Feeling This (13 page)

I look around not sure he’s talking to me and answer, “Um no sorry I don’t.”

He calls down the counter, “Hey Gabe, got a light?”

Gabe strolls down, pulling a lighter out of the front pocket of his jeans and hands it to the guy. As he lights the cigarette he looks my way commenting, “So you’re not from around here. Where are you from?”

“Dallas.”

He chuckles, “Yeah, I would have guessed that. Big city boy in a small town.”

I don’t respond so he rambles on as Gabe fills two more mugs for me.

“I’d guess you’re running from something. No one in their right mind comes to Mount Vernon for any real reason. Folks round here are tryin’ to get out.”

I take a long drink of my beer avoiding his questioning look. But as I set it down he asks, “So what’s your story?”

My head hangs staring at the bar. I did not come here to be anyone’s entertainment or to make friends. Gabe notices my uneasiness and tells him, “Back off Bert. He obviously doesn’t want to talk about it.”

The Bert guy pipes up one last time as he’s getting up, “Well, whatever your story, there’s no work here if you’re lookin’ ‘cept a ranch hand job out at the Bruin ranch. It might still be open. I left it so’s I could get outta here. Good luck.” He tosses some bills from his pocket onto the bar, fastens a brown cowboy hat on his head and leaves.

Gabe collects the bills and turns to me agreeing , “Bert’s right. The Bruins are good to their people. If you are lookin’, I would go there first. That is if you don’t mind workin’ hard and a little sweat.”

I look up crossing my arms on the bar, “Thanks for the thought.”

“No problem.” He turns to walk to the back where swinging slatted half doors hang; reminding me of the doors the cowboys always came through in the old western movies. I toss back the last of my beer and check my watch, 4:30. Getting up, I take my wallet out and leave money to cover the beer and a tip. As I walk out I hear Gabe call, “Thanks dude, hope it all works out.”

I continue out the doors and trek out through the scorching heat to my car. Once inside after turning the air to full blast, I sit with both hands on the steering wheel wondering what to do now. I don’t have a plan and because of that I’m lost. Bringing me out of my dilemma, my phone starts to vibrate in my back pocket. I reach down, glancing at the screen. It’s Dave. I debate whether to answer it or not. As it rings a third time I hit the answer button, resigned with the knowledge that my mom probably put him up to calling.

“Hello.”

“Hey Jordan, how are you?”

“I’m good Dave. How are you? How’s Bree?”

“We’re fine. Listen Jordan, I won’t keep you. Your mom asked me to call you. Dude, she’s really worried. Actually, I’m a little concerned too. This isn’t like you to just take off like that.”

I knew she had him call me. I sigh, “Sorry she put you up to this. I know it’s out of character but trust me, I’m okay. I just needed to get away for a while. I’ll be in touch.”

“Okay whatever you want. What do you want me to tell her?”

“Just tell her I’m fine and I’ll call her in a few days. I need to get lost for a little while.”

I push the end button and set the phone down beside me. Out of the front window I watch as the two gray haired men leave the bar laughing while wobbling down the road. One is balding at the crown. Both are dressed in polyester type pants pulled too high above their waists and button down short sleeved shirts. I watch them all the way down the road until they turn a corner, disappearing from my vision. Only an hour and a half from Dallas and I am already in a place so foreign, I feel lost. No one here knows me or my story. This might be the perfect place to help me forget. Turning the car off, I trudge back through the heat to the bar. Once inside again, my eyes adjust to the poor lighting and the chilly air cools me off. Gabe speaks up from behind the bar, “Hey ‘stranger wanting to get away’, you’re back.”

I ignore his nickname and ask, “That guy who was here before. He said something about a job.”

“Bert? Yeah, the one over at the Bruin ranch.”

“How do I get to the Bruin ranch?”

“That’s easy. Take main street North through town. It’ll turn into highway 50, Take it out ten miles. You’ll come to the Bruin farm on the right side of the road. It spans probably bout two hundred acres. When all you can see is cows and fields, you’re probably there.”

“Okay, Gabe right? Thanks.” I shake his hand over the bar and turn toward the door again.

Remembering I don’t really have anywhere to stay I spin back on my heel calling out, “One more thing. Is there a hotel around?”

He chuckles, “Down the road is the Derby Motel. That’s about the best you’re gonna get in these parts.”

“Thanks again.”

This time I walk back to my car with more of a purpose. I’ve got something else to think about now. If my mind is busy, I won’t have to think about Susan.

Gabe was right. The drive to the ranch is pretty much exactly ten miles. A wide dirt drive peeks out between tall white ash trees at the edge of the property. A white mailbox has Bruin mottled across the side. Once I start down the drive, I pass under a large wooden sign hovering above the path with the words, Bruin Ranch. The lane winds through a canopy of trees finally ending at a circular drive before a wide, grey, two story house. A wooden porch extends the length of the house on both floors with a white picket railing on the top floor.

I turn the engine off glancing around as I get out of the car. A tall man with a receding hairline, greying at the temples steps out on the porch through a swinging screen door. As I walk toward him I notice his bulky frame and very dirty white shirt and jeans. He places his hands on his hips and asks in a deep voice, “Hello there. What can I do for ya?”

I walk a little faster, coming to the bottom of the steps leading up to the porch and introduce myself, “Hello sir. My name is Jordan Rhodes. I understand you might have a job available.”

He eyes me curiously as he walks down the steps slowly stopping one above the last. He stretches his hand out and I grasp it firmly. He utters, “Pleased to meet you Jordan Rhodes. I’m Stanley Bruin.”

He withdraws his hand, taking the last step. We are face to face and I notice he still towers over me by a couple of inches. I’m not that short at six one. This guy must be at least six three. He looks aged and worn with skin darkened by the sun.

“I just might have somthin’ for ya. But first I need to know some things.” He walks over to the edge of the porch and sits, gesturing that I should do the same.

I ask, “What would you like to know?”

“Well I can tell from yer hands, this isn’t the kinda work yer’ accustomed to.”

I turn my hands over and stare at them thinking about what to say. This was such a spur of the moment decision; I really did not think things through. I decide as little of the truth as I can get out is best.

“Yes, you are pretty right on. I wanted to try something different.”

“Can I ask, different from what?”

“Well, I’ve been working in an office for a while now. I wanted to do something outdoors for a change.”

He chuckles, “This work ain’t just workin’ outside in a garden or anything like that. You do understand that don’t ya?”

“Yes sir. Can you give me a chance and I’ll show you? I’m a hard worker and not afraid to get my hands dirty.” These words surprise me. I’ve never had to convince anyone I’m worthy of working hard.

He laughs a full belly laugh. His rather large middle jiggles. He places his hands on the edges of his knees looking to me, “Okay Jordan Rhodes you got the job. I can pay you eighty-five a day and you get Saturdays off. I need someone as soon as possible though. Can you start tomorrow?”

“Yes sir.”

He stands and holds his hand out once again. I grasp it. His grip this time is loose and he asks before letting go, “Can I ask where yer from?”

“Yes sir, I’m from Dallas.”

He lets my hand go and turns taking a couple of steps up the porch. He calls back over his shoulder, “Okay Jordan from Dallas, we start bright and early at five in the mornin’. See you then.”

He makes his way back into the house and the door swings closed, echoing with a loud thud.

***

The alarm near my head beeps at the turn of the clock to 4:30. Oh man, what did I get myself into by taking this job? I make my way to the bathroom and splash cold water all over my face for five full minutes, trying to wake up. The faucet squeaks as I turn it off. I pull on a pair of jeans, a grey shirt and my black boots. Grabbing my keys, I make my way out to my car for the short drive out to the Bruin ranch. I stop for a coffee and a bagel at a little mom and pop shop at the end of Main Street. It’ still dark out making me long to go back to bed.

Once I pull into the drive, a man stops me. I put the window down as he explains that Mr. Bruin likes the help to park out behind the barn. He takes a step back and eyes my car, claiming, “Ahh, maybe you should just pull up to the house. I don’t think this here car will make it out to the barn.”

I nod, roll the window back up and drive the rest of the way to the main house. Mr. Bruin comes out the same door as yesterday as I pull up. He laughs, “Did Mike tell you to come all the way up?”

I nod not sure who really told me but I assume it’s Mike. He agrees, “Yeah, that car woulda got stuck in the mud. Come on out. I’ll show ya where the barn is and introduce you to the boys.”

As we walk out he talks, slowly drawling out his words, “First thing are the cows. You ever ridden a horse? I probably shoulda asked that yesterday.”

“Yes sir. I umm learned when I was young.”

“Good. Then you’ll do just fine. I’ll pair you up with Joe. He’s our newest on the ranch but he knows his stuff. Mike is my foreman. He can get ya what you need or help in any way too.”

When we approach the barn, a group of men are standing around talking quietly. A couple of them spit chewing tobacco while waiting for the rest of the crew. Mr. Bruin calls out, “Hey fellas, come on over. This here’s Jordan Rhodes from Dallas. He’s gonna take Bert’s spot.”

I’m introduced to everyone and told to stay with Joe for the day to get the hang of everything. Joe looks to be a little older than I am. He is about my height with short brown hair. His clothes look as if they’ve already seen a day’s work. Actually most of the men standing around are dressed in worn, stained clothing.

Unfortunately, Joe has been working on a broken part of the fence on the back side of the property. We head out before first light and work for hours hauling round, wooden posts to the post holes we dig. Then we attach the wired fence to the posts. It’s long and laborious. By the time Joe looks at his watch, the sun is high above us beating down and I’m drenched in sweat. He announces, “Grub time. Let’s head back.”

I follow him back to the barn silently. He has been pretty quiet most of the day. The questions he did ask were pretty general so my answers gave nothing away about why I’m here. We are the last to arrive at the barn. I find a spot about ten feet away from the rest of them. I settle on a bale of hay savoring the chance to sit and rest.

The rest of the ranch hands are all laughing and joking. Joe calls out something about a sister. I glance up wondering who he’s talking to. My eyes land on a petite girl with long dirty blonde hair that reflects the sunlight when she moves. Her skin is flawlessly white and she’s dressed in a little blue sundress with silver flip flops. She’s handing out brown paper bags to each of the ranch hands. She rolls her eyes at something that Joe said. When she turns in my direction my eyes move to look at the ground and find a piece of hay to twirl through my hands. 

I feel her presence as she approaches me so I glance up at her. I take the bag she offers, uttering a thank you and meet her eyes. They are the color of the sky when dusk is settling, a pretty blue-grey. Quickly, I look the other way. When she turns to go back the way she came, I watch her retreating figure and feel completely guilty for even looking, as if I’m betraying Susan. I avert my gaze and concentrate on my lunch.

Chapter Fourteen