Man of the West Read online

Jolie had already splashed cold water on her face before seeing there were no paper towels. She used her shirttail to dry her face, then stared into the mirror. Her eyes looked hollow and sunken from lack of sleep. Her hair was still damp and straggly. She had been wearing it blond lately and it looked like straw. She was so exhausted she could hardly stand, so she gave up the idea of putting on makeup.

  Still jittery, probably from the No-Doz and the tension, she waited as Danni brushed her long, thick brown hair. She stepped behind her and braided it for her, glancing at her mirror image. She was often overwhelmed by how pretty and smart her daughter was. Sometimes she couldn’t believe such a perfect human being had come from the likes of herself and Billy Jensen.

  At those times, pure gratitude gripped her, shook her like a powerful hand and reminded her that it was her duty to give Danni the best life possible. She had failed at that up to this point, but from this moment forward, Jolie intended to do everything possible to see that her daughter was blessed with chances Jolie herself had never had.

  Before driving away from the rest stop, she called Amanda and told her they were only a couple of hours away. Then they were on the road again.

  SHERIFF JAKE STRAYHORN of Willard County, Texas, was always out of bed no later than sunrise. He had become accustomed to being an early riser while doing an eight-year hitch in the army. He had never lost the habit, though eleven years had passed since his military days.

  As always, his first thought was of the jail, for which he had total responsibility. No prisoners resided behind bars this morning. In fact, Willard County’s two-cell jail hadn’t had a prisoner since Jimmy Hayes stayed two days after getting drunk and giving his wife a black eye. That had happened more than a week ago. Having zero tolerance for wife beaters, Jake had kept the bullying little shit behind bars as long as the law allowed.

  He put coffee on to brew, then went about his morning routine. With the showerhead plugged by buildup from the heavily-mineralized water, he bathed under what amounted to only slightly more than a trickle. He’d had a plumber come up several times from Abilene and install new showerheads, but they never lasted long. West Texas water was so corrosive, mere ordinary plumbing didn’t stand a chance. He was forced to acknowledge again that his living quarters were far from luxurious. In that way, he was no different from most Willard County residents. But then, with no one but himself to consider, Jake didn’t require luxury.

  Shaved and dressed, he poured a cup of coffee and made his way to his office located between his living quarters and the jail. His deputy, Chuck Jones, had left a note on his desk. One of Hart’s cows had gotten out of the fence and onto the highway. Chuck had gone out early and herded it back home.

  A few faxes awaited him—hot sheets from Austin, some from the FBI. Other than that, all was quiet.

  He locked the office door and sauntered over to Maisie’s Café, Lockett’s only eatery besides the Dairy Queen. If he ate breakfast out, Maisie’s was his choice. If going for lunch out, he usually ate at the Dairy Queen. Since the county picked up the tab, he tried to be fair about where he spent the taxpayers’ money.

  The usual breakfast gathering hummed and buzzed in Maisie’s. Some were dressed for church, some for work. At the lunch counter, he spotted Pat Garner, a local rancher and horse trainer. Pat had arrived in Willard County nearly at the same time Jake had. He had come from Terry County a hundred miles away. These days, if he was in the café, he usually had Suzanne Breedlove with him. Suzanne was Jake’s cousin’s best friend. This morning Pat sat alone.

  Jake crossed the dining room, headed for the lunch counter. Everyone spoke as he passed. He touched his hat to them and called most of them by name. Straddling the padded vinyl stool next to Pat, he set his hat on the empty stool to his right. He wore his .45 on his belt on the right side. If he sat down in public armed, he always chose a spot with an empty seat on his right. “Mornin’, Pat.”

  Pat looked up at him. “’Lo, Jake.” He switched his mug to his left hand and sipped his coffee.

  “You had breakfast?”

  “Yep.”

  Jake appreciated that Pat Garner, like himself, was a man of few words. In Jake’s mind, actions spoke louder than words and Pat had proved himself with his actions many times. Jake turned over the thick mug in front of him.

  Before either he or Pat could say more, Nola Jean Hart appeared with the coffeepot and poured Jake’s mug full. “Mornin’, Sheriff. Listen, I ’preciate Chuck comin’ out and getting our ol’ cow back into our pasture. We didn’t even know she was out ’til he come told us.”

  “I saw Chuck’s note about that,” Jake said. “It’s no problem, Nola Jean. Glad we could help out.” He picked up his mug and blew across the top of the steaming dark liquid, then savored his first sip. The coffee he made in his kitchen didn’t compare to the coffee at Maisie’s.

  The waitress set the coffee carafe on the counter and pulled a small order pad from her apron pocket. “Eatin’ breakfast, Sheriff?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Same thing?” She began to write. “Two sausage patties, two eggs over easy, two biscuits with gravy. Anything else?”

  Jake was a methodical man. What he ate for breakfast rarely varied. “Nope,” he said to Nola Jean.

  “It would’ve been a big loss to us if somebody had run over that cow,” she said as she wrote. “She’s our best one. Brings a good healthy calf ever’ year.” Nola Jean tucked her pad back into her apron pocket, picked up the coffeepot and turned toward Pat. “Want me to top you off, Pat?”

  “Sure.” Pat slid his mug toward her.

  Jake waited until the waitress moved out of earshot. “Where’s Suzanne this morning?”

  “Truett came in off the road yesterday, so she stayed home last night.” Pat sipped again.

  Suzanne’s father was a long-haul trucker, away from home most of the time. Jake smiled. “If you made an honest woman out of her, you wouldn’t be sleeping alone.”

  “She likes the sleeping arrangements the way they are. You’re one to be talking to me about sleeping alone. I haven’t seen you with a woman in a coon’s age.”

  And if Jake had his way, Pat wouldn’t see him soon, either. Jake kept his social life out of town. Lockett was a gossip mill. The county sheriff shouldn’t be the center of a soap opera. “Women are a lot of trouble.”

  “Suzanne ain’t.” Pat sipped his coffee again.

  Jake looked at Pat’s profile for a few beats. A few years ago, the man’s wife had left him for “life in the city.” The City of Lubbock to be precise. Jake considered Lubbock an overgrown small town, compared to, say, Dallas or Houston. After she left, Pat had been so overwrought Jake figured he wouldn’t take up with a woman again. He had changed since he started spending time with Suzanne. He seemed happier, more easy-going. It just went to show how being lonesome and finding somebody pretty who filled up the void could change a man’s attitude.

  “Got anybody I know in jail this morning?” Pat asked.

  The Willard County Jail was more likely to see a prisoner on a Sunday morning than any other day of the week. Jake chuckled and shook his head. “Guess the natives weren’t that restless last night. Truth is, Willard County’s a peaceful place most of the time.”

  Pat nodded. “Heard you’re running for sheriff again.”

  “Might as well. I’m not qualified to do anything else.”

  “Lucky for Willard County. Damn few little places like Lockett got a man with your whiskers to do that job. You’re the reason Willard County doesn’t have some of the problems some of the other counties around here have.”

  To some degree, Pat was right. He referred to Latino gangs that had steadily moved into West Texas, along with meth labs. Jake had made the consequences clear on both of those issues soon after taking office years back. On one occasion, he and one Texas Ranger had settled a drug manufacturing matter in a shoot-out that had resulted in three dead gang members, the destruction of a large meth lab and the arr
est of a whole nest of international criminals who had been operating without interference for years. He shrugged. “Just doing what I’m supposed to. That shit’s poison. It’s not right for honest people to have to live alongside it.”

  Jake listened to Pat talk horses, bitch about the politicians and bemoan the price of beef, the price of feed and the price of fuel. They passed harmless gossip about Willard County’s citizens, most of whom Jake knew. The population was declining, though. With virtually no employment except cowboying at the Circle C Ranch or working at a low-paying job at one of the small businesses in town, most young people left the county. Since the price of a barrel of oil had jumped, some new oil field activity had erupted, but every West Texas native knew the continuation of that boon to the economy depended on who got elected to Congress. These days, most of the oil companies’ workers were temporary and from out of town.

  Jake was one of the few people who had actually returned to Lockett to live. He hadn’t once regretted the decision. He had led an unrooted life and Lockett was as close to a hometown as he had. He had lived here longer than in any other place, had gone to school through ninth grade here. One of the happiest parts of his life had been spent here as well as one of the most tragic. But he refused to dwell on the tragic, believing his contentment outweighed it.

  He had to admit, though, that the sameness of every day was starting to grate on him. He was lonesome and he didn’t know why. Was it because he was looking uphill at forty and his chances of finding a companion with whom to share the rest of his life were shrinking? That had never been important to him before. Why it should be now he didn’t know, but he couldn’t deny thinking about it.

  FLANKED BY BARBED-WIRE fences, treeless beige pastures and a panorama of clearing skies, Jolie drove behind her cousin, Amanda Mason, for what seemed like forever before coming to a pair of stanchions made of some kind of rust-colored stone. They made a right turn, rumbled across a steel cattle guard and were now driving on a crooked caliche road.

  “Where’re we going, Mama?” Danni asked.

  “This is where we’re going to live, Danni.”

  Danni’s little-girl voice broke. “Oh, no, Mama. There’s nothing here.”

  “Don’t cry. It’s a big ranch. It’ll be a good job. I’m going to be in charge of the kitchen all by myself. Let’s give it a chance, okay? Things are going to be a lot better for us. I just know it. Amanda says these are really nice people. Don’t cry, now, okay?”

  Out of nervousness and fatigue, Jolie was talking ninety miles an hour. But she stopped herself from saying to Danni that she believed they would be safe from Billy. For the first time since leaving Grandee, Jolie thought about the family who was willing to hire her. What had Amanda told them about her and Danni’s circumstances?

  They reached a split wrought-iron gate, each of its halves adorned with a big circle with a C inside it. “See?” Jolie said to her daughter, pointing at the circles. Even as little as Jolie knew about ranches, she knew the symbol had to be a brand. “It’s the Circle C Ranch.”

  Danni said nothing, only stared out the window.

  Seeing that she couldn’t be easily persuaded, Jolie heaved a great sigh.

  Amanda stopped ahead of them and spoke into a box on a steel post and the gate slowly opened. They drove on a narrow, paved road lined with big trees, the canopies spreading across the road. Amanda came to a stop on a circular driveway in front of a massive three-story house that seemed to go on forever in all directions and was made entirely of rust-colored stone. The single-wide trailer she and Danni had left behind in Grandee wouldn’t fill a wing of it. It was one thing to see a mansion in a fancy neighborhood in the city, but this one was all by itself in the middle of nowhere.

  Huge barns and outbuildings too numerous to quickly count sprawled all over the landscape, all painted dark red. Pristine white pole corrals were attached to almost every outbuilding.

  “Oh, my Lord,” Jolie mumbled. She was so awestruck, she nearly ran into Amanda’s back bumper.

  Danni stared at the house, big-eyed, evidently stunned out of her disappointment. “Is this where we’re gonna live?”

  Two men and a woman—dwarfed by the sheer size of the house—stood on the long front porch. A wave of anxiety washed over Jolie as she glimpsed her still-damp hair in the mirror.

  She glanced at Danni. Their clothes looked as if they had slept in them, which, in Danni’s case, she had. “Come on, let’s get out,” Jolie said. “And don’t forget, be polite.”

  Amanda waited for them to exit the Ford, then walked with them toward the front porch. “You’re gonna really like these people, Jolie. This is gonna turn out just fine.”

  The three strangers met them in the middle of the grassy yard and Amanda made the introductions. The woman named Jude Fallon was just as pretty as Jolie had imagined she would be when they had talked on the phone. The two men were Mrs. Fallon’s husband and father. Mrs. Fallon bent forward, her long reddish-brown hair falling across her shoulder, and put her right hand out to Danni. “Hi, Danni. How old are you?”

  Jolie held her breath as Danni took her hand. “Ten,” Danni answered in her little girl voice, obviously cowed by all around her.

  “I have a stepson just a year older. He’ll be coming to stay with us for the summer when school’s out.”

  “Oh, that’s great,” Jolie said, mustering a smile. She had worried about how Danni would spend the idle summer hours, and now that she had seen how far from everything this ranch was, she worried even more. She looped an arm around Danni’s narrow shoulders and gave a squeeze. “Isn’t that great, Danni? A friend your age?”

  “I guess so,” Danni mumbled.

  “She’s a little tired,” Jolie said to Mrs. Fallon. “Please don’t think anything of the way we look. We’ve been on the road all night.”

  “Then you both must be tired,” Mrs. Fallon said.

  The men talked about the weather, then excused themselves and walked toward the barns.

  “Let’s go inside,” Mrs. Fallon said, gesturing toward the front door. “Have y’all had breakfast?”

  “We ate something,” Jolie said.

  “Well, I haven’t eaten,” Amanda said, appearing to be perfectly at ease with Mrs. Fallon. “You don’t think I’m going to pass up a chance to eat in the Circle C’s kitchen, do you?”

  Mrs. Fallon, who looked to be about the same age as Amanda, laughed. “You’re such a character, Amanda.” They trooped through the wide front entrance onto to a rusty red tile floor, then toward an aroma of spicy food and fresh coffee.

  “Believe me, we’re glad to see you,” Mrs. Fallon said to Jolie. “Since our former cook passed away, Irene and I and my husband have been trying to do the cooking. Brady’s fair at it as long as it’s something simple. But I’m awful and Irene only knows how to make Mexican dishes with lots and lots of jalapeños.”

  They entered a huge high-ceilinged kitchen with white-tiled walls. “Irene’s our kitchen helper and her husband is our maintenance guy and groundskeeper.” Mrs. Fallon said, her voice almost echoing off the hard kitchen surfaces. “They go to early church in town on Sunday mornings.”

  Mrs. Fallon directed Amanda to the stove where a plate of something rolled in tortillas sat. “Brady made burritos for breakfast. They’re good, too. They’ve got scrambled eggs and chorizo and just a few jalapeños. Irene made the chorizo from scratch.”

  “Lemme at ’em,” Amanda said.

  Laughing, Mrs. Fallon dragged a plate out of the cupboard and handed it to Amanda.

  Amanda took it and helped herself to two burritos.

  “Y’all sit down in the breakfast room.” Mrs. Fallon pointed them toward a sunlit space just off the kitchen. “Jolie? Danni? Would you like a burrito?”

  “We’ve already—”

  “I guess so,” Danni said.

  “They have jalapeños,” Jolie said to her daughter. “You don’t like jalapeños, remember?”

  “How about a
bowl of cereal?” Mrs. Fallon asked. “I have cereal for breakfast most of the time. We’ve got half a dozen kinds. Do you like Cheerios?”

  “Okay,” Danni said.

  “Amanda and I’ve known each other forever,” Mrs. Fallon said to Jolie as she poured Cheerios into a bowl. “We were in the same grade in school.” She turned to Amanda. “Do you want coffee?”

  “Sure.”

  Mrs. Fallon brought the cereal and a jug of milk to the table and set them in front of Danni. She went back to the kitchen and returned with a small dish of salsa, two thick mugs and the coffeepot and poured the mugs full. “Do you want some orange juice or some milk?” she asked Danni.

  “Orange juice,” Danni answered, still speaking in a tiny voice.

  While Jude went to the large refrigerator for orange juice, Amanda took a seat at the round, glass-topped table, so Jolie did, too, and told Danni to sit beside her. She looked around the room that would now be part of her domain. The walls were stucco, painted a light tan. A wall of windows looked out onto a huge red stone patio anchored by a large rock barbecue pit. She relaxed for the first time since yesterday afternoon. In fact, if she wasn’t careful, she could drop off to sleep.

  “You aren’t having coffee?” Amanda asked Mrs. Fallon.

  Mrs. Fallon was pouring a tall glass full of orange juice. “I’ve never been a big fan of coffee. And since I’ve been pregnant, it upsets my stomach.”

  “Oh, my gosh,” Amanda said, her eyes popping wide. “You’re pregnant?” She slathered her burritos with salsa from the dish Mrs. Fallon pushed toward her.

  “I am. Six weeks as of today.” She set the orange juice in front of Danni.

  “Oh, my gosh,” Amanda said again. “When are you due?”

  “October.”

  A baby, Jolie thought, and glanced at Danni. Her daughter had never been around a baby or even seen a newborn.

  “Does everybody know?” Amanda asked.

  “I doubt it. I haven’t told anyone but family and Suzanne.”

  “Can I tell everybody?” Amanda asked, obviously excited.