Jenna's Cowboy (19 page)

Checking the windmills was also on his list. When he came across a squeaky one, he climbed up the forty or fifty foot tower to oil the head. A lot of cowboys didn’t like the chore, but he enjoyed the view from way up there. And the adrenaline rush. With everything locked down so nothing would turn, he often took his sandwich up with him and ate lunch perched at the top.

After functioning on adrenaline surges much of the time in Iraq, he needed a charge now and then. Racing a horse full speed across an open stretch was almost as good as climbing the windmill, and more fun. The horses loved it too.

Other days, he rode the pastures, counting the cattle and checking for any that might be missing, injured, or sick. Dub liked all the pastures checked every day, dividing them up between himself, Will, and the hired hands. In the flatter, open areas they could use pickups, but the more rugged terrain required a horse and rider.

He and his dad were getting along well. They always had, but working together with his father treating him as an equal was a new and gratifying experience. Just as things had changed some on the ranch, farming techniques had evolved too. His dad was a good teacher, and Nate was a quick study, so there weren’t any major problems.

The warm weather continued for a couple of weeks until a blue norther blew in late Saturday afternoon and dropped the temperature into the twenties. The timing couldn’t have been better. By then most of the green bolls were open, and the fields were filled with white, fluffy cotton. The freeze killed the leaves on the cotton plants, making them ready to strip without having to use chemicals.

Sunday remained cold and clear. Nate and his dad hauled the long module builder to the field during the afternoon and parked it in the turn row.

On Monday morning, they waited for the dew to burn off and for the cotton to dry out completely before starting the harvest. Any dampness could cause fungus to grow in the cotton, which ruined it.

When they decided the field was ready, Tom drove the huge cotton stripper, leading their little procession. Nate followed on a John Deere tractor, pulling the boll buggy, a big portable basket used to carry the cotton away from the stripper. His mom took the pickup, parking it near the module builder and the tractor used to pull it.

Nate drove along behind his dad, keeping an eye on the stripper so he’d be in the right place when the basket was full. He timed how long it took to fill the first load, which told him how long he’d have to drive to the module builder, dump the cotton, and get back to the stripper.

He pulled up alongside his dad, who stopped the stripper. Nate pulled forward a little to line up the baskets. Father and son exchanged a grin as Tom operated the controls to lift the stripper basket way up and at an angle, tipping it almost upside down to pour the contents into the boll buggy.

Through the cab windows, Nate read his father’s lips. “Ain’t this fun?”

Nate nodded and gave him a thumbs-up. When the stripper basket was empty, his dad maneuvered it back into place and put the machine in gear, continuing down the rows. Nate pulled away, circling around toward the turn row.

He heard his dad call his mom over the walkie-talkie, “Sugar, your boy is bringing you the first load.”

“I’m ready.” She laughed and gave a little whoop. “This is like old times.”

And Nate was glad all over again that he’d come home.

His mother had abandoned the warm pickup and sat on the high seat of the module builder. She had it cranked up and ready to start packing down the cotton.

He stopped beside her and slid open the tractor cab window. She had on a heavy blue coat, multicolored crocheted hat, and leather work gloves, but it was still nippy out. “Are you cold?”

“I’m fine.”

“If you need to switch jobs, let me know.”

“Will do.”

He pulled up a little farther and tilted the basket up and over, dumping the cotton in the long, narrow rectangular container. As he drove away he had the window still open, and he heard the light
squishy-crunch
above the sound of the motor as the big bar began moving up and down, compacting the cotton.

They followed the same routine until mid-morning, when his mom insisted they take a break. Even when he’d worked on the ranch out West, he’d come home for harvest. He’d also made it once while he was in the service. For as far back as he could remember, the work had never stopped until noon. But his dad hadn’t been recovering from surgery then.

Nate and his mom hopped in the pickup and drove over to see how his dad was faring. To their relief, he appeared to be holding up well. They stretched their legs and walked around a little, ate some muffins and drank a little coffee, then got back to work.

At noon they shut down the machinery in the field and drove back to the house. His mom had spaghetti and meatballs ready to warm up in the microwave. Nate threw together the green salad and set it and the salad dressings on the table, while his dad poured the iced tea.

They chatted a little but mostly concentrated on eating. Chris insisted that her husband take at least a thirty minute rest after the meal. When Tom didn’t complain and went willingly to his recliner, she and Nate exchanged a worried glance.

“Is he overdoing it?” Nate cleared the dishes off the table while she put the leftovers in containers.

“Probably. But you know he’ll never admit it. If he falls asleep, let’s stretch it to an hour. Any longer and he’ll be mad as a bobcat in a mud puddle.”

“Can’t waste the daylight.” Nate frowned as he put a plate in the dishwasher. During harvest every minute counted, especially when there was another cold front up north that might come their way and bring rain. Some farmers kept stripping into the night, but they ran the risk of the cotton getting wet from the dew. “Maybe we should hire someone to fill in for him. I’ve got the money.”

“He’d never hear of it.” She paused on the way to the refrigerator and dropped her voice to a whisper. “That would be harder on him than getting worn out physically. For now, the best thing we can do is make sure he takes enough breaks and actually rests.”

Nate peeked into the living room. His dad was sound asleep. “Doesn’t look like we’ll have to push him on that.”

“You need a little siesta too.” His mom put the food in the fridge and came back to stand beside him. “Dub is working you too hard.”

In a flare of irritation, he glanced sharply at his mother. “I don’t work any harder than anybody else.”

“You look tired,” she snapped. “Worse now than when you first came home.”

He tried to lighten the mood—and distract her. “That’s not what the ladies think.” He winked at her. “From what I hear every single woman in Callahan Crossing would turn cartwheels down Main Street to get a date with me.” He’d paraphrased a bit, but the gist of it was the same.

His mother laughed. “Wouldn’t that be a sight? I doubt two-thirds of them can do cartwheels. Who told you that?”

“Jenna.”

“I thought you were dating
her
.”

“I am.”

“Does she want to keep seeing you?”

“Yes.” He draped his arm across her shoulders. “It’s kind of convoluted, so I won’t go into the details.” Mild disappointment flashed across her face, making him grin. “Suffice it to say that unlike another woman I know, Jenna was trying to flatter me.”

“She has a funny way of doing it.” Glancing at the clock, she nodded toward the living room. “I’m going to take a little nap. You can do whatever you want.”

He gently squeezed her shoulders again and whispered, “I don’t mind a siesta.”

She made a face. “But you don’t like me telling you to do it.”

Nate lifted his arm from around her shoulders and shrugged. “Sorry, Mom.”

“Well, get used to it, son. You may be all grown up, but that doesn’t mean I’ll quit looking after you.”

“You’ll probably be reminding me to wear a coat when I’m seventy.”

“That’s right.”

Nate pretended exaggerated consternation and pointed her toward her recliner. She wasn’t fooled a bit. He stretched out on the couch, propping his ankles on the armrest and letting his boots hang over the end. His mom was right. He looked bad. Who wouldn’t if he’d run out of reserves? He seldom managed more than two hours of sleep a night.

The previous Thursday, he hadn’t slept at all. He’d made a run to Abilene that day to get a part for the cotton stripper. On the way back, some guy in a blue souped-up Chevy had been tailgating him on the highway. The man could have easily passed, but he stayed right on his tail. Nate lost his temper and slammed on the brakes. The Chevy missed his pickup by inches. The other driver sped around Nate then slowed way down. When Nate tried to pass him, he shifted over in the left lane to block him. On Nate’s next attempt, the man moved left again, and Nate floored the pickup around him on the right shoulder, spewing gravel all over the other car.

Nate was doing over ninety on a straight stretch of road when he finally cooled down enough to pay attention to his speed. Thankfully, the other guy had enough sense not to chase him. Or maybe his car was more noise than substance. Either way, it was a blessing he didn’t show up again or he would have wound up in the hospital one way or another.

Nate had rehashed the episode all night long, bouncing between feeling guilty about how he’d acted—certainly not Christ-like—and imagining various detailed scenarios for getting even. He hadn’t been able to turn off his mind or control his thoughts.

But today he could. He closed his eyes and pictured Jenna’s sweet smile.

•• Mid-morning the next day as Nate pulled up to the module builder to dump another load, Jenna and Zach drove into the field, stopping nearby but out of the way. He parked the tractor and boll buggy and walked over to see them.

She rolled the window down on the pickup. “Good morning. Don’t let us interrupt your work. I thought Zach might like to see all the machinery.”

“Good morning.” Nate rested his hand on the pickup door. “You’re not interrupting. We’re ready for a break anyway.” His mom shut her machine down, and his dad stopped about ten rows away. When Jenna lowered the back window, he ducked his head so he could see Zach on the opposite side. “Hi, buddy.”

“Hi.” Zach pointed at the module builder. “What’s that?”

“It’s a module builder. It presses all the cotton together into a big block.”

The little boy pointed to the tractors. “Two tractors.”

“That’s right. And that big basket trailer is called a boll buggy.”

“Boll buggy. What it do?”

“That’s what I use to bring the cotton over here.” He spotted some bags of groceries behind the front seat. “You’ve been to town already?”

“No. We’re on the way. Those are some things for the mission. Whenever Mom’s bridge club meets at our house, they always bring donations.”

“That’s cool. I’ll have to stop by there and check it out. Not that I need a handout but to see what you have. In case I run into someone who might need something. And what you need. I can always pick up some extra groceries to help out.”

“Donations are always welcomed. We take everything from clothes to food to some furniture. I can always use help stocking the shelves or hauling furniture inside. People drop things off behind the building.”

“Next time you need some muscle, call me.”

Jenna grinned. “Okay.” Her gaze shifted to his mom as she walked up. “Good morning, Chris.”

“Good morning.” She waved at Zach. “We’re going to have some coffee and doughnuts. Will you join us?”

“Sure. I never pass up doughnuts.”

Nate stepped back. “I’ll get Zach.”

“Thanks.”

Nate walked around to the other side of the truck and took the little guy out of the car seat. He listened to the women talk as they walked to his folks’ pickup and smiled to hear them discussing cotton and cattle prices. Typical farm and ranch women.

He fished Zach’s sippy cup out of the diaper bag, then carried him over to join the adults. When Jenna noticed the little covered cup of water in his hand, her expression softened with appreciation.

Nate mentally patted himself on the back. He’d brought it because he didn’t think the kid could drink coffee, but it didn’t hurt to earn a few points with the boy’s mama. Given the approval shining in his own mother’s eyes, he’d made a few points there too.

Jenna broke off a little piece of cake doughnut and gave it to Zach, who crammed it in his mouth. When he grinned, she gently reminded him, “Chew with your mouth closed, please.”

Nate set the sippy cup on the pickup hood and helped himself to a chocolate-covered treat. When Zach eyed it, he looked at Jenna. “Is it okay if he has some of this?”

“A tiny bite.” She touched her son’s hand to get his attention. “You let Nate put it in your mouth. I don’t want a big mess.”

“I’m going to let you sit up here on the hood, but you have to stay real still, okay?” When Zach nodded, Nate eased him down onto the hood, standing in front of him in case he lost his balance. He broke off a small piece of the doughnut, making sure there was some chocolate icing on it. “Open wide.”

The little boy complied, and he popped the doughnut morsel into his mouth. Zach’s eyes sparkled as he chewed.