None of this was his place to decide. Besides, Leland had already bragged about how good Galen was at taming wild convicts, making them sweet enough to seemingly eat out of his hand. In fact, all three of his team, Bede, Toby, and Owen, were eating their dinners, but their eyes, their focus, were on Galen, who was talking about the plan for the next day.
The three ex-cons were rough around the edges, but were polite and attentive as Galen talked about knapweed and trail maintenance. Like they’d been behaving this way every day of their lives.
Zeke couldn’t have imagined anything like it. Leland had been right from the start. But then, he was wise like that.
As for Cal, he’d grown a little less wary while eating his meal, as if the food helped calm him, and the fact that nothing dangerous or scary was happening around him.
“There’s a campfire tonight,” said Galen, drawing Zeke’s attention to him. “If it doesn’t rain, that is.”
“It won’t rain,” said a voice, someone passing by their table. Zeke looked up at Royce, whom he’d met before, though only briefly.
“How do you figure?” asked Bede, as if challenging Royce.
“Well, the dew point is too low, for one,” said Royce, with the air of a man who knew all about it, and was quite sure of his facts. “Maybe later in the week, we’ll get some rain.”
Close on Royce’s heels as he walked with his tray to the bussing station was Jonah.
Jonah had been arrested for dealing in ghost plates, whatever those were, and he looked about as rough and tough as Bede did. Which made it odd to see the gentle way he helped Royce with his tray, and how patiently he waited as Royce talked to one of the cooks.
Zeke looked at Cal, who was slowly working his way through a slice of banana cream pie.
“You up for the campfire?” Zeke asked. “They make s’mores, I understand.”
“Sounds good,” said Cal. He looked at Zeke, and again Zeke was struck by a pair of blue eyes, enormous in Cal’s thin face. “Should I change, or?—?”
“You’re fine as you are,” said Zeke. “Just bring your flashlight so you can make it back to your tent afterwards. It gets dark in these woods.”
“And there might be a bear,” said Bede, breaking into their two-man conversation.
“Bears don’t usually come into the valley,” said Galen, with the tone of a man who’s had to say the same thing more thanonce. “I keep telling you. In the fall, they come down from the high country, but until then, they’re not a risk.”
Bede did not look like he believed Galen the least little bit, and Cal was looking a tad worried, so Zeke turned his attention back to Cal.
“There’s nothing to draw them to the valley, as all the good feeding grounds are up in the mountains,” said Zeke. “And we keep our trash locked up, as well.”
“Okay.”
Cal didn’t look like he was convinced by this, but Zeke knew his worry would be curtailed when the work started. There was nothing like good hard work, honest work, to distract a man from scary unknowns for which there were no answers.
The valley was a good place, and in time, Cal would come to know that. Just the way a horse, after hours and days and weeks of patience, good feed, and time, tended to grow more calm, Cal would, as well. Zeke would make sure of it.
Chapter 9
Cal
At the fire pit, the air outside of the ring of fire was cool, making Cal wish he’d brought along the new jean jacket he’d found in one of his boxes. But it wasn’t too bad, so he stayed put on the blanket-draped hay bale and tried not to think how freaking dark it was.
There were no street lights in the valley and, above the orange and gold glow of the flames leaping up from the fire pit, only more darkness. Except, were those stars?
He tipped his head back, looking up and up into the bowl of black.
The strangeness of the valley would wear off in time, just like the strangeness of prison had worn off.
Cal had gotten used to the regimented schedule where every minute was accounted for. He’d gotten used to the shiny floors and the horrible smell of the cafeteria. He’d gotten used to staying in his own little world and counting off the minutes until he was released. And he’d gotten used to talking to Preston from the other side of the glass in the row of visiting booths.
Normally, after the kind of crime he’d committed, he’d have been given access to the open visiting area, where families andguests could visit their inmate while sitting around a circular picnic table made of metal and attached to the floor.
But Cal had made sure to be extra aggressive, which meant his file was updated to not allow him in the opening visiting area. He’d looked it up. If you were violent, you had privileges taken away. Which meant that for over a year, Preston had not been able to touch him. Until today.
