The Cowboy Who Strolled Into Town (2 page)

Chapter 2

The sunlight falling through the stained glass windows found high up on the church walls fell obliquely on the lone parishioner seated at the last bench within. Daniel, seated at the back, could see the dust visibly suspended between the bland faces of the parishioners, as well as the bright red hue across the priest’s face as he stood on the pulpit giving a feel-good sermon. Daniel kept an ear open, but his mind wondered; from the far off altar, low lying at the head of the church, to the priest at the pulpit, to the wooden benches making thirty or so rows divided into three columns. Sundays in this same church had been a fixture for his family thirty or so years ago, his parents had never missed, and they had made sure that he never did either. Now, looking about the old coloured church building, his parents long gone, he realised how long ago that was, and that those times were never coming back.

Daniel’s interest picked up shortly after the sermon during the prayers of the faithful. From the back of the dusty old church, he observed Julianne Hayes, adorned in the customary white coveralls, genuflect before taking the altar. Her clear voice, easily carrying over and across the vast space of the church, sounded to him like the delightful jingle of bells from the distant past; a joyful past-he was entranced. He sat up straighter in the hard bench of the pews, and at that moment their eyes connected.

Julianne faltered, shock glancing her usually serene features. She resumed the monologue of the prayers as before even while her heart raced within her chest. His eyes had held hers only for a second, but that one moment could just as easily been an eternity.

During the procession train, signalling the end of the mass, her heart sank to the pit of her belly when she could not see Daniel at the bench she had seen him seated at earlier. The concluding prayers, in actual fact spanning seconds, seemed to her like decades in length. To the amusement of the others in the sacristy, she was out of her robe, and dashing through the door in less than a minute, and wittingly bumped into Daniel who had been waiting just outside the doorway. His strong arms caught her by the elbows, preventing her fall, “Whoa! You better take it easy.” He said, gently lifting her up to her feet.

Julianne thanked him, taking a deep breath and straightening her blouse and skirt. She felt hypnotized by the depths of his gaze. His blue, liquid eyes were like clear, mysterious pools, having no end to their depths. She smiled as she took the arm he offered. Words seemed superfluous at that point, as the church compound, and everybody in it, fell out of existence, leaving only the two of them in the whole wide world.

They walked in serene silence for what seemed like an eternity, quietly enjoying the lazy atmosphere that always accompanied Sundays, and enjoying each other’s company, before any of them spoke.

“Why, Ms Hayes forgive me for saying, but you must do this all the time,” Daniel teased. “Men, lining up on the sidewalk to ferry you home.”

Julianne giggled at his remark, they used to talk like this a long time ago, “Excellent deduction Master Hellas, but if you were really smart, you would also know this is the first time I am actually enjoying myself at the same time.”

Julianne felt his solid frame ripple with his chuckle, and felt the air rush out of her nervous lungs as he pulled her closer to himself, with gentleness beyond uttering, “It has been a while we spoke like that to each other,” he said wistfully, “I’m surprised you still remember!”

Now it was her turn to laugh, “Twenty years could seem twenty days Daniel.”

“Jacob and Rachel?” Daniel asked, pausing all of a sudden and turning to gaze deep into her eyes, with a longing that set Julianne’s heart ablaze. It took all she had to put aside the raging turmoil within her.

“When did you come back Dan?” her lips felt desert parched as she asked.

“Yesterday, in the evening; Old Yalow treated me to supper.” They were walking along once again, almost at her house now.

“Last time I saw you, I could only see your back as you sped off in a haze of dust, with neither glance, nor word; you really hate this place that much? What are you going to do now?” She asked, striving to keep the anxiety and agony out of her voice, “I mean, I know it was your pa’s funeral, and you and the town got history, but what are you gonna do now Dan?”

They were about thirty metres from her house, under a tree, hidden from the harsh late-morning sun that hung in those parts. A few rays still managed to filter through the cool green leaves overhead to fall upon her dark face like golden tear drops. The cries and laughter of children easily carried on the warm breeze that played around them.
Twenty years, twenty, long years!
Daniel thought as he admired the smooth profile of her face, even more beautiful in the shade. He felt a longing at the very core his being. He was aware of the importance of his next words.

“I’m gonna fix my truck. That’s what I’m gonna do next.” He said carefully, and was delighted to see the anxiety dispelled from her face; vowing to himself to do all in his power to keep it away, “Pops always said a man is his truck ‘specially in these parts.”

“Then you should know that old Jacob of the bible has one better on you, for he took twenty-one years, not twenty.” Julianne said, her confidence in him as bright as the sun drops against her dark chocolate cheeks, she kissed him on the cheek, effectively stifling the response in his throat; her perfume, lively and earnest, wafting into his nostrils, all creating a sensation so hot and intense, they may as well have been standing in the blaring sun rather than the cool shade of the tree, “One step at a time dear.”

He stood in the cool of the shade, watching the sun rays reflect off her dark chocolate as she insisted on walking the final stretch to her house. Daniel was positive that where he presently was, was the closest to flying that a man could get without equipment.

Her perfume clung to his arm, and Daniel touched his cheek, as he strolled further into the suburbs towards his home. He was not sure if her last statement alluded to the relationship between the both of them or to his integration into the area. He was not sure there was any difference between the two.

Chapter 3

The day was just exiting the grey stage when she arrived in her tiny coupe. The light from the sun cast as much shadow as it did light across the dashboard as she parked the tiny car neatly to the side. Her steps made almost no sound on the old boards of the porch, and she was just about to knock on the mouldy old door when she heard metallic sounds coming from the left corner of the house, along with Daniel swearing harshly to himself.

She rounded the corner just in time to see him slide out from under the old truck that his father had ridden for many years before finally passing away two years earlier. His face was covered in grease stains, and so was his blue coverall which was much too small for him, and fitted like a bodice.

He turned sharply at the sound of steps on the dusty, brown earth, and smiled a disarming smile of genuine surprise upon seeing her.

“I was hoping to catch you in bed, so I could pour water all over you,” Julianne said, the wide smile on her face, reaching her eyes, mimicked his own. “I can see the time spent away has not taken the cowboy out of you.”

“Neither has it deemed your sense of humour,” He said skipping away as she made to take a hand he was nursing hands,  “I’m all greasy!” he protested, “I don’t want to soil them ivory fingers of yours.”

“Oh come of it! These
ivory
fingers are here to help, besides I’m sure I seen worse.” She said grabbing his hand.

“You mean at the hospital?”

“hmmh-hmmh, nothing a good rub won’t fix; suck on it for a few minutes, and it should be good as new in no time.”

“Thanks. You always hard on your patients like that?” he asked, his eyes mocking. She was standing just in front of him.

“Only when I need to be; some people don’t know when to lie still and ask for help.” She said, openly admiring the muscles bursting through the seams of his coverall, “So where do we start Cowboy?” she asked, punching at his rock had chest.

Working with Julianne felt more like play to Daniel than actual work. It was hard work nonetheless; one that they both agreed would take the better part of a week to accomplish; opening up of the windows and letting the air, and life back into a house that had been closed off in the darkness for too long. They moved the furniture about, to the sound of popular country music, and scrub cleaned the living room to the sound of both of them singing along to songs they both knew by heart. The sound of music and laughter and good old fashioned labour did not go unnoticed by the neighbours, and within an hour, Mrs Yalow had sent her son Steve over with some lemonade to cool temperatures, after which Steve stayed to help out himself. Three other neighbours came along, all with more lemonade and some fresh baked cakes for refreshments and all stayed. It was good old Southern Hospitality, and in short order, there were six people in total, rubbing the house down, both upstairs and downstairs; three women and three men, one taking a look at the car, five taking a look at the house. Daniel worked with Steven upstairs while Julianne coordinated the women downstairs. It was hard work, but they all sang to the radio, and enjoyed the company. By noon, with the essential parts of the house cleaned, and the growl of the car mixing with the blast of the radio, they reclined in the shade of the porch; tired, soiled and sticky, but content. They made the last of the lemonade and cakes to disappear, and nobody protested when Daniel offered to carry all of them home in his newly up and running ford truck, even though all of them lived within a mile of each other, counting out Julianne who lived farther up in the part of the suburbs closest to the city center.

The small group cheered playfully when the truck came to life immediately the key was turned in the ignition; Gary Wade, middle-aged and sombre faced, who had been working on the truck all morning, nodded his head in satisfaction, and accepted the pats on his back with a rare smile as the car sped along in a cloud of dust along en route to the city center.

It was already past one o’clock when Daniel pulled up beside Julianne’s house. The sun was high in the sky, and Daniel put his hat on as he saw Julianne up to her door.

He looked like a cow hand straight from the prairies in all respects, the lazy, yet steady walk, the strong arms protective over those of the woman he hoped to claim his own, the hard stare, hidden beneath the brown hat; all this supporting a brown jacket over a tight fitting blue bodice, and blue denims, all soiled by the day’s work. He still wore yesterday’s stubble, and Julianne rubbed her hands playfully over this as she caressed his chin in the hot southern sun. The feel of her surprisingly soft hands against the hard lining of his face, felt consoling, soothing; perfumed balm for his restless soul. He took her in his strong arms, and kissed her. He kissed her hard, and he kissed her long there under the sun, and it seemed an eternity before he let her go, breathless, as hungry as he was for more.

She stared into his eyes, their blue hue, more intense than she had ever seen them, and at that moment neither the sun, nor the house, nor the very earth they stood on existed, as a bond more enduring than time was forged between them. A gasp escaped her parched lips, leaving her breathless, as he kissed her lightly on the forehead, sending wild shivers from the top of her crown, through her sooty frame to the bottom, the very soles of her feet.

The breeze blew warm against her cheeks as she watched him drive away, the prospect of being away from those strong arms more agonising than the heat overhead.

Chapter 4

Tyrone Hayes looked on at the Ford truck, until it disappeared from sight down the road. His room upstairs would have been completely dark if not for the adamant rays of sun light which insisted on getting through the drawn curtains. The result was twilight on a sunny day with a brownish rather than golden hue pervading the place. Tyrone sat on the dirty sheets, and exhaled a dense puff of grey smoke that rose lazily to the ceiling.

Julianne followed the reeking stench to the closed and jammed it open, “For God’s sake Tyrone! How many times do I got to tell you not to smoke your pot in the house?!” The figure on the bed lay as if dead, and for a second Julianne was fearful, “Ty?” She asked coughing, ignoring the burning sensation in her throat as she sidled over to the bed to the check on him. The figure on the bed jumped up all of a sudden, causing Julianne to stumble and fall back onto floor with a painful thud.

Her scream echoed around the house as her older brother stumbled to the floor beside her as her tried to grab her with his mangled hands. The dried out husk of a human being who fell beside her only scared her further, and she scrambled to her feet. She felt his hands begin to close around her ankle, but she jumped out just in time to make it out the door. She rested, with her back, her whole frame to the door, her chest heaving up and down in panic, and her heart. She dug her legs in as she pushed back against Tyrone’s insistent banging, tears streaming down her eyes as she held on tight.

An hour later, in in the shower, she could hear him calling out to her. His voice was crisp and clear, calling her by the abridged form of her name, which their father used to favour whenever she was pouting, and needed cajoling;
Julie.
Whatever heights he had been on, she was sure he was not there now. He always did this when he was sorry and wanted to apologise. Julia let the cool water stream over her, enveloping and caressing every nook and cranny of her soft, chocolate brown skin; washing away every inch of the sick smell of cannabis from her body, if not from her mind.

When she came down stairs he was nowhere to be found, and for that Julianne was grateful. She immediately set about preparing supper.

Tyrone walked briskly past the bus stop, hat over his head shielding from the hot overhead sun. He hailed for the first taxi he could see, yanking the door open before it had even come to a proper halt.

“Triple H; step on it!” he said crisply, leaning back into the seat for the half hour ride to the more affluent parts of town.

The taxi sped on, through the scanty traffic that was characteristic of that time of day, through the business district, past the St John’s Hospital where Julianne worked, before finally slowing down as it broke off from traffic into the district known as Hill’s Head. Tyrone squinted as the sun shone through the slow moving glass and against his face. The chauffeur, his eyes still steady, despite the sun pulled into an arc before a huge metal gate that read at the top: Hill’s Head Halls.

“Triple H, sir”

Tyrone shuffled out of his seat as he paid the money to the chauffeur, whose worldly eyes watched with interest the oddly inappropriate quality Tyrone’s demeanour possessed in the high class surroundings. Tyrone ignored the comic look in the other’s eyes and turned purposefully towards the opulent gates of Triple H.

A haven from all the hustle and bustle of life for the movers, and shakers of the greater city area, Hill’s Head Halls was ‘officially’ open to all, so Tyrone, dirty jeans loose against his emaciated legs, and pot stained t-shirt blowing in the wind, marched through the gates, and up to the open doors of the club.

He burst into the plush, elegantly furnished, cigar filled foyer like a desert wind: haggard and unwanted. Silence fell like a blanket upon the totally white population seated therein, as heads turned to look at the ‘intruder’ in all his ungainly glory as he stood wide-eyed, and out of place, clearly looking for someone as he turned his head from side to side.

A waiter, clad in the proprietary attire of a white shirt over slim black pants surrounded by a velvet waistband, came to ask the purpose of his visit; a hardly camouflaged air of disdain about him.

“What?!” Tyrone asked belligerently, “Ain’t this a free for all? Do I need a reason to be here?” he asked the flustered waiter, “I am looking for somebody and he better be here.” Tyrone said as he pushed past the waiter towards the twenty or so people scattered across the room. “No don’t get up on account of me, please by all means sit down; that’s what I intend to do.” He announced loudly as a few white bearded old men rose, cigar in hand, to move to an adjoining room. Tyrone took a seat, just close to the door; even in his cannabis excited state, he had more sense than to go too deep into a room as this one where his kind was clearly not wanted.

At that instant a man walked into the cigar smoke filled air of the room. His walk was steady, his eyes hard, and his airs, authoritarian. The last part was probably explained by the brown sheriff uniform he adorned. He was stunned to see Tyrone seated in there, not only inappropriately dressed, but clearly coming down from a high or going up-you could never know.

“What?! Don’t I have the right to-“The sheriff did not let him finish. He grabbed him by the cuff of his dirty shirt, and yanked him roughly out of the chair, put him in an arm lock and hauled him out of the club all together. Tyrone protested all the way to the white stone gravel he was tossed unto.

“It’s because I ain’t rich isn’t it? Because I’m black that’s why-“ he was cut off by a warning glare from the hard eyes from the sheriff, “You gon’ get yours one day McGrady-you mark my words. This cannot continue forever.”

“Shut the hell up you crack head. If you want to mix up with decent company then at least stay off the drugs for crissakes!” Even if Vincent McGrady was interested in the intricacies of racial politics, which he was not, he was not inclined to talk about it with a lunatic like Tyrone Hayes. He toyed with the idea of tossing him in for illegal use; it would certainly bring in some bonuses from certain quarters. “I outta lock you up! You blinking lunatic!”

“But you can’t can ya? Not when you get pai-“ Tyrone was too stoned to see the blow coming, and it caught him squarely on the jaw, flooring him.

“You shut your yap! Jesus!” Sheriff Mcgrady spat at the crumpled heap on the white gravel, “Jesus I came to see my father, who is in there you freaking lunatic!” the sheriff hissed fiercely, his face fiery red with rage.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take it from here sheriff. You did a good job; our boy is just not feeling well. Are ya Tyrone?” A civilised, masculine voice spoke from behind. McGrady could feel a manicured hand on his left shoulder. Tyrone groaned on the ground, clutching his face, “Thought not.” The voice continued.

“Your boy has a mouth on him; bigger than a pie hole!” McGrady turned to face a clean-faced, sophisticated-looking man of about forty years of age, “Quite frankly I don’t know why you keep him around, Tyler.” he hissed before storming off.

Tyler Blackford watched the crumpled heap that was Tyrone Hayes with disgust, and shoved it back to the floor with his foot as it tried to rise, “How many times have I told you not to look for me here, or anywhere else?! You don’t call me, I call you; I thought we were clear!”

His faced softened as Tyler groaned again, “Come on, shake it off; now what is the problem? You know this is not your crowd; reason why I don’t want you coming here.”

“Not my crowd or you don’t just want them to know that we hang out? Tyrone spat on the ground as he straightened himself to his full height, “You owe me!”

“Hey, hey take it easy; you are my main man, and I got nothing but love for you. Now why don’t you tell me-“

“Daniel Hellas is back! You hear me?!”

“Wait, what do you mean, back? His house is abandoned and he hasn’t been back in twenny years!”

“Well he’s back! Now excuse me your highness my kind live that way” Tyrone hissed and ambled off in the direction of the gate, leaving Tyler to ponder, his white coat billowing slightly in the wind, and the sun reflecting on the pure, polished leather of his cowboy boots.