The Right Thing Easy Page 5

  Chapter Ten

  Overly conscious about the rattle of the plastic bag in my hand, I fidgeted at the counter at Cup of Joy waiting for Halley to finish up with her customer. Her cowboy boots made me smile. I like a student who doesn’t have to be told twice to wear something with a heel to ride. As surreptitiously as possible, I glanced at the office.

  It was Hope I wanted to talk to, but I wasn’t sure how she’d react to my gift. I had seen her around a lot, and her restrained behavior still tickled the back of my brain. I’d spent a few days convincing myself it was curiosity about the reserved way she’d held herself, not fascination with her calm beauty that had me buying a box of cereal to replace the one Gabe’s mules had eaten. C’mon, what were the odds of this single and attractive woman in town being gay? So why were my palms sweaty? Because Hope had been nervous, somehow that transferred to me.

  “Need your caffeine fix?” Halley asked, snapping my attention away from the office doorway.

  “Sure do. But I also have something for Hope, if she’s here.” I hoped I pulled off nonchalance about whether she was around or not.

  “HOPE!” Halley yelled as only a younger sibling did. I heard my mother saying if she’d wanted someone to yell, she could have done the same and blushed deeply thinking about the other context that would have me yelling someone’s name.

  She appeared before my blush faded, a look of annoyance for Halley and curiosity to see me. I held out the bag. “Mrs. Wheeler’s oat clusters.”

  “Oh, gosh. You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Gabe should have, but I don’t get the impression it would ever occur to him.”

  “No, it wouldn’t,” she agreed, accepting the bag.

  “Thank you for your help the other day.”

  “From what Halley says about your way with horses, I get the impression you’re being overly kind. You probably could have managed on your own.”

  Halley and I exchanged coffee cup and money, and I smiled my appreciation at her assessment of my teaching. My Tuesday/Thursday students were sold on my presence at Feather River College, but I hadn’t been so lucky with all my classes and was about to meet one of the more challenging ones.

  Hope hadn’t disappeared into her office and seemed poised to say something, so I turned my to-go cup around and took a careful sip. Her eyes followed her sister from table to counter.

  “She’s doing really well in my class,” I said to see if I could tip her into talking.

  “It’s all she can talk about.” Hope turned her hazel eyes to me. I blinked in surprise in the quick moment where I’d been the sole focus of her attention before she looked away again. “She’s invited me to watch her sometime. I’d like to, but I thought I should make sure that’s okay with you.”

  From her expression, I was expecting a request from the older sister to keep Halley safe. I didn’t have a read on this woman at all. “Anytime,” I said, glancing at my watch. “Better go earn my keep.” I pushed away from the counter and raised my cup to both her and Halley as I pushed out on to the street, taking a deep breath of the mountain air, hoping it would clear my head.

  She’d wanted to say something else, I was sure of it. I couldn’t help but wonder if there was some kind of rumor going round this small town after my disaster “date” with Martinez that she wanted to research like her librarian friend had taught her. I tried to shove it aside, but it distracted me on a day I needed no distractions.

  Introduction to Training was full of cowboys anxious to get on to some broncs, or rope something and tie it up. For starters, we didn’t have the facilities to practice anything like that yet. I hoped I’d be able to pitch some plans and get something built for spring semester rodeo classes, but for my first semester, I’d been given classes that would round out their degrees, classes they obviously weren’t interested in.

  I stood in the middle of the round corral with my soft mecate rope, pushing Eights in circles around me, trying to get her to read me, trying to control her energy. As I did with any of my classes, I kept up a running explanation of what I was reading in the horse and what she was reading in me and my actions. Since my mustang had lived in the wild for three years, she was much more resistant to my cues than the young quarter horses the college owned. The way I figured, in the Intro class, we’d struggle with the rugged buckskin together before I let them have a go on their own with the three- and four-year-old colts and fillies that already had some hours on them. As an added benefit, Eights’ appearance captivated many of my students. Her winter coat was coming in and her mane grew so long it covered her eyes giving her a deceptive cuddly appearance.

  Up in the bleachers, a cluster of students huddled over their cell phones. I was sweaty and hot and frustrated and these bozos in tight Wranglers were looking up god knows what on their phones, elbowing each other, so tuned into the devices that they didn’t notice when I stopped, didn’t notice when their classmates started to clear their throats. Fed up, I shouted, “Dorff! Kloster! Black!” They looked up, appropriately surprised, but more likely because I knew their names than from embarrassment. “What’s Google telling y’all about horse training?”

  “Nothing, ma’am,” Black called back, stowing his phone in the breast pocket of his shirt as his jeans were obviously too tight to accommodate it.

  “But all y’all get this already? Okay. Sorry to stand in your way. Let’s see what you’ve got. Which one of you is going to come down here and saddle this horse for us?”

  They conferred for a moment, out of idiocy or conceit, I hadn’t figured out, but I was sure that they had no clue how far Eights was from accepting a saddle. Kloster stood and hiked his Wranglers, a figure of masculinity and toughness as he wiped his mouth with his sleeve after spitting as he lumbered down the bleachers to the door of the round corral. I wondered if any of my colleagues had a no chew policy in addition to cell phone usage.

  “Grab my saddle there,” I said, easing myself out of the round corral, leaving Eights on the other side watching intently. Kloster mumbled something about the length of my stirrups as he passed his cheering section. Dorff laughed, saying, “How tall do you think she is, anyway?” loud enough for me to hear.

  “Tall enough to reach the stirrups,” I said, shutting them up. “Kloster, if you’re confident enough that you’ll get that saddle on Eights today, go ahead and let ’em out.” He paused, eyeing me. “Go ahead. Let ’em out!” As I figured, he had no idea what he was getting himself into. I hated making a fool out of him but saw a long semester of fighting with them if they didn’t get some respect for the process.

  He slung my saddle over his shoulder and strode confidently into the corral.

  “Set it right there in the middle and get acquainted with Eights.”

  He had the respect to put my saddle down tipped on its horn before approaching the horse. True to her nature, she snorted and crow-hopped away. “How’m I s’posed to get a saddle on her if she’s got no halter on?” he mumbled around his chew.

  “Shut the door. You’ve got to find that place on her shoulder that stops her motion. And if it’s not your idea for her to stop, if she’s stopping because she wants to and not because you asked, you get her feet moving again. You’ve got to be in control in there.”

  I let him chase her for a while till it seemed like Eights was minding him. “You see that inside ear? She’s starting to check you out, starting to see if you’re watching her. Let her know you’re watching.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “Take a step back. That invites her to approach. You want her to do some of the work here.” His cheerleaders laughed in the bleachers. I finally had their attention. Eights stopped, pointing her delicate toffee ears outlined in black at Kloster. “Congratulations. She’s checking you out. Now you can approach, but if she moves, you’ve got to make it like her moving was your idea.”

  He started moving toward her, but she sensed his fear. He missed her ears fanning and missed her leaning to her
outside leg. I’d have had her in motion by then, but he’d listened, and when she moved her first foot, he lifted his arms, setting her into circles around the corral again.

  “You lost her, dude!” Dorff said, pushing the bill of his ballcap up a bit now that he was actually watching.

  “She’s checking me out, she’s checking me out. Look. Her ears are swinging toward me. That means I’ve got her, right?”

  “Don’t ask me. Ask her.”

  He stopped pushing at her flank, and she stopped, swinging to face him. “How can I walk up to her without her being scared?”

  “Get her drunk, man!” Dorff egged.

  Kloster earned some of my respect by ignoring his friend and looking to me. “You’ve got to let her know she can trust you. She knows if you doubt yourself. Remove that doubt, and she’ll stay put.” His body relaxed, and hers immediately did too. Her head lowered, inviting him further. I translated her body language for Kloster. “She’s letting you know it’s okay to buy her a beer now.”

  He nodded, completely focused on the mare. They both impressed me when he laid his hand on her shoulder and started stroking.

  “Nice work, Kloster,” I said after a few minutes. “That’s enough today.”

  “What! I thought I was riding.”

  “Guys,” I said. “You always want to rush things. Learn how to communicate with a horse, and you’ll have much more luck with the ladies too.”

  My female students laughed at them.

  “You’re saying this really works to pick up chicks?” Black asked.

  “What about guys?” Andrews, one of the cowgirls, asked.

  “Are you kidding me? Guys don’t take half the work. Trust me, it takes a lot more skill to pick up chicks.” My stomach clenched. Had I just outed myself? By the surprise on many of the faces in the bleachers, I just had. Oh, well, word would get around the small town now, which would probably be better all the way around. “Great class today,” I said, dismissing them. I may have complicated my life, but at least I’d gained their attention.

  Chapter Eleven

  What was I thinking? I sat in the corner of the bar in East Quincy nursing my third drink, analyzing how inappropriate what I’d done in class might have been. If I’d had a real mentor and not Martinez, I might have called to ask for advice or guidance, but I’d eat fried worms before talking about anything personal with that man again.

  I had no backup plan if I lost this job. I wouldn’t want to return to the circuit, I really was ready for something permanent and stable, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to go back to Texas and admit that following my love of horses hadn’t been the wisest of choices. I’d rather talk to Martinez about outing myself to a bunch of punk eighteen-year-olds than hear my parents say that my brother’s firm was hiring or that there was an opening at the bank.

  Maybe I was fine. I hadn’t been that blunt, had I? They could interpret it as a general statement about picking up guys versus girls. It didn’t have to mean I picked up chicks myself. Just gave ’em something to be wondering about, nothing concrete. Maybe. I tossed back the rest of my drink.

  “Jack or Jim?”

  “Jesus, Gabe, if you don’t stop sneaking up on me, I’m going to castrate you.”

  He sat down across from me.

  “Jim.”

  “How many?”

  “The one you’re buying makes four.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  I rested my head on the table until I heard him return and set the two drinks down in front of me.

  “Another bad day?” he asked.

  “Please tell me that your mother didn’t send you out looking for me because my truck wasn’t parked in front of my place when it usually is.” When he didn’t say anything, I peeked out from my folded arms.

  “What? You said don’t say, so I’m not sayin’.”

  “Jesus, Lord, this is a small town.”

  “Which you picked to live in, I think.”

  “You’ve got me there.” I twisted my drink in the circles of moisture on the table trying to decide whether I was angry or grateful for Gabe showing up. Who was this guy to befriend me like he had? “Did you draw the short straw or something? When someone new moves to town, everyone has a meeting to decide who will be chair of the welcome wagon, and you got picked?”

  Maddeningly, he continued to sit there drinking his Jim Beam.

  “Or are we dating, too? I get the impression any single guy in this town is convinced we’re dating, like there’s some kind of reality show I know nothing about, and I’m the prize.”

  “If that’s your way of asking me out…”

  As I opened my mouth to unleash my anger, his belly laugh echoed in the small hall.

  “Why’d you move to Quincy? Why’d you quit the circuit? You had it pretty sweet.”

  “Why’re you askin’?” I only slurred a little, I think.

  His smile let me know he’d noticed. No more whiskey for me. “My report to the welcome wagon is due soon. I want to get a good grade.”

  “You’re fun, you know that?” I said, honestly, almost adding that if he were a woman, I’d ask him out. But that brought me full circle to why I was sitting in a bar drinking too many whiskies. “Okay. I quit the circuit and moved here because I was ready to settle down and have a family. You know that song, I thought we were, ‘two of a kind…’”

  “‘Working on a full house.’” He easily finished the Garth Brooks lyric. “He rode the circuit, too?”

  I just nodded. “Roughstock. I guess…” I almost said “she.” I’d had too many drinks to play the pronoun game. “I should have realized that their mindset is just in the ride, in staying on for eight seconds, not for the long haul.”

  We sat without speaking for a while, old twangy country coming from a jukebox. Gabe got up for a second drink, and I waved off his offer to get me another. He settled back in and kept his gaze fixed on me, pinning me to the seat. “How long were you with her?”

  Had I heard him correctly? The time it took me to wonder already confirmed what he’d somehow known, so I didn’t bother lying. “Three years.”

  “She knew you wanted a baby when you quit the circuit?”

  “I thought it was her idea.” How was I having this conversation? Had he planned this? How long had he known I was gay? Was it my students? “Wait. Back up a minute. Did my students tell you I’m gay?”

  “You’re out to your students?” He looked surprised.

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” I hoped I didn’t sound as pathetic as I felt.

  “So that’s why you’re here,” he said. Once he had the whole story of my day, he looked like a fox exiting the henhouse after a feast.

  “I wish you weren’t enjoying this so much.”

  “I think I should enroll in your class to get tips on how to pick up women.”

  “So if they haven’t alerted the whole town, how is it you know?” I asked, kind of relieved that he did, so I had someone to talk to.

  “You talk like my sister.”

  “Your sister’s from Texas?” I asked, confused.

  “Girls who date guys would say, ‘he dumped me because he didn’t want kids.’ You’re careful like my sister used to be before she told me and my family.”

  “Oh. She single?” I asked, hopefully.

  “Recently married,” he apologized.

  “And not living here. You think I’m an idiot for moving to this little town? I’m going to get fired and be single forever.”

  “Probably.”

  I pushed my empty glass at him, and he caught it easily. “If it makes you feel any better, it sucks to be a single straight guy, too.”

  “You’re a terrible liar,” I said. “But a good friend. I expect you’re going to make me leave my rig here. I know! Let’s leave your rig here. That way, the whole town’ll be talking about you hooking up with someone.”

  “They’re all watching us leave together, Dani.”

  “Oh. So now we�
��re dating.”

  “Till you say otherwise, it looks that way. Hand over your keys. I’ve been wanting to drive your rig.”

  I handed over my keys, happy to let him drive me home, knowing how lucky I was for him to have found me, and for that matter for me to have found him. But that was Hope’s doing. My angel, again.

  “Did you and Hope date?” I asked into the darkness.

  “What makes you ask that?”

  “When I found her with the mules, first off, she wanted to know where you were. Did you two have a bad breakup, and she’s trying to make up for it by sending women your way?”

  “I’m telling her that’s what you think,” he said, rewarding me with that laugh of his again.

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Back in high school, we did,” Gabe answered.

  “Please tell me she broke up with you because you weren’t a girl.”

  “Hope? No! She broke up with me because I wasn’t Mormon enough.”

  “Oh.” I hadn’t expected that and sat stunned, trying to wrap my head around her being that religious. His words instantly sobered me.

  “Yeah. Not much use fighting that.”

  “I’m sorry, Gabe.”

  “Sorry enough to go out with me?”

  “In your dreams, man.”

  “Why isn’t there a country song about how unfair it is for the pretty girls to be gay?”

  “’Cause you haven’t written it yet.” I took my keys from him, thanked him for getting me home safely and told him to thank his mom for sending him out. I think I surprised us both when I wrapped my arms around his middle. We stood there hugging for a few minutes, and I thought, maybe things could be okay for me in this small town that seemed more and more like it had chosen me.

  Chapter Twelve

  The jingle of the bells on the diner’s door pulled Hope’s attention away from the order of dry goods she was putting together. She paused, listening for the drawl, and felt her body flutter when she heard it.

  Most days, she just listened to Halley flood Dani with the hundred things on her mind as she prepared a coffee for her. More days than not, the professor stopped for her usual on her way to campus. Hope glanced at her watch, though she already knew that the afternoon classes had finished. Dani didn’t usually come by so late. She found an excuse to leave the office and saw Dani settle into a booth across from Bob Peterson, a history professor. Halley was on campus, and Michelle, the waitress on duty, was in the back, so Hope grabbed a few menus and crossed the diner. She recognized Dani’s colleague. Handsome and single, he made an effort on his appearance with close-cropped curls and pressed coat and slacks, but close inspection revealed a cragginess about the edges that time was making harder to hide. “Good evening professors. Do you need menus?”