The Cowboy and the Hacker (Farthingdale Valley #5)

7. Cal

Chapter 7

Cal

I f the shower facilities were any indication, then the valley was a five star resort. Prison sowers were slow and tepid, and you only got ten minutes to clean up while surrounded by around nine other convicts who didn’t mind anyone watching while they jerked off beneath the spray.

Cal shuddered as he dried off. Sure, men were amazing. He loved the shape of a man’s body, the touch of a strong hand, the feel of whiskers during a slow kiss. But watching near strangers made the whole thing feel like a turnoff.

He didn’t imagine there’d be much opportunity to hook up in the valley, anyway. Not to mention he only had three weeks to figure out his next move before Preston showed up and yanked Cal the hell out of there.

There was no question he’d demand that Cal come home with him. No question at all.

Cal got dressed, and swiped his face with a quick shave, doing his best not to focus on the way his eyes looked like two burned cigarette holes.

The slight scar beneath his right eye that stood out like someone had clawed at him, rather than it being a slight white line that never tanned, a mark left from the time Preston had backhanded him.

Preston had been in a fury over something Cal had no memory of. Just that Preston had been pissed. He had hit Cal while he’d been wearing a signet ring, or maybe it had been his class ring, and the blood had seemed to flow and flow. Preston had pressed several layers of toilet paper over the cut and basically told Cal to stop whining and walk it off.

Cal shook himself free from the memory, laced up his new boots. They were quite sturdy on his feet, and made him feel about half a foot taller as he walked along the path to his tent, dropped off his dirty clothes, and marched back out of the tent again to the gravel parking lot.

Feeling quite accomplished, he was surprised to find that Zeke wasn’t at the parking lot, that there were only two silver trucks parked in the shade. Then he heard movement behind him and whirled to see Zeke standing just about on his heels.

“Sorry,” Zeke said. “Thought you heard me.”

Up close, in that brief flicker, Cal could see that Zeke also had a scar below his right eye, a thin, pale line, as straight as though someone had drawn it there. Zeke, seeing that Cal was looking at it, pointed to it.

“Pencil,” he said. “I tripped and fell. Could have stabbed my eye out, but all I got was this scar.”

Cal could feel Zeke looking at him, at his scar, which was a little bigger than Zeke’s. “Uh,” Cal said. “It’s been so long, I don’t know how I got it.”

That was a lie. Cal remembered quite clearly, but life in prison, hell, life with Preston, had taught him not to reveal too much too quickly.

“Ah,” said Zeke, though it was clear by the stillness of his face that he had a bunch of thoughts and maybe knew that Cal was lying to him. “Well, let’s get moving.”

Cal got into the passenger seat of a very nice Ford F-150, his body sinking into the cool, pillowy seat. He watched as Zeke brought the engine to life, turned off the A/C, and rolled down the windows.

“That okay?” Zeke asked as he wheeled the truck backwards, out of the parking lot, and up the switchbacks.

“Sure,” said Cal. He wasn’t going to argue with a bunch of fresh air in his face, no sir.

It’d been a while since the air he breathed hadn’t been filtered by razor wire or chemicals used to clean the floors and bathrooms. This air smelled like pine and lake water and the dreamy scent of the wind across sun-warmed grasses.

It was when the truck mounted the top of the hill that Cal could take a look around himself and really focus. At the grass, the wide bowl of blue sky and the way the dirt road went past an isolated cabin and then dipped down below trees, leafy green and tossing in the breeze.

“This is nice,” said Cal, venturing that much.

“It is nice,” said Zeke, agreeing. “And it’s the fastest way to Farthingdale Ranch,” said Zeke with a quick glance at Cal.

“That’s the—” Cal paused to gather his thoughts. “Mr. Tate runs it, right? He’s in charge up here, and is starting the valley up for rich guests next summer.”

“All true,” said Zeke. He paused and then said, “He’s the kind of guy who gets things done. Kind of a juggernaut. Which was why when he asked me to move from the ranch to the valley I could hardly say no.” He seemed to laugh to himself, then turned to smile at Cal, a brief flicker of green eyes and a flash of white teeth in that tan face. “Here we are.”

Cal pulled his attention away from the warmth of that smile and made himself look out through the windshield. They were in another circular gravel parking lot, but this one had a flagpole and two buildings.

There was an older woman with a single silver-white braid over her shoulder standing in the shade of the porch. She was wearing blue jeans, cowboy boots, a thin cotton plaid shirt, and looked ready to go to work.

Cal and Zeke got out of the truck and went up the steps to join her in the quiet shade.

“I’m so glad you could make it,” she said, taking one of Cal’s hands in both of hers. “Callihan, right?”

“Cal,” said Zeke. “He likes to be called Cal.”

“And I’m Maddy, Cal,” she said, her smile slow and genuine. “Come in, let’s get you set up.”

“Hi,” said Cal, but he was talking to her back, with Zeke right on his heels, as if Zeke was afraid that Cal would make a run for it.

Cal knew he really needed to stop thinking that way. Nothing bad had happened so far. Maybe nothing would.

As he stepped inside the building, which was longer than it was wide, he realized this was the company store Zeke had mentioned.

T-shirts and hoodies emblazoned with what looked like the Farthingdale Ranch logo hung from racks. The walls were lined with boxes and there were display racks alongside the walls. At one end there was a long, glass-topped counter, behind which stood a smiling clerk, just waiting to wait on them.

Cal blinked, not sure what he was supposed to do next. Zeke had said something about cowboy boots and hats, but was Cal supposed to pick out his own? Or would Zeke pick those out for him?

“Here,” said Zeke. “Take a look at these. You can have any pair of cowboy boots in the store, but I like this brand. Ariats.”

Cal didn’t know anything about boots, cowboy or otherwise, but it was easy to see the leather was of good quality, and the pattern of swoops and turns was low-key but classy.

“Those are Slingshots,” said Zeke.

Cal looked up at him, confused, because maybe he’d missed part of the conversation somehow. But then Zeke smiled, slow and easy, and Cal’s shoulders relaxed.

“It’s just the type of Ariat,” he said. “I have the one called Benchmade, but I always thought the Slingshot was pretty.”

“What size are you, Cal?” asked Maddy.

“Nine and a half,” he said, as Zeke led him to a low bench. A bit dazed, he sat down and unlaced his new yellow suede boots, and took the box that Maddy handed him.

Normally, Cal wasn’t fussy about his footwear, or moved by leather, but as he opened the box, he sighed with pleasure.

“Nice, eh?” asked Zeke, and though Zeke was towering over him, Cal was beginning to realize that, quite simply, Zeke was tall and pretty much towered over everybody.

“Yeah,” said Cal. “I don’t have enough money, though.”

“No.” Zeke reached into the box and pulled out the top boot, and ran his fingers along the design. “The valley supplies each parolee with anything they need. These boots are included in that. The cowboy hat, too. Say, Maddy, why don’t you pick out a few hats for Cal, here.”

“Sure thing, Zeke,” she said. “I’ve got his size from the intake form.”

All of this, then, was part of the promise Mr. Tate had made to Cal during their interview on Zoom. Hard work, good food, plenty of sunshine. Free clothes and gear and supplies. A certificate of completion at the end of the season.

Everything had sounded so good that Cal had outright lied that he knew his way around horses. That he knew how to ride.

Picking out a pair of cowboy boots would be one step closer to solidifying the lie, by which time it would be rock solid and so so so hard to get out of. But as Zeke pulled the other boot out of the box and placed both in front of Cal on the floor, Cal knew he could not resist those boots.

And, as he slid them on and stood up, he sighed again. His legs felt a mile long and strong as iron.

“They add an inch to you,” said Zeke, looking Cal up and down. Cal felt bright all over, as though Zeke’s gaze had healing powers. “What are you, five-eight? Well, now you’re five-nine.”

Zeke stood up and put Cal’s prison sneakers in the boot books, then led Cal to the counter where Maddy had laid out a small selection of pale straw cowboy hats. Cal didn’t know much about cowboy hats, any more than he did the boots, but he touched each hat as if he’d seen plenty of them, and knew what to look for.

“This one’s nice,” Zeke said as he touched the narrow brim of the first hat. “Or this one.” He touched the next hat.

“Simpler is better, I always say,” said Zeke, as if approving of the second hat.

Cal took a closer look at the narrow leather hat band and the small silver arrow that seemed to be functioning as a buckle. The crown of the hat had three or so narrow cutout shapes that reminded Cal of blades of grass.

“I’ll take this one,” he said.

The clerk came over, as if sensing that the selections had been made. In his hands, he carried a glass box, which he placed on the counter.

“You guys about ready?” he asked. “And Maddy, when are we going to get a proper podium for this? I’m always worried it’s going to get knocked over.”

“There was no room for it in the tavern,” Maddy said, reaching out to it as though greeting a long-lost friend.

In the box was a pair of leather moccasins that looked old, and there were even places where the leather had worn through, along where the big toes would be. The leather had beads stitched across the front, long and short, all of them shiny, done in patterns, and looking brand new.

Cal had never owned a pair of moccasins, but thought they looked cool. He almost reached for the moccasins, though he knew full well that these weren’t on sale.

“You like those?” asked Maddy. “They belonged to a Native American woman who lived in these parts long ago. She was called Summer Cloud Woman, and she sat in the window of the general store in town and sewed with beads and leather. Kind of like a living display—well, anyway,” she said, cutting herself off from a bit of history that she seemed to really want to get into. “We don’t have moccasins for sale, but we do have kits.”

“Kits?” Cal looked at Zeke and thought about it. He didn’t know what to do, which answer was the right one.

“Sure,” said Maddy. “You put ‘em together. With a leather needle and strips of thin leather.”

“You want moccasins?” asked Zeke, his dark brow furrowing as if he was confused by this idea.

“Maybe instead of the boots?” Cal asked. Surely he couldn’t have both.

“Why not both?” asked Zeke.

Zeke was reaching for his wallet in his back pocket as if, at a moment’s notice, he was prepared to get those moccasins for Cal, in addition to the boots. An easy willingness that Cal did not understand.

“Oh, no,” said Maddy. “He can have both. We have plenty of kits. We get them at a discount for bulk, you see. Let me grab you a size nine and a half, and Zeke, finish helping him pick out a hat, would you?”

She dashed off and so did the clerk, still carrying the box of moccasins. Cal was left alone with Zeke at the counter and a pile of hats.

“Do you still like that one?” asked Zeke, running his fingers along the brim of the hat Cal had chosen.

“Yeah.” He felt a little breathless as the clerk, sans glass display box, and Maddy, carrying a box that said Tandy Leather Moccasin Kit on it, came back to the counter.

“Here you go,” she said, sliding the box next to the straw cowboy hat. “Do you see anything else you need?”

“Are you still putting bandanas in the parolee boxes?” Zeke asked.

“We do,” said Maddy. “But you can always take a few extra, if you think you’ll need them.”

Zeke went off to get bandanas, though Cal couldn’t imagine a use for one, let alone several. Then the clerk held out a small plastic baggie of colorful beads.

“Here, take these.”

“What are they?” Cal clasped the bag in his hand and held it out to Maddy.

“Oh,” she said, leaning forward to take a look. “Those are decorative beads, to put on the fringe.”

“Oh.” Now Cal was really in over his head because she was acting like he understood what she meant. But rather than say anything that might reveal his ignorance, he pretended to smile as he put the beads on top of the moccasin kit box. “Thanks.”

It was a relief, pure, like a fresh breeze, when Zeke came back with two plastic wrapped bandanas in his hands, both bright red with a paisley print.

Now everyone’s attention was on Zeke as he added the bandanas to the pile. Now Cal could just look at Zeke, at the handsome line of his face in profile, the attentive way he talked to Maddy, just as polite as could be. Like it was part of his cowboy code, or something.

He seemed like a good guy. Maddy liked him at any rate, and the clerk was happy to wait on him.

Cal had been able to which clerks or waitstaff had dealt with Preston before and simply didn’t want to, no matter how big a tipper Preston was. There would be arguments in hurried whispers, all for the chance not to wait on him.

But this wasn’t like that. People liked Zeke. There were only good vibes floating in the air. A good sign.

“Are we ready?” asked Zeke, turning his attention to Cal, bright as a wide, friendly beam of light. “You want to wear your hat?” he asked. “You’re already wearing the boots.”

Before Cal could answer, before he could even imagine he might look foolish walking back into the valley looking like the cowboy he absolutely wasn’t, Zeke, quite gently, placed the cowboy hat on his head. The straw felt light, the hatband a firm grip on his head.

Zeke took the key fob out of his pocket and spun it around his forefinger, and said, “Let’s go.”

Zeke was always in motion, as though he couldn’t bear to be still. Couldn’t bear to not have fresh air swirling around him. So unlike Preston, who loved to be indoors, where the air temperature could be controlled. The air and his environment and Cal combined.

Maybe his time in the valley would be different. Maybe he would be inspired to figure a way to stay out of Preston’s reach.

He could only hope.