From the road, the valley playfully lurked behind a curtain of green pine trees, through which could sometimes be seen Half Moon Lake, or Guipago Ridge, or even Horse Creek River, glistening, like a secret string of blue diamonds among the trees.
“Work with ex-cons?” Galen had asked rather bluntly as he’d sat in Leland’s office, taking the bottle of home-brewed root beer but not drinking it. “Me?”
“You’d be great at it.” Leland leaned forward, his own bottle of root beer between his two strong hands, elbows on his knees, as if that would, in any way, diminish his height or his control of the conversation. “I need you there.”
“Can I be honest?” asked Galen.
“I’d appreciate it,” said Leland.
Galen echoed Leland’s pose, elbows on his knees as he held his bottle of root beer in exactly the same way.
“I am not interested in working with ex-cons.” Galen’s voice came out a bit more stridently than he’d expected, so he softened it. “They were stupid enough to commit crimes, and now they’re getting a free ride? Training? Food and lodging? They have it easy.”
“These aren’t violent criminals,” said Leland, as if that were the issue. “And they’ve all done their time.”
“I don’t care if they were arrested for shoplifting gum.” Galen sat up, putting the bottle of root beer on Leland’s wooden desk with a loud clonk. “I’ve worked hard all my life and no matter what dire straights I was in, I would never commit a crime. I’m not interested.”
“There’s a five thousand dollar bonus at the end of summer.” Leland took a swig of his root beer and then placed his bottle next to Galen’s on the desk, an echo. “You could pay off therest of your medical debt and still have money for tires for your truck.”
“I said no.” Galen stood up, ready to leave.
He’d worked hard all his life. So had his dad. They’d made a life that did not involve stealing from other people. There was nothing Galen would ever commit a crime for and he wasn’t about to participate in any program that gave criminals an easy time of it.
“It’s important to me,” said Leland. “I need you in this program.” He paused and looked right into Galen’s soul. “Please?”
Galen knew he owed Leland for more than the time off when his dad had passed. The comfort and support Leland had offered was an invisible debt that could never be repaid. More, Leland’s quietpleasestruck him to his heart.
Looking through the open doorway of Leland’s office into the lofty space of the main barn, where ranch hands hustled, and the smell of warm hay filled his lungs, he thought of what his dad, Earl, might say at that moment.
Earl hadn’t been as dismissive of an ex-con living and working at the guest ranch as Galen had been. Earl was of the mind that you just never knew. That you made your own luck and trusted in the future. Feelings and opinions that Galen would have been happy to share had Earl lived.
Now, the bitterness surged up, almost swamping him, but through it all he could almost hear his dad’s quiet, slightly rumbly voice.Say yes, son. It’ll give you time to figure out what to do about the farm. It’s yours now. You get to decide.
“Yes,” said Galen. He breathed out a long, slow breath. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
“Great.” Leland rubbed his hands together, though he was the farthest thing from an evil overlord gloating about his plans for world domination coming together. Well, almost.
Leland usually got his way. While he didn’t own the guest ranch, he managed it. Hedidhave partial ownership in the valley; it was his baby, his pet project. He wanted it to succeed, and when Leland wanted something to happen, it usually did.
“You can keep working to help set up for the season at the ranch, then I’ll send you to a two-week training course in Torrington.”
They shook on it, then Leland said, “Thank you. I think you’re going to be a real asset to the program.”
Wondering if he’d made a huge mistake, Galen went back to work at the ranch, doing his best to normalize, to get back to the life he remembered before his dad passed.
Or at least he tried to normalize. But he’d been lonely.
One mistake he’d made after his dad’s funeral service was to blindly reach out for companionship. His attention had landed on one of the ranch’s star hands, Zeke Malloy.
Zeke was an ex-bull rider who’d busted his leg reaching for eight seconds and couldn’t do the rodeo circuit anymore.
Zeke had told Galen that he’d tried trucking, and working in a granary, feedlot, slaughterhouse. And had landed at Farthingdale Ranch the summer before.
He was lanky and lean, with an insouciant walk, and a slow drawl that crawled up Galen’s spine, making him feel things he thought he’d forgotten how to feel.
Flirting with Zeke took Galen’s mind off everything. Everything.
Zeke had a dry laugh in response to Galen’s small wit, his eyes crinkling at the corners, their green sparkling like emeralds in rich earth, blazing against his dark tan.
