Slate (Rebel Wayfarers MC) (10 page)

Gauging the time by the angle of the sun in the sky, he walked over and grabbed his glass, filling it from the water cooler strapped to the fender of the truck. He’d only forgotten to fill it one day, and by quitting time, he was one thirsty fucker. This heat was killer.

The rattlesnakes were too, of which he’d seen far too many for comfort. They were masters of camouflage, hiding in the brush and scrub until he approached too close. The leather gaiters he wore were hot as hell over his boots and jeans, but it was a fuckload better than being bitten. He finished his water and put the cup in the post brace hole in the fender, turning to walk back to the fence.

By quitting time, he’d finished another half-mile of fence. Picking up the roll of wire, he slung it, the stretcher, and his tool belt into the back of the truck. They rattled around on top of the metal and wooden replacement posts, posthole diggers, post setter, and various other supplies and things already there.

Pouring another glass of water, he leaned against the truck drinking it down, eyes closed. He was listening to the music of the land. It was different from where he grew up, but just as beautiful. Owls, coyotes, hawks—all were sounding their evening calls, either waking or readying for sleep. He heard the lowing of cattle in the distance, and closer, there was a rapid beat of hooves coming his way. Opening his eyes, he stood straight and looked down the fencerow to see a big man on a bigger horse riding towards him.

He grabbed another glass and poured some water, standing and waiting patiently until the man on the horse was within comfortable hailing distance. “How are ya?” he asked, lifting the glass towards him. “Water?”

“Obliged, man, thanks,” he pulled the horse to a stop and took the water, introducing himself, “Reuben Nelms. You working for Mister Transom?” He took a drink.

“Yeah, about halfway through a fencing project. Andy Jones, the Transom’s temporary hand.” He laughed and shook Reuben’s hand in greeting.

Reuben stepped down from the horse, automatically loosening the girth on the saddle and slipping the bit from its mouth. Andy reached into the back of the truck and pulled out a canvas bucket; filling it with about a half-gallon of water, he handed it to the big man. Startled, Nelms thanked him and took the bucket, positioning it for the horse to lower its muzzle into.

“You from around here?” Andy asked.

“Yeah, my family owns a rodeo stock company. I compete for a living—rope and wrestle—but I’m off the circuit for a while to help Daddy,” Reuben said as an odd emotion waved across his face. Andy thought it looked like regret or fear, and wondered what could scare this imposing guy. Reuben shook it off and asked in return, “Where are you from? That ain’t no Texas accent.”

Andy laughed out loud. “Nah, I’m from Wyoming. My family had a beef ranch there for a lotta years, so I can turn my hand to most any ranch work.” He turned and refilled his cup, stepping back and offering with his hand for Reuben to refill his if he wanted. “I’ve been riding my bike around for a while now, working job to job, meeting people, and seeing the country.”

Reuben perked up at that. “I’ve always wanted to buy a bike to ride. We use dirt bikes to work the cattle in some places where it’s hard on the horses, but I think I’d like the open road a lot.”

Andy nodded. “It’s been an education in people, that’s for sure.”

“You can get that lots of places.” Reuben shifted from foot to foot for a minute. “I’m going into Lamesa tonight, to the Mexican restaurant. Want to meet me there and we can talk bikes? I got to get going if I’m gonna make it home while it’s still daylight, and Rosie here sucks for night riding.” He thumbed back at the mare standing with her eyes sleepily at half-mast.

“Sure, man,” Andy answered. “Okay if I bring Chelsie if she wants?”

Reuben nodded, laughing, “Yeah, if you can get her out of her kitchen…and if the other hands will let her go.” Andy nodded; her cooking was good, and she seemed to enjoy the work. He’d heard her singing most mornings as she made an early breakfast.

He had her body singing at night, too, when she crept into his bunk, but that was not something to share with Reuben.

“Okay, I’ll see you there.” Andy gathered up the cups and bucket to stow them. He got into the truck as Reuben secured his saddle and bridle, and swung onto the horse. Both men lifted a hand in farewell, each turning towards home.

***

He shook Mr. Transom’s hand, grinning when the man pulled him into a brief hug. “Be careful out there, son,” he muttered into Andy’s ear.

Andy smiled. “I will, Mr. Transom. I appreciate the job, and hope you’ve been happy with the work. I like helping out, but I guess you already figured that out.” Transom nodded, stepping back into the shade of the porch. Andy swung down the steps and straddled his bike, starting it. He saw Chelsie in the kitchen window and raised a hand to wave at her, but she ducked out of sight.

He sighed; that was the one thing he didn’t like about leaving today. He’d hurt Chelsie’s feelings a few days ago and hadn’t been able to apologize to her as he wanted. It made him feel like an asshole. He killed the bike and Transom turned to look. “I gotta tell Chelsie bye. I haven’t been able to catch her out of the kitchen for the past couple of days. Okay if I go into the house, sir?”

“Sure, Andy,” he said with a puzzled look on his face.

“Thanks,” Andy tossed out as he took the steps two at a time, heading into the house. Finding Chelsie in the kitchen, he stood between her and the doors, waiting patiently until she turned around. “Chelsie, I wanted to say goodbye before I left. I’m sorry, but I can’t stay. This isn’t the place for me.”

Looking steadily into his face, she said, “I know, Andy. I...well, I don’t understand, actually, but I know that’s how you feel.”

He pulled the door closed behind him, walking slowly across the room to her. Reaching up a hand to touch her face, he skimmed her cheekbone with his knuckles, pushing his fingers into the hair at the back of her head. Slowly pulling her close, he gave her every chance to push away or say no. He paused with his lips right over hers, mingling their breath for a moment before softly kissing her.

“I
will
miss you, Chelsie,” he murmured, kissing her again. She pulled back fractionally and he released her, his fingers trailing down her throat as he stepped back.

“I’ll miss you too, Andy,” she said. He started to smile, but she continued, “I would never have guessed that we would have so much fun, and that it was okay to be funny, especially in bed.” She blushed. “I know I wasn’t very experienced, but you were patient and kind.” She leaned forward and kissed him softly on the cheek. “I’ll see ya, Andy. Be careful, okay?”

Riding down the driveway, he thought about her goodbye and felt his heart clench a little, but he’d known she was not for him. He stopped in Lamesa at a tattoo place, walking in and talking to the resident artist. He’d started the outline of a dragon on his chest when he got into town; they’d worked on it over the weeks and now needed to put scales on the wings to finish it out.

Andy sat in the chair, thinking about Chelsie. “Hey, man, when you get done with the dragon, let’s do a band on my left bicep. I want it to say
‘the past is practice’.”

Admiring his chest later that night in a motel mirror, he loved the way the wings stretched from collarbone to collarbone, dipping at his throat to the dragon’s neck. The tail hung sinuously down his chest and belly, with the last half-inch
dropping to the waistband of his jeans. The hind legs were drawn up tightly, coiled as if to strike. He liked this ink a lot; it was an original, drawn just for him.
Expensive as fuck, but worth it,
he thought.

Turning, he looked at the plastic wrap on his bicep covering the tribal band that held the new saying. Everything tattooed on his body had meaning, even if he was the only one who knew it. It made the ink profound, as if it were telling his life’s story through the pictures on his skin.

10 -
            
Lessons everywhere

Ten
years ago

“Fuck
me, this state is fucking wide,” Andy muttered as he realized there was nearly another hundred miles to Louisiana. After five days, he was
still
in Texas. He’d stopped in Dallas for a day, hanging out at a local bike shop and begging use of some tools to tune up his Indian.

He’d been able to purchase a tool roll bag a while back he had strapped under his seat, but he did not yet have all the tools needed. Buying them one at a time was harder than it sounded, because sometimes shops didn’t have tools available when he needed it, or when he had the cash.

His girl was humming along today, though; she was happy, and so was he. Now, he simply needed to find a place to stay. Pulling over, he drew out his well-worn map, deciding to detour north of old highway 80 for a bit, turning onto some smaller country roads.

Going north out of Gladewater, he came to a small town called Gilmer. Pulling into a gas station, he filled up his tank and walked to the window to pay. Picking up a pop and a candy bar from the slide-top cooler beside the building, he looked into the glassed-in office and saw a pretty brunette.

That was his first impression of her, and his second impression was,
Holy shit, she’s pregnant…like, very fucking pregnant
. She was so round she had to be miserable, but was looking at him pleasantly. He glanced and didn’t see a ring, and wondered about her circumstances for a bare second. “Hey, beautiful, how are you today?”

Her smile lit up her face. “I’m doin’ okay, thanks. You?”

He nodded. “It’s a gorgeous day, I have a good bike, and a beautiful woman just smiled at me. It doesn’t get any better.”

She blushed and looked down. “Gas, pop, and candy—$15.50, sir.” She marked something on a piece of paper; there was only one other mark there, and he wondered what she was counting.

“What’s that?” He pointed through the glass at the marks.

She blushed deeper, keeping her eyes off his face. “Just a tally, sir.”

“Andy,” he said.

She frowned and looked up at him. “Excuse me?”

“That’s my name…Andy.”

Her smile broke through again. “Hi, Andy, I’m Charlotte.” He passed cash through the little tray, and she sent back his change.

“Nice to meet you. Would you like a pop, Charlotte?” he asked, startling himself.
What the fuck was he doing talking to this preggo gal?

“No, thanks, carbonation isn’t my friend lately.” She laughed silently.

“When are you due, beautiful?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Another month,” she sighed.

He frowned. “That’s not very far away. Your doc says you are okay to keep working?” Leaning against the cooler with his hip, he settled into the conversation.

“I have to,” she replied and shrugged.

“Dad’s not in the picture?” he guessed, and she shook her head no, her dark, heavy curls swinging across her back. “Ever ridden on a bike?” he asked, thinking to himself,
Fucker, shut your mouth now
.

She grinned at him, nodding. “Yeah, I’m friends with folks in a motor club in Longview. It’s been a while, but I love bikes and riding.”

He frowned, because the clubs he’d met so far would have treasured any baby born to one of their members. The brothers always seemed to love babies and kids, and the old ladies sure did too. All the clubs had been family-friendly for at least a portion of their gatherings.

He looked at her and saw she had tucked that chin again, looking down at her hands clasped on the counter with her hair hiding her face.

“Is the baby one of the members’?” he quizzed her. She shook her head, not looking up. “No?” he pressed.

“No, it’s not a member’s. Their Sergeant at Arms would have killed anyone that tried anything.” She smiled fondly. “He was my first friend there.”

He changed the subject, “Charlotte, can you recommend a good place for dinner in Gilmer?” He’d made a decision without trying to understand it; he was just gonna go with it.

“Sure, there’s a great Mexican place,
La Finca;
it’s the best sit-down food in Gilmer after dark,” she said.

“What time do you get off?” He raised his eyebrow at her again, watching as her eyes flew up to meet his in alarm. He said, “It’s nothing more than dinner. I don’t know anyone in town, and I don’t like eating alone. You’d be doing me a favor, really.”

Watching her face, he saw she was looking down again, but her finger was tracing that mark she’d made on the paper. “Six,” she said quietly.

He nodded and rapped gently on the glass to get her to raise her eyes again. “I’ll be here at five-thirty.” He smiled and walked over to his bike.

He was back and waiting at the promised time, sitting behind the gas station office. About ten minutes until six, a pickup drove up and parked, with a little blonde woman inside. Then, right at six, another pickup drove up, and a tall gal with crazy hair got out and knocked at the back door of the office.

Charlotte came out, talking to the tall gal and pointing towards a storage shed. They both nodded and laughed, and the tall woman bent down and put her hands on either side of Charlotte’s belly, looking like she was talking to it. They smiled, and she stepped into the office, closing the door.