“Which is who?”
“You know.” Clay shrugged, his hands on the wheel where the patrolman could see them as he stood there waving passing traffic, such as it was, around them. Standing guard in the rain so he and Austin could wait in the truck. “Young. Stupid. I was probably going too fast as well.”
“You might be young,” said Austin. “But you’re not stupid. And you weren’t speeding. I was watching. You know. Nervous passenger going into an undiscovered country.”
“Like the poem,” said Clay.
“Yes,” said Austin, and he seemed pleased that Clay had gotten the reference, for he smiled, warm and low, and though the smile didn’t quite reach his moss-green eyes, it was nice to see, just the same.
When the tow truck arrived, tires splashing in the mud and gravel, Clay and Austin got out into the pouring rain, standing to one side while the tow truck driver silently, and without a word, hooked up the truck to the tow truck vehicle.
“Better grab your things from the back,” said the driver as he held out a clipboard for Clay to sign as he handed over the keys. “Nobody’s gonna work on this till tomorrow, and it’ll be outside, as the bay is locked till morning.”
Handing Clay his backpack, Austin hustled to grab his boxy suitcases, and together they stood on the side of the road as the tow truck driver got in and took off, pulling Ladybelle down the road, back into Ault. The rain wasn’t quite driving itself into the ground, as it was easing up, but the clouds were getting darker.
“Can I give you gentlemen a lift?” asked Patrolman Carvelle.
Austin opened his mouth, but Clay wanted to try out what he’d just learned about state troopers.
“Is there a place in town we can stay till tomorrow?” he asked.
“Certainly,” said Patrolman Carvelle. “I can carry you to the Ault Motel. It’s on the old side, and it’s small, but it’s decent. You can check out Grey’s Cafe for breakfast in the morning.”
“Thank you,” said Clay, shivering as the rain trickled down his neck. He’d left his cowboy hat in the truck, so he was cold and felt half naked, though Austin, in his too-thin-for-this-weather windbreaker, couldn’t be faring much better. “I hope they have rooms.”
“They should.” Patrolman Carvelle gestured to the back door as he opened it for them. “I hope you don’t mind sitting in the back, but I’ve got gear and a rifle in the front that needs to be kept secure. I can put your luggage up front, though, since suitcases don’t tend to reach for things.”
“Sure,” said Clay, as he slid into the back seat, eyeing the bars that separated the back seat from the front.
Austin followed a moment later. Together the two of them sat shivering, giving each other is-this-really-happening glances as the patrol car pulled smoothly into traffic, did a U-turn with complete indifference and impunity, and drove them back into town.
Now that Clay could look, he could stare at the small town, at the brick buildings and tidy lawns, as the patrol car trundled through it, driving slowly, the engine powerful and almost silent. Within two minutes, Patrolman Carvelle pulled up in front of a U-shaped motel, the kind where the motel rooms lined the parking lot. The sign indicating that this was the Ault Motel was an old neon one, the clips holding the tubes of light rusted from years of being out in the elements.
“Here we are, gentlemen,” said Patrolman Carvelle.
He unloaded Austin’s suitcases beneath the overhang of the lobby entrance, then opened the back door so they could slide out into the relative dry of the overhang.
“Thank you, sir,” said Clay. “I mean it. I don’t know what’s wrong with Ladybelle, but I hadn’t realized we were in the shipping lanes there.”
“Not a problem, sir,” said Patrolman Carvelle. “Glad I could help. Good day.”
With a tip of his plastic-wrapped state trooper hat, which dripped with rain as he tipped his head at them, Patrolman Carvelle got back into his patrol car and drove slowly around the parking lot, looking at each car or truck in turn, as if he suspected he might find information that he’d need for a future arrest.
In the meantime, realizing that the parking lot was pretty full, Clay’s chest got tight. He winced at the prospect of having to call Leland to tell him why they wouldn’t be arriving in time for Sunday dinner.
Together they stepped inside of the lobby, out of the rain and into the coolshug-shugsound of the window unit AC, which pushed out cool, stale air. A woman behind the counter looked at them in a slightly bored way, but she stepped up to the counter.
“C’n I help you gentlemen?” she asked.
“Can we get two rooms for one night?” asked Clay. He pulled his wallet out from his back pocket, trying to remember how close he was to his limit.
“Sorry, we only got the one room. It’s a queen. You want it?”
“I assume this is the only hotel for miles?” asked Austin, as he stepped up to the counter.
“That it is,” she said. “There’s a cattlemen’s convention in Greeley, so everybody in the area is all booked up.”
Clay licked the split in his lower lip and considered it. He’d shared beds with other men, both platonically and otherwise, but it was likely Austin hadn’t.
