“Who’s the kid?” asked Leland.
“I don’t know,” said Clay. “The kid said the lady with Eddie was his mom, so—”
Leland lifted his hands as though an unexpected and perhaps unnerving miracle had occurred, but what he said was, “There’s someone for everyone, I reckon.”
“That there is,” said Clay, growing quiet, for however mildly Leland was speaking to him, there was no way retribution wasn’t coming.
“As for you,” said Leland. “You’re all marked up, so you can’t be customer facing until the swelling and bruises go down.”
“Bet you didn’t say that to Ellis,” said Clay, folding his arms around his belly. Not being customer facing meant no trail rides, no being part of riding lessons, no going to the dances or the storytelling by the fire or the chuckwagon breakfast. Clay was being shoved to the side, fit only to be tasked with hauling hay, picking up trash, raking the arena, scraping carrots in the back of the kitchen.
“Ellis got six months added to his parole,” said Leland, stern. “Your punishment is to be not customer facing. You’re lucky you’re not fired.”
The sting of that hurt worse than Eddie’s fists, for while Clay would never give a rat’s fart about what Eddie thought of him, he cared deeply and to his true soul what Leland thought of him.
The seriousness in Leland’s eyes was steady, never wavering. When it came to the ranch, the horses, the guests, the employees, Leland was die hard all about making it work, making it perfect for guests, as well as good for the people who worked for him. He trimmed the broken and bent and unnecessary, and cultivated hard work and honesty.
Praise came to those who tried their best. That’s what Leland expected from his employees, and especially from himself. And maybe he had high expectations for Clay and saw them crumbling, for Clay saw in Leland’s eyes a flicker that could have been sadness or regret for having to be so harsh with Clay. And that made it worse. Made Clay’s heart turn in his chest.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I hadn’t had a lot to drink atall, just that Eddie always gets on my nerves and when I saw him smacking that kid—well, I shouldn’t have hit him but I did, and I’m sorry.”
“I know,” said Leland, and he patted Clay’s knee because he possibly was very aware that at that moment Clay was beating himself up more than Leland ever could. “I have something you could do for me, if you’re up for it.”
“Anything, just tell me,” said Clay. Even as much as he might grouse about being on the B-roll for work on the ranch, he’d crawl under barbed wire to rescue a lost calf if Leland asked it of him. “What can I do?”
“Had an interview yesterday,” said Leland. He stood up and grabbed his felt cowboy hat from the hook, which signaled that, at least for now, Leland was done with his lecture. Later, maybe, he might have more words of wisdom to offer, and Clay would listen with his whole heart to each and every one. But for now, he was grateful to stand up as well and follow Leland out into the front of the barn, out of the shadows and into the sweet June sunlight.
“Oh, yeah?” asked Clay, only partly interested in who Leland had hired, more interested in the fact that Leland hadhired. The ranch had been on a tight budget all season, and that there would be someone new coming to the ranch meant that the purse strings were loosening. That things were getting better.
“New accountant,” said Leland. He put on his hat and adjusted it over his forehead, and looked with long-seeing eyes at the ranch. “Needs to be picked up this afternoon. Can you do that?”
“Why can’t he drive himself?” asked Clay. He wasn’t trying to be obnoxious about it, just curious, and Leland seemed to know this, for he shook his head as if bemused at the vagaries of human behavior.
“Not sure, except that he just lost everything in the divorce. All flights are booked as well, so I need you to pick him up.”
“Can I take your truck?” asked Clay, and though he expected to see Leland reaching into his pocket for the keys to his silver F150, he was sorely disappointed when Leland shook his head again.
“You almost got a ticket last time you drove it, so no.”
4
Clay
The more grubby type of chores were reserved for Sunday morning after the meeting, the kinds of activities that guests might not want to observe while on vacation. That meant Clay spent his morning shoveling horse shit into bins so they could be loaded into a truck and hauled away to a local composting place.
Sometimes Leland talked to Clay about doing their own composting, but then the discussion would turn to the fact that such work might make the ranch more of a farm, which wasn’t what Leland had in mind. In the end, the work was sweaty and smelly and Clay hauled and lifted and scraped, going way past noon and lunchtime just to get the job finished. By the time the truck full of horse shit trundled down the road, Clay was drenched in sweat, his eye was throbbing, and manure dust was sticking to his skin.
Overhead, the sky was scudding into low grey clouds, which meant rain. Which was good for manure dust, but bad for guests who were anticipating storytelling hour around the fire pit when it got dark.
“Help Jasper set up the canopies at the fire pit,” said Leland, striding past on his way to important managerial tasks. “Then go pick up the accountant. Take a shower before you leave.”
“Yes, sir,” said Clay with a mock salute, though a second later he regretted it. Leland didn’t deserve that kind of sarcasm; Clay deserved what he was getting.
Leland saw, of course he saw, Leland saw everything, but he just shook his head at Clay, as if he’d expected better and didn’t like to be disappointed.
Down at the fire pit, Clay joined Ellis and Jasper, who were already laying out the poles and cords for the canopies, which would be set over each area of seating. Though Ellis smirked at Clay’s state, obviously having heard about the Saturday night fight with Eddie Piggot, he didn’t say anything. But then, he never did say anything much, only pointed to the rolls of canvas as if to ask Clay’s help in unrolling them.
“Sure,” said Clay. “This end? Or that one?”
