The Cowboy and the Hacker (Farthingdale Valley #5)

14. Cal

Chapter 14

Cal

Z eke probably knew more about Cal than anyone in the world, except maybe Preston. And that included how much Cal did not want to attend the counseling session on Saturday afternoon.

“That counselor is an idiot,” said Cal.

He didn’t know that this particular counselor was an idiot, of course, but he had enough experience with counseling sessions while in prison to figure it would be a waste of time.

“Micha is a good counselor. He’s good at what he does,” said Zeke, a little more sternly than Cal was used to. “It’s good to discuss things with someone other than your team lead. And it’s good for you to hear the concerns of other parolees. So you’re going.”

Cal knew he was pouting, but couldn’t stop. Had Preston seen that pout—No.

Zeke would never smack him for pouting the way Preston sometimes had, but he forced his mind out of that rut and into the current moment. Zeke and him standing on the steps of the mess tent after lunch.

They were on the verge of an argument, or at the very least a disagreement, while all around the parolees eased past them, not even moving very far out of the way to avoid them.

It was as if the tone of their disagreement came across as quite mild and nothing to worry about. Just like everything else in the valley. Mild. Nothing to worry about.

“Okay,” said Cal, not really meaning it. He’d go through the motions and that was it.

“And?” asked Zeke. He tipped his head to one side and lowered his chin. Maybe in an effort to appear harmless, but which was absolutely disarming.

Which was part of the problem because if the counselor asked if the parolees had anything to share, Cal might have a thing or two to bring up.

Not that he’d say he had a crush on Zeke, he wouldn’t go that far. But he’d raise the issue. Maybe make a joke about falling in love with your teacher, which maybe none of the other parolees would understand. But he could study their reactions and figure out if he was the only one.

Then again, he’d seen Galen and Bede flirting at the campfire only the night before. He’d seen them in the mess tent, sitting way too close and getting all handsy with each other.

Even now as he watched a tall guy, whose name might be Marston, bidding a fond farewell to—who was it, Kelly or someone?—as if they’d not seen each other in eons and wouldn’t see each other again for a century or more.

Maybe the lovey dovey stuff was going on all around him. In which case, the only objection to how Cal felt would be from Zeke himself.

Or maybe Cal should just write off how he felt about Zeke as a mild crush that would pass in time. After one week? How quickly could feelings grow between two people anyhow?

He’d not imagined that moment in his tent, though. When he’d comforted Zeke through what looked like a horrible leg cramp from his leg being busted by a horse.

When he’d wiped the sweat from Zeke’s neck, Zeke hadn’t pushed his hand away. Then again, Zeke had maybe been in too much pain to think of anything but getting through the pain.

And then after? Zeke had leaned toward Cal, slowly and softly, like he’d wanted to give Cal a kiss of thanks. Something friendly and sweet. Had Zeke even been aware? Or had it been Cal’s imagination?

Zeke had certainly jerked back as though Cal’s touch, his mere nearness, had been a lake of lava.

“And?” Zeke asked again.

“I’ll try, sure,” said Cal. “I hated counseling sessions in prison. They were a waste of time.”

“I think you’ll find the sessions here can be useful,” said Zeke. “That’s what I hear, anyway.”

“Okay,” said Cal because, really, if Zeke wanted him to go, then he was going.

Cal sat through the counseling session on a folding chair set in a circle and did his best not to roll his eyes when Micha was constantly and terribly upbeat and cheerful. Or when one guy, Wayne, was complaining about Beck dousing the fire with gasoline?—

“It was lighter fluid,” said Jonah, and he did roll his eyes. “Just lighter fluid, man.”

“Panties in a twist, Wayne?” asked Bede with a not very nice smile.

Wayne just about lunged at Bede, and didn’t seem afraid of him at all. Micha jumped up and separated them without a qualm, in spite of being shorter and about fifty pounds lighter than either of them. After which, the meeting carried on with meandering discussions about the end-of-summer certificates, fake job applications, and the riding lessons.

“Are those going to start on Monday?” asked Micha. He looked straight at Cal, which was when Cal sat up, like he really cared about the answer.

“Sure,” he said. “Zeke and I will be ready.”

“I understand the schedule will be posted in the mess tent and at the paddock,” said Micha in his quiet way, as if he wanted to remind everyone in terms of group that those lessons were available.

“You heard right,” said Cal, though he really had no idea.

The dull meeting ended and Cal went to the paddock to help Zeke divide hay bales into flakes that they loaded into wheelbarrows and carted out to the fields to feed the horses for the evening.

Galen’s team also helped them with that and filled the water tanks, and then together they raked the pasture and the paddock and oiled their tools and put them away.

“You have tomorrow off,” said Zeke to Cal as they finished up. “All the parolees do.”

“Hooray!” shouted Toby, as if the comment had been directed at him.

With a bray of laughter, Toby and Owen raced each other to the mess tent, while Galen and Bede followed behind, disappearing into the trees.

Which left Zeke and Cal quite alone in the woods as the sun slanted through the pines and lazy dust motes swung in the air like weightless diamonds.

“What about the horses?” asked Cal. “Who takes care of them on Sundays?”

“The team leads rotate through that task,” said Zeke. “You’re welcome to help if you want, but it’s important to have a day off, too.”

A break in the routine was always a good thing in prison. Not so much in the valley. The routine had started sending signals to his body that it was okay to relax. That he didn’t have to be on guard all the time. With Sunday off—with an entire day off—what the hell was he supposed to do with himself?

But maybe that’d give him time to get over his crush on Zeke, and return to planning his getaway.

On Sunday morning, he had a late breakfast, then took a shower and, with his wet hair still dripping down the back of his neck, he made his way back to his tent. There he sat on his cot, hands relaxed, dangling against his thighs.

His mind was about to go rabbiting off on how he could manage to get a bus ticket to anywhere with no money when he spotted the Tandy box with the moccasin kit inside.

On impulse, he stood up to grab the box, and sat down on his cot and opened it, spreading the items on his cot: large twist of leather thread, thick leather needle, the cut out pieces of the moccasins, both soles and tops, and the instructions.

The instructions made it look easy. You used the long, thin strip of leather to sew the soles and tops together, starting with hole number one. Then you continued from there.

Except, from there, the instructions stopped explaining it exactly, saying only, Continue on in the same manner, making sure to keep the lace flat .

This was so vague, Cal lost track along about the fourth hole in the sole, which he’d attached to the fifth hole on the top. He had to unlace the thread and start again. And then another time after that, until his vision blurred, and he rubbed his eyes so hard he saw sparks.

In the back of his mind he knew that he’d wanted to finish the moccasins, and then wear them down to the paddock, or wherever Zeke was, and show off a bit.

He’d always been good with his hands, at least on a computer he had been. But he’d be at it for days and days and still wouldn’t be done, let alone figure out how to attach the colorful beads in the bag Maddy had given him.

He was curled over, feeling quite stiff and old as he undid the leather thread for the zillionth time, when a shadow appeared at the opening of the tent. Cal looked up to see Zeke there, standing just outside the tent flap, head ducked to look in at Cal, but not entering.

“Come on in,” said Cal, feeling the rush of Zeke’s sweet energy sweeping over him.

When Zeke stepped inside the tent, it was as if he’d brought a whole lot of blue sky with him.

“It’s coming on lunch time,” said Zeke. “I didn’t want you to miss out. It’s just sandwiches, but still, you need to eat.”

Zeke came close and was just about tall enough to knock the hanging bulb with his head.

Cal had to look up at Zeke’s face. It looked like Zeke had missed a spot shaving, and he had a bit of hay in his dark hair from the paddock, and he smelled like horses and leather.

There was a small shift in Zeke’s expression that Cal couldn’t quite read, but he realized he’d been staring and looked back at his hands.

“What are you doing there?” asked Zeke. “You started the kit, I see.”

“And I’m finishing it,” said Cal, resisting the temptation to hurl the pieces of leather across the tent. He wasn’t a kid and, unlike Preston, he wasn’t prone to fits of temper. “I’ve undone the laces more times than I care to admit.”

“Are you following the instructions?” asked Zeke, though it was obvious that Cal had been, as the folds of paper were at his feet where he could read them.

“They stop after step four and just say, keep repeating what you’re doing.” Cal held up the leather thread and thick needle, and though he usually never asked for help, not if he could help it, he found himself asking, “Do you know how to do this?”

“I sure do,” said Zeke. “I learned when I was young. From my mother.”

“Can you help me?”

The result was amazing to watch. Zeke’s face softened, and he said, “I reckon I could.”

Zeke sat on the cot next to Cal, taking the two pieces from Cal’s hands and the leather thread and needle. He placed the sole on his thigh, face down and, without even looking in the directions, began to thread the upper fringed part to the sole.

With mesmerizing speed, Zeke sewed first one moccasin, and then the other. Then he used the sturdy leather needle to pull the main, thick leather lace through the top of each moccasin.

At one point, he pricked his finger with the thick needle, but before he could snatch his hand away, a drop of blood soaked into a tiny portion of leather just by the heel.

“Sorry about that.”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Cal. “I bet Native Americans did that sometimes when they made moccasins.”

“I’ll bet they did at that,” said Zeke. “Now, where are the beads?”

When Cal reached and got the plastic baggie of beads, Zeke spilled some of them in his palm and swirled a finger in the beads, making them sparkle. “We’ll lace these onto the fringes. Not so many as to weigh the moccasin down, but enough to add some color and movement.”

Cal picked out a half dozen beads for each moccasin, and held them in his cupped hand. Then he watched with rapt fascination as Zeke slid each bead onto a fringe and then tied a sturdy knot in the leather.

“You can try ‘em on,” said Zeke. He handed the moccasins, complete with beads, to Cal.

Cal tore off his boots and socks and slipped his feet into the moccasins, and crouched to tie them. Now he was eye level with Zeke’s knees and looked up to see Zeke looking down at him with solemn eyes.

“What’ll we do with all this leftover leather?” asked Cal as he got back on the cot and tapped his moccasin toes together to watch the beads move.

He knew they needed to get to lunch, but it was nice having this moment with Zeke. Just the two of them in Cal’s tent, where the air smelled like new leather moccasins and the slight musical sound of the beads tickled his ears.

“We can make a bear scare and give it to Bede,” said Zeke with a small laugh that lit up his features.

“A what now?” asked Cal.

“Give me that leather thread and I’ll show you.”

Cal grabbed the thread and handed it over, and then slid closer to Zeke.

It turned out that a bear scare was an arrangement of two leather threads with knots tying the two together in three places. Between the knots, Zeke slid on a single bead.

“Hold out your wrist.”

Zeke tied the bracelet around Cal’s left wrist, then explained what the knots and beads meant.

“This center knot is the bear,” said Zeke, tapping the middle knot with his finger. “And the knot I used to tie it on your wrist, that’s you. Between you and the bear are your friends—that’s these two knots. The beads are the courage of your convictions.”

“Sweet.” Cal jangled the bracelet to make the beads sparkle. “Now, let’s make one for you.”

Following Zeke’s patient instructions, Cal knotted the remaining leather thread, placing beads between the knots, then he tied it on Zeke’s wrist.

He paused there, enjoying the slightly astonished expression on Zeke’s face, as if he’d never expected that anyone would make a bear scare for him. And, as well, Cal enjoyed the warm feel of Zeke’s strong wrist in his hands and didn’t want to let go.

“Should I take this off when I shower?” asked Cal, stroking the bracelet, letting his touch linger. “It’s made of leather. It’ll melt if I don’t.”

“No,” said Zeke. He looked down and smoothed the bracelet on his strong wrist, pulling his hand away. Then he looked at Cal. “When it melts, we send the remains to the river fairies and make another.”

“River fairies,” said Cal, unsure whether Zeke was joking or not.

“They’re good fairies. They like trinkets,” said Zeke, utterly solemn. Then he smiled, green eyes sparkling. “My grandma taught me about the fairies,” he said. “Far be it from me to call her a liar.”

“Far be it from me, too,” said Cal, a little breathless to have that smile aimed at him. “But there’s not enough to make one for Bede.”

“Maybe another time.” Zeke slapped his thighs gently and stood up, looming over Cal once more. “Let’s go get some lunch. What do you say?”

“Yeah.”

The trouble with having one-on-one time with Zeke when there was no work to do, no tasks to complete, was that when they returned to work on Monday, it was as if the moment had never happened. Sure, Zeke wore his bracelet and Cal wore his, but it wasn’t like they meant anything. Did it?