A Prairie Dog's Love Song (6 page)

A couple of times, when he first got home, he logged on to B2B, unable to help himself. On their blog he saw some candid snapshots of “the gang” out to dinner or horsing around at the pool. Ben was in those shots of beautiful boys, and he smiled. The resolution wasn’t good enough for Joshua to tell if the smile reached his eyes or not.

Mostly, Joshua kept looking to see if there was a new Caleb video up. He wasn’t sure why it mattered so much, but it did. Each time it wasn’t there, it felt like a crushing weight had been lifted off his chest, and he could breathe a mite better. But then the worry would just start building again.

Of course, he figured Ben would keep filming. It was the high-paying job he’d moved to Vegas for, after all. But after Joshua himself had touched Ben and kissed him, the thought of anyone else doing it was enough to make him want to take out his dad’s old shotgun and blow a hole in something. So after a few days of this torment, he deleted his Web history, determined never to go back to the site again.

It was better not to know.

Sometimes he told himself that Ben would come to see reason, that he’d come home. And sometimes, Joshua knew better.

November came, and they got their grain delivery for the winter. He and Charlie and a hired man spent the first few weeks of November checking fences. The primary money-maker for Muddy River Ranch was still the cattle operation his daddy had founded. They raised Belted Galloway and Randall Blue Lineback for sale as breeding stock. They had to keep the herds separate, and there were miles of fence to maintain. Heavy snow could take out a whole section if there was a weak spot and you didn’t know it was there. And a fence with a section down was just about useless.

Charlie worried and fussed at him like an old mother hen.

“I swear to God, Boss,” he said one day. “Ya ain’t never been a talker, but lately, if ya’d a had to rub two words together to make a fire, you’d a done froze to death.”

Joshua just grunted.

“And yer clothes are startin’ to hang on ya like a scarecrow. Ya ain’t eatin’ enough.”

“I’m fine,” Joshua said.

Charlie rubbed his forehead. “I’m plumb worried. You’d best go see a doctor. Losin’ weight like that…. It could be the cancer. Ya need to be checked out.”

“Christ on a crutch, I ain’t got cancer,” Joshua growled. “Now just secure that dang post, would ya?”

O
NE
S
ATURDAY
, Joshua drove into town to the hardware store and overheard Henry Atkins having an argument with Margaret Reynolds in the parking lot. It sounded like it was about Margaret’s cattle brand for the Red Poppy Ranch again, which Margaret’s family had had since the dawn of time, and which Henry had later decided was too much like a logo some fancy pants in Chicago had designed for him. He’d even sued her over it—and lost. Now he was giving her more grief.

Henry was Joshua’s age, and he’d been a big bully for as long as Joshua could remember. Course it didn’t help that his parents were the meanest rednecks in the county. Henry’s icy-blue eyes were piercing and arrogant, and his black hair and beard were wild as a mountain man’s. He leaned toward Margaret, trying to use his size to intimidate her.

Joshua snapped. In a blinding rage, he stormed across the parking lot, grabbed Henry’s arm, and planted a right hook across his jaw. He had just enough sanity left to check the force of the blow, but it was still a hard hit. Henry, all 250 pounds of beard and blubber, went down with a cry. He lay on the asphalt looking up at Joshua as though he was stone-cold mental—which was a pert fair assessment.

“Joshua Braintree!” Margaret cried in shock.

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Henry managed, or something that sounded a bit like it through all the quivering. He spat blood.

Joshua turned around, got in his truck, and drove home.

Sheriff Taylor pulled up about an hour later. Joshua nodded him inside and fixed him a cup of coffee.

“So you gonna tell me what in the Sam Hill possessed you?” the sheriff asked. “You know you can’t just go around assaultin’ people. It’s a crime.”

Joshua nodded. “Reckon you’ll arrest me.”

Sheriff Taylor rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “Well, firstly, you’ve never been in trouble before, so I’m inclined to be lenient. And secondly—what the hell did Henry do this time?”

Joshua shook his head.

“Joshua?”

“Long time comin’, ’s all.”

The sheriff waited, looking at him patiently, but Joshua didn’t say another word.

The sheriff sighed. “I think Henry’s more terrified of you than anything at the moment. I can probably get him to drop the charges. But I’d sure like to know what this is all about. Not that Henry don’t give people enough reason to hold a grudge, but not many punch him in the face.”

Joshua looked down at his hands. “Won’t happen again, Sheriff.”

Henry Atkins did not press charges.

T
HE
SECOND
week of November, Fred called and invited Joshua to Sunday dinner. Joshua suspected it had something to do with Charlie and his big mouth, just like Charlie had started bringing by pies and cakes that his wife had baked. But he went, because he knew Fred was struggling too with Ben gone, and he could use the company.

They didn’t say a lot that Sunday afternoon. They sat on the porch after dinner, and Fred talked about the weather and the most recent news from Chet. He handed over the letters Ben had written him, three of them so far. Fred never had taken to e-mail, so Ben had written him longhand. They were bright, chatty letters that said a whole lot of nothing.

Joshua didn’t comment on ’em, but he read each letter, over and over. He held them in one hand, sitting there on the porch, and pretended he wasn’t letting his eyes drift to the neat print, time and again, while Fred talked about something else.

Clyde’s Corner just wouldn’t understand me
, each letter said, somewhere in the flow of words. And on the last one,
I ain’t been doing the videos so much lately
.

Ben never once mentioned Joshua.

Joshua drove home that afternoon with Ben’s scribble scorched across his brain like a brand.
I ain’t been doing the videos so much lately.

For the first time in a few weeks, Joshua logged on to B2B, dreading it yet unable to help himself. He was sweating, his hand barely able to operate the mouse. The “latest videos” page loaded. He held his breath.

There wasn’t a new Caleb video. The last one was dated before Joshua’s trip to Vegas.

Joshua let out a sigh that sounded like the haunting cry of something lost in the wilderness. He shut down his computer.

God, he just wanted Ben.

A
T
T
HANKSGIVING
Joshua and Fred decided to save themselves a load of hassle and go to Nora’s Diner. She always served turkey with all the trimmings on Thanksgiving Day for folks who had no place better to go.

As they pulled up in front of the diner, it sure was a pretty picture. The first snow of winter had come, leaving a white inch of powder all over town. Main Street had been decorated the day before Thanksgiving, as always, and live branches of long-needled pine wove around the town’s old-fashioned black iron lampposts. Red bows were affixed to the top of each garland. A Christmas tree sat in front of the town hall, already decorated, but waiting to be lit in a ceremony that happened every year the day after Thanksgiving. And there was a banner hung over the street that said Clyde Corner Christmas Dance Dec 23 Macy’s Park.

It was home, and it was beautiful. But it hit Joshua that Christmas was coming. Christmas was coming, and he wouldn’t be with Ben, not this Christmas and probably not any other Christmas either. He swallowed against a burning ache in his throat.

Fred had come up to him at some point and laid a hand on his arm. “Hey, did I tell you that I got a letter from Chet? He’s got a month’s leave, and he’ll be home for Christmas.”

“That right?” Joshua smiled at the old man. “That’s mighty good news.” He hesitated. “Will Ben come home to see ’im?”

Fred’s smile faltered. “Ben seems… real determined not to come back. I reckon he’s still embarrassed about Henry tellin’ everyone in town about those videos. Chet’s gonna fly out to Vegas after Christmas. I dunno…. I may go too.”

Joshua nodded, looking away. He hadn’t thought he had any unbroken space left on his heart, but he felt it crack all the same.

Fred squeezed his arm. “Come on. I’ve got a real hankerin’ for that turkey.”

N
ORA
’
S
TURKEY
looked and smelled mighty fine. Fred attacked it voraciously, and Joshua tried to put up a good show. But all he could think about was what Fred had said—that Ben didn’t wanna come back, not even for Christmas, not even if Chet was gonna be here.

The more he thought about it, the worse Joshua felt. Ben wouldn’t come back to Clyde’s Corner, not ever. Joshua hadn’t realized he’d been holding out so much hope. His gut twisted like someone had turned his stomach inside out, acid rose in his throat, and his hands got hot and damp. He picked at his food, and when Fred excused himself to use the little boy’s room, he signaled Nora to come take his plate away so he could pretend he’d eaten it.

She took one look at all the leftover food and slipped into the booth across from him. She put the round coffeepot, which was always attached to her hand like a catcher’s mitt, on the table and gave him a grim look.

“Honey, you have
got
to get over this thing. Is it love or money?”

Joshua huffed.

“I ain’t heard of your ranch bein’ in trouble,” Nora mused. “And folks love to gossip when the bigwigs are bloodied. So I’m guessin’ it’s love. Damn, but that bitch can be cruel.”

Joshua smiled wryly in agreement.

Janelle, a pretty teenage girl who had been a fixture at Nora’s for the past three years, came over to snag the coffeepot.

“I got it,” she told Nora with a wink. “You go on and sit a spell.” Janelle went off, looking exceedingly capable.

Nora sighed. “I hate to sound like my mother, but can’t you eat a bit more of this? There are children starvin’ in Ohio, you know.”

Joshua frowned at the plate and then shook his head. No, he really couldn’t.

Nora got up. “All right, hon. But you’ve about played out that gloomy Gus routine. Come Saturday, you and me are gonna have ourselves a come-to-Jesus meetin’.”

Knowing Nora, she meant it.

T
HE
S
ATURDAY
after Thanksgiving was the last session of their fall riding class. The kids were busy with other things come Christmastime, and the weather was getting colder than a snowman’s pecker anyhow. There wouldn’t be another class now till spring. Maybe by then Joshua would have patched his heart up enough so it didn’t ache quite so bad all the time and he wouldn’t have to fake every smile.

Charlie was taking the Reston boys and the Carters out on a trail ride. Joshua would have gone, only the Carter parents were going along, and they were excellent riders. And Joshua had just one last chance with Lily Samuels. Nora had begged off too—determined to speak to Joshua alone, if he was any judge of that vulture-ish look in her eye.

Nope, there was no doubt that Nora was circling the corpse.

“Come on now,” Joshua said gently. He lifted Lily up and put her on the back of Jasmine, who stood waiting with all the enthusiasm of a sack of potatoes. “Hold on,” he told her.

Lily held the reins limply in one hand and the pommel in the other. Joshua led her around the ring. He felt plumb awful that this was as far as he’d gotten the little girl in seven long weeks. But her heart just wasn’t in it. Even now, her chin was on her chest, and her lips stuck out in a pout. She was miserable.

Joshua rubbed his eyes tiredly.

Nora, walking at his side, chuckled. “It’s just like lookin’ in a mirror, ain’t it?”

Joshua turned his head to look at her in surprise. “Huh?”

Nora nodded at Lily. “You’ve looked like that since, oh, October or so.”

“I ain’t that bad.”

“No, sir, you’re worse. You just don’t see it.”

Joshua didn’t answer. He kept walking Jasmine around nice and slow.

“You got to talk to somebody, Joshua,” Nora said. “And I reckon I’m your best option. I’ll even waive my consultin’ fees long as you give me your Boy Scout pledge to be honest, truthful, and brave.”

Joshua snorted.

“We already established that it ain’t money. What happened? You set your cap on someone who’s married or somethin’?”

“Nope.” Joshua tried to change the subject. “How’s the diner business?”

Nora sighed. “You’re slipperier than a greased pig, cowboy. The
diner business
, since you asked, is fine and dandy. Or it would be if I didn’t keep losin’ all my best help. Janelle’s been accepted to UM Helena. She’ll be the fourth solid worker I’ve lost since I started.”

“Sorry,” Joshua said, and he was. He liked Janelle.

“I’m gonna miss that girl like a house afire,” Nora said ruefully. “How’s a small town supposed to survive when all their best and brightest run away?”

Joshua stopped walking Jasmine as a surge of sharp-toothed misery shot through him. Damn Nora. He marveled at how easily she’d found his sore spot and dug her nails right the hell into it.

“Tracey Graham, Shelly Debar, Martin Rivalak….” Nora was saying. She’d stopped right along with him but was caught up in her own thoughts. “Them and a dozen more last year. I swear it’s like this town is a water bucket full of holes.” Nora shook her head in disgust.

“Ben Rivers,” Joshua said.

“And Ben. Lord, Ben was a good boy, even if he did get into that video sex thing. Can’t say as I blame him. What a cutie-patootie! You know, he was one I thought’d stick. He was always so into all that cowboy stuff.”

Joshua just looked at her and waited.