Rough and Ready Page 2

  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.”

  Chapter Three

  “Are you sure we’re in the right place?” asked Peter.

  After driving for five hours, getting lost three times, and growing closer to starvation by the minute, they passed a sign signaling they were approaching their destination. The only problem—they were literally in the middle of nowhere. There was nothing but open fields in every direction, no sign of a five-star hotel or steakhouse. Why would Calloway send one of his best lawyers and two paralegals into the boondocks?

  “That’s what the GPS says,” said Shelly from the front seat.

  Robyn knew her friend was on her last nerve. From fighting traffic getting out of the city to the multiple near misses with wild animals, including a stubborn cow, she was definitely in a less-than-stellar mood.

  “There’s something up ahead,” said Robyn, pointing. It wasn’t much, but she could see the outline of multiple buildings in the near distance. She hoped it wasn’t just another run-down ranch. Shelly was right, this was Hicksville in its finest, and Robyn couldn’t wait to get back to civilization.

  “It better fucking be!” Shelly hit the accelerator and clouds of dust billowed out from behind the SUV. She’d stopped putting on appearances for Peter hours ago.

  Peter leaned into her space to look out the window on her side of the SUV. He made a disgusted grumble after taking in the endless wheat fields. “Calloway owes me one,” he said. “You must be hungry?”

  “I think I forgot about my hunger an hour ago,” Robyn half joked. In truth, the whole trip made her uneasy. She wasn’t good with changes in her routine. That one-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of the city might not be much, but it was her safe haven. And even though her nights were lonely, at least she had a place to call home. Her hardened exterior started in childhood, grew tenfold on the job, and was solidified by high societal expectations. It wasn’t easy being a woman trying to move up the corporate ladder.

  “Oh thank God, I think this might actually be it,” said Shelly as they neared the buildings. It appeared to be a drive-thru town with no structure over two stories high. Robyn knew they were coming to farming country, but not this far off the grid.

  “Let’s just find this Longhorn Steakhouse before the sun sets. I don’t see any streetlights out here.” Peter appeared more uneasy than she felt. And if he was expecting upscale dining, she had a feeling he’d be sorely disappointed.

  Shelly parked the SUV and they all got out, looking around like they’d landed on the surface of Mars. Her friend pointed at the wooden building just ahead. The mangled sign read Meg’s Longhorn, but it wasn’t a restaurant. On its best day it could be called a truck stop. She felt dirty looking at it.

  Peter shifted his briefcase from one hand to the other. He looked like a fish out of water, his eyes narrowed as if insulted just standing in this so-called town. “What’s the contact’s name?” he asked. “I’ve never wanted to get documents signed faster than today.”

  “Marla Winters.” Shelly read from a piece of paper as she stepped up onto the wooden plank walkway. “But we were supposed to be here hours ago. I doubt she’s waiting.”

  Robyn followed along, careful not to get her stilettos stuck in the cracks on the walkway. The air was dry and hot, with the scent of fresh-cut hay. With the sun low on the horizon, night wasn’t far off. Her skirt suit made it difficult to walk, but she found her sexuality an asset in the courtroom. Since they were meeting a woman, it would probably work against her. At least she was getting points with Peter—she hoped. He was everything she’d ever wanted, if only she could convince him she was worthy of his attention. It seemed she’d been trying to prove herself in one way or another since she could walk.

  If Shelly gave her the green light, she’d do everything in her power to get in Peter’s good graces.

  As Peter pushed open the door, old-fashioned bells clanged against the glass. The diner had a few mountain men at the counter in dusty plaid shirts. There were also some people eating at one of the far tables. It smelled like bacon grease. As she walked, her heels clicked on the tiles, garnering them the full attention of everyone in the diner.

  “Can I help you?” asked a middle-aged waitress from behind the counter. She looked like she’d smoked all her life, her skin coarse and weathered.

  “Yes, we were supposed to meet a woman here a few hours ago. Would you happen to know a Ms. Winters?” asked Shelly, tossing her perfectly coiffed blonde curl behind her shoulder.

  The woman shrugged. “There was some lady in a suit here earlier. She had a coffee, read the paper, then left.”

  “Do you know where she lives?”

  “Honey, I wouldn’t know that. I can tell you she wasn’t from around here.”

  Robyn looked around the room. Many tiles on the floor were cracked, the grou
t filthy. Just about everything was in some state of disrepair—from the tables and chairs to the blinds and ceiling fans. A small, out-of-date television playing sports sat high behind the cash register. The guys at the end of the counter stared at her. Her skin crawled.

  Shelly turned to Peter. “I have a contact number. Does your phone get any reception out here? Mine doesn’t.”

  Peter pulled a new iPhone out of his breast pocket, every move smooth and unrushed. “Only one bar.”

  “What are we going to do?” Robyn whispered. They couldn’t just sit around and do nothing. The sun was starting to set, a streak of pink already making its appearance beyond the windows. Where would they sleep? What would they eat?

  “We’ll have to call Ms. Winters and have her come back,” said Peter. He turned around to face the counter again. “Excuse me, do you have a public phone we could use?”

  “Sorry, no phone.”

  “Of course not,” he muttered, turning back around.

  “Let’s talk in the truck,” said Shelly.

  They left the diner and gathered outside the SUV. “Look, this isn’t what I signed up for,” said Peter. “This place would never pass a health inspection in the city, and I have a court case to prepare for. One of us should wait here, while the others drive until they get reception. We need to get this Marla woman to come back to the diner so I can sign off on this deal.”

  Robyn was more confused than ever. From what she understood, they were supposed to work out a deal that could take at least a few days. Peter made this sound like it would last two minutes—if they could get in touch with their contact.

  “I’ll drive south until I get reception,” said Shelly. “You two can wait here and get a bite to eat.”

  Robyn could hear the hint of resentment in her friend’s voice. She grabbed Shelly’s arm and dragged her a few feet off. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

  “What?”

  They moved away from the SUV. “Did I do something to piss you off? I didn’t ask Peter to sit beside me, Shelly. That’s the problem, isn’t it?”