In Deep Trouble, page 3
Cecily punched her friend’s number on her phone. “Sabrina? You busy tonight? I have wine.”
“And?” Sabrina said.
Cecily heard the unspoken What do you need? in Sabrina’s response. Had she been that obvious? With the phone tucked against her shoulder, she steered the grocery cart down the snack aisle. “What? I can’t ask a friend over to celebrate the first participant in my new program?”
“Of course you can. I forgot today was the big day. How did it go?”
“It’s going. But I could—”
“What time?” Sabrina cut in before Cecily could finish her thought.
“Depends what works for you, and if you want your wine with or after dinner.”
“You cooking?” Sabrina asked.
Cecily tossed three boxes of assorted snack bars into the cart and headed toward the deli counter for the prepared meals. “Dinner? Sure.” She perused the offerings. “Lasagna?” Cecily left out the part about how she hoped Sabrina would be cooking some dishes for Derek and Grady.
Sabrina’s laugh said she knew the lasagna wouldn’t be homemade. “Six?”
“Sounds great.” Cecily put her phone away, added the lasagna to her cart and contemplated additional choices to round out the meal. A kale salad with pecans and cranberries for a healthy side dish. Ice cream for dessert. She checked out and headed for home, pondering ways to work her goals and objectives for the program into a simple form, one Bryce could finish in a few minutes each day.
She finished putting the groceries away and went to her desk. Her phone blinked a waiting voice mail. She accessed the message.
“Hi, Cecily. It’s Heather. I have some information about Grady. I’m tied up the rest of the day. Call me tomorrow.”
Chapter 5
Twenty minutes before Grady was due, Bryce made his way to the head of the drive where he could see the road leading to the guest house. He held a canvas pouch of carrot and apple pieces. No reason Ginger couldn’t get something positive out of this mess.
In the distance, Grady shuffled along the road, his orange sneakers kicking up dust. He’d changed into jeans and a denim jacket over a red shirt, and he swung a large plastic bag back and forth. He was still too far away for Bryce to make out a lot of detail, but he’d bet everything was new. Part of Cecily’s program, no doubt. Grady even wore what Bryce assumed was a genuine Stetson, knowing Cecily’s penchant for the brand. The boy had it pulled low on his head, partly obscuring his face. Was he hiding from someone?
Bryce watched the boy approach for a minute or two, then backed away. He went to the barn for a curry comb, then came back and hoisted himself over the fence into the paddock. He maneuvered Ginger around so he’d be able to see when Grady entered the yard, and began working some clumps out of the mare’s coat.
“You been rolling in the mud again, haven’t you girl? You want to look nice for the new guy, don’t you? Let’s get you cleaned up.”
He continued talking as he worked, casting surreptitious glances toward the drive. He sure as hell didn’t want to appear eager to start working with the kid. Which he wasn’t. Ginger stomped a foot.
“Sorry, girl. Did I tickle you?” Or had she picked up on his thoughts? He scratched her poll. No point in having his irritation bleed through to her. Last thing he needed was for her to be upset with Grady.
Bryce waited until he sensed Grady was about ten feet away, then glanced up. Nodded. The boy nodded back. Ginger raised and lowered her head. So much for greetings. Grady raised the bag he carried. “I brought my boots.” He looked around, as if seeking a place to swap footgear.
“What size?” Bryce asked.
“Ten-and-a-half.”
“You’re not going to be riding today, so mud boots will be better.”
Grady’s slouch lessened, as though a sack of grain had been removed from his shoulders. “I—we—didn’t get those. They weren’t on the list.” He gazed at his unmistakably new shoes, already decorated with typical ranch detritus.
“Should be a pair in the tack room that’ll fit.” Bryce gave Ginger a quick pat and headed for the barn. After a second or two, Grady followed. Once they’d swapped out the orange sneakers for a pair of tall rubber boots, Bryce handed Grady the pouch of treats. “You spent much time around horses?” he asked as a formality. Grady’s reaction in the kitchen had made the question moot.
Grady shook his head. At least he wasn’t a chatterer.
“Come.” Bryce chinned toward the barn door and walked away.
At the paddock, Grady held back. Bryce called Ginger over, placed a halter over her head, and snapped on a lead. He led her out of the paddock, over to a hitching post at the far end of the barn, and secured her. Grady kept his distance.
“This is Ginger. She’s an old lady now, but she and Cecily put in their share of years working the ranch. Figure you two could start to get used to each other. She likes apples and carrots. Hold it in the flat of your palm, like this.” Bryce demonstrated, and Ginger daintily lipped up an apple slice.
Grady’s eyes widened. He took a step back. A statue in the park was more flexible.
“Relax. She can sense if you’re afraid, but she’s willing to forgive you.” Bryce demonstrated again, then handed a chunk of carrot to Grady. “Your turn.”
Grady placed the carrot dead center in his palm. Turned his head away and reached in Ginger’s general direction.
“Get closer,” Bryce said. “She’ll think you’re teasing her. Don’t jerk away when she takes it.”
With an exhale that could have been heard at the ranch house, Grady complied. When Ginger took the morsel, Grady’s lips twitched. His brows lifted in surprise.
“Soft, like velvet. It tickles, doesn’t it?” Bryce blew out a breath of his own. Step one accomplished. “Try it again.”
Four treats later, Grady had loosened up. Ginger eyed him expectantly.
“Last one,” Bryce said.
Grady offered the last apple slice. With a smile. More like a tiny curve at the corner of his mouth, but small steps were still progress.
“Time to go to the paddock,” Bryce said. He untied the lead and handed it to Grady.
The boy jerked his hand away from the rope. “Me? I don’t think I’m ready yet.”
“You can walk, can’t you?”
“Yes, but—what if the horse—?”
“Her name is Ginger,” Bryce said. He put the lead in Grady’s hand. “You cluck—like this.” He demonstrated the tongue-click. “And start walking. She’ll come along. In fact, it might be good for you to walk her around the barn. Take the long way to the paddock. Her old joints need the lubrication.”
Bryce gave Grady a silent count of three to comply. Credit to the kid, he gave another one of his whooshing exhales, swallowed, and managed a barely audible tsk.
Bryce tried not to smile. “A little louder. Her hearing ain’t what it used to be.”
Grady’s next attempt produced a serviceable cluck. He took a few tentative steps toward the paddock. Ginger’s ears pricked forward, and she ambled along behind him. Not the long way, but at least Grady was walking with a horse following him. As a precaution, Bryce stayed within reach, but as expected, Ginger was a perfect lady.
At the paddock, Bryce let Ginger into the enclosure and unhooked her lead. He gave her rump a light swat. “Atta girl. Go show the youngsters who’s boss.” He opened the gate, waiting for Ginger to pass through.
“Next lesson,” Bryce said. “Gates. Never leave them open. Never. Ever. Check them, then check them again.”
He stepped aside and gestured to Grady, who closed the gate and gave it a tug to make sure it was latched. He cast lidded eyes in Bryce’s direction. Half defiant, half seeking approval.
If the lad thought he’d be lavished with praise for those simple tasks, he’d be a long time waiting. Bryce tilted his Stetson back on his head. “Okay. Ready to work?”
Grady shrugged. Bryce took that as a yes and led him to the barn. He pointed to three empty stalls needing to be cleaned. “Manure fork. Manure bucket. There’s a spreader behind the barn. Out the door, to your left. You’ll find it.” He demonstrated, separating the manure from the shavings and handed the fork to Grady. “The less bedding you pick up, the less you’ll have to lay down later. Make sure you get all the wet bedding, too. Let me know when you’re done.”
Grady scowled, but forked manure into the black rubber tub. Bryce returned to the tack room and picked up the bridle that needed mending. As he worked, he heard Grady muttering to himself, his monologue interspersed with swear words, some of which Bryce hadn’t heard until he’d joined the army. He shook his head and let the kid get it out of his system. He’d done better than Bryce had expected with Ginger, but it would be several days before he put Grady on her back. Ginger wasn’t a working horse, which meant Grady would have to transfer what he learned from riding Ginger to an active cattle horse.
Taking advantage of the time to catch up on tack repairs, Bryce went through bridles, halters, and saddles, lining them up on the workbench for either cleaning or fixing. Surrounded by familiar equipment, inhaling the smells of leather and saddle soap, he worked his way down the line, attending to each in turn, lost in the peace of the job.
When he put the last halter away, he realized he hadn’t heard anything from Grady for several minutes. He stepped into the dim light of the barn, letting his eyes adjust as he made his way to the stalls he’d assigned to Grady. All three had been mucked out, but the boy was nowhere in the barn.
“I told you to tell me when you finished,” Bryce muttered as he strode out of the barn. “How hard was that? You knew where I was.”
He found Grady, hands shoved into his pockets, Stetson tilted back on his head, standing about five feet from the paddock. Ginger’s head hung over the fence, eyes closed, her tail whisking her flanks.
Bryce stopped. Listened. Grady, whether he understood it was smart not to raise his voice around horses, or because he didn’t want to be overheard, was talking to himself. Or Ginger. Or both. Bryce didn’t approve of eavesdropping, but he couldn’t help but overhear Grady’s muted, one-sided conversation.
“Guess we’re stuck with each other. Tell you what. I won’t hurt you, you don’t hurt me, okay? It won’t be for too long, and by the time my sentence is up, I should be safe. Nobody’s going to find me here in Back of Bumfuck.”
With the last utterance, Grady turned around, as if to make sure nobody had found him. He caught Bryce’s eye and tugged his Stetson low on his forehead again.
Chapter 6
Grady jerked at a thwacking sound from the direction of the barn. He turned to see Bryce smacking his cowboy hat against his leather chaps. The man settled the hat on his head and strode over.
“See you’re making friends with Ginger,” Bryce said. “Nothing wrong with that, but you need to spread fresh bedding in the stalls.”
Great. More time in the stinky barn.
Bryce didn’t wait, just turned and walked away. Grady ducked his head and clumped toward the barn. Had Bryce overheard what he’d said to that old horse—Ginger? Grady replayed his words. He hadn’t said anything about who might want to find him and why. Bryce hadn’t tried to pump him for information. No talk to me, tell me your life story crap like the social worker. Pretending she was making conversation, when she was digging for dirt.
Bryce led him to a shed where a faded red wheelbarrow leaned against the wall, and opened the door. He pointed. “Bedding.”
Not hard to figure that one out, since Grady had spent the last hour separating the stuff from the shit.
Bryce cocked his head toward a tool rack on the wall. “Shovel.”
Another no-brainer. Like who didn’t know what a shovel was? He let Bryce keep talking. Or uttering words, a few at a time. Which was fine with Grady.
He got it. Shovel the bedding into the wheelbarrow he’d seen outside. Haul it to the barn. Spread it in the stalls. But if Bryce thought he needed it spelled out, so be it.
“Add enough to bring the level to three inches, except for Ginger’s stall,” Bryce went on. “She’s an old lady and likes to lie down to sleep. She should get about eight inches.”
The cowboy didn’t mind using a few more words if it was about the horses, Grady noted. He nodded. He’d already seen the sign with Ginger’s name on it above one stall, so no challenge there.
“You’ll find a clean bandana in the tack room. Drawer on the left.”
Grady cocked his head. “Bandana?”
Bryce did his thing with the rubber bands on his ponytail. “You can cover your nose. Bedding is dusty.”
Grady nodded.
“We’re good, then. Don’t forget to latch the shed door when you’re done. I’m going to check the water tanks. If you finish before I get back, as long as everything’s latched properly, you’re free to leave.” Bryce walked away, headed toward another wooden structure.
Leave? As if he had somewhere to go. He went out and wheeled the barrow into the shed and started shoveling. Once he’d filled it, he headed for the barn. Why was the shed so far away? Seemed like there was plenty of room to keep the bedding in the barn itself, where it was needed.
At least no one was bugging him. Bryce had said he was leaving. Was that the truth? Did Bryce trust him, or was he going to be watching from some secret place? Did it matter? Grady might not like shoveling shit, but being on the ranch was a hell of a lot better than dodging Enrique and Xiang on the streets in Colorado Springs. Based on today’s lunch, living here was a humongous improvement over Dumpster diving and panhandling for meals.
Or would Bryce go snooping around the guest house? No, Grady hadn’t picked up the least bit of curiosity from Bryce. The man didn’t seem to give a shit about him, as long as he didn’t mess with his precious horses. No way that was going to happen.
A couple of shovelfuls, and Grady understood what Bryce had meant about the dust. He found a red bandana where Bryce had said it would be and wrapped it over his nose and mouth. Between the bandana and the hat, nobody would recognize him. Cool. He glanced around to make sure nobody was in the barn. Laughing, he pulled a pretend six-shooter from a pretend holster. “Give me all your money and nobody gets hurt.”
Still chuckling, he got to work. He shoveled and spread, spread and shoveled. Sneezed. Coughed. But he kept going. Grady wasn’t going to give Bryce the satisfaction of saying he wasn’t pulling his weight. Not going to give him a reason to ship him back to the streets. Or worse, back to his mother.
In a few months—three, to be exact, plus one week and four days—he’d be eighteen and wouldn’t have to listen to any judge or social worker or someone from Child Protective Services telling him who he had to live with.
Grady spread the bedding in the last stall. Outside, engine noises and clattering wheels warned him someone was coming. Probably Derek and the other cowboys. Would Bryce be with them? Was Grady expected to take orders from everyone? Nothing new there. He’d go put away the shovel and wheelbarrow. That was his job at the moment, and he wasn’t about to hang around and give the other cowboys a chance to pile more on.
He angled the shovel into the wheelbarrow and headed outside. A pickup hauling a horse trailer kicked up a cloud of dust as it came to a stop near the barn. Grady pulled his hat down and bumped the wheelbarrow to the shed. If he was out of the way, maybe the cowboys wouldn’t give him more to do. Bryce had said once the stalls were finished, he could leave, right? All he could think about was a shower. A long, hot shower.
He tilted the wheelbarrow against the wall the way he’d found it, put the shovel in the rack, and made sure he latched the shed door. Stuffed the bandana in his back pocket. He glanced at his mud boots. No way he was clumping the mile to his room in them. His sneakers and his cowboy boots were still in the tack room. Why did they call it a tack room? Why not a saddle room?
Surprised he was even considering such things, he made his way to the barn. Derek, Frank, and Tim were unsaddling their horses. No sign of Bryce. The three men paused and stared at him. His first thought was to make sure he was zipped. Giving a half-turn, he did a surreptitious check. All tucked away.
He’d have to walk by them to get to his shoes. He took a breath, straightened his shoulders, and strode forward, telling himself their horses were tied up and weren’t going to kick him.
Derek hoisted the saddle off a black horse. A very big black horse that snorted at Grady’s approach. “Grady,” Derek said. “Learning the ropes?”
Grady took in the rope looped on the saddle. It took a minute to register that Derek was using a figure of speech. Or was he going to have to learn how to rope cows, too?
“I guess so. Bryce said I was dismissed once I put bedding in the stalls.” He pointed at his feet. “Just getting my shoes.”
“Come to the house when you’re done.” Derek turned to his horse.
Grady swapped his cumbersome mud boots for his sneakers. What now?
Chapter 7
Bryce stopped the Gator alongside the stock tank in the easternmost pasture, one of the newly annexed parcels of land Derek had bought when Kenny McMillan quit ranching. He hopped out of the ATV and checked the drain and seams in the galvanized tank.
Piece of crap.
No way would it survive as a watering station for any cattle grazing this pasture. No point in trying to repair it. New or nothing. Cattle ranching might be about the land, and Derek had increased his holdings by a good third with his purchases, but he’d have to fork over a bunch of bucks to be able to use it effectively.
On a positive note, the spring rains had left the pasture filled with an excellent growth of tall grass which provided a bounty crop of meadow hay, which in turn, would save on feed bills.
