Page 42 of My Cowboy Freedom
“I’m a little nervous,” I admitted. “Never moved cattle before.”
With a laugh, Jason nudged me in the ribs. “They move themselves mostly. We just get them started and follow along. Make sure we don’t lose any.”
“Got it,” I said.
“Dogs do a lot of the chasing. But it will be a hot, dusty, and exhausting day.”
“After supper, we’re gonna play some cards, and then turn in early,” said Robbie. “You’re welcome to join us if you like.”
“Thanks,” I said. “But I’m gonna grab a hot shower and hit the sack.”
I stood up and gathered my plates. While I scraped, rinsed, and stacked them, I could hear the boys’ talking in hushed tones behind me. I was drying my hands off when Jason approached. “You ain’t got hard feelings, right?”
“About what?” I asked.
“Robbie says we shoulda shut up about prison and such. I’m sorry if we made you feel—”
I held up my hands. “It’s fine. Can’t fault you for wanting to know who your neighbors are.”
“Well, like Robbie said, we’ll be playing some cards. Drinking some beer, just to be neighborly. You’re welcome to join us.”
“Thanks, but—”
Tad spoke. “Jase, you dumbass, he’s on parole. He can’t drink alcohol.”
“Is that true?” Jason appeared stunned.
“I can get jammed up bad if I drink. My parole gets revoked.”
“For one beer? That’s fucking harsh.”
“Alcohol hasn’t got anything on breathing this fresh country air.” I said. “I can tell you now, there ain’t enough beer in the world to make me leave the Rocking C.”
“Well, all right, then,” he grinned and left. The rest of the hands followed.
I hung around as long as I dared, to see if Rock was going to come out and get the dishes.
I shouldn’t have. But it turns out I have a hard time with my own curiosity. And Rock, the horse-shy ranch hand who’d been struck by lightning, piqued mine.
