space just to begin to dissolve what it was he carried inside of him.
He did lonely work with solitary creatures. Moving across wide territory, cows trekked single file. They’d straggle off, fall back, stop dead. That’s why herding cows was much harder than tending the more community-spirited sheep. Cowboys were assigned positions, front-back-center, to keep the herd together and moving. Working flat-out, with no one to talk to, they’d start thinking of the sound of their own voices as strange.
The door swung open, and James turned away from the blonde. His father and Louisa walked in, dressed as if they were going to the rodeo—his father all in black with a string tie, Louisa in a tight cream-colored top and full red skirt, her auburn hair bigger than ever. Dalton looked bewildered, as if he wasn’t sure of where he was. James hadn’t seen his father at the Stagecoach in many months, and neither had anyone else. A buzz started at the bar and spread back to the pool tables.
“Dalton!”
“Hey, man, where’ve you been?”
“Where are we, Louisa?” Dalton asked. James heard the fright in his father’s voice as he watched the old man seem to shrink before his eyes. His father scrunched up his neck, eyes wild. Louisa linked arms with him and proudly marched him into the bar. James started over, but held himself back.
Louisa surveyed the room. Her eyes fell on Todd Rydell, her nephew, over at the dart board. James watched Todd start to turn away, but once he realized he’d been seen, he waved and began walking toward his aunt. He was lanky and fair, the kind of cowboy who rode with a Walkman and used sunscreen. He was descended from the Rydells who’d grazed their sheep on Tucker land and nearly started a range war—so was Louisa. But Dalton loved her, so James had to respect her. Todd was another story.
“Dalton, good to see you.” Todd shook the old man’s hand. He kissed his aunt’s cheek, let her pull him against her in a big hug. James watched them whisper to each other, wondered what they were saying.
“It’s Todd,” Louisa explained to Dalton.
“Why are we here?” Dalton asked, checking to make sure his hat was on his head.
“For a good time, man.” Todd laughed, slapping Dalton on the back. “’Cause it’s Friday night and the music’s cranking.”
“Music?” Dalton asked.
“Hi, Dad,” James said quietly, standing between his father and Todd.
His father’s hard brown face softened. Smiling up at his son, his cheeks curved into a thousand more wrinkles. Nodding, he shook his son’s hand.
“Jamey,” he said.
James didn’t say anything. He just stood there silently while the noise rose around him. His father’s eyes were cloudy and blue, but as they stared at James, they looked happy. James watched his father take a long breath, settle down a little.
“What brings you down to the Stagecoach?” Louisa asked coolly, arms folded across her chest. “Haven’t seen you here in a long time.”
“I don’t come here much. You?” James asked, unable to resist the jab, knowing his father didn’t.
“To sing, son,” Louisa said, hurt but proud. “You know I’ve got an open invitation on Friday nights.”
James hadn’t forgotten. Louisa sang country western, and she’d been holding court here for over thirty years. That’s how Dalton had met her—drowning his sorrows the winter after James’s mother had died. Louisa had drifted to his table between sets, offered to buy him a drink, moved in before the spring thaw.
Daisy had loved to hear her. Once or twice a month they’d leave the twins with Betsy March, the wife of James’s foreman, come down to the Stagecoach, and sit right in front of the stage. Louisa would forget singing to Dalton or the men at the bar, sing straight to Daisy. Daisy had lost her mother young and Louisa had never had a daughter; their bond had been thick and strong.
“C’mon, Dalton.” Todd handed him some darts. “Let’s have a
He did lonely work with solitary creatures. Moving across wide territory, cows trekked single file. They’d straggle off, fall back, stop dead. That’s why herding cows was much harder than tending the more community-spirited sheep. Cowboys were assigned positions, front-back-center, to keep the herd together and moving. Working flat-out, with no one to talk to, they’d start thinking of the sound of their own voices as strange.
The door swung open, and James turned away from the blonde. His father and Louisa walked in, dressed as if they were going to the rodeo—his father all in black with a string tie, Louisa in a tight cream-colored top and full red skirt, her auburn hair bigger than ever. Dalton looked bewildered, as if he wasn’t sure of where he was. James hadn’t seen his father at the Stagecoach in many months, and neither had anyone else. A buzz started at the bar and spread back to the pool tables.
“Dalton!”
“Hey, man, where’ve you been?”
“Where are we, Louisa?” Dalton asked. James heard the fright in his father’s voice as he watched the old man seem to shrink before his eyes. His father scrunched up his neck, eyes wild. Louisa linked arms with him and proudly marched him into the bar. James started over, but held himself back.
Louisa surveyed the room. Her eyes fell on Todd Rydell, her nephew, over at the dart board. James watched Todd start to turn away, but once he realized he’d been seen, he waved and began walking toward his aunt. He was lanky and fair, the kind of cowboy who rode with a Walkman and used sunscreen. He was descended from the Rydells who’d grazed their sheep on Tucker land and nearly started a range war—so was Louisa. But Dalton loved her, so James had to respect her. Todd was another story.
“Dalton, good to see you.” Todd shook the old man’s hand. He kissed his aunt’s cheek, let her pull him against her in a big hug. James watched them whisper to each other, wondered what they were saying.
“It’s Todd,” Louisa explained to Dalton.
“Why are we here?” Dalton asked, checking to make sure his hat was on his head.
“For a good time, man.” Todd laughed, slapping Dalton on the back. “’Cause it’s Friday night and the music’s cranking.”
“Music?” Dalton asked.
“Hi, Dad,” James said quietly, standing between his father and Todd.
His father’s hard brown face softened. Smiling up at his son, his cheeks curved into a thousand more wrinkles. Nodding, he shook his son’s hand.
“Jamey,” he said.
James didn’t say anything. He just stood there silently while the noise rose around him. His father’s eyes were cloudy and blue, but as they stared at James, they looked happy. James watched his father take a long breath, settle down a little.
“What brings you down to the Stagecoach?” Louisa asked coolly, arms folded across her chest. “Haven’t seen you here in a long time.”
“I don’t come here much. You?” James asked, unable to resist the jab, knowing his father didn’t.
“To sing, son,” Louisa said, hurt but proud. “You know I’ve got an open invitation on Friday nights.”
James hadn’t forgotten. Louisa sang country western, and she’d been holding court here for over thirty years. That’s how Dalton had met her—drowning his sorrows the winter after James’s mother had died. Louisa had drifted to his table between sets, offered to buy him a drink, moved in before the spring thaw.
Daisy had loved to hear her. Once or twice a month they’d leave the twins with Betsy March, the wife of James’s foreman, come down to the Stagecoach, and sit right in front of the stage. Louisa would forget singing to Dalton or the men at the bar, sing straight to Daisy. Daisy had lost her mother young and Louisa had never had a daughter; their bond had been thick and strong.
“C’mon, Dalton.” Todd handed him some darts. “Let’s have a
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