*Every small town had a bar like the Wolf Den and Chet had been in a lot of them during his life thanks to his old man. As he pulled open the door, he was hit with the vile smell of stale alcohol, old frying oil, and grilled burgers. The combination reminded him of too many nights he’d gone looking for his father, wondering if there was money for his supper and was he supposed to sleep in the truck or what?
Thankfully he hadn’t had to depend on his father for food for too many years. He’d started picking up odd jobs when he was ten and by sixteen he’d been fully independent. But walking into a place like this brought back some of the worst of his memories.
He stopped to let his eyes adjust to the dim lighting, and his ears to the loud outlaw country music playing on the sound system.
First he focused on the bar, studying the patrons, and dismissing them. Then he examined the people sitting at tables and the perimeter booths.
He wasn’t there.
Chet checked his phone again.
I’ll wait for you at the Wolf Den. You can buy me dinner.
Once more, Chet scanned the room, this time quickly, convinced his father had stood him up. Wouldn’t be the first time.
A small, old man at the bar gave him a wave. Chet did a double take.
Damn it, that was the old man. Reluctantly he stepped forward. They didn’t hug or even shake hands. That would have been much too civilized for Walt Hardwick.
Walt patted the stool next to his. “Sit.”
Like a dog, Chet obeyed. But he couldn’t take his eyes off his father. It had been around five years since he’d seen him last and during that time his father had lost a ton of weight. He seemed shorter, too, though he’d never been a tall man. He had the skin of a man ten years older than his sixty-five years. And it had an unhealthy yellow cast.
“Want a beer?” his father asked.
Chet shook his head.
“Well I’ll have one if you’re paying. A burger and fries as well.”
Chet caught the bartender’s attention and placed the order for his father.
“And for yourself?” the barkeep asked.
“Nothing.” He couldn’t eat here. He’d get sick. He waited for his father to tell him what he wanted. Besides the free meal.
“So what you got to say for yourself?” his father asked.
“Not much. What’s new with you?”
“Nothing new. Same shit as ever.”
The beer arrived and Walt wasted no time putting it down and asking for another.
“So what are you doing here?” Chet finally asked.
“Can’t a man come visit his son? I saw you were competing and I drove up to watch.”
“Drove up from where?”
“Does it matter?”
Chet thought about that. Decided it didn’t.
When the burger arrived, Walt took just a few bites before pushing it aside. “Seems like you’re not competing as much as you used to.”
Chet was surprised he’d paid enough attention to notice. “I’m getting old. Thinking of giving it up soon.”
“You call thirty old?” Spittle flew from the older man’s mouth. “Wait ’til you’re my age.”
“Rodeo’s a young man’s sport. I don’t want to end up all crippled and arthritic.”
“Yeah, well they tell me you got yourself a college degree. Been giving advice to all the cowboys on how to save for retirement and shit like that.”
Chet felt his jaw clench tight. He took a deep breath. “What of it?”
“Nothing. Just repeating what I heard.” He downed a french fry, finished his second beer. “You like your chances for the tie-down? I see Pete Proctor’s on the schedule. He’ll be tough to beat.”
Chet wondered how much more of this he would have to take before his father finally asked for whatever it was he wanted. But the minutes dragged on, and Walt asked for another beer and still no request was forthcoming.
By eight Chet couldn’t take it anymore. “I got to get going. I’m up early to look after my horses.”
“Where you sleeping?”
Chet did not want to say. “Why?”
“Been bunking out in my truck the last few nights. Be good to sleep in a bed for a change. Maybe take a shower.”
So he’d been serious. The old man really did want to stay with him. Chet wanted to say no. He really did. Being around the old man was toxic for him. And he really didn’t want him anywhere near Amy.
But, low-down skunk that he was, this was his father.
“There’s a pull-out couch in my room.”
“Great, you can have that. I’ll take the bed.”
*
It was almost dark, but Chet could see Amy sitting on her front porch as he pulled up his truck to the bed-and-breakfast. His father parked his old beater right behind him and Chet felt his gut tighten as he imagined what Amy must be thinking.
He got out of his truck slowly and ignoring his father who was pulling a backpack from his truck, he went to see Amy. He noticed she had a glass of wine tonight with just a splash left in it.
“How are you doing? Was your guest okay?”
“I wasn’t sure you cared. After you took off like that.” Amy finished the wine and set the glass down on a table. “My guest had a sprained ankle. She tripped in the hallway, the hallway that was too dark because I hadn’t yet changed the light bulb.”
“Damn, I’m sorry.” He should have changed that for her, even though she’d told him not to.
“No.” She put up her hand. “It’s not your fault. Don’t you dare apologize. Anyway, the guests have left—they’re driving back to Canada.” Her gaze shifted to something—or someone—behind him. “Is that your…”
It cost Chet all his nerve to turn and acknowledge his father. The old man was moving slowly, looking like most every bone in his body was hurting. His father was the perfect example of what hard living and too much rodeo could do to a man.
“Amy, this is my father Walt. I was wondering if he could bunk in my room with me for the night.”
“Oh.” Amy stood and took a long look at the man behind him before saying, “Hello, Mr. Hardwick.”
“Good evenin’, ma’am.”
She turned back to Chet. “Of course your father can stay with you. Would you like an extra key?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Chet said. “Though it looks like I’ll be needing that extra towel after all.”
*
While his father was in the shower, Chet went outside to see if Amy was still on the porch. She was. And she’d refilled her wineglass.
“I’m sorry to bring a man like my father to your bed-and-breakfast,” he began. “Tomorrow I’ll try and find him a motel room.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
He went a few steps closer. Paused on the bottom rung of the porch stairs. Amy had showered and changed since this afternoon. Even from here he could smell her clean scent, layered with her sweet exotic perfume. He felt a deep longing and a sadness. Maybe in an alternate universe, one where his mother didn’t die and his father didn’t drink, he and Amy would have had a chance.
“He’s a drunk and a liar and a freeloader. Believe me, you don’t want him here.” And neither do I.
“He’s a lot older than I expected.”
“He’s sixty-five.”
“I would have guessed eighty. Is he sick?”
“Nah, just too much booze and tobacco and every other bad habit you can think of.” He was tired. Ready to go to bed. But he didn’t want to go back to his room until the old man was flaked out.
As if she sensed his reluctance to leave Amy offered him a glass of wine. Then remembering he didn’t drink she added, “I could make you some coffee.”
Shame that she had seen his father, the man with whom he shared fifty percent of his DNA, kept him where he was. “That’s fine. I should leave you in peace.” He was turning to leave, intending to take a late-night stroll along the river, but her voice called him back.
“I never had a chance to thank you for today. For the riding lesson. I was terrified at the beginning.”
He grinned. “I noticed.”
“You must think I’m a real scaredy-cat but I didn’t used to be this way. In fact, I was almost too fearless. Or so my mother said.” Her bottom lip trembled. She took another sip of wine.
He guessed it was the accident that had changed her, and he understood. He’d seen the same thing happen to many of his rodeo colleagues. After a bad fall some of them shook it off and went back in the ring as soon as they could. For others it was harder. And took longer. Or didn’t happen at all.
“That’s okay,” he said. “You might have been scared. But you rose above it. You got on the horse. And you did great.”
“Thanks. You’re being kind. I bet nothing ever scares you.”
“Not true. I’ve been scared silly lots of times. So far, I’ve been lucky—all my injuries have been minor. But each passing year and each new rodeo is beginning to feel like a spin of the roulette wheel.”
“So why don’t you stop spinning?”
“Yeah. I’ve been asking myself that.” Then, because he didn’t want to talk about himself or his future prospects—which looked bleak to him right now—he asked if she was going to keep up the riding lessons.
“I’d like to. Any chance I could get another lesson tomorrow?”
She had caught the bug. And he’d have loved to give her a lesson tomorrow and every other day she wanted, but reality had come knocking today and it had broken down the door. “I may have my hands full with my father. But I’m sure you could find another teacher. I’ll ask Sage who she recommends.”
Amy looked at him in silence. He could see her swallow. Take a deep breath.
“It’s getting late. I better go prep my breakfast.”
He nodded. Took a backward step.
“Oh wait. I almost forgot.” She tossed something at him. “Here’s your extra towel.”
“Thanks.” He waited for her to go inside before heading back to his room. The lights were all off. It should be safe to go inside.
He knew his father had an ulterior motive for tracking him down to Marietta. It was probably money. Chet wondered how much he’d want this time. He wished he could tell the old man to go to hell. He’d worked hard to save his money and it was supposed to be the starter fund for the next stage in his life. Whatever that was going to be.
But he’d probably do what he’d done all the other times, just to get rid of him and the toxic effect of his presence on Chet’s life. He’d grit his teeth. And fork over the cash.