Read Online Black River by S. M. Hulse - Free Book Online

ramp. Leaning there against the guardrail, thumb over his shoulder, a sodden, overloaded bookbag at his feet. Wes took a few seconds to decide to take his foot off the accelerator, pulled over well ahead of the kid. He turned to see the boy slinking toward the truck. Stopped a few feet shy. Wes leaned across and unrolled the passenger window, and the kid stepped forward, ducked his head partway into the cab. His sweatshirt had a hood, but it hung limp down his back, and raindrops nested in his hair before soaking in. “Hey, Mr. Carver, you remember me?”
    â€œWouldn’t have stopped if I didn’t.”
    The kid didn’t smile, but his features relaxed. “Right. Scott,” he added, tapping his chest, and Wes was irritated to think the kid might’ve realized he couldn’t remember his name.
    â€œHelp you with something, Scott?”
    The boy looked at the ground, shrugged the bookbag higher onto his shoulder. He had two metal rods jammed through one eyebrow; Wes tried not to stare, but the glint drew his eye. “Think you could give me a ride to Black River? If you’re going there.”
    â€œI don’t suppose I got to tell you that hitching a ride ain’t the smartest thing in the world.”
    â€œI have a car,” Scott said, with a vehemence only a teenager could muster. “But it’s a piece of shit.”
    â€œYou really gotta talk like that?”
    â€œSorry,” Scott said, without conviction. “It got me out here but now it’s dead. The mechanic says it needs a new starter, and that’s, like, three hundred bucks I don’t have.” Rain dripped from his hair into his eyes, but he didn’t wipe it away, just blinked hard. Wes felt a little sorry for making the kid stand out there while he interrogated him. A little.
    â€œCan’t your momma pick you up?”
    â€œShe’s at work.”
    â€œAll right. Get in.” Wes didn’t trust the kid—he had no illusions about what a kid who wanted to lie could do to an honest man’s reputation—but you did what you could for your fellow man, especially if it didn’t put you out any. Even if your fellow man was a teenager who shoved sharp objects through his own face for recreation.
    Scott plunked his bookbag down on the seat between them, and Wes waited until the kid had buckled up before pulling back onto the ramp. Scott slouched against the window, staring out as they drove through Elk Fork and into the canyon. This close, Wes could see his eyelashes were dark red. Hair was dyed, then. Earbuds dangled against his chest on a white cord that sprouted from the collar of his sweatshirt, and he pulled his sleeves down over his knuckles. The laces of his boots were untied and clotted with mud where they’d dragged on the ground. A button pinned to his bookbag read,
If I were you, I’d hate me too.
    For a good ten minutes neither of them said anything. At Milltown, the rain poured down so hard Wes had to turn the wipers to their highest speed just to see the taillights of the semi up ahead. A deer dashed into the road, its legs skittering every which way, and Wes hit the brakes hard. The deer flung its head high and spun back the way it had come.
    Wes accelerated again and cleared his throat. “So I hear you like horses.”
    Scott didn’t turn away from the window. “They’re all right, I guess.”
    â€œYou been working for Dennis long?”
    â€œSince June.”
    â€œHe said you were from out of town. Originally.”
    â€œYeah. Miles City.”
    â€œMy wife was from out that direction.”
    Scott straightened in his seat. “Dennis said she died.”
    Hands tight on the wheel till they hurt. “That’s right.”
    â€œSorry.”
    Not much as condolences went, but it sounded genuine enough, and Wes had to admit that surprised him. He nodded his thanks, didn’t look to see if the kid saw.
    More rain.