The Last Chance Ranch (5 page)

Temper was careful not to sound too interested. “They were together a long time, then?"

He wasn't sure what kind of response he'd get, but Obie didn't seem to be jealous of his man's old love. “Ten years, ‘til Robert died of the influenza. That was four years ago, give or take, or so Snow tells me. Ben don't really talk about him. Sometimes though, I find him standing alone in that little graveyard up by the house, just staring at Robert's marker. I guess it still pains him, after all this time."

"Must be hard for you, knowin’ that."

"Did hurt a bit, at first, but I've got pretty good at reading him. No choice, God knows the bastard don't actually talk about anything. I know how he feels, about Robert and about me. And I guess a man's entitled to feel sadness sometimes for what he's lost, even if he's found something else."

Temper turned his head to study the young man, with his wavy, brown hair, soft eyes like a calf's, and tanned, unlined face. Lord, he was young, but there was a wisdom to him, one that Temper guessed was hard-earned. “I reckon you're right,” he said. “Ben's lucky. A man is fortunate to be loved that well once in his life, and he's been doubly blessed."

Obie actually blushed a bit. “I'm the lucky one. I drifted all over before I ended up here, gambling and getting myself in all manner of hot water. Found a home and a family all in one go. And then I almost wasn't smart enough to hold on to it.” He brought the wagon to a halt. “And here's something else you should know, Temper. I believe Snow sent you up here with me, hopin’ I'd learn a thing or two from you."

Temper was surprised and his face showed it. “Thought I was here to help you."

Snorting, Obie jumped down and grabbed a hammer from the wagon bed. “Help me figure out which end of this thing to hold, more like it. See, I've only been here a year myself, and came here not knowin’ a damn thing about ranching. I guess Snow figures since they look to be stuck with me for awhile, they might as well train me up."

Temper couldn't help but return the boy's sunny grin. Obie inhabited the ranch with such ease and comfort. He seemed like a veteran hand. Temper decided it was his comfort with Ben, bleeding over into everything else, that made him seem so at home. “I reckon I got a few things I can show you. First off, them nails? The pointy end goes on the wood, and you hit the flat part with the hammer. That's that thing you got in your hand, there."

Obie burst out laughing. “I knew it,” he cackled. “Soon as I saw you, I knew. All quiet and polite, but give you half a chance and you're crackin’ wise. You're gonna fit in just fine around here."

"I don't know,” Temper admitted as they wrestled a rotten plank from the fence. “I like it just fine, but other fellas tend to find me kinda odd, on account of my not drinkin'."

"In case you hadn't noticed, everyone here's a little odd. Either they don't talk, or don't listen, or got a bad temper, or got no temper, or fight too much, or screw too much.... And speakin’ from personal experience, I'd rather be around a fella that don't drink than one that drinks all the time."

Temper was careful not to look at the man. “Your daddy?"

"Yup. Mean old bastard, used to get stone drunk and whup on me every day. When he finally died, I rode away from that damned old farm and never looked back."

Between them, they slid one of the ranch's precious planks of wood out of the wagon and braced it in place. Temper watched as Obie pegged a nail and gave it an off-centered knock. “Who in the world taught you to use a hammer? You wanna hold it at the end, not in the middle. You'll hit with more power that way."

Obie changed his grip and swung the hammer, missing the nail completely.

Shaking his head, Temper smiled and gestured for him to try again. While the younger man drove the nails, tongue poking out the side of his mouth in concentration, Temper came to a quick decision. “My daddy was a drunk too. That's why I don't drink. I made a promise to my mama."

"That's nice, Temper, real nice.” Obie finished nailing his side and passed the hammer to Temper, watching with envy as he pounded in three nails with quick, forceful swings. “Look here, if you'd rather not go into town tonight, you can stay behind, keep an eye on things here."

It was Saturday, and Temper had heard some of the others making plans for the weekly journey into town. Most of those plans included drinking and whoring, neither of which held much interest for him. He considered Obie's offer, but the chance to see more of the town, not to mention learn more about his fellow hands, was too good to pass up. “That's all right, Obie. I'd like to go."

"Well, all right then. Don't let them fellas hack on you too bad."

Temper couldn't help but grin. It was kind of the young man to worry so, if unnecessary. His eyes strayed back to the overgrown field on the other side of the fence. “You know, I'm thinkin’ we should clear that lot and make use of that wood."

Obie pushed his hat back and scratched his head. “Unless you brought a mill in your saddlebags, I don't see how."

"We wouldn't need to plane it down. Log fence ain't as pretty as a board fence, but works just as well."

"Hmm. Well, that old Dutchman don't seem likely to change his mind any time soon, and that stack of planks ain't gettin’ any bigger on its own. I'll run it past Ben, see what he thinks.” Obie picked up the rotted plank and tossed it in the wagon. “Let's check the rest of this stretch and head back. I wanna play some poker tonight, and ain't nobody gonna come within a mile of me if I don't get a bath."

Just before sundown the hands, freshly scrubbed and wearing their second-best clothes, piled into the wagon. Leaving the ranch in the care of Lonnie and Juanita, Ben and Snow climbed onto the seat up front. Ben took up the reins and gave the horses a slap, and they set off trundling down the rutted road. Obie sat facing the rear, his back nearly touching Ben's. His curls were still damp at the ends, and he was clean-shaven.

Temper let his eyes move over the others, trying to guess their intentions by their appearance. Ben and Snow seemed the same as ever, if a little cleaner. Dexter hadn't stopped talking about a particular girl since noon, so that was no challenge at all. Larry reeked of some God-awful cologne, so he clearly had whoring on his mind as well. He was settled as far from Arcady as the limited size of the wagon would allow. Arcady was wearing a crisp shirt with fancy embroidering on it, and his footwear had already drawn some attention.

"Where in the world did you get them boots?” Billy hooted, lounging against the wagon's side. His hat, perched on his knee, fell at their feet as he convulsed with laughter. Temper leaned forward to get a closer look.

"Is that snakeskin?"

Arcady stuck his chin in the air, both proud and a little defensive. “Damn right, rattler skin. These boots cost more than you shitkickers make in a year."

Porter snorted, stretching his long limbs, that looked longer for his usual black clothes. “Foolish waste of money,” he ground out, pulling his hat down over his eyes as though settling for a nap. “Not practical for ranching."

"And they're ugly,” Dex added. Arcady shot him a poisonous look, and he shrugged. “Sorry ‘bout that, but they make you look like a Kansas City fop."

The other men howled with laughter. Temper caught that ugly look pinching Arcady's face before he covered it with a good-natured grin. “You boys got no sense of style, is all. I wouldn't expect any of y'all to appreciate fine craftsmanship like this."

Ben glanced over his shoulder for a peek. He didn't say a word, just shook his head and turned back to the road. That struck the men as hilarious, and they broke out laughing again.

The ride to town passed pleasantly. Miguel had brought his guitar and strummed it softly, crooning a sad-sounding song in Mexican. One by one they fell quiet, watching the trees pass and letting the week's work fall away.

Temper didn't realize he'd dropped into a doze until the wagon jolted to a halt, startling him awake. The sun was hanging fat and orange on the horizon, but they had a bit of daylight left yet. He climbed out of the wagon and joined the others as they lined up to get their pay. Each man took their money in turn and scattered. Most went right into the saloon, but a few went to the general store or disappeared into town. Porter even headed to the bank.

Last in line, Temper stepped up to his boss and waited patiently as the man counted. He accepted his pay with a nod and took a step, only to freeze as he glanced at the amount. “Boss, it's too much.” He looked up into Ben's green eyes and saw a flash of humor.

"Think I don't know who works hard and who don't?"

Temper felt his cheeks heat. He'd had plenty of bosses who'd been pleased with his work and said so, but somehow Ben's sparse compliment warmed his soul. “Thank you,” he mumbled, turning away.

"Temper,” Ben called, stopping him. “If you and your Bible want to attend church services tomorrow, feel free to stay overnight. There's cheap rooms to be had over the saloon.” Temper's mouth dropped open, and Ben's eyes crinkled with mirth. “Something for you to keep in mind, Mr. Free. I find out everything that goes on at the Bar J. Eventually."

Temper grinned and shook his head, pushing his money into a pocket of his pants. “Yassir. I'll remember.” He watched, shaking his head in amusement, as Ben headed into the saloon and Snow drove the wagon toward the store.

He'd already noted the little church when he first rode into town. Temper thought he'd take Ben's advice and find a room for the night, go to services in the morning and then.... Huh. How was he expecting to get back, then? Deciding not to worry about it, he followed his boss into the saloon. If Ben had suggested it, he probably had a plan. If not, well, it gave him something to pray for tomorrow, didn't it?

The saloon was certainly busier tonight than it had been when Temper had arrived in town, but that had been early afternoon on a Tuesday. Then, the only folks who'd been inside drinking had been James Arcady and a half-dozen roughnecks clustered noisily around a corner table. Mill workers, Temper recalled. He'd wondered at the time what sort of job left a man free to get drunk in the middle of the day.

Now though, the room was fairly packed. Ben was making the rounds, exchanging handshakes and a few words with a number of the men. A homely young whore was plodding through a sad song on a badly out of tune piano. Larry was standing nearby, leaning on the piano case and watching her with longing and barely controlled anticipation. Obie had already joined a poker game, chatting familiarly with the other players and drinking from a glass of whiskey.

Ben settled at the bar, sipping the beer put before him with a contented sigh. Temper slid onto the stool next to him and caught the bartender's eye. The thin young man swiped at the bar with a rag and set a glass in front of him. “Soda water, right?” Temper nodded, surprised he remembered. “I don't sell much of that in here,” the bartender grinned, filling his glass. “He's one of yours now, Ben?"

"Yup. Put it on the tab, Stanley."

Temper thanked him and turned around so he could watch the room. Leaning back on his elbows, he sipped his soda and moved his gaze from face to face. At the far end of the bar, Billy and Dex were already arguing in hushed tones over a tired-looking whore wearing too much makeup. A few men were at the corner table, casting black looks at his boss, and Temper guessed they were lumber boys. They didn't seem inclined to do more than mutter, so he dismissed them and moved on.

He almost missed the glowering face, hidden as it was in the shadows that lingered in the corner. A tingle of alarm started in his belly as he turned to Ben and quietly said, “Boss."

Ben followed his gaze. The only sign he gave that he'd seen Vargas was a slight tightening of the muscles around his eyes. “Huh,” he muttered, turning back to his beer. Temper wished he could be so unconcerned, but the captain was slouched over a bottle, glaring in their direction like he was wishing they'd catch on fire. Those glittering, dark eyes felt like little feet running over his grave. No one else from the ranch seemed to have spotted him, so Temper resolved to keep an eye out. Just in case.

It was several drinks later when his vigilance paid off. Vargas pushed back his chair so hard it banged into the wall, swaying a little before finding his feet. As he made a beeline to where they sat, Snow, who'd joined them after completing his supply run, let out a tired sigh. “Oh Lord. Can't we have one quiet Saturday night?"

Ben snorted and ordered another beer. “If it ain't one thing it's another.” He turned around and came face to face with the captain. “Speak your piece,” he said mildly. “But make it quick. I need a piss."

Vargas's face flushed several ugly colors. He poked a thick finger toward Ben's chest, but stopped short of touching him. “You,” he hissed, and the venom in his voice made the little hairs on Temper's arms stand up. “You think I don't know what you did?"

"What exactly did I do?"

"You! You told my men to desert! You brought dishonor on me and made me look like a fool!"

"Well,” said Ben. “That don't sound like something I'd do.” He was calm and patient, and it only made the captain angrier.

"You sent that
bastardo
"—he jabbed his finger toward Miguel—"to spread lies to my men. The same night we left your damn ranch, more than half of them left in the night. In two days they were all gone."

"Is that so. I reckon they weren't so keen to fight, once they knew what the army had in store for them. Sendin’ ‘em off to get slaughtered by Indians and all."

"Liar! We were to fight the Confederates. I was told—"

"The army lied to you, not me. They do that from time to time, if it suits them. And the sad truth is they use men like yours to do their dirty work. Men who're poorly armed. Inexperienced."

He means brown people
, Temper mentally added.
We're expendable
.

Ben lowered his voice, his tone taking on the soft, cajoling cadence he used to good effect with skittish horses. “Trust me,
Capitan
. You and your men are well out of that mess. Take my advice and forget about it. There are other ways to gain honor, ways that don't mean spillin’ the blood of your countrymen for no good reason."