Chapter Two
Yukon winced after dropping his weight on the first available diner stool. Every muscle ached, and all he could think about was sleep. His leather boot creaked as he rested his foot on the bar rail.
“Coffee?”
He nodded to Marcy, the regular waitress at the Longhorn. The scent of back bacon and chili reminded him he hadn’t eaten since lunch. And he was too tired to give a shit. It was eight o’clock at night, and he would have still been working if the setting sun hadn’t cut him short.
“You look like shit,” said Gage. The faint scent of tobacco marked his friend’s arrival.
Yukon didn’t even turn to the side, rather focused on the grease stains and callouses on his fingers. He was frustrated beyond measure after the fucked-up day he’d had. “The tractor’s gone to shit.”
“I told you last year it was on its last leg,” said Gage. He sat on the stool next to him, dropping his keys and a pack of smokes on the counter. “You’re stubborn as a mule.”
His ground his teeth but couldn’t keep quiet. “Stubborn has nothing to do with it. If I had the damned money, I’d get it fixed right or lease a new one.” His attention was diverted when Marcy set down his coffee. He took a cleansing breath. “Anyway, tomorrow’s another day, right?”
“The Palmer brothers have three new machines. They’ll harvest your fields—”
“For a hefty price,” Yukon interrupted. “We’re lucky to put food on the table these days. Same as everyone else.”
Most families in their farming community were hurting after the harsh season they’d had. A too-long winter followed by a dry summer had hurt crops. While prices were high on the market due to the shortages, farmers didn’t see a dime of it. Now, on top of a meager crop, his only decent tractor decided to fail him when he needed it most.
He took a sip of his black coffee.
“I’d help if I could. Fuck, you know that, don’t you?” asked Gage.
Yukon couldn’t stand pity. His friend was a cattle farmer a few ranches over. They’d traded manure for feed corn for generations. But Gage couldn’t control the weather or change Yukon’s bad luck.
Days like today he almost wished he could swap harvesting for shoveling cow shit.
“I know.” He reached into his back pocket for his wallet and pulled out two dollars. He slapped them on the counter before standing. Tonight he’d make for bad company, and he didn’t want to piss off a good friend. He’d head home and get as much sleep as he could before starting over again at five in the morning.
Marcy leaned over the counter before he had a chance to leave. “Ya’ll hear about Ms. Granger?” When neither of them answered, she continued. “Apparently she’s been going without. Mack stopped by and found out she hadn’t had a proper meal for days.”
Fuck.
“Well ain’t that just bullshit,” said Gage. “Why didn’t she say anything?”
Marcy only shrugged before heading off to help another customer. She didn’t need to explain because the answer was always the same. Pride. Their community may be hard hit, but its people were unbreakable and often pig headed—himself included.
He left the diner feeling worse off than when he’d entered. Sometimes life just wasn’t fair—the rich getting richer, the poor suffering needlessly. The cowbell clanged against the glass as the door closed behind him. The crisp evening air was a welcome relief after suffering under the sun all day. There’d been talk of a storm moving their way, but he doubted they’d see rain any time soon. He walked along the gravel drive to his pick-up truck, his thoughts pulled in too many directions.
It was only a five-minute drive to his ranch. He needed sleep in the worst way. Each bump in the road jostled him enough to keep him from falling asleep at the wheel. He pulled into the driveway. The flood lights on the barns were off, so he grabbed a flashlight out of the glove box before getting out of the truck. It was quiet, too quiet. Sometimes the lull of country living could drive a man to insanity. Only his footsteps against the brittle grass cut the deafening silence. He vaguely remembered a time when he savored the quiet nights, but his memories of the past were a blur.
He prayed for sleep, but knew it was unlikely he’d get much tonight. Yukon worried about Ms. Granger, suffering in silence only two minutes away. He’d make sure to head over first thing in the morning to see her needs were met. A cowboy couldn’t call himself a man if he ignored a widow in need, or any neighbor for that matter.
He opened the side door to the house and flicked on the light. The first thing he noticed was his brother passed out on the couch. He hadn’t even made it to his room. The scent of cheap whiskey hung in the air. Some nights Yukon wished he had an escape like alcohol, but turning into a drunk wasn’t the miracle cure to his troubles. He knew from experience that Parker only made his headaches worse by indulging himself.
Yukon tossed his Stetson onto the coffee table and then turned to the fridge. The interior was as empty as it had been this morning. He’d have to take a few side jobs in between fiddling with his tractor. At this point, the ancient machine was only held together by blood, sweat, and salvaged parts. If his father was still around, he’d have the thing running like new in no time. Yukon should have paid better attention when he’d had the chance.
“Hey…” His older brother leaned up on one elbow and attempted to find something in the front pocket of his flannel shirt. “Buy food tomorrow.” He tossed a rolled wad of money on the coffee table and then dropped back down.
Yukon closed the fridge, frowning from the archway of the kitchen. He walked over to the couch and eased off his brother’s cowboy boots, one at a time, before sitting in the armchair across from him. “Should I even ask where that came from?”
Parker draped his forearm across his eyes, effectively ignoring him.
“Ms. Granger’s been going hungry.” He reached for the roll of money and examined it, wondering what the fuck Parker had done to get it.
“Get her taken care of,” Parker said dismissively.
Yukon headed up the stairs to the second level of the house. Each step was punctuated with a creak in the wood. He was tempted to be an asshole and yell at his brother to be up at dawn to help him fix the tractor, but decided to keep his mouth shut. Even though he didn’t like the secrets between them, he was thankful for the money. They lived a simple life, but they couldn’t survive on air and water alone.
He took a cold shower before bed, allowing the stress of the day to wash away. As he brushed his teeth, he studied the old scars on his shoulders and chest. His body was hard and weathered. He wasn’t a boy anymore—he was a grown man and not getting any younger. Where the fuck had the time gone? Lines were evident at the corners of his eyes and his new stubble was thick and coarse. He was becoming his father. Would he die alone in the same way, bitter and regretful? When had things gone wrong?
Despite his worries, his body needed to recharge. Yukon crashed onto his bed, the heavy patchwork quilt cushioning his fall. He briefly stared at the cracks in the ceiling before closing his eyes.
He hoped his brother was still home come morning.
****
He’d slept in. Yukon cursed as he rushed out of bed and danced into his jeans. The bright sunlight beaming through the cracks of the curtains was testament to the day passing him by. He bolted down the stairs two at a time while buttoning up his plaid shirt.
Parker was still sleeping on the sofa, which somehow pleased Yukon. At least it meant he was alive and out of trouble. His brother was the only family he had left in this world. He grabbed his keys off the counter and squinted as he opened the heavy wooden door. The sun was bright, not a cloud in the sky. It felt good against his skin, but would soon become a curse if the mercury kept rising like it had yesterday.
After boarding his pick-up truck, he began piecing together his day. First, he had to head to the market to get food for Ms. Granger, then get parts for his tractor with the money Parker gave him. He’d spend a couple hours working on the piece of shit. It wouldn’t stop there because he also needed to get a side job—the roll of cash would only sustain them so long. As much as he hated the thought, he might have to ask the Palmer brothers for work. He knew they had a need for seasoned herders this time of year, but also knew the best they’d offer him was mucking out stalls or worse. The rivalry between their two families had been raging on since he was in grade school. He’d made a pact with Parker to never sink low enough to ask them for work, but times were tough and Yukon had a difficult decision to make.
He found a parking spot on the periphery of the open market. Two of his friends, Mack and Carlson, were just leaving.
“Hey, Yukon!”
Yukon opened the tailgate of Mack’s truck so he could unload the bag of grain on his shoulder. “Slacking off, I see.”
“Don’t worry about me, big boy,” said Mack. “I’ve been working my ass off since sunrise.”
Yukon ran a hand through his hair. “I just woke up.”
“Must be nice,” said Carlson. “You retired now?”
“Maybe when I’m ninety, and even then, I’ll probably be sweating out in the fields.”
Mack leaned against his truck and lit up a cigarette. “We’ve got to head back to work. Gage is dropping off our vaccines at lunch, so we have to coral the first run.”
His friends worked for one of the larger cattle operations just north of town. It seemed the majority of farmers were opting to raise cattle over fickle cash crops. Yukon and Parker didn’t have the start-up capital to make the switch, so they had to keep on keepin’ on.
Yukon pulled out his wad of cash. “I’m visiting Ms. Granger. Then I’m off to the junk yard to look for parts.”
“Here.” Mack took a twenty dollar bill out of his wallet. Carlson did the same. Word about Ms. Granger had likely spread like wildfire. Yukon knew his friends were hurting for money the same as him, but they all looked out for each other in their community. Every one of them had been on the receiving end at some point. Their little town had his heart and always would.
Yukon took the money and added it to his pocket. He’d give the extra cash to Ms. Granger when he drove over with the food. Bartering was used more often than money, and he knew the older woman would offer him preserves or a hand-knit tea cozy when he showed up. He’d take whatever she offered, knowing it would keep her dignity intact. He still had a few memories of his mother. She was the first one to teach him about charity and the importance of ensuring it was done with mindful tact. He missed his parents.
The market was always quiet weekday mornings, especially Mondays. A roll of tumbleweed lazily rolled across the near-empty lot as if to prove his point. “Will you be at the Longhorn’s tonight?” he asked.
His friends boarded the truck, slamming the doors shut almost simultaneously. “After what today’s promising to be, hell yes.” Mack tipped his Stetson while balancing a cigarette between two fingers. As he backed the truck out, the midday sun reflected off the chrome surfaces, making Yukon squint.
Carlson leaned out the open passenger window. “Oh yeah, how’s Parker healing up?”
He frowned, not having a clue what Carlson was talking about. “Good, I guess, he’s home sleeping.”
Yukon clenched his jaw hard enough to ache. He wondered what the fuck his brother had done this time. He had promised not to ride in the rodeo events after nearly killing himself two summers ago at the Calgary Stampede. But what did Yukon expect? How else could Parker have earned the cash so fast?
He’d definitely have to crawl to the Palmer brothers for work. He wouldn’t watch his brother risk life and limb just to provide for them. There were always better ways.
As he walked along the well-beaten paths between fruit and vegetable stands, he heard arguing behind one of the small outbuildings. His first thought was tourists. They’d been passing through in hordes the past week to get to one of the large rodeos about fifty miles up north. They never stayed long enough to be a benefit to their local economy. The only evidence was their litter and drunken episodes when they’d stop by at night. He couldn’t wait until their roads were safe and quiet once again.
“Don’t touch me,” the female voice called out.
One of the old women pointed to the outbuilding when he looked her way, no doubt knowing he’d intervene. Knowing any man in their community would do the right thing.
When he turned the corner, he wasn’t expecting to find the Palmers’ younger sister, Amy, at the mercy of a man he’d never seen. She worked part-time at the market during the summers. And she was only eighteen, just a girl.
Without thought or hesitation, Yukon tugged the man away by the shoulder. “There a problem here?”
The man had a light beard and scowled with intent when he made eye contact. “She’s trying to rip me off!”
A small group of local women began to gather on the periphery, the men off working the farms. Amy shook her head, her eyes heavy with unshed tears. “He gave me a ten and said it was a twenty when I gave him the change. I don’t even have a twenty.”
“He put his hands on you?”
“You’re not her father, so fuck off,” interrupted the stranger. He braced his arm against the outbuilding, too close to Amy’s head.
Yukon wasn’t in the mood to deal with this asshole. He had shit to get done and a million things on his mind.
He nodded for Amy to leave. “Go, get out of here.” When the man attempted to grab her arm, Yukon moved quickly. He cupped his hand at the man’s throat and slammed him up against the wooden boards. The entire structure shook.
“You’re not welcome here, stranger. I suggest you make haste getting the fuck out of our town.” He added pressure to the man’s neck until his cheeks flushed red. But as soon as he released him and stepped back, the bastard threw a cheap shot, clocking Yukon right in the jaw. Before he could plan his next move, he was struck with something on the back of the head, making his vision swim. There were two of them. He attempted to shake it off, using a hand on the outbuilding for support.
Yukon could hear the muffled sound of women screaming. He had to get his shit together fast. This wasn’t the first brawl he’d been in and likely wouldn’t be the last.
“Not so tough now, are you, country boy?”
He didn’t answer. Yukon barreled forward, taking the guy down to the ground with him in a billow of dust. He didn’t need all his faculties to fight dirty, just his muscles. And he had no short supply. They rolled around the dusty ground, striking and struggling. Pain wasn’t even an afterthought, only coming out on top. He could smell the stench of alcohol on the man. His vision began to clear as they fought, his second wind giving him the energy to dominate. He straddled the man, delivering blow after blow, releasing his anger and frustration.
A shotgun fired, ringing his ears.
Gage stood over them, gun casually resting on his shoulder. He was shaking his head in mock irritation, shadows blocking his expression.
Yukon rolled off the man, leaning up on his elbows. “Why’re you at the market? I thought you were doing an inoculation.”
He shrugged. “Rose flagged down my truck. You’re lucky I was passing by.”
“Hey, I had things handled.”
“Sure, Yukon.”
When the guy he’d been fighting started to sit up, Gage used the barrel of his gun to motion exactly where he wanted him to go. The two men didn’t say a word as they rushed off to their car.
“Next time it won’t be a warning shot!” Gage called out. He reached a hand down and helped yank Yukon to his feet.
The crowd dispersed, life returning back to normal. He bent down to pick up his Stetson, using it to brush the dust off his jeans. The piece of two-by-four lying on the ground by his boots reminded him his head ached and face hurt. And he still hadn’t accomplished anything on his to-do list.
“Okay then, I’ll see you tonight at the diner?”
Yukon clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Tonight I’ll be having something stronger than coffee.”