“Eight years was a long time to wait.”
“That’s what Daddy said. But Mama said that eight years wasn’t any time at all when you were waiting for the right man.”
Remy grinned, and the ease that the expression created on his face had Shel grinning before he knew it too.
“So they had a love story going on,” Remy said.
“The way Mama told it.”
“How’d your father tell it?”
“He didn’t. Never said one word about it. And my brother and I never asked him. Not even after Mama passed. Daddy came back to the ranch, and he worked it hard. He still does.”
“Sounds like Kurt Russell should be a ranch hand there.”
Shel grinned at that despite the bad mood the day had left him in. “It’s a working cattle ranch. The living’s hard and the profits are lean, but Daddy’s a simple man and keeps at it. Mama’s buried there with Grandpa and Grandma McHenry. Two of Daddy’s brothers are buried there too.”
“Sounds like a big commitment.”
“He’ll never leave that piece of ground. I reckon when the time comes, we’ll plant him there too. My brother, Don, isn’t happy about that, but that’s how it goes. Daddy’s leaving me control of the land. According to the will, I have to buy Don out if he wants me to.”
“I didn’t know you had a brother.”
“One. Don.”
“Is he military too?”
“Nope. He found a way to irritate Daddy even worse than I did. Of course, Don doesn’t see it that way. He became a Bible-thumper.” As he talked, Shel heard his accent thickening. His words-his thoughts even-turned more toward how he’d been raised when he was talking about his daddy.
“A preacher?” Remy asked.
Shel nodded.
“I still don’t see why Father’s Day bothers you so much. A lot of people have father issues.”
Shel took a moment to think about that. It was hard, he was discovering, to get everything he felt into words that someone else would understand.
“I joined the Marines because I wanted my life simple,” Shel said.
“That was your first mistake.”
Shel ignored the comment. “I liked the idea of organization and structure, of knowing how I was supposed to treat other people.”
“You don’t think you got that at home?”
“From Mama, sure. And from Daddy, too, I guess. He taught me how I was supposed to treat other people, but-” Shel stopped, suddenly embarrassed. He had already revealed far more than he’d intended to.
“But not how to act around him,” Remy said.
Shel wanted to tell Remy to just forget they were having the conversation, but he couldn’t. It was on his mind. And today was Father’s Day. Tomorrow it wouldn’t be, and he might not feel inclined to talk about any of this. Then it would lie waiting to ambush him, as patient as a circling buzzard, for another year.
“I knew how to act around him,” Shel said. “I just didn’t know how we were supposed to act together.”
“You were into sports. You don’t have any father-son moments in there?”
“Daddy came to some of the games. Don and Mama shamed him into it on occasion.”
“He didn’t like coming?”
“Daddy doesn’t like being around other people. He didn’t make friends. He was what we always called standoffish.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do other people make him uncomfortable?” Remy asked.
Shel shook his head. “I’ve seen Daddy walk into a bar filled with people, most of them wanting to form a lynch mob, and take command of the whole situation. We had a vaquero in from Mexico one summer. His name was Miguel. He was eighteen. I was twelve at the time. The way he could stick on a green mount and break him was amazing. I wanted to be just like him.”
The road noise filled the pauses between Shel’s words.
“Anyway, Miguel got into a fight with one of the local guys,” Shel went on. “Words were said. Pride was hurt. And it was all over a girl.”
“Now there’s a bad mix,” Remy said.
“Yeah. Miguel was outnumbered, and those boys pulled out baseball bats. Miguel pulled a knife. Jimmy Dean Harris got cut pretty bad and ended up in the hospital. It was his daddy that gathered up the lynch mob that night.”
“Exciting little town you grew up in.”
“I’ve heard New Orleans isn’t exactly filled with saints,” Shel countered.
Remy displayed a flat, mirthless grin. “My grandmere would agree with you. She wanted to move out of that place, but she never could. Even after Katrina, she’s back where she grew up.”
“A lot of people get stuck in their ways.”
“I know that’s true. But anyway, your father walked into this bar.”
›› 1729 Hours
“He did walk into that bar that night,” Shel continued. “I followed him, but he didn’t know it. Daddy got a call from one of the men inside the bar, and I followed him into town on my dirt bike.”
“Where were the police?”
“We didn’t have police. We had a sheriff’s deputy. And he didn’t want any part of what was going on.”
“Brave soul.”
“This was Texas. Old Texas. And it was twenty years ago.”
“Not exactly prehistoric.”
“Not if you’re going by a calendar.” Shel looked at the interstate stretched out before them. “But things hadn’t changed much since the frontier days. At least, most folks living around there didn’t think they should have. Daddy got out of his truck with an old Colt. 45 on his hip and a pump-action shotgun in his hands. He didn’t hesitate about walking straight up to that bar.”
“I would have at least thought about it. Why didn’t he call for help?”
“Because Miguel was a Mexican, and nobody else would have risked their neck for him. And because that’s just the way Daddy is. He skins his own cats.”
“I thought you said it was a cattle ranch.”
Shel started to explain. The country accent came back to him so naturally when he started talking about things back home. Then he saw Remy grinning.
“I know you didn’t mean that he really skinned cats,” Remy said. “That’s just one of those country terms.”
“City boy,” Shel snarled good-naturedly.
“So what happened at the bar?”
“I peeked in through a window. I didn’t know what to do. I was scared to death for Daddy, but I don’t think I’d ever been more proud of him.”
“But it wasn’t his fight.”
“The way Daddy saw it, it was. He’d brought Miguel there to break horses and help out with the stock for the summer. What happened to Miguel-according to Daddy’s way of thinking-was his responsibility. Daddy faced all those men in that bar and told them he’d kill the first man who hurt Miguel.”
“Would he have?”
“They thought so.”
“What did you think?”
Shel looked at Remy and nodded. “He’d have killed any man who laid a hand on Miguel that night. That’s gospel truth.”
