a bit on the sassy side, because maybe he’d get a bit more enjoyment from kicking two rich folks and their daughter to the curb than he ought to have done.
“I’ll take care of it,” said Leland. “But thank you.”
“Who’s that?” Brody jerked his chin at the road leading through the trees to the parking lot to indicate where he wanted Leland to look.
Leland shifted in his saddle, looking down the dirt road as it curved beneath the pines and aspen trees. A small breeze swirled the dust, and it took him a minute to realize that a young man was emerging from the shadows and into the sunshine. He looked road-worn, Leland could see that, even from this distance. His shoulders slumped, and he looked down at his feet as he walked, as though uncertain of the surface. All he was doing, though, was kicking up dust and kicking upmoredust—
Then the young man looked up, as though feeling eyes upon him. Leland couldn’t truly see the expression on the young man’s face, but as he looked over his shoulder, a bit of wind swirled his long hair around his temples and forehead. Sun glinted on that hair, as though painting strands of bronze, and if that wasn’t fey, Leland didn’t know what was.
“Damn it,” he said. He took off his hat and wiped his forehead on his sleeve, then put his hat back on. “Damn that Eddy Piggot.” As Brody looked up at him, a question raising his eyebrows, Leland shook his head. “Over at the Rusty Nail. He’s been sending us drifters all week, telling them that there’s a job to be had. And now he’s sent us another’n.”
Leland needed to get rid of the drifter and then pay Eddy a visit, to clear things up. The ranch needed a sterling reputation if it was to stay in business. They couldn’t be seen hiring drifters who thought they could just show up with no experience in guests, cattle, horses, or anything related to a ranch and expect to get a job.
It was one more thing on his long list of things to do. Just one more thing between him and that long, peaceful ride.
2
Jamie
