“We go back all the way to right after WWII,” said Leland. He pulled out a ledger whose binding was still holding on, but only by dint of some powerful glue and duct tape. “Bill’s grandad started this place as a guest ranch, and he kept the books himself.”
Austin thumbed through the ledger with some reverence, as the entries were all done in blue ink that was so strong it had faded only slightly. Row after row displayed an impeccable sense of neatness, of good mathematics and, amazingly enough, few mistakes.
“Despite what Maddy might be worried about—” Leland took off his hat to toss it in his hands before hanging it on a wooden hook above his desk. “All of this needs to be transcribed into a digital record. All of this—” Leland waved his hand at the pile of ledgers now sitting on his desk. “When I started, I only wanted to keep up with the money and how it was going, but even then, as green as I was at it, I knew there needed to be a change. I started two spreadsheets and messed ‘em both up, but then my skill set is horses rather than spreadsheets.”
“I’m sure you made a good start,” said Austin, nodding.
Part of him itched to dig right in, to bury the unsettled feelings inside of him in a pile of numbers, in the chatter of a good, solid calculator, to create order out of chaos.
The other part of him knew he wasn’t at his best. Maybe it was the altitude, or the dryness. Maybe it was, again, that the ranch was not yet home. That he was still packed. That he wanted to plant roots, his own roots, as much as he could, the sooner the better.
“I’d like to get a fresh start in the morning, if I could,” said Austin. “And where would I work? Here or—?”
He left the question hanging open so Leland could move him where he liked, which might be, he thought with a small, silent but crazed laugh, in a horse’s stall.
“Bill doesn’t use his office all that much, so I reckon you could use that. It’s just off Maddy’s office.” Leland let that sink in. “But with a laptop, which the ranch will provide, you can work just about anywhere you like.”
“Oh.”
He couldn’t quite explain, even to himself, what the idea of that did to him. Of being able to move anywhere he wanted. Of course, in a corporate office, he’d had a laptop also, but the options were his desk, the break room, or the boardroom, all of which were closed off spaces where the air was slightly stale, smelling of badly made coffee.
“I like the idea of that,” Austin said. “Now, show me your files, and we’ll start there.”
They discussed the ledgers together, and Austin looked over Leland’s spreadsheets, and they talked about how best to organize the transfer of information to being online. And though Austin did his best to focus, all the while he thought about Clay and his sunny face, his kindness. When they got to a good stopping point, Austin folded his notebook shut.
“I think I’ve got enough to be starting on for now,” he said, standing up. “I’ll work on the basic accounting for the ranch, then tackle the petty cash and Maddy’s records.”
“It’ll work itself out,” said Leland. “I think it’ll work itself out just fine.”
He remembered Leland handing him a satchel with a new laptop in it, remembered tucking the most recent ledger beneath his arm. Remembered the long flight of stairs to his room. The door opening. The care with which he placed the satchel on the small desk along the wall. And after that? It was all a blank, a long, black place from which he awoke with a start, his feet on the bed, one loafer off and the other one on. His mouth was as dry as a slate and his head ached.
When he woke up, outside the window, grey-edged clouds laced the sky with a purple-tinged dusk. There was a low sound, a skittering sound, a shh-shh-shh sound he could not identify, and beyond it, a low moan. Blinking, he stumbled to his bathroom to sluice his mouth with water, then hopping into his other loafer, went down the stairs to the front door of the employees lodge to stand on the front porch blinking.
It was not quite dark. The air was perfumed with the warm scent of pine needles cooling as the sun went down. And as for the sound? It was the leaves in the trees, unhindered by city noise and traffic and movement, all on its own, a natural sound, unbridled, unfettered. Free.
Along the path, through the trees, came a small group, dressed like Clay had been, in jeans and cowboy boots, some with straw cowboy hats, others without. They seemed to be ambling rather than rushing, which, at the end of a long working day, only made sense. He must have missed dinner, though his stomach never felt less like eating than it did at that minute.
At the back end of the group, walking with his head down, his hands in his pockets, came Clay. Austin made a sound, reacting, grateful to see somebody he knew with the purple twilight coming down, the fresh breeze from the mountains stirring his hair in a very uncitylike way.
“Clay.”
Clay lifted his head and from beneath his straw hat came that smile that, as he came closer, reflected like starlight in his eyes.
“Hey, Austin,” said Clay in greeting. “You missed Bill’s story hour. He was in fine form.”
Standing to one side, Austin let all the other staff go past him while he waited on the porch for Clay.
“I’m sorry I missed it,” said Austin, meaning it in a way he couldn’t quite understand.
He had yet to meet Bill. Had no idea what stories he might tell. Yet, deep inside, he wanted to have been there, especially with Clay, who would have made a comment or two to clarify, or would have smiled at Austin when the story grew amusing.
In the growing dark, in the breeze, in such company, the ranch seemed full of possibilities he’d not even begun to imagine. And all of this seemed encapsulated in Clay’s smile.
“You’ll catch the next one,” said Clay with a nod. “Bill does it just about every week, sometimes twice a week, depending on the weather and his mood.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Austin wiped his mouth with his hand. “I think I missed dinner, but I’m not sure my stomach cares all that much.”
“Have you been drinking water?” asked Clay.
