Once a Father (9 page)

“Which means?”

“Grandfather.” The look on her face made him smile. “My sister's their grandmother.”

“But your sister's a lot older than you.”

“So? What does age matter?” He looked her in the eye. “Do
you
mind them calling me Lala?”

“Well, no. I mean…”

“Or calling you Lala's girlfriend?”

She glanced away. “They're kids. Kids use all kinds of names for their relatives. But, really, you're their uncle.
Great
uncle.”

As if that meant something. Kids, grandpas, girlfriends, older, younger…what the hell did any of it mean? How different were they, anyway?

“What's a great uncle? Better than a good one?” He gave a perfunctory smile. “I don't claim we're doing it exactly as we always have, but traditionally there were no cracks for our kids to fall through. Anthropologists call it extended family. They draw charts with circles and arrows to explain what they call a complex system.”

“It does sound a little complicated.”

“It's life. It's the way we live. It became complicated when they tried to make us live differently. Not just with the reservation system, but when they took our kids so they could get religion or training or new parents, whatever they thought we should be trading our way of life for—well, they pulled the rug out from under us, our whole foundation. Nearly destroyed us.” He gestured impatiently. “Hell, you grew up just down the road from us. You must know.”

“I should know more,” she said quietly. “I should know a whole lot more.”

“You had your own life. It's understandable.” He closed the trailer door and slid the bolt. “For a kid.”

“Funny how you have to go away for a while, see a little bit of the world, and when you come back you realize nothing's really changed but it all looks different.”

“Because you've changed?” He searched her eyes. “I didn't know you before, so I'm just asking.”

“I feel different.”

“How's that?”

He needed to know. He liked her. He liked her so much it was beginning to bother him. Bother his mind at odd times. And even times. Bother his deep down inner core almost all the time.

“I'm not scared.” She said it as though it should come as a surprise, as though it was even news to
her. “I know I can handle myself, do what needs to be done, what's right. What's right for me.”

“Hard to imagine you any other way.”

“Because you didn't know me before. And I lived right down the road and didn't know you.”

“Twenty miles and ten years difference.” He put his hand up to his ear. “Can you hear me now?”

She laughed. “Loud and clear.”

He looked at her for a moment, smiling up at him, making him feel different. Not different in years or experience or even lifestyle, whatever that meant. Just different from the way he'd felt a week ago.

He put his arm around her shoulders. “Then let's lock and load.”

“H
ey, Sal!” Mary crossed paths with a calico cat as she let herself into the Drexler house through the mudroom. “Do we want the cat out?”

“Only if we have something against birds,” Sally called out from the kitchen.

“Come back here, kitty.” Too late. Taking to the grass, the calico was on the prowl. “No meadowlarks!” Mary called after her as she closed the screen door.

She greeted Sally in the kitchen with a wave of her digital camera. “I took some pictures of the camp. Can we download them on to your computer? Maybe there's something in here you can use.” She winced. “Does she really hunt birds?”

“Every time somebody lets her out. She's supposed to be a house cat. I'm trying to get her to acquire a taste for mouse. Coffee?”

“Love some. I'll take one of those muffins, unless they're already spoken for.” She grabbed a cup from the cabinet and a napkin from the wooden holder Sally had made in eighth grade shop class. Mary had made one just like it. She'd given it to her mother and hadn't seen it in years. Hidden away, probably. Mother never threw anything out, but if it prompted her husband's disapproval, it disappeared.

“Take two. They're small.” Sally led the way through the living room, walking with a noticeable hitch in her step. “Come on. I want you to tell me everything while we download.” She turned, grinning as she backpedaled. “You named the mustang Adobe. Love that. You've been hanging out. You've already started training him. The horse, not the man. This isn't boot camp. You have to be subtle.”

“When is it going to be my turn?”

“Jump in anytime.” She started plugging the camera into her system and went on talking. “I knew you two would hit it off. Not that I know Logan all that well, but I couldn't just… Oh, these are good.” Sally pointed to a small chair on wheels as she rolled her armed and adjustable office chair closer to the computer display. “This is great. Can I use these?”

“I was hoping you'd be able to use them. I got the camera at the PX two months ago, and I'm still
learning how to use it. Are they any good?” Mary scooted in close to watch the slide show of the tipi from all angles standing tall and timeless against the horizon, the sky spreading its morning and evening mantles over the camp, sunlight flashing in the creek and the claybank mustang—the star attraction. Yes, they were good.

“It's beautiful out there. It's like stepping back in time. Very peaceful. I really just want to stay out there and be peaceful, you know? Real R and R. Leave time. Take leave of everything
but
my senses.” She laid her hand on Sally's slight shoulder. “Sounds a little too Zen for South Dakota, doesn't it?”

“I don't know Zen from Obi-Wan Kenobi, but it sounds Lakota.” Sally turned, suddenly aglow. “I think I might be getting married.”

“When?”

“We've been talking about it a lot.” Sally rolled her eyes and sighed. The glow dimmed. “But I don't know if it's fair to Hank. I've had a really good run these last few months, but the monster is sucking on my nerves again. I went down on one knee the other night, and Hank said it was about time I proposed.”

“Nice guy.”

“I know. Stupid to let one like that get away.” She tipped her head back against the headrest. “But I think we should wait. I want him to know what he'd be getting into.”

“It doesn't matter, Sally. He's a good man, and he loves you.”

“Oh, come on, that's so ‘Hollywood.'” Sally smiled again. “But I do enjoy a feel-good movie once in a while and Hank makes me feel wonderful and I haven't scared him off yet but if I wait around long enough…” She took a breath. “I don't want to wait.”

“Sounds like he doesn't either.”

“He says he's ready any time.” Sally glanced at the computer screen. “He's gone a lot with his job as a rodeo medic. A show here, three shows over there.” Three tipi shots rolled past. “But I think it could work. He wouldn't have to be around me all the time, you know? I can be pretty hard to live with.” She laughed. “Just ask my sister.”

“Where is Cheekers, anyway?” Mary grimaced. She'd uttered the
C
word. Poor Ann.

Poor Ann?
She'd shaped up, studied up, kept up with a teaching job and a ranching operation and met up with a wonderful man. Of course, the man was icing on the cake. Cake was fine without icing. Marry him, don't marry him, life could be good either way. It was all in the attitude.

“She's supervising volunteers down at the barn. Zach's hauling in hay.”

“You have a lot going on here, Sally. Maybe Hank wants to be part of it.”

“Oh, he absolutely is. He's a terrific ferrier. He's
great with the horses. He's, you know…he's used to traveling all over the place, which is great. It's exciting. I used to be a rodeo stock contractor before the MS, and then…” Sally gestured expansively. “Well,
you
know. How much down time does it take before you start feeling antsy?”

“Does Hank seem antsy?”

“Not so far. He goes on the road when it's time, does his job.” She tucked her hand under her chin and smiled dreamily. “And then he comes back to me. But we've only been together—”

“He strikes me as a man who knows his own mind.” Mary drew a deep breath. “Which is enviable.”

“Can you come? It won't be a big fuss, but we always said we'd stand up for each other. I'll toss you the bouquet.” Sally's brow suddenly furrowed. “You're not doing another Middle East tour anytime soon, are you?”

“Who knows these days?” A month ago she would have said she was ready, willing and able to go where the army needed her. It should've been rolling off her tongue now.

“Are you tired of it?”

“
Tired
wouldn't be quite the word, Sally. I like the work. I'm good at it. It's not like I have any trouble going where they send me.” Mary laid her hand on Sally's jeans-clad thigh. “When you get married, I want to be there. So stop fooling around. You've got three weeks.”

“That's what Hank told me when he signed on to help out here.
You've got three weeks.
” Sally waggled her eyebrows. “And then we started fooling around.”

“That's a nice one, isn't it?” Mary smiled as she watched the screen. “Look at those colors.”

“Mmm-hmm. Lovely place to take leave of everything but your senses.”

“
I'm
not fooling around.”
Not me.
Not straight-laced Mary. Not buttoned-down Sergeant Tutan.

“Of course not. You're R-and-R-ing. All I have to say is, rock on, girlfriend.” Sally rocked back in her fancy computer chair. “I still need more qualified applicants for the challenge. We want twenty-five top-notch competitors. I'm not getting the word out enough, I guess. Either that or horse people aren't mostly flat broke these days. But unless all them high-pollutin' horseless carriages get recalled, I see horse prices going up,” Sally drawled. “Still, I'm pretty sure it's the promo thing. I want good people. Not just horse lovers, but people who really understand horses and can see all kinds of potential for
these
horses.”

“I can think of one guy who might be interested. Indian guy from Wyoming. He said he was going home to his horses after he got his discharge. I have his address.”

“Call him,” Sally ordered.

“I said
address.
It's a P.O. box.”

“Not that many addresses in Wyoming. Indian Country narrows it down. Plus, he's horse people.” She sang a chorus of
“It's a Small World After All.”

Mary laughed. “Okay, I'll see what I can do.”

“Ask Hoolie to help. It amazes me what he can find on the Internet.” Shifting in her chair, Sally turned serious. “How would Logan feel about competing against his son?”

“His son applied?”

She leaned back and grabbed a paper from her gray “In” box. “Ethan Wolf Track,” she read dramatically. “Very interesting résumé.” Sally paused, ostensibly for effect, but she was on her way to another part of her mental map. “You realize how little contact we had with the people on the reservation when we were kids? Except when we played them in sports. And we're—”

“Right down the road, I know. My father had Indians working for him.”

“Your father has a big operation.”

“
Had.
It's shrinking.”

Sally glanced away. “I'm…”

“Don't say you're sorry, Sally. Not to me. You know how I feel. I love what you're doing.”

“Not because it hurts your father.”

“Nothing hurts him. He's untouchable. No, he doesn't need all that land.” Mary stared at the paper in Sally's hand. “Logan hasn't said much about his
sons. If he's qualified, what does it matter how Logan feels about it? You need contestants.”

“The statement of purpose—you know, that little essay you had to write?” Sally turned the page over. “Ethan's is pretty interesting. Sounds like he's a real bad boy. Or
was.
” Sally glanced at the computer screen. The tipi faded into a picture of Logan and Adobe facing each other off. “I don't know. I owe Logan, for sure.”

“Why don't you ask him?” Mary had taken the picture from Logan's viewpoint, the side of his chiseled face, his straw cowboy hat, his strong shoulders in the foreground framing the majestic black and khaki mustang. His viewpoint was clear where the horse was concerned. But people? He spoke little of his adopted sons.

“Ask which?” Sally said.

“Logan. He came to see Hank.”

“Logan's outside?” Sally clasped her hands behind her head and smiled. “Well, that should be interesting. So is his son.”

 

Logan found Hank loading his pickup topper with the tools of the horseshoeing trade, which he pursued in his spare time. Just the hat Logan wanted to find his friend wearing. But the hat on the man he was acquainting with his blacksmith shop in a pickup was even more familiar. Logan had given the hat to his younger son years ago. The brim was crinkled
and the crown had been crushed, but it had held up pretty good.
Man, if that hat could talk.

Rangy, rugged and built more like a running back than a cowboy, Logan's son looked nothing like the man purported to be his father. He didn't look much like his mother, either. He was his own man, come hell or high water. Ethan had explored both.

Hank saw Logan coming and quietly stepped aside.

“Hello, Ethan.”

Ethan nodded. “Logan.”

“You don't look surprised.”

“Neither do you.” Ethan gave a slow smile and an even slower-in-the-making handshake. “Twenty thousand dollars is a lot of money.”

“Damn right it is. And two years is a long time.”
Let it go. Take his hand, and let the rest go.

“I've been busy since I got out. Working in a rehab program.”

“How long do you have to rehab?”

“I said I was
working.
I get paid to work with horses, just like you do.”

“You rehabbing horses, or people?”

“Somebody once told me horses don't need rehabbing if you start 'em right.”

“I'm just askin'. It's two different things, but either way…” Studying the scuffed toes of his son's boots, Logan nodded. “Good for you, either way, Ethan. You're gonna get into this, then?”

“Thinkin' about it. I filled out the papers.”

“Have you talked to Trace lately?”

“About a week ago. He's the one who told me about the mustang challenge.” Ethan's boot heels scraped the gravel as he shifted his center of gravity from one to the other. “Sounds like he's doin' good.”

Eyes focused on distant hills, Logan nodded again. Trace was a good boy. He didn't come home much, but he always let Logan know where he was. Made a pretty good living as a rodeo cowboy. Took Logan's expired dream and gave it new life. But this was Ethan. Enough said about Trace.

“Who's this?” Ethan nodded past Logan's shoulder and smiled. “She's looking for somebody. I'm guessin' it's you.”

Logan drew a deep breath. He could've used a little more icebreaking time with his prodigal son.

“Mary, this is my son, Ethan.” The two greeted each other with a handshake. “Mary and I are in this together. She's got the horse, and I've got all the rest.”

“He's not always this modest.” Ethan turned on the charm. He'd always had it, and Logan was glad to see that hadn't changed. “You hooked up with the right man, Mary.”

Mary tugged on the brim of her baseball cap, adjusting it against the sun. “I'm sure he taught you everything he knows.”

“Not quite.” Logan fought the urge to lay his hand
on his son's shoulder. He could just see Ethan shrugging away the way he'd started to when he was about ten. “I've learned a lot since he was last home, so he's got a few years' catching up to do.”

“I've learned a few things myself.” Ethan folded his arms. “So you've already got a horse. Guess I'm already behind schedule, huh?”

“I think everyone gets the same amount of time. We wanted to get started right away. I'm on leave from the army.”

“Hooah,” Ethan barked. “I did my time with them, too. What outfit?”

“I'm a dog handler.”

“MP?” He laughed. “Man, I can't get away from you guys.”

“Mary actually trains dogs. Handlers, too, right?” Mary nodded, and Logan went on. “She's been in Iraq. Afganistan. Where else?”

“I grew up here. Mary
Tutan
.” She gestured northward. “My parents live—”

“Tutan, yeah. I know that name.” Ethan nodded, considering each face in turn. “And you're working with Logan Wolf Track. Now that's some strange bedfellowship.”