Two Sides of the Same Coin (12 page)

“I saw in the garage that you got a couple of river kayaks. Would you teach me how to kayak?”

“Sure, I got an extra wetsuit, too, and an extra pair of polypro long johns—this time of year you need to keep warm when you get wet. And we will get wet.”

“I don’t mind that. Can you do that roll over thing in the kayak?”

“You mean an Eskimo roll? Sure. It’s real easy. Oh, by the way, I got two things I gotta ask you.”

“You askin’ for a date?” He grinned at me. I wasn’t sure just how serious he was.

“No, I’m not, at least not now.”

“Keep in mind I just might say yes if ya do ask.” I figured out he was dead serious from the expression on his face.

“I’ll be sure to remember that.” I got a big grin in return, but this time he had turned a bright red. “What I wanted to ask was two things. First of all, Saturday I invited a bunch of nice tourists I met in town up here for a barbecue. One’s just a little guy named Harrison, who wants to be a cowpoke really bad, so I figured we could get him on a horse.”

“That ain’t no problem. You need help with the barbequein’ too?”

“Yeah, I reckon I do, but Sandy will be here. On Sunday, Sheriff Johnston invited me over for dinner and asked me to bring you along, if you don’t got nothin’ else to do.”

“You sure that ain’t a date?” He smiled at me again. I grinned back. I was enjoying having this guy around.

“Nope, ’cause when I do ask ya for a date, I am gonna make sure it’s someplace I can kiss that pretty mouth of yours.”

“Don’t reckon I’d say no to that either.”

I stepped over to the stove to get a refill on the coffee. As I stood up, I realized the front of my sweats was all tented out. I figured that the best thing to do was just ignore it and hope he didn’t notice. Of course he did notice. He was staring directly at my crotch. I thought a change of subject was a good thing right about then.

“More coffee there, buddy?” I walked over with the coffee pot.

“Uh… sure.” He leaned back a bit so I could fill his cup, and I noticed he was sportin’ wood to match mine.

“You up to visitin’ Wayne in the hospital today?”

“Sure, Jeffy.”

I grinned. “I like it when you call me Jeffy; that aside, we can go see him in a bit. Visitin’ hours start at ten, and it’ll take us a bit to get to Wenatchee. Also, I wanted to know what you thought about my makin’ José foreman while Wayne’s sick.”

“Ya couldn’t make a better choice. He knows his stuff, and both Josh and me respect him. You lookin’ to hire any more new hands?”

“Nope, not now.”

“Okay. We can handle it. Why’d you invite the tourists over? Sandy told me she was gonna mention you should make this place into a dude ranch. You seein’ what they think?”

“Ya know, I didn’t think too much of the idea when I heard it, but maybe she’s got somethin’ there. I sure have been thinkin’ about it a bunch.”

“Ya got my support; whatever you do, I’ll back ya up.” Just then I heard a couple of sets of boots coming up the porch stairs. José and Josh were about to knock on the door. I walked through the mudroom and to the door just as they reached it.

“Hey, boss! You put Mike up on the couch?” José smiled at me.

“Yeah. He was pretty shook up last night, and we had a couple of shots of whiskey. With all the excitement, his not havin’ eaten, and everything, it hit him hard.”

“Hell Jeff, I don’t blame him a bit.” Josh smiled at me, too, but it didn’t hide a look of concern on his face.

“C’mon in guys, have some coffee.”

“Thanks,” they chorused in unison. Josh headed into the kitchen, but José held back.

“Hey, boss, whatever you said to Mike worked like a charm. He is really a nice guy when you get to know him.”

“Glad to hear it. Now have some coffee.” We walked into the kitchen. Josh was telling Mike how glad he was Mike wasn’t hurt. José chimed in on the same theme while I got a couple of coffee mugs.

“Hey, José?”

“Yeah, boss?”

“You’re foreman while Wayne’s out. Mike and I are gonna go to Wenatchee this mornin’ to visit Wayne; I thought if you two want to go, you could go in the afternoon. So what work you got for all of us around that schedule?”

“Thanks, Jeff. I think we’ll finish making sure the cattle chutes are in good repair and then the corral. That should keep us busy at least today and tomorrow.”

“You got it, José.” We finished our coffee. Mike headed off to the bunkhouse, and I went up to my room and got dressed. We met in the yard back by my truck. Mike handed me the sweats I’d loaned him.

“Hope you don’t mind, but I still got your long handles and socks on.”

“Whatever turns ya on, buddy.” He just grinned at me. We headed down the valley and hit the main highway paralleling the Columbia River.

“Jeff, what do you think about this whole rustlin’ mess.”

“Hell if I know. I just hope we catch ’em pretty quick. They’re gettin’ pretty ballsy shootin’ at you and Wayne. Somethin’ just don’t seem right though.”

“What do ya mean?”

“Well, think about it. They know right where to go, and when they get there, the cattle are there. I can’t imagine they drive those roads with trucks all the time just on the off chance some of our cattle are there.”

“You think someone’s goin’ up there and herdin’ the cattle toward the roads for ’em?”

“I dunno. I don’t see as how it could be one of us who work or live here. Did you notice last night that Sheriff Johnston seemed to think it was weird also?”

“Can’t say I did, Jeffy. What makes you say that? Did he mention something?”

“No, but he did ask one of the search and rescue guys if he’d gotten something for him, and the guy gave him a couple of plastic bags. I couldn’t see what was in ’em though.”

“I was so shook up, I didn’t notice too much of anything. I will say one thing. Sheriff Johnston is really good at what he does. He asked about what each and every one of us was doin’ every time the cattle was rustled,” Mike said.

“You got that right. Let’s stop and think just what do we know?” Mike had his face screwed up in concentration.

“The rustlers have hit us twice. We’ve lost about twelve head of cattle. They’ve hit a couple of other ranches too. If they take six head each time, they must have a stock trailer to haul ’em in.”

“Unless they have a truck that they process the cattle in right there. It’d be safer for ’em. I sure as hell wouldn’t want to get caught with a truck full of cattle carryin’ someone else’s brand.”

“Makes sense, Jeff. That’d mean they’d need three trucks, one to process the cattle, a refrigerated truck to carry the meat, and a truck to carry horses so they could herd the cattle.”

“I don’t know, Mike. Think about how much a beeve weighs. If they were processing the cattle in one truck and keeping the meat in another, how’d they get the carcasses from one truck to another?”

“Good point. I wonder—”

I suddenly cut Mike off, “I wonder if there’s been more rustlin’ than just around here. Say they were hittin’ down by Pateros, or over by Tonasket or Okanagan. You look at that area, and the national forest is smack in the middle of it. Maybe somewheres in the middle of the forest, they have a camp where they process the cattle. They could truck ’em in from the different areas they stole ’em from. They could set up a pulley and generator to run it. That’d explain the lack of any signs of them butcherin’ the cattle right where they was rustled.” Mike was looking at me open mouthed.

“Yeah, it does kinda fit together. You gonna tell the sheriff?”

“I want to get a real detailed map of the area, including all those forest service roads. I want to make a bit of a case first.” We continued conjecturing and talking about what ifs all the way into Wenatchee.

We got to the hospital just as visiting hours started. We checked in at the front desk and headed up to Wayne’s room. Wayne was there, propped up in bed watching TV.

“Hey, Wayne, how ya doin’?” I asked as Mike nodded to him.

“My side hurts like hell. Ya know those hero movies where the hero just keeps goin’ after gettin’ shot? Well, they sure as hell are heroes.”

“How long they plannin’ on keepin’ ya here?” I sat down in one of the chairs and pulled it up close to the bed. Mike sat in the other one.

“They said they’re gonna keep me another night. Seems the wound got a bit infected on the ride back.” He gave Mike a long measuring look. “I wanted to thank you, son, for keepin’ your head and getting me back okay. Seems I was a damn fool to have us separate; either one of us could’ve gotten our heads blown off. Lucky they missed you when they shot at you.”

“No problem, Wayne; yesterday was a bit of a blur. I was just thinkin’ of getting the two of us to safety and stoppin’ your bleedin’. I was so riled, I don’t even remember what we talked about or me tellin’ you they shot at me too.”

Wayne took another long look at Mike.

“I heard the shots and assumed, son. Ya didn’t tell me. So, Jeff, you mind if I take a couple of days off after they let me outta here? I dunno just how much use I am gonna be at work for a week or so.”

“Sure, Wayne, take the week off, and don’t worry about your pay. You got it.”

“Mighty nice of ya, Jeff, much obliged.” We chatted with Wayne for another hour or so. I promised to bring him some airline size bottles of whiskey if they didn’t let him out tomorrow. He was gettin’ cantankerous, so I reckoned he was healin’ up just fine. We said our goodbyes, and Mike and I headed out to the street.

“You hungry there, buddy?”

“Hell, Jeff, I can just about always eat.”

“Anything special you got in mind?”

“Nah, nothing really comes to mind. We can get great burgers in Winslett, and Mexican don’t come no better than when José or Maria makes it. Anything’s fine with me.”

“How ’bout Chinese then?”

“Sounds good to me.” Mike smiled at me.

“Okay, there’s a place a couple of blocks down that has great sweet and sour pork.” We walked up the street and past the door to the Wenatchee Western Wear Emporium. Just as we came even with the door, Jonathan, the guy who I’d winked at yesterday and who I invited Saturday, stepped out the door with a package.

“Hi, Jeff.” He said, sticking out his hand to me and taking an appraising look at Mike. “Remember me?”

“Of course, Jonathan. This here’s my good buddy Mike. We were just gonna get a bit of lunch at the Chinese place down the street. Wanna join us?” Jonathan stuck his hand out to Mike, and they shook and exchanged “Pleased to meet yous.”

“Sure, I would be happy to join you, if I’m not intruding.”

“Not at all.” Mike was welcoming, but something told me he had thought lunch might be something special for us. I winked at him when Jonathan was turned away, and he grinned and turned red. I clapped him on the shoulder. I left my hand there just a moment longer than I might of, and he got even redder. His smile got bigger though. We headed into the Great Wall of China restaurant and got a booth. The waitress came almost immediately with water and tea. Mike and I sat on one side, facing Jonathan.

“So, Jeff, Mike, how long have you guys been together?”

“Hell, Jonathan, we ain’t a couple. Mike’s just about my best buddy in the world.”

“Sorry if I was a bit out of line there, just watching the two of you together, I assumed.”

Mike had this serious look on his face. I was about to ask him who kicked his puppy, but then he said, “Naw, we ain’t a couple, just friends.” He did mutter under his breath, “I’m workin’ on it though.” I smiled.

Jonathan looked at the two of us and asked, “You guys are out though? I know it can be difficult in a small town.”

“I been out since high school. Everybody in town pretty much knows about me. Since I grew up in Winslett, nobody seems to mind much. I had to kick ass a few times when I was in high school and even a bit after. After that, my football letter, and the fact I can rodeo, cowboy, and fight with the best of ’em, I ain’t had any trouble. Mike’s just stickin’ his head outta the closet once in a while.”

Mike looked down at his menu, but did add, “Jeff’s kinda been showin’ me there is a life outside the closet. He’s kinda hell-bent on draggin’ me out.”

I punched him lightly on the shoulder and added, “Hell, buddy, you’re venturin’ out all on your own. No need to drag you. And we all come out in our own time right, Jonathan?”

“That’s true. But one thing, you guys just better invite me to the commitment ceremony. I would bet you’re going to be together before too long.”

“So what do you do in Seattle, Jonathan?” Mike was still a bit uneasy about his sexuality with anyone but me and apparently Sandy.

“I’m the editor of a gay travel magazine called
Out and Traveling About
. What about the two of you?”

“I’m just a cowboy.” Mike looked down like he’d said something to be ashamed of.

“I’m a cowboy, too, I just happen to own the ranch,” I added. “I also kinda fancy myself as an artist. Artists’ co-op is gonna do a story on me sometime. It don’t pay the bills yet, but it’s fun. I do bronze castings. By the way, Mike’s more than just a hand; he makes a mean son of a bitch stew, and he’s the best effin’ cowboy ever was born. Even if he says so himself.” Mike turned beet red.

Jonathan started to ask just what I meant, and the waitress showed up. He asked me to order, and Mike seconded that as I “knew what was good.” I ordered sweet and sour pork, almond chicken, beef chop suey, six egg rolls, beef and broccoli, barbecue pork fried rice, and the house special lo mein. I also ordered three beers looking at Jonathan to see if that was okay.

He nodded and then asked, “You sure you ordered enough food, Jeff? That sounds like enough to feed an army.”

“You ain’t seen us eat. We do a lotta hard work outdoors. We eat quite a bit; it doesn’t seem to go to fat.” He looked at both of us and let out a small whistle.

“That it doesn’t. That it doesn’t. So just what is ‘son of a bitch stew’, and what did you mean by the ‘best effin’ cowboy’ remark?”

Mike jumped in this time. “Son of a bitch stew is a cowboy dish we make most often durin’ calvin’ season. You take a fresh slaughtered calf, and chop up the marrow gut, liver, heart, kidneys, maybe the spleen and some good choice meat and cook it most of the day with some onion, garlic, salt, and a whole hell of a lot of red chile. You can add potatoes too.” Mike had skipped right over his song.