Page 70 of Lawless Ride

“Annie invited me to come down to her ranch for a couple of weeks and she would teach me to shoot. She apologized for not having time to do it while she was here.”

“That’s nice of her,” I mumbled.

“Yeah, it is. I like her a lot, even if she pissed you off.”

“Me too. I love her and always have. Sometimes things don’t work out the way you want them to.”

Harlan typed a reply to Annie, but didn’t tell me what he said. Better for me not to know.

Wild Stallion Ranch.

I figured if I helped Harlan with the chores, some of his anger at me might fade away. He held it all in and worked silently mucking out the stalls and spreading fresh straw around for Outlaw and Windrider.

I finished up with the oats and broke open a bale of hay. Trying to ease the tension, I asked, “I want to go to the roadhouse for a couple of pitchers. You want to go with me, or are you too pissed at me for that?”

He smiled and I felt immediately better. “I’ll go. I don’t want to stay here alone waiting for the bears to come and get me.”

“The girls are so fuckin mad at me, Harlan. How long do you think it will take for them to get over it?”

“Can’t say. I’m no girl expert.”

“Maybe by the time we pick them up next Friday, it will all have blown over. That’s what I’m hoping.”

“Yeah, I hope so too. I hate it when they cry.”

Dry Run Roadhouse. Coyote Creek.

As we parked behind the roadhouse, Harlan asked, “Where do we stand with Jack? Is he still pissed at you?”

“Not sure on that one. He did comp me a pitcher of Miller last time I was in, and Annie-girl said it was an apology. He never spoke to me, though. Let’s go in and find out.”

Harlan and I sat at the bar and Jack was cool to me, but not outright hostile. Because of the disastrous weekend, I drank far too much Miller in a short space of time, and Harlan figured he’d get me out to the squad before I couldn’t walk on my own.

He was unlocking the Bronco when Art Andrews and his cousin Grant showed up, both stoned and hurling insults at me.

I might have shouted a derogatory remark or two back at them, but I can’t recall what I said.

Art Andrews tackled me and took me to the pavement before Harlan could let the dogs out of the truck. Grant came after Harlan and we rolled and punched and kicked until Art kicked me in the knee right in the wounded area and the pain hit me so hard, I passed out. After that, I was easy pickins and Harlan couldn’t hold off both of them.

They were high and good scrappers and Harlan defended himself, but he couldn’t defend both of us. He was only a kid—a strong kid, but just a kid.

He was beat up, but I got the worst of it. Served me right.

Chapter Fifteen

Monday, June 4th.

Wild Stallion Ranch.

Harlan and I were both beat up pretty decently. So stiff and sore we could barely move, yet we had chores to do, and we had to go to work. Prisoners to book. Arraignments this morning. There was no way we could skip the sheriff’s office today.

My face was black and blue and had no hope of shaving any of the scruff off. I was lucky I could see. I felt bad for Harlan. Those guys had a beef with me—nothing to do with Harlan—but he was caught in the middle of it.

I leaned on the kitchen counter while I started the coffee, wondering where the Advil was. Didn’t have to wonder long, Harlan limped into the kitchen holding his side with the little bottle in his hand.

He poured himself a half glass of orange juice and swallowed down two of the pills.

“I could use a couple of those,” I said. “Just waiting for the coffee to brew.”

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