Argosy Junction (7 page)
Thursday, he rode in at noon for lunch with the rest of the workers, but unlike the rest, he unsaddled Cardiff and brushed her down while Lane watched from the barn window in silence. Matt probably seemed like a different man than the one she’d met in the pasture that first day—maybe because he was. His movements were gentle, but confident, and he’d learned quickly how to soothe the horses as he worked.
As Matt led Cardiff to the corrals, he spied Lane watching him and turned Cardiff loose to find her own way to the water trough.
Standing a good three feet from the window, he eyed her curiously. “What?”
Lane shook her head. “Nothing. You just fit in here so well that I forgot you are from another world. You’re leaving.”
His feet shuffled a few inches closer. “Yep. Gotta clean up and hit the road in a few hours. This week—”
The tension in the air was unlike anything either of them had ever known. He wanted to hold her and tell her how glad he was he’d met all of them, but especially her. He couldn’t. If he got much closer with the heavy layer of wool coating every inch of him, she’d need medical attention. He ached to say something, but he knew he shouldn’t. He was leaving. She was staying, and by the time he got back, if he ever returned, things would probably be very different. “Lane, I—”
Patience dashed into the barn. “Matt! You’re missing dinner, and it’s tacos. Come on! “She grabbed his arm and pulled.
Matt’s eyes met Lane’s and then he disappeared from sight. Lane sank to the ground at the base of the window and stared into the corral. Cardiff eyed her curiously. “I’ll bet you’re gonna miss him too. You almost had him trained.”
~*~*~*~
Matt drove down the driveway with a lump in his throat, refusing to glance at the rearview mirror. He’d left Patience bawling and Lane even more sarcastic than the day she’d found him in the pasture. Warren had looked disappointed as he shook hands, thanked him for his help with the shearing, and invited Matt back anytime.
The drive through Argosy Junction was bittersweet. He stopped to fill up with gas, smiled at a little girl in a calico jumper who agonized over a candy purchase, and then wondered if she’d grow up to be like the others in her church. A small gift shop next to the station caught his eye as the little girl raced inside to show someone her choice. He still needed a gift for his mother…
A pretty woman greeted him as he entered. As he stepped in the door, he saw the woman admire the child’s candy bar and nibble a corner generously offered by the girl. Her hair hung to the middle of her back in auburn waves, and contrasted with her green floral dress, it was an attractive sight. She clearly belonged to the
Brethren
.
The gift shop was bright and pleasant. Everything seemed arranged as though a cluttered home rather than a store. He saw throw pillows, afghans, lamps, and wall pictures in the front room. The next room was decorated like a kitchen with hand thrown pottery, kitchen towels, aprons, and reproductions of antique things. All through the shop, each room connected with the next, until he found his way back in the front room.
Though usually not much of a shopper, the store was an unusual experience for him. He enjoyed the homey feel of interesting things scattered around to tempt customers. Eventually, he bought the wool afghan he’d first fingered when he entered the store. It was amazingly soft, a gorgeous heathery purple, and the kind of thing his mother could never have afforded. Her household items were discount store bargains—cheap things that merely imitated the finer things in life.
The woman wrapped his purchase carefully. When she saw the name on Matt’s credit card, she smiled. “You’re the man who has been helping out at the Argosy’s. I’m so glad. I know that sounds odd coming from a stranger, but they need friends. I’d love to meet them. If you talk to them soon, would you let them know that they’re always welcome in our store? We’re the Wheatleys—John and Rose.”
Matt gave her a gratified smile and signed the slip. As he stepped through the door, Mrs. Wheatley called to him. “Um, Mr. Rushby—”
He paused again and looked back at the woman. “Please tell the Argosys that we’re not looking for new customers. We’d just like to offer our friendship.”
Five
The sounds of the city assaulted his senses as Matt rolled his suitcase down the walkway leading to his apartment building. Neighbors called out to him, sirens screamed in the distance, and horns blared almost as loudly. The constant beat of hip-hop thundered seemingly from nowhere.
He’d been afraid that he’d want to get back on another plane and return to Argosy Junction the moment he entered his “real world,” but the familiar has a pull on all of us that the ideal can’t possibly attempt. He bounced his suitcase up familiar stairs, dragged it through dingy corridors, and finally through the door that had been home for most of Matt’s life.
“I fly two thousand miles to see you guys, and I don’t even get a hello?” Matt smirked as he waited for his parents to notice him over the din of the TV set. He hadn’t missed that. How had he not missed TV? His mind wanted to ponder the question, but his mother’s arms, his father’s jokes, and the familiar sights of home sent it to another part of his memory for later contemplation.
He regaled them with stories of ferocious sheep, and then confessed that he’d just been a panty-waisted coward. He promised pictures of his work during shearing were forthcoming, and he passed out his gifts. Jake Rushby tossed on a t-shirt, sweatshirt, and ball cap, all emblazoned with the Argosy Ranch insignia, and insisted on hearing all about the ranch. Carol, without any attempt to hide her mirth at the story Matt told, fingered her afghan and marveled at wool that didn’t itch.
Saturday arrived before Matt realized that Friday had ended. His arrival blurred into stories of life on the Argosy Ranch, and before he knew what happened, he collapsed into bed still exhausted after a hard week’s work and the beginning effects of jet lag. His sleep, however, was interrupted by dreams of sheep, little girls with braids, gawky teenaged boys, and the most soulful voice he’d ever heard. They called to him, but he couldn’t find them.
The following morning, he was confused. The living room was empty. There were no Saturday morning cartoons, no scents of coffee brewing, and Carol’s famous pancakes were still sitting as batter in the fridge. His stomach growled at the thought. It took a circle of the apartment to realize that his parents were still asleep. No one woke up before nine on the weekends. Breakfast wouldn’t be done until eleven. He’d starve before then. A week on a sheep ranch had already changed his sleeping and eating patterns, and he didn’t want to interfere with the delicate inner workings of his appetite.
Moving quickly, he pulled jeans and a t-shirt from his drawer. The jeans immediately settled low on his hips. Frustrated, he grabbed his work belt and cinched it up a notch pulling his t-shirt low to cover it. No one wore belts in his neighborhood, but he’d never been fond of the jeans-hanging-off-the-hips look—or feel.
He laced his shoes, stuffed his wallet in his pocket, grabbed his hoodie and keys, and dashed out the door. Already the familiar gait down the stairs had him in a normal rhythm of life. He sauntered down the sidewalk, around a few corners, and into McDonald’s. As much as he loved biscuits and gravy, he’d missed the familiar flavors of an Egg McMuffin.
At home, the apartment was still and quiet. He flipped on the computer and turned off the speakers as the operating system chimed. He poured his coffee out of the paper cup from the restaurant and into his favorite mug as he waited for the computer to connect to the Internet.
As the search engine loaded all Internet hits for “Argosy Ranch Montana,” Matt clicked on the ranch’s website. He hadn’t realized that they had one, and while no one had mentioned anything, he’d hoped. Now he had a faster way to communicate with them. He clicked on the “contact us” button, started to type, and then closed it out immediately.
Matt stared hard at the screen. He saw the familiar logo and made up his mind. He’d always shared an email address with his parents. He rarely used email, saving his Internet visits for gaming or an eBay search for a game he didn’t have. Now it was time to gain a little Internet independence. He didn’t want to try to explain the cult aspect of Argosy Junction. His parents already thought his church attendance was a little strange.
Feeling awkward and unnerved, Matt went to letterbox.com and signed up for a free email account. He pasted the email address for Argosy Ranch into the “to” box and composed a simple email.
From:
[email protected]
Subject:
Back in the urban jungle
Hello Argosy Family!
The airline managed to return me to Rockland and in one piece. I have discovered that flying is interesting, but I prefer horses. How long do you think it would take me to ride from Rockland to A. Jct.? Mom and Dad were thrilled with their gifts, and they would like to thank Lane for protecting me from the big, bad sheep.
I thought Lane would like to know that I purchased a wool blanket for Mom from the little gift store next to the gas station. Speaking of the gift shop, the woman in there was very pleasant and helpful, and although she looked like one of the Brethren members, she asked me to tell you that you’re welcome to visit any time and made a point of saying that she doesn’t care if you’re shopping, or not, she just wants to meet you. It seemed odd, but I think she’s sincere.
Please send pictures soon. Mom and Dad believe that I worked with sheep for now, but I can see the skepticism beginning to form and therefore, I need proof and fast. Please save me from a lifetime of mockery and disbelief!
Well, I hear Mom stirring, so I had better say good-bye for now. I want to thank you all again for a marvelous vacation; it was truly more wonderful than I could have ever imagined, for which I am truly thankful.
Oh, and please ask little Miss IM-Patience to write me; you know I’d love to hear from her. Since Lane is incapable of taking over my job, I would assume she might have time to write as well. Of course, I’d love to hear from all of you, but I know you have a busy life so if you can’t or don’t care to respond, I will understand.
Matt— the honorary shepherd
~*~*~*~
Patience sat at the living room window, staring down the driveway. She’d moped around the house for the past two hours, and Lane was ready to tear her hair out in frustration. “Patience, I have an idea. Why don’t we write him letters? If we drive them to the Post Office, they might be there when he gets home from work Monday.”
That’s all it took. Patience raced for her notebook and pencil. Before Lane could leave the room to retrieve her stationary, Patience had “
Dear Matt,
” written at the top of her paper.
They scribbled on their respective sheets of paper for some time, Lane’s backhanded script contrasting with Patience’s carefully slanted cursive. Once finished, Patience painstakingly addressed her envelope, raced to the office for a stamp, and then scrambled down the steps and into the Jeep to wait for Lane. Shaking her head as she followed, Lane wondered how one man could make such an impact on them in such a short time.
~*~*~*~
Lane calculated well. Matt dragged through the door just after six on Monday night, tired, dirty, and hungry. He compared the difference between the same feelings from one job to another as he climbed the three flights to his apartment. Welding was dirty work. It was exhausting, and you definitely got hungry doing it, but it felt different from working sheep. It wasn’t better or worse—just different.
On his way to a hot shower, Matt saw a handwritten envelope on top of a stack of mail as he grabbed clean clothes from his dresser drawer. Only one person in the world that knew him would write like that. The sight of the carefully written letters and the evidence of partially erased penciled lines made him smile to himself.
He sank onto the bed and fumbled with the envelope. A stick of gum fell into his lap, and he grinned at the horse sticker slapped to the top right of the notebook paper. Patience was such a little girl. He groaned at himself for the thought. Of course, she was a little girl!
Dear Matt,
I miss you. I wish you didn’t have to go. I think you should have staid and worked for us. Lane is writing to you to.
When can you come back? Was your mommy happy to see you? My mama said that your mommy and daddy would miss you too much if you staid any longer. I told her that we miss Kyle, but that he stays in California anyway, so it would work for you too. That made mama cry. I guess I shouldn’t have said it.
Are you going to the movies soon? Lane said that she’d take me to Spokane for my birthday in June, and we could go to the movies, and we could ask you to go see the same movie on the same day and it would be just like we were going all together. Almost. If you go, I’ll buy you popcorn.
I am sending you a peace of gum. I was chewing one while I wrote this, but it lost all the flavor. Gum flavor goes away too fast. So I got me another peace, but I thought I’d share with you instead.
Please write back. I miss you. I think I said that already. Oh well, I do. I do. Lots and lots.
Love,
Patience Martha Argosy
Matt smiled as he read the letter. It sounded just like the little girl. Every line was a reminder of another world—misspellings and all. Before he could grab his shorts and a fresh t-shirt, he saw the second envelope. A feminine backhand told him that Lane was ambidextrous. He hadn’t noticed left-handedness.
Matt,
Well, you’ve been gone for two hours, and Patience is still moping. I suggested we write you to get her mind off your “departure.” So howdy!
