Page 30 of My Cowboy Freedom
Its heyday was over, but it was nostalgic. It was an A&W-root-beer-float, drive-in-movie, white-spire-church, and picnic-basket place behind a line of yellow caution tape. It wasHappy Daysin aWalking Deadworld.
I loathed myself for loving even theideaof it but I wanted that cowboy dream I’d had for so long.
Going home meant returning to the Rocking C and Bitterroot, with its conservative, shabby pride was part of the bargain.
Behind me, Tad fired up the truck. By the time I turned around, he’d pulled up next to the curb, so I put my packages into the backseat and got in.
“Feel like a sandwich?” he asked. “I could use a beer.”
Anxiety gripped me.No way.“We should probably get back.”
“Nah, man. We drove all this way to town. We should at least eat something.”
Didn’t he know? Was he going to make me say it? “I’m on parole. You know that, right?”
“Yeah. So?”
“So I can’t drink alcohol. I can’t be in a bar. I’m not supposed to—”
“Wow. No beer, even? That’s harsh. I thought you did your time.”
“Parole is supervised time you serve outside. You’re not free until you serve your full sentence.”
“So, technically, they can put you back?”
“Exactly.” I said. “Not worth it.”
“Not for a beer.” Tad agreed. “You’re allowed pussy, though, right?”
... and now I knew what was important to Tad. “Yeah.”
He gave his jaw scruff a rub like he was thinking on it. “Seems to me like between beer and pussy, pussy is going to get you into way more trouble.”
“What can I say? That’s the life of a parolee for you. The eyes of Texas are upon me.”
We drove through a no-name burger joint and then back to Dent’s so he could drop off lunch for his girl. He insisted on paying for all three of us, though. Which was good. The envelope ’Nando’s wife had given me was in the bunkhouse where I’d stashed it, unopened.
I needed to find a better hiding place later that night. My PO could toss my place anytime. No way did I want to have to explain a fat wad of cash.
“Boss said we shouldn’t ask questions about your past, but—”
“Wait. He did?” That was news to me.
For a minute, Tad’s eyes widened. “Okay. Yeah. Maybe that was supposed to be— Shit.”
“No, it’s okay. Go ahead. Ask me whatever.” I prompted to get it out of the way. “It’s all public record anyway.”
“What did you do, and how long were you in for?”
“You need to know that why?”
“C’mon. You’re living with us. I’ll find out eventually. Someone will tell me.”
I relented. “I was convicted of voluntary manslaughter. I served eight years of a ten year sentence.”
He nodded. Raised his brows, like,Go on...
“That’s it. It isn’t any easier when you know, is it?”
