The Cowboy and the Hacker (Farthingdale Valley #5)

Epilogue - Cal

I t wasn’t quite Christmas, but it felt like it, with the snow gently coming down, like it had yesterday and the day before. Everything from the low hills to the west and the pine trees all around was covered in a soft white blanket, and the air was cold and still.

Zeke had mentioned how quiet the snow made everything, and Cal had believed him, but it always surprised him each time. When he’d come in from feeding the mules and checking on the barn, the only sound had been his own bootsteps in the snow.

The mules were housed in a big wooden barn that Zeke, along with some hired hands, had built out of reclaimed wood. When the hired hands had gone, Zeke and Cal had gotten on ladders and painted the barn cedar red with white trim, which made it the nicest looking barn in the area.

Cal could hardly believe how much work had gone into making sure the hay loft would carry tons of hay for the winter, or how much he would enjoy the smell of the barn, with the hay and bags of feed grain and the scent of the mules themselves.

Currently, they only had four mules, four young males with glossy coats, long legs and ears, and big brown eyes. Together, he and Zeke had named them Bailey, Candlewick, Dancer, and Clover. At first, Cal had felt leery around them, but Zeke had shown Cal how smart mules were, and how steady they were, and patient, and even funny.

Cal’s favorite part of the mules was that although Zeke had shorn their manes short along their necks, he’d left a handful at each of their withers. That’s so the fairies have a way to make reins and stirrups for their midnight rides , Zeke had said, which made Cal love him more than he ever thought he possibly could.

“Don’t feed them like you would a horse,” Zeke had said more than once. “Until we start training after the New Year, they don’t get grain, only hay and water. Then, when we start working them, we can treat them to grain and horse cookies.”

Zeke knew best, so Cal stuck to the plan, though he sometimes snuck each of the mules thin slices of carrot, which they very much enjoyed.

Once inside the old farmhouse, basically three rooms, a bedroom, a living room, and a kitchen that had a small rectangular table in it that they ate all their meals on, Cal shook the snow from his shoulders. He slipped off his pea coat and leather gloves and shook those out, hanging them on hooks on the wall to dry. Then, at long last, he could change from his work boots and into the fringed moccasins that Zeke had once sewn together for him.

The same beads that Zeke had tied on for him dangled softly against his ankles, and the thin soles let him feel the surface of the wooden floor that Zeke had refinished with his own two hands.

The small ranch, which had once belonged to Zeke’s grandmother, was located east of Cloudcroft, New Mexico, at the intersection of Highway 82 and Eight Mile Canyon Road. Their water came from a well, and was the sweetest, coldest water Cal had ever tasted. They also had tons of peace and quiet, except for the wind in the pine trees, the hoot of the occasional owl, and the soft thunder of geese wings when the weather had turned cold.

Since they were around half an hour out of Cloudcroft, Zeke was on his weekly run for groceries and anything else they might need from town. Cal had done his morning chores in the barn, so all he needed to do was make sure there was hot coffee ready for Zeke upon his return.

Cal started the coffee in the metal coffee pot on the stove, checked his phone, and was pleased to see there was a message from Mr. Simms.

Hey Cal, can you help me? I’m not getting my emails. Carla said she thought she saw a notice about it, but can’t find the message. I’m here until this afternoon, and then Carla, Mitzi, and I are going for a pontoon ride in the swamp .

The Simms family had, at last, moved to St. Augustine to be near Bert’s sister, Rose. The last Cal had heard, they were still talking about getting their own pontoon and naming it Calypso —from the John Denver song, Cal had finally discovered—but, in the meantime, they were having fun exploring their new world.

Cal relished every single photograph they sent him, every single alligator snout, every single palm tree, every single sunset from a snow white sandy beach. Every single photo of Bert and Carla sitting on their back porch in the glowy tropical sunset, with their furbaby Mitzi on Carla’s lap.

As he sat at his computer in the corner of the room furthest from the wood-burning, pot-bellied stove, he grabbed his phone and dialed Mr. Simms’ number.

“Hello?” asked Mr. Simms in his upbeat way, as if the person on the other end of the line was one of his best friends.

“Hey, Bert,” said Cal, making sure to call Bert Bert , rather than Mr. Simms, because Mr. Simms—Bert—would get so riled when he did. “How about that computer?”

“Do you have time now, Cal?” asked Bert.

“Sure, do,” said Cal. “The coffee is brewing and Zeke’s not back yet, so it’s the perfect time for me to help you.”

Technically, Cal was barred from ever working in IT again, and technically , he wasn’t supposed to be helping anyone at all with their computer. This was because of the crime he’d committed. The Feds were supposedly watching him, particularly the Cybercrime Department.

Cal had been keeping himself far away from any trouble. Except for the fact that, as part of his making amends, at Zeke’s suggestion, Cal had reached out to Call-me-Bert Simms.

It had been one of the hardest things Cal had ever done.

Sure, he couldn’t call Bert directly, but Zeke, as his erstwhile parole officer, could.

Bert had called back less than a day later. Cal had gripped the cell phone and started rambling on about what had happened, trying to explain and apologize at the same time, then Bert said, Take it slow, son. Tell me what happened. Start from the beginning .

If tears had sparked hot in Cal’s eyes, there was only Zeke to see, so Cal didn’t mind very much. Then he started from the beginning.

He told Bert about Preston, and about Cal’s desperate attempts to get away, and how, when he’d illegally logged into Bert’s account and transferred money from it, he made sure to leave a digital trail so wide that even the newest F.B.I recruit could have followed it.

I never wanted you to lose any money , Cal had said that day. I just needed to borrow it so I could get away from Preston .

All the way to prison, son? Bert had asked in a gentle, fatherly way.

Yeah . Cal’s voice disappeared and his throat had gone dry for a long, hard minute. Then he’d said, I’m supposed to make amends, but I don’t know how .

At the time, at the beginning of fall when this call had occurred, the Simms family was already in the process of packing up to move to Florida, and with Cal down in the heart of New Mexico, it wasn’t like Cal was able to help them with chores or anything and make amends that way.

Well, how about this , Bert had said, Carla and I always need help with our computers. Especially since between the two of us we don’t have the sense of a newt not to click on the wrong thing .

Cal hadn’t hardly been able to follow any of that, except for the fact that Bert was still willing to trust Cal with his computer login. Which meant that every week or so Bert would call to ask if Cal had time, and then Cal could spend a happy hour in familiar surroundings while he dug through Bert’s computer or Carla’s, and fixed things for them.

Because of Cal, Bert and Carla had the most up-to-date internet security in the world, and the backups of each of their computers were one hundred percent secure around the clock.

“What did the notice say?” asked Cal now.

With the cell phone tucked under his chin, Cal got up from the computer to pour himself a cup of coffee, complete with milk and sugar, in a huge metal tumbler, then he went and sat back down with a sigh. Sure, he loved Zeke and working on a mule ranch, but he also loved working with computers, so helping Bert and Carla was always a special treat.

“She thinks it said something about being attached to the server,” said Bert. “Only we never made any changes, so aren’t we already attached?”

“Got it,” said Cal. He took a swig of his coffee and smiled. “Let me log in?”

“Sure,” said Bert.

Cal used RemoteMeIn, oh, yes, he did. The Feds were probably watching, but as long as Bert said it was okay, it was.

He poked around and found the notice Carla had seen in the System Settings, which explained that a certain update required Bert and Carla to reconnect to the email server for security purposes.

Cal quickly reconnected each of their email accounts to the appropriate server and clicked the Update button. Voila. Emails started pouring in, everything from upcoming holiday sales to weather reports to ads for pontoon and airboat rides.

“There you go, Bert,” he said. “I’ve logged out. Check and see. They just wanted you to log in again after some security updates. I’ll send you instructions on how to do that for next time, but you can always call me, too.”

That promise made him feel good. Back when he worked in IT, he’d told himself he was saving the Aunt Ednas of the world. Now, he helped Bert, the nicest man in the world, along with his lovely wife, Carla.

“Oh, look!” said Bert in an amazed voice, as though Cal had performed a very special conjuring trick. “You’re amazing, Cal, simply amazing. And Carla said to tell you she’s blowing you a kiss and sending you cookies.”

Cal opened his mouth to protest. At the same time, he wanted to remind Bert to tell Carla not to put raisins in, and that he really adored peanut butter cookies the best.

“Oatmeal and chocolate chip for Zeke, she says,” said Bert. “And peanut butter for you.”

“Thank you Bert,” Cal said. “Tell Carla thanks and give Mitzi a kiss on the nose for me, will you?”

He’d never met any of them in person, but Zeke had said that if they could get into the South Carolina State Fair mule and donkey competition, they could easily take the time to slide on down to Florida for a visit. Cal hadn’t said anything to Bert about it, but would when the time came.

Outside, Cal heard the rumble of Zeke’s truck, so he said, “Zeke’s home, Bert, so I need to get his coffee ready. Okay?”

“Sure thing,” said Bert. “Thanks again, and be on the lookout for that shipment of cookies. It looks like Carla made several dozen.”

With a laugh, Cal said goodbye and hung up, then raced to get Zeke’s coffee ready for him.

Zeke liked it black with tons of sugar, so Cal grabbed Zeke’s favorite metal tumbler and prepared the coffee just the way Zeke liked it. Then he put a few more small logs in the potbellied stove and went to open the door for Zeke.

He didn’t take off his moccasins to put his work boots on to help bring in the groceries because he and Zeke had already had several small almost-arguments about that.

Cal said he didn’t like it when Zeke did all the work and Zeke said he liked trudging through the snow, coming up to the open door of the small farmhouse. That he liked the way the light spilled out onto the snow, and he loved the way the doorway framed Cal inside of it.

All the things I love there to greet me when I come home , Zeke had said. Which had made Cal’s throat grow tight with the purest love, and so he agreed and remembered most days.

He remembered this time as he stood in the doorway, wrapping his arms around himself as the cold wind swept snow-flecked circles around him.

He watched as Zeke carried as many bags of groceries as he could—reusable grocery bags from Vitamin Cottage—and plowed his way through the drifts of snow that had formed since morning.

When Zeke came up to the two wooden steps to the farmhouse, Cal leaned to grab those bags and carried them inside while Zeke went for the next load.

There were six loads in all, enough to supply them for weeks of snowfall without either of them ever having to step foot off the ranch.

When Zeke made his last trip, Cal ushered him inside and, almost tossing the grocery bags on the overloaded small table, turned to tend to Zeke.

This involved unwrapping Zeke from his soft woolen muffler and puffy coat, from his knit cap and leather gloves—and then to kiss the cold away. First, Cal kissed Zeke’s cold nose and cheeks, and then his plush mouth, all of this while placing warm hands on Zeke’s cool neck. Then he blew on Zeke’s hands and tugged Zeke close to the cheery warmth of the potbellied stove.

“My boots—the snow,” protested Zeke, but Cal hushed him with more kisses.

“The snow will melt,” he said. “I’ll sweep it out in a second.”

He wrapped his arms around Zeke and held him close, letting his own body warmth soak into Zeke. Zeke wrapped his arms around Cal’s waist in return, and Cal sighed with pleasure.

“This is my favorite part when you go away,” whispered Cal in Zeke’s ear.

“Mine, too,” said Zeke, whispering back. “I love you, Cal.”

“And I love you, Zeke.”

Their wedding vows right after Cal had received his Certificate of Completion had been this simple. They’d exchanged promises and rings in the rustic Iron Mountain Country Church, located at a small bend in the road just north of Farthingdale Guest Ranch.

The plan had been to keep the ceremony small and quick, but everybody from the ranch had come, including a few guests who’d lingered after their week was up. Everybody from the Fresh Start Program had come, as well, including Beck, who wasn’t really a parolee, and Tom, a parolee from the earliest part of the summer, along with his wife, Joanna, and cute baby daughter, Barbara Lynn.

The wedding reception in the small canvas pavilion in the parking lot of the church had started off simple, as well, but then pony kegs had shown up. Five to be exact, each with a different type of beer. And Beck, evidently, had splurged for twelve bottles of champagne and, of all things, Buffalo wings, and then the party had gotten quite boisterous and almost out of hand.

Everyone was having such a good time, so Zeke and Cal had slipped away just as the sun was setting. He knew he’d never forget that moment as they headed south on Highway 211 with all of their belongings stowed in the back of Zeke’s truck.

A bit of sunset had glimmered on the gold of their rings as they held hands, Zeke’s hand linked with his, both of their hands resting on Zeke’s strong, warm knee.

I love you, Cal , Zeke had said in the purple and blue twilight.

And I love you , Zeke, Cal had said.

They said those words to each other almost every day. It was important to say them because the words bound them to each other, ribbons of sound and intention and love.

“What’s for lunch?” asked Zeke as he pulled back with one last lingering kiss.

Zeke had told Cal about what the concept of farm supper meant, a gathering of a family together around a sturdy table, the food made with love was another way of connecting them together. Cal loved the idea of it, and together they had worked in the kitchen, preparing oatmeal on cold mornings, and hearty stews on winter evenings.

“I can make sandwiches,” Cal said. “Tomato soup, too.”

“We can make that together,” said Zeke. “Let’s get the groceries away while you tell me how many carrots you managed to sneak to the mules today.”

Caught red-handed, Cal laughed, kissed Zeke again, and did his best to put most of the groceries. That way, Zeke could get started on lunch, and Cal could pull the tall stool near the stove and watch his favorite man put on a chef’s apron and make tomato soup from scratch.

Yes, from scratch . Zeke was a trove of hidden talents, and nothing pleased Cal more than to be continually surprised and amazed by him.

“Bert needed help with his computer today,” said Cal as he plopped himself on the stood in the warm kitchen, where the sun shone through the opening in the curtained windows. “He said Carla’s cookies are on their way.”

“Good,” said Zeke, busy at the cutting board, his expression serious and contented at the same time. “What kind?”

Surely Zeke knew Carla would always send their favorites, but he was too much of a gentleman to assume, so he always asked.

“Oatmeal and chocolate chip,” said Cal. “And peanut butter for me.”

Zeke made a low sound beneath his breath as he laid cut tomatoes on a pan to roast in the oven. Cal jumped up to get the hand blender so it would be ready and, before he sat back down again, he grabbed a quart of cream from the fridge.

“I only gave them small slivers of carrots,” said Cal as he sat back down. As a reward for being honest, Zeke paused to kiss him on the forehead, then returned to his cooking.

This was the way life should be, so sweet and perfect and peaceful that Cal couldn’t have imagined it would be this good, Zeke and him together.

They didn’t go out much, and mostly did chores all day, and their reward was exactly this: them in the warm kitchen, making farm breakfasts, and farm lunches, and farm suppers. Cleaning up after each one, side by side at the sink, sweeping the wooden floor, then settling on the rumbled couch in front of the pot-bellied stove.

He looked at his hand and twirled the gold ring on his ring finger, the metal warm from his skin, the single diamond flat inside the band, sparkling like a promise.

When he looked up, Zeke had stopped, and was looking at him, his green eyes bright, his smile fond.

“Come and test these tomatoes. Are they roasted enough? Do you want garlic mixed in?”

Cal jumped up and went to the stove to take a look.

“A couple more minutes,” he said, feeling entirely domestic. “You need more of a char on the edges.”

Zeke put the pan of half-roasted tomatoes back in the oven. “Garlic?” he asked, as he straightened up.

“No,” said Cal. “We need that for the stew later.”

“Okay.”

Cal muffled Zeke’s response with a quick kiss, then went to put a bit more wood in the pot-bellied stove.

Outside the windows, the sky was entirely white, and snow was coming down like a thick curtain. They’d be trapped on the ranch for the next week, but that prospect was as far from unpleasant as it could possibly be. He had Zeke, and together, they could weather any storm.