* * *
Shawn Brohm checked on him after dinner that night. Both in their early thirties, he and Jake had a lot in common, though they’d grown up differently. Like most of the others here, Shawn was a city boy and had never lived outside of a metropolis until the wars forced him into hiding. As a result, he possessed little ranching knowledge, and once he discovered Jake’s prior experience, Shawn consulted with him about everything.
“How hard is it going to be to work with cows?” Shawn had queried that first night.
Despite his wariness and poor physical condition, Jake laughed.
“Well, first of all,” he said, “they’re not all cows. Some are bulls and others are steers. Then you have heifers, calves, mavericks, and a whole lot of other names I’ve forgotten.”
“So, what do I call them then?” Shawn asked straight-faced, making Jake chuckle again. “Is there one word to cover all of them, other than cows?”
“Cows are females, bulls are uncut males, and steers are castrated males,” Jake told him, thinking he liked Shawn Brohm a lot, “but you can call a group of them cattle, or the herd. You’re going to have to learn the differences though.”
“So what’s the difference between all the other ones you mentioned?”
Laughing again, Jake shook his head before explaining the terms he remembered. He didn’t mind; he liked ranch work too. He enjoyed being outside, sweating under the sun, doing something he loved. And in a day or two, he would be.
3
Jake sat in bed, propped against several pillows, finishing the fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and generously buttered corn Rosa had brought him for dinner. It was his second night on Monica Avery’s ranch, and he was feeling better after sleeping through most of the morning and afternoon. He still shivered once in a while and felt twinges of fear when unknown voices sounded from the hallway or children screamed as they played in the dooryard outside, but his anxiety was lessening. Yet sadness twisted his heart whenever the everyday sounds reminded him of his previous life and the freedom he’d lost.
He had dreamed about his teen years with Bret as he slept that morning. About all the trials they battled together once they finally got past their initial animosity. About how Jake’s father had accepted Bret as part of their small family and how Bret’s mom had comforted Jake when he missed his own dearly departed mother. When images of his capture and Bret running away without him finally entered his slumbering visions, Jake had jolted awake, covered in sweat. He’d lain there, staring at the ceiling and brooding about his friend, until Rosa appeared with his lunch tray.
“How are you feeling today, Mr. Nichols?” Rosa had asked, smiling as she set the tray down in his lap and stepped back.
“Better,” Jake had said, and returned her smile when he realized her nearness didn’t elicit any nervous trembling in him.
“You look a little better,” she said and tilted her head. “Are the shakes and headache gone?”
“Not completely,” he said after swallowing a ravenous bite of the sandwich he had taken from the tray.
“Looks like your appetite’s returning.” She grinned again.
Jake smiled now, remembering the earlier visit as he washed down the fried chicken with a swig of the chocolate milk he couldn’t believe they had here. He hadn’t freaked out once during his short conversation with Rosa at lunch. He only hoped he continued to improve.
He had just finished the last of his dinner and set the tray on the floor when someone rapped on his door. He jumped at the sound but chided himself for his reaction. You were doing so well.
“You decent in there?” Shawn called from the hallway.
The corners of Jake’s mouth twitched in the beginnings of a smile, but a frown replaced it. Shawn seemed to be overly carefree for a slave. It made Jake curious and a little cautious.
“Come in, Shawn.”
“I come bearing treats and entertainment,” Shawn said cheerily as he stepped into the room. He carried two glasses of chocolate milk and a thin, ratty cardboard box under his arm. “I heard you were fond of chocolate milk.” His eyes danced with mirth.
“Yes, I am,” Jake said, grinning again at the surprise. “I can’t believe you can still get it. I haven’t had chocolate since before the wars.”
“We get a little here and there,” Shawn said, pressing one of the glasses into Jake’s waiting hand. “It gets shipped up from somewhere down south a few times a year. Don’t know the specifics, but I’m glad to have it when we do.”
“Me too.” Jake took a drink and then nodded toward the package under Shawn’s arm. “What’s in the box?”
“Mmm,” Shawn said, gulping a quick bit of milk and hurriedly setting the glass aside. He held the battered, patched-up cover toward Jake and arched his brows. “Do you play chess?”
Jake tilted his head and shook it slightly. “Not well, and I’m not sure I remember all the rules.”
“Not a problem,” Shawn said, his eyes still dancing. He set the box on the bed beside Jake and then seemed to bounce as he went back to the door. “I’ll teach you…that is…” He paused at the open door as if suddenly unsure of himself and glanced back at Jake over his shoulder. “You feel up for a game?”
Jake glanced at the age-worn box, gauging whether he was up for company and a game of mental acuity. “I don’t know how long I can stay alert, but I think I could play a game or two.”
“Good.” Shawn grinned and reached for something in the hallway. He returned with a ladder-backed chair, which he set next to the bed after closing the door.
Shawn quickly
