The Cowboy and the Hacker (Farthingdale Valley #5)

5. Zeke

Chapter 5

Zeke

M eeting everyone in the Fresh Start Program in the mess tent at dinner wasn’t a hardship. Zeke was used to glad-handing at rodeos and stock shows, doing the meet and greet, smiling at the camera in the winner’s circle. Accepting the small, fake plastic trophy with grace and dignity, so shaking the hands of all the team leads was no problem.

Shaking the hands of the parolees was a little different, as some didn’t want to meet his eyes, and some had a grip that was too hard, as if to prove how tough they were. One tall, muscular, tattooed fellow looked at Zeke hard in the eyes, as if assessing him for some future ball-busting fight.

“And you are?” asked Zeke, unafraid.

“Bede,” said the man with a hard nod. “I hear you’re a good man with horses,” he added.

This was a bit surprising, because where did Bede hear this from? Well, maybe from one of the team leads, that’s where.

Zeke knew he shouldn’t go into any of this with a dark heart. He’d always gone by the idea that everyone’s intentions were good and that he should only change his mind when proved otherwise.

Though in Bede’s case, Bede, who looked every inch the convict who had just gotten out from behind bars and expected to go back there soon, this was hard to do.

But, just like with a scarred-hide horse, it didn’t mean the horse was mean. Just that it’d been through some mean shit.

Zeke made a mental note to stay open-minded and focused on the delicious evening meal, steak and roasted spaghetti squash drizzled with honey, home fries, and apple or cherry pie for dessert. Zeke took a slice of both and marked the meal as being very close to a farm supper.

Later, at the evening’s campfire at the fire pit by the lake’s edge, in the fine mist that had settled down, Zeke sat on a blanket-draped hay bale at the edge of the gathering.

He said no to s’mores and simply let himself drift simply into quiet observation, watching how the men gathered near to the fire, as though it cast a blanket of safety over all of them. Observed their faces aglow with delight as they chatted and called to one another. Just like a band of horses at the edge of the river as evening fell.

Zeke excused himself early and made his way back to his tent, the long shards of light from the campfire following him through the trees.

He’d already unpacked and his tent was as neat as a pin, so after a quick shower to rinse off the dust from the day, he went back to his tent, shucked down to the skin, and settled on his cot.

He left the rain fly open, though it might rain, but what of it? It was only water, and everything would dry. His boots were safely beneath his bed, and his hat was on the small white shelf next to the cot. And mosquitos might find him, but not quite yet, as he’d washed the sweat from his body.

In the meanwhile, he could watch the starlight sparkle and die, sparkle and die, as the wind shifted the tops of pine trees around, and made a shadow-play of the night sky.

That night he slept like a baby, and in the morning, he hustled through his ablutions and breakfast, and made his way to the paddock and pastures, deeply inhaling as he went. The morning was damp and green, as if the rain had fallen in the night, was backing away for now, and might be making an appearance later.

When he arrived at the paddock, Galen’s team was hard at work, even Bede, all elbows and assholes, raking the paddock, checking the water tank in the paddock.

Slipping through the barbless wires, Zeke strode into the pasture, staying out of the working team’s way, noting with approval that there was a water tank in the pasture as well, two, in fact, and that the horses were kept back from the bankside of the lake by the fence line. Whoever had set the pasture up, Leland Tate, probably, knew the benefit of keeping riparian areas free of livestock.

Horses came up to him, as they usually did, all on their own, ambling along, hooves kicking up a bit of mud, their heads down as they took in his scent and decided he was safe enough to approach. Safe enough to nuzzle with their soft noses, and blink at him with big, dark eyes, with eyelashes as long as a mile.

“Hello, hello,” he said as he stroked their long necks, patted their warm coats, and inhaled the horsey smell, which relaxed him top to toe, every time.

One of the small gathering, a dark bay with a scraggly mane that looked like it needed a good comb-out, snuffled at Zeke’s straw cowboy hat. He took off the hat and showed it to the mare so she could examine it all she liked, and determine for herself that it was not something to eat.

Another horse bumped him from behind, so he turned and gave that horse, a long-legged buckskin, some attention as well, with long pets and friendly pats. Smiling widely the whole time because interacting with horses like this was much more pleasant than it ever had in his bronc-riding days.

Overall the horses looked well cared for, and he could see that the water tank had recently been scrubbed clean, and that there were echoes of that morning’s hay feeding, evidenced by the circles of hay dust on the ground.

He knew that some of the horses were bound for stock sales, and others for petting zoos. Still others might be trained up to be used at the guest ranch. None were bound for the meat factory because Leland wouldn’t stand for that. If a horse was ill-used, it was sent to a vet farm where it might be nursed back to health before being sold to a good owner, or allowed to idle in a green field of a kindly horse rescue.

“All right?” asked a voice behind him.

Zeke turned to see Galen walking through the sparse grass of the pasture. The hot, rain-less part of summer had done a number on the pasture, hence the hay feeds.

“Yes,” said Zeke. He put his hat on his head and nodded at Galen, then let his eyes take in the whole of the pasture, which was at least five acres of open glades combined with treed shade, though maybe it stretched further than Zeke could see. “You’ve done good here.”

“Really?” asked Galen, a pink blush in evidence, telling Zeke that Galen was quite pleased at the compliment.

“Couldn’t have done better,” said Zeke, and though he thought about adding a suggestion about more regular grooming, he knew that Galen had other tasks besides raking the paddock and pasture, and the care and feeding of horses. His main task had been eradicating the local knapweed blight, though Zeke hadn’t seen any of that, not anywhere he looked. Which meant Galen’s team had worked hard to get rid of it.

“Thank you.” Galen looked over his shoulder to where his team was lounging in the paddock, their tools neatly lined up, their eyes going to Galen, as if they only wanted a single order from their team lead.

Zeke always felt that independence was a good trait in a man, and wondered if Galen would like a suggestion to that end, that he might teach his men to think for themselves, so they could put their tools away and find another task while their boss was otherwise occupied.

But then, Zeke had never worked with ex-cons before. He’d not yet experienced how to lead a team of men whose first choice had been to commit a crime. Besides, Leland Tate himself had praised Galen’s way of leading, and mentioned that the results were good. And, after all, those men were not goofing off or causing trouble, not getting into fights with each other. They were waiting patiently in the hot sunshine.

“I have to get back,” said Galen, who, it seemed, was not unaware of the waiting men. “When does your parolee show up?”

“After lunch,” said Zeke. “They release at eleven. Takes them about two hours to get here?”

“There’s shade next to the parking lot,” said Galen. “And a nice rock to sit on.”

“Thank you.”

Zeke watched Galen walk back to his men, who were all attentive, grabbing tools when Galen pointed, and lining up behind him to march into the fields. All of them looked mighty cute in their matching hats.

With a smile, Zeke turned back to the horses, noting which ones had green halters, as those were the ones he’d use in lessons. There were brass tags on the green halters indicating the names: Sully, Bolt, Dusty, Mortimer, and others. There were ten in all that he could choose from when the lessons started.

First, he’d bring Cal up to speed, seeing as how Cal’d not been on horseback in over a year. Cal’s application for the Fresh Start Program indicated he was fully capable of helping Zeke teach the other parolees, and would continue learning himself.

Right after lunch, Gabe came up with information that Cal’s clothes and gear had been delivered to tent number four, which he would be sharing with Blaze.

“Aren’t there five empty tents?” asked Zeke as they stood in the bright sunshine in front of the mess tent.

“There are,” said Gabe slowly, as if considering the idea that Zeke had not yet presented.

“Might be good to spread them out a little,” said Zeke. “At least,” he amended, “in this case. Maybe some of the parolees like to share?”

“They seem to, all except for Wayne.” Gabe smiled at this. “But sure. What do you have in mind?”

Zeke had seen the empty tents when Galen had taken him on a tour. The following summer, the tents would be occupied by those high paying guests who wanted to experience a plush and comfortable version of summer camp, complete with archery, canoeing, horseback riding, and singalongs around the campfire. They’d enjoy bunking up together so they could giggle in the glow of a flashlight and pretend they were kids again. But for now, there was plenty of extra room, so why not take advantage of that?

“Thought I’d move him to tent number seven. Give him some space to figure himself out.”

Sometimes a horse needed that, to be alone awhile, to heal from whatever it had gone through. Just a private little bit of pasture, some grass to nibble at, with no other horses to pester it. Maybe this wouldn’t be what Cal needed in the end, but Zeke was going to build on what he knew, and that was horses.

“Sure,” said Gabe. “Do you need some help moving the boxes?”

Zeke thought to say no, and then he said yes, and was glad he had, because the boxes required several trips to cart to the empty tent. There, Zeke made up the cot with new sheets, and arranged the boxes on the other cot, tidy and neat, all in preparation for Cal’s arrival.

After that, he was at the parking lot, sitting on the large rock in the shade that Galen had told him about, and not checking his phone for any updates on where the prison van was. The driver would get there when he got there, and there was nothing Zeke needed to do but wait.