“What time is it?”
“Just after eight,” said Zeke. “I thought you were eating at another table, then discovered you weren’t there. I looked for you.”
Cal took a long drink of his coffee, perfectly sugared, and tried to figure out if Zeke was admonishing him or just stating facts. And couldn’t.
He tucked away a small flare of pleasure that Zeke had been looking for him because he hated the fact that he caused Zeke any trouble at all, and focused on the bag with the egg sandwich,wrapped snugly in aluminum foil, and still warm. As he ate, his stomach seemed to sigh with pleasure.
“The food’s really good here,” said Cal, mumbling around a pretty big bite.
He half covered his mouth so he wouldn’t come off as totally rude, talking while eating, and told himself he shouldn’t be angry with himself for not being able to get a read on Zeke, as he’d just met the guy.
“Yeah, it is,” said Zeke. When Cal took a swallow of his coffee, Zeke took a swallow of his, as if in sympathy for Cal’s early morning blurry state, then said, “Sure you don’t want to tell me where those bruises came from? They look pretty fresh.”
“They are fresh,” said Cal without thinking. “I mean?—”
Helpless, he scrambled around in his brain for a likely explanation, but as a bit of butter dropped on his bare thigh, he could see that the bruises on his arms and hip were quite clearly hand and finger shaped. Quite clearly new, colored dark, edged with purple. Those bruises hurt as he looked at them, but when he looked up at Zeke, all he could do was shrug.
“It’s just something I gotta deal with,” he said.
“They’re not from anyone here in the valley?” asked Zeke, with a gesture of his hand, a swipe left and right, like he wanted to check that off his list. And, if it had been someone from the valley who’d hurt Cal, he’d be taking it up with them and pronto.
It was such a strange reaction that it unhinged something in Cal’s chest. Was Zeke looking out for him? Normally Cal considered himself pretty self sufficient, Preston’s abuse notwithstanding. He just needed a little time to figure out his next step, and he sure could use?—
—someone like Zeke looking out for him. Not babying him or coddling him, but standing guard, like he was now. On the alert that something was very out of place and that he’d do something about it if Cal would let him.
“Was it from a prison guard?” asked Zeke. “The driver?”
Cal shook his head. Zeke to the rescue. And oh, how Cal wanted that. But it wasn’t safe to give it up too soon, so Cal tucked his feelings back in and tried on a smile.
“Neither of those,” he said. “Thanks, but like I said, I need to figure this out on my own.”
It felt as though he’d pushed Zeke away with both hands, and hard. Maybe so hard that Zeke would consider the matter closed and never offer help again.
As Zeke nodded and stood up, a part of Cal cried out,No, wait. It was Preston. You gotta help me. I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried everything and it won’t be long before he’ll be storming in here?—
“Well,” said Zeke, standing there, tall in the tent, his head almost brushing the light bulb. He finished off his coffee, and held out the empty cup, which looked small in his large hand. “See you in about half an hour at the paddock,” he said. “Do you remember the way?”
“Sure,” said Cal. The egg sandwich had gone cold in his hand, and he’d forgotten all about the coffee as he’d looked up at the tall strength that was Zeke.
“I figure we’ll go over what you know and discuss a schedule for riding lessons for the parolees.”
“Yeah,” said Cal. His heart was thumping. Quite soon, Zeke would discover that Cal didn’t know anything about horses, and then his confusion over the fact that Cal wasn’t opening up about where his bruises came from would turn to disgust. “I’ll see you there.”
Maybe when Zeke found out the truth, he’d blast Cal to hell and back, or smack him around, or kick him out of the program. At least, with the latter, Cal would truly be in the wind, and Preston would never, ever find him.
Chapter 11
Zeke
While Zeke waited at the paddock for Cal to arrive, he picked one of the horses with a green halter, Bolt, who, in spite of his name, was a calm chestnut with big hooves and kind eyes.
Zeke tied Bolt to the top rail of the wooden paddock, then went into the supply hut for a bucket of grooming tools, saddle and blanket, and set all of this up near Bolt.
He’d get Cal to show him what he knew. Then the two of them could figure out the schedule and roster for riding lessons.
But when Cal arrived, that went out the window. Not all of it, not at first, but Zeke’s knowledge of the bruises underneath Cal’s clothes was soon accompanied by the realization that Cal had huge circles beneath his eyes. Like someone had swiped them with paint.
He’d noticed this before, but now, in sunshine, it was more obvious that Cal hadn’t slept at all. Maybe that was just first-night jitters in a new place. Or maybe it was something else that had caused the sleeplessness.
