Wounded (8 page)

The following morning was still and clear and not as cold as I thought it would be. The sun was rising in a cloudless eastern sky, but there were already clouds bunching up in the northwest. The snow stayed where it had drifted the night before. There was finally not much of it, just enough to quiet things, to muffle morning’s naying for hay and grain. I was done feeding by the time David made his way down to the kitchen. Gus was preparing an uncharacteristically unhealthy breakfast of sausages and eggs.

“I have to say that smells great,” I said. I looked over Gus’s shoulder at the frying sausage. “When did you buy that?”

“It’s not exactly meat,” he said.

“What exactly is it?”

“Soy.”

“Soy,” I repeated.

“Soy sausage.”

“Oh, lord.” I shook my head. “You know, we’ve got some antelope steaks in the freezer.”

“This is better for you.”

“I’ll try it.”

“I’ll bet those boys won’t be able to tell the difference.”

I walked over to Zoe and the puppy. “How’s our patient this morning?” I asked.

“A little better, I think,” Gus said. “She’s really trying to drag herself around. I think somebody’s coming down.”

“Good morning,” David said.

“David,” I said.

Gus said, “Orange juice is in the fridge. Coffee’s on the stove. We don’t stand on ceremony around here.”

“In other words,” I said, “Get it your damn self.”

David laughed and went for the fridge and the orange juice. “Breakfast smells terrific,” he said as he pulled down a glass from the cupboard.

“Where’s your …” Gus stopped, “what do you say? Partner? Boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend’s good enough.”

“Well, where the hell is he?” Gus asked.

“I don’t think he slept too well.” David sat at the table with his juice. “He’s not usually in such a mood. I’m sorry.”

I waved off David’s apology. “Robert’s okay.”

I watched as David looked away out the window. He turned his attention to the puppy, but didn’t say anything. There was sadness there and I didn’t know what to say.

Gus set a plate in front of the boy and said, “Have at it while it’s hot. Your boyfriend might have to fix his own breakfast if he’s not down here pretty soon.” He looked at me. “Put your butt in a chair.”

I sat and looked at my plate. David had already started to eat. “How is it?” I asked.

“Good. I don’t know what it is, but I like it.”

“Don’t know what what is?” Gus asked.

“This fake meat,” David said.

“It’s soy,” I said.

“I like it,” David said.

As we finished, a truck pulled up to the house. I stood and looked out. “That’s Duncan,” I said. “If you two gentlemen will excuse me.”

I put on my jacket and walked outside.

“The snow is a good sign,” Duncan said as a greeting. His daughter Ellie was with him. The young woman had spent a couple years down in Laramie at the university, but was taking a year off, she said.

“Good morning, Ellie,” I said.

“Hi, Mr. Hunt.”

“You make me feel old calling me that,” I told her. We were all walking toward the barn.

“Sorry, Mr. Hunt.”

“So, why is the snow a good sign?” I asked Duncan.

“I don’t know. It’s just a thing to say.” Duncan put a cigarette in his mouth, but didn’t light it. He often did that. “Daniel White Buffalo told me to tell you to give him a call.”

“When did you see him?”

“I had to go out there. He claims that old Monday woman is stealing his cows. He claims that a lot. I suppose it’s true, but I can’t see it.” Duncan was one of the few cattle detectives left in the area. “White Buffalo is so bad at keeping records.”

“And Clara Monday is smart,” I said.

“Tougher than a dairy cow steak,” Duncan said. “Rides around up there on that App with a thirty-thirty across her lap. She’s gotta be seventy.”

Ellie was stroking Felony’s nose. The horse seemed grateful for the attention.

David came into the barn and joined us.

“Duncan, Ellie, this here is my friend David. He’s from Chicago.”

Duncan shook David’s hand. “Where is Chicago?”

David looked to me.

“Just kidding you, son,” Duncan said.

“How’s he doing?” Ellie asked about Felony.

“He’s going very well. You could ride him right now, but I don’t know what he thinks of snow yet.”

“He’s a beautiful horse,” David said.

“Thanks,” Ellie said.

“Know much about horses?” Duncan asked.

“Nothing.”

“If you’re smart enough to say that, you’re all right with me.” Duncan put the cigarette he’d been fiddling with back into his pocket.

Robert came into the barn and we all looked his way. He walked up to David and gave him a kiss. I glanced at Duncan, looking for a reaction, then felt bad that I was doing that.

“Ellie, Duncan, this is Robert.”

Robert nodded, but didn’t offer his hand.

Ellie said, “Hello.”

Duncan said, “Robert.”

“The snow is beautiful, isn’t it?” Robert said.

“Well, John,” Duncan said, “Ellie just wanted to see her baby here. I guess we’ll be going.”

Robert decided to take offense. “Do we make you uncomfortable?”

David was as surprised as me at how confrontational Robert was being, especially with someone he didn’t know. He was, however, less amused than I was. I looked to Duncan for his response.

“No, son,” the big man said. “The two of you don’t make me uncomfortable, but you alone do.” Duncan was completely relaxed. “I’ll give it to you in good old cowboy talk. I ain’t never been around any homosexuals. Not to my knowledge, anyway. I’m just assuming that’s what you are. I ain’t never given it much thought, and I reckon I don’t approve of it, but I can’t say why. Still this is a free country and, to my mind, you can do what you want.”

“Let’s go, Daddy,” Ellie said.

“Wait a second, darlin’,” he said. “The man asked me a question.”

“Son, I don’t like anything thrown up in my face.” He looked at David. “David, it was a pleasure meeting you.”

Robert was angry. “Nice speech,” he said.

Duncan smiled. “I don’t lie. There are people around here who might shoot you for what you are. I don’t know why, but I’ve no doubt that they would. People are bad like that and we’ve got our share. Maybe we’ve got more than our share, I don’t know. Like I said, I believe this here is a free country. Now, my speech is over. See you later, John.”

“Bye, Mr. Hunt,” Ellie said.

I watched Duncan and his daughter leave the barn. What I liked about Duncan was that he was never out of control. He was a strange man in that he admitted to a lot of prejudices, but he never held that against himself.

David looked at Robert. I couldn’t tell what was in him. He was confused, I knew that much, but whether he was angry with Duncan or with Robert, I simply had no clue. He shuffled his feet and walked over to scratch Felony’s nose.

I probably should have said nothing, that would have been best, I knew it even then, but my mouth opened, “You just make friends everywhere you go.” With that, I walked away. I didn’t like feeling bad and this kid made me feel bad every time I turned around. This time I was feeling bad because I considered that I was being unfair to him. All he had really done was kiss his partner and I couldn’t tell whether I was bothered by that or by the way he had done it.

After breakfast, I drove the boys back to town and to their motel. The ride in the Jeep was quiet, ending with a polite handshake from Robert and an unexpected and warm embrace from David.

ALTHOUGH I WAS ITCHY
and eager to get home, my reaction to visiting town so many times in so few days, I decided to stop by Myra’s and pick up shots for the young coyote. I considered it ironic that if left in the wild she would have been healthy, contact with humans notwithstanding, but because she was in our care she now had to be protected from distemper, parvo, and a host of other things. Protection against rabies would come later. The thought of rabies reminded me of my primary concern, that the little dog was a wild animal. Normally, I could see raising her in a cage and then turning her free to roam and hunt, but this pathetic creature had but three legs and who knew what kind of respiratory damage she might have suffered. I’d have to establish our respective stations and socialize her as best I could.

As I drove back through town, the medicine in a shoe box with dry ice around it, I considered Gus’s attachment to the coyote. It seemed a bit extreme, but the pup was plenty pitiful. What little traffic there was slowed near the square. I could see an ambulance parked in front of the sheriff’s office. I inched closer and I saw a stretcher being rolled along the walk to the vehicle. Bucky was standing nearby, his hat in his hand while he scratched his equine head. I tapped my horn and the tall man turned to see me. He walked to my rig.

“What’s going on, Bucky?” I asked.

He put a hand on the roof of the Jeep and leaned toward me. He spat on the ground before saying, “It’s bad, John.”

“What?”

“Your friend killed himself,” Bucky said.

“Castlebury?”

“Hanged himself from the upper bunk with his britches. One leg around his neck, the other around the top rail. I sure didn’t see it coming. Should have.”

“Good grief.”

“Terrible thing to see.” The sheriff looked over at the ambulance doors being slammed shut. “Terrible thing.”

“Good grief,” I said, again.

Bucky stood and looked away across the lawn of the courthouse. “It’s about the last thing I need, I can tell you that.” Then he fell silent.

“What is it, Bucky?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“You don’t think he did it,” I said.

“What do you think?” he asked. The ambulance drove away, no siren. “You knew him a little.”

“No, I don’t think he did it.” I was surprised to have said it, but I knew I’d thought it all along. “You still haven’t told me what you think.”

“I don’t know, John. It’s felt funny from the beginning to me.”

“So, what now?” I asked.

“I guess I’ll do my job. Now, I guess I’ll get around to doing my fucking job.” He shook his head. “We both know I’ll never find out who killed that boy. Jesus Christ. Two men dead.”

I nodded. “I’ll make the call for you.”

Bucky looked at me.

“I know you,” I said. “You look for your murderer. I’ll call Castlebury’s brother.”

“Thanks. Still, you’re going to have to tell him to call my office.”

Bucky stood away and I drove off. Bucky had a hard time with bad news, an obvious liability in his profession. He was either tender that way, and if true, I liked that, or he was weak. But I wondered why I was not either tender or weak. Fact was, I had little stomach for it as well, and I wondered why in the world I had offered to do it. Perhaps I thought I owed something to Wallace Castlebury. Perhaps I felt I’d failed to let him think that at least one person thought he was innocent. Maybe he’d have been alive if he thought I believed him. I carried enough guilt and I wasn’t going to carry any more. I would call his brother and do this last thing for him.

At home, I put the shots for the dog in the medicine refrigerator in the tack room. I then walked across the yard toward the house. All the snow was gone, but somehow I could tell that it had been there. I stepped into the kitchen to find Gus nursing a cup of tea.

He put down his cup and tilted his head like a dog. “So, what’s wrong?” he asked.

“Wallace Castlebury hanged himself.”

Gus whistled, picked up his cup and sipped some tea. He looked down at the pup on the blanket by his feet. “Such is life.” He leaned over, put his hand down and the little coyote pushed toward him. “She’s stronger.”

“I see.”

“You realize we haven’t named her.”

“That’s your job,” I said.

“What about Spirit?” he said.

“Sure, if that’s what you want hippie-Jim.”

“Just fooling around,” he said. He stroked the little head. “Her name is Isosceles. Maybe Tripod. Maybe Nubby.”

“I suppose any of those will work, Gus,” I said. I studied my uncle for a few seconds. “Hey, Gus, you feeling all right?”

“Fine. Why?”

“Just asking.”

Susie had for a time accused me of being interested in a young woman who had brought her three-year-old Arabian mare to me for training. That was how she had put it. “You’re interested in her,” she would say. I laughed it off every time. “Don’t you think she’s beautiful?” Susie asked once.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” I asked back. “You’re beautiful and I happen to be married to you.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” she said.

“Question?”

“Do you think she’s beautiful?”

“She’s attractive. Lots of people are attractive.”

“And you like her,” Susie said.

“I don’t like the way this is going,” I said. “Why don’t you just tell me what’s eating at you? She’s a kid. Listen, I’m not interested in anyone but you. It never occurred to me to think of her as attractive until you mentioned it.”

“So, you do find her attractive.”

“I love you, Susie. You’re my life.”

She claimed to be satisfied and to have let the matter go, but still a distance had been created and she was, at least that night, cool to the touch. I told her I loved her and went to sleep with my hand on her hip.

A few days later, the young woman, Lane, was at my place for a lesson on her horse. I was standing in the middle of the round pen, watching, asking her to position her arms in various ways. She was a tough, lean woman who wanted badly to conquer her fear of horses, particularly this big and unruly horse. I didn’t have the horse on a line, not that that would have helped. Something got into the mare and she kicked out and bucked her way across the midpoint of the circle, namely me. Lane began to lose her balance and I stepped to the horse and righted her. She was shaken a little and I helped her down. Our faces were close and I realized in that moment that Susie had been correct; I no doubt knew all along that she was right, but I was being defensive and, basically, male. Lane and I kissed. A brief kiss, but a kiss nonetheless. I kicked the dirt like an idiot and did the only thing that seemed decent, I said I was sorry and looked at the horse. Nothing else happened.

Later that day, no doubt to prove beyond any doubt that I was an idiot, I confessed to Susie that I had kissed Lane. I did it to make myself feel better, I realized later; that could have been my only reason. I thought I had been a bad man, a bad husband, and I believed that being forthright and honest would fix me up. I was a selfish jerk and some part of me must have wanted to hurt Susie. That’s all I can imagine. I really wasn’t then a stupid man, but I was, apparently, an idiot. The reaction was what any reasonable person would expect and I don’t think we ever really got over it. All of my apologies never offered a why. I didn’t have any whys to offer.

It was odd to be thinking of Susie while I prepared to call Wallace Castlebury’s brother. I was sitting in my study, looking out the window at the hills. There were no clouds collected over them; that was good. It was a beautiful day. I didn’t procrastinate, didn’t find a leaky faucet to repair, didn’t clean my already-too-clean rifle. I picked up the phone and pushed in the number.

I identified myself and the man on the other end said, “What is it?” But his tone was different this time, perhaps softer, perhaps he was just tired.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ve got bad news. I’ve been asked to notify you that your brother is dead.”

“Dead?”

“I’m sorry.” I was surprised to detect a note of sadness, given the tone and content of our last conversation. “He killed himself.” I thought to spare even this uncaring relative the grizzly details of his brother’s death. In fact, I was sure at that moment that I had agreed to make the call only because I believed the man would be unmoved by the news. So much for what I thought I knew.

“What?” the man said. “My brother is dead?” I could hear that he was beginning to weep.

“Is this Wallace Castlebury’s brother?” I was suddenly terrified that I had misled another man into believing his brother was dead.

“Oh, lord, poor Wallace,” he cried. “Poor, poor Wallace.”

I don’t think I was ever so confused in my life. I looked out the window that faced the barn and saw the mule emerge.

“How did he die?”

“He killed himself. If you want details, you’ll have to call the Highland sheriff’s office.” I gave him the number. “In fact, you’re supposed to call there anyway. About the body and all.”

“The body,” the man wailed.

“How did he kill himself?”

“I don’t think I’m supposed to say any more,” I said. “I’m sorry for your loss and I’m sorry to have had to give you such news.”

“Brother,” he said. “I have found the Lord Jesus Christ and brought him into my life just last week. I’m saved now and I’d like you to pray with me for my poor, poor brother, Wallace. Do you know if he found God before his death?”

“I have no idea.”

“Pray with me,” he said.

“I think you should call the sheriff’s office. Here’s that number again.” I read it off.

“Dear Jesus,” he said, as if dictating a letter. “Please find the soul of my poor lost brother and guide him into your sweet, forgiving arms. Open those beautiful gates of that beautiful heaven to him in spite of his sick and evil doings, his homosexualness and his shortcomings.” He wept loudly. “And help me stay away from the substances, you know the ones I mean, so that I might serve you better. In your name, Jesus-God-Almighty, amen.”

“Okay, one more time, here’s that number.” I gave him the number one last time and hung up. I was exhausted. I felt as though I had been chased by a cougar.

I picked up the phone again. This time I called Morgan and invited her over for a ride into the desert. She seemed puzzled by the quality of my invitation and so I said, “I think I need some company and I don’t think Gus is it.” Thinking that was not exactly romantic, I added, “And I’d really like to see you. I’d like to try that kissing thing one more time. If that’s okay.”

She said she’d think about it, but we could certainly go for a ride.

The sun didn’t have to compete with any clouds and so my jacket was off and stuffed into my saddlebag. I rode Felony and I put Morgan on my Appaloosa. She hadn’t trailered her horse to my place for fear that there might still be some icy patches on the highway. My mare needed the exercise anyway. We rode up high and got really cold. Morgan asked me about the cave.

“It’s not far from here,” I told her.

“Care to show me?”

“I don’t know.” Felony snorted and stepped uneasy and I knew he was feeling my tension. I slowed my breathing and he went off the muscle. “Why do you want to go there?” I asked.

“I’m just curious to see it.”

“We don’t have flashlights,” I said.

“I just want to see where the damn cave is, John. But if you don’t want to show me . . .”

“That’s not it.” I wheeled Felony about on his haunches. “Come on, let’s go. Over the ridge and facing the desert.”

On the way, she said, “It’s bad about that Castlebury.”

I agreed.

“I don’t want to talk or think about him, though.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

“I know you’re thinking about him.”

“A little,” I said.

“Well, I don’t want to.”

“Okay,” I said. “What do you want to think about?”

“Us,” she said.

“I can do that.”

“See to it then,” she said. She laughed then kicked the mare and trotted away from me. Morgan was right about most things, mainly because she was patient. She’d been patient with me, that was for sure. She was smart and she lived hard.

At the entrance to the cave, we dismounted. I tied Felony by wedging a knot between two boulders. The App would stand on a dropped rein. We walked inside several yards.

“Wow,” Morgan said. “This really is a cave.”

“It stays this big for a while, then it branches a couple times. One of the branches opens into quite a large cavern. I’ve found only one tight spot. Tight for me anyway. I haven’t gone through it yet.”

“You are getting a little chunky there.” Morgan poked her index finger at my belt buckle.

“Watch out, sister,” I said. I caught her hand and pulled her to me. I felt excited and stupid. I kicked myself inside, realizing that any thoughts of Susie now were indulgent and convenient. I toyed with the lie that I was afraid of hurting her, so I kicked myself again. I looked at her eyes. “You understand, of course, that I’m basically stupid.”

“I noticed that right away.”

“I also have very strong feelings for you, ma’am.”

“So, you’re not completely stupid.”

“Apparently not.” I leaned forward and put my lips on Morgan’s. I closed my eyes this time. I pulled back. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Anytime.”

“So, let’s get out of here.”

Morgan shook her head and looked back into the cave. “Let’s go in a little deeper.”

“We don’t have a light,” I told her.

“So what?”

“Okay, let’s go.”

We walked in about thirty yards and made the first bend. Once around it, everything was pitch dark.

“Jesus,” Morgan said. “I’ve never seen it so dark.”

“That’s a funny way to put it.”

“So, why don’t we try that kiss again?” she asked.

I felt her breath on my chin as I reached around her. She was different in the complete dark, but I could still feel the beauty of her face. We kissed again, this time more urgently. This time I felt my lips soften more to hers. I touched her face. Morgan put her hand between us, placed her palm flat against my chest, then brushed down my body to below my belt. She put her open hand against my penis and pressed into me. I kissed her harder, finding the tip of her tongue with mine. I thought to be afraid, to become shy, but I let that go, smelling her hair in the dark, feeling the warmth of her breath on my ear and neck. I opened her jacket and shirt and touched her breasts. I thought that they seemed smaller in the dark and I liked that. I ran my hands up and around her neck, loving the heat of her skin. In the dark we were clumsy with our clothes, but we got them off, enough of them off, and Morgan and I made love, my backside on my jacket on the cool floor of the cave, she sitting on me. We didn’t say anything, but I listened to every sound she made, every breath she let out, every click she made with her fingernails. The fingernail clicking, a nervous action between thumb and forefinger I had witnessed before, in the light, when she was thinking. And behind that sound was the forever-there dripping of the cave’s water. When she came, at least I thought she came, a wave of fear like none I’d felt in a long while washed over me, made me shudder. I guess to her it felt like I had come. We stopped moving and lay there, her palms flat against my chest, my hands on her waist.