Nate really disliked the sound of the voice on the other end of the line. He’d known the unknown number calling him would be Oscar, and he’d quickly left the chickens to peck at their feed. He probably had twenty minutes before someone would notice he wasn’t with the horses, and even then, he could simply say he’d taken a walk.
He was allowed to walk.
“…so I’ll just need to know where you want my guy to come,” Oscar finished. Of course, he wouldn’t come to deal with Nate. He had underlings to help with that. Nate frowned at the far fence line, though the morning sunshine should’ve lifted his spirits.
“I can’t get you what you want in one delivery,” Nate said. “I’m sure you know I’m on parole, and in a re-entry program.”
“That is what I was told,” Oscar said, his voice never hitching. Nate never could tell how he was feeling, not even when they’d met in person. No matter what, though, Oscar wanted his money. And if he couldn’t get his money, he wasn’t happy. That was all Nate really needed to know.
“So I have to get a ride to town,” he said. “I’m never left alone.” He looked over his shoulder. He was alone right now, but Oscar surely wouldn’t know that.
“Yeah, the pretty redhead waits downstairs for you,” Oscar said, and Nate’s blood turned cold.
“That’s right,” he said, playing some of that coolness into his voice. “And she’d notice if I left the bank with a huge bag of cash.” He looked back out at the waving fields beyond the chicken pens. A semblance of peace existed here, and Nate didn’t want to crack it. He wouldn’t put Connor in jeopardy, nor anyone else on this ranch.
Things were different when it was just his neck on the line. Just his bet going to the bookie. Just a few thousand dollars.
But Oscar had accelerated things from simple horse betting and sports to investments, and Nate owed him a lot more than a few thousand dollars. He’d been ready to pay too, but then the indictments had come, and if Oscar wanted his money, he’d have to wait.
Which he’d been doing for almost five years.
“So I’ll send a guy to talk to the banker.”
“You will not,” Nate said. “I have my brother’s son now, and I have to live here. The money is there, Oscar. I know you’ve seen the account.” He probably hadn’t let a day go by of Nate’s sentence where he didn’t check that bank account.
When Nate got time on the computer, he used a few minutes of it to check the account himself. Still there, week after week. Still accumulating interest. Still bigger than Nate thought possible.
Now, with Ward’s money too, Nate wouldn’t need to work once he completed his six months at Hope Eternal Ranch. He would, though, because he’d had plenty of idle time in prison, and he didn’t like it. Not one little bit.
Oscar exhaled in a rare showing of his irritation. “Fine. When can I get the first installment?”
“I have it here at the ranch,” Nate said. “But you absolutely cannot come here.” His brain whirred through the week’s upcoming activities. “I can probably get to town on Friday or Saturday.”
He’d asked Ginger to eat dinner with him, and they had several times. Always with her friends and Spencer and Nick. Never alone. Maybe this weekend, he could achieve two things at once—dinner with Ginger alone, and a drop for Oscar.
“They have lockers at the mall,” Nate said. “I can put the bag in one of them, pay for it, and get your guy the code to open it.”
“Okay,” Oscar said. “Friday or Saturday.”
“I’ll have to see how it goes,” he said. “I don’t exactly make my own schedule like I used to.”
Oscar chuckled, which grated against Nate’s nerves. “Don’t call,” he said, still laughing. “Text, and delete.”
Nate was familiar with the T&D method Oscar preferred, and he couldn’t help feeling a little slimy as the call ended. A sigh passed through his whole body then, because he just wanted to be done with everything from his previous life.
“As soon as you pay him back, you will be,” he muttered to himself.
His phone rang again, and Nate recognized a number he was well-versed with. He’d sat at the phone where this call originated from, and he quickly swiped on the call from River Bay. “Ted?”
“How’d you know it’d be me?” Ted asked, a smile in his voice.
“Maybe because you’re the only person I gave this number to,” Nate said, smiling on back. No one had told him he’d miss his friends inside the prison. He’d thought he’d want to walk away from those fifteen hundred days without any baggage too. He’d been wrong, and he missed his boys that were still inside.
“How’s the ranch?” Ted asked.
“You know what? It’s pretty great.” Nate glanced around at the barn to his left, the vast stables about a hundred yards behind him to the right, the gently waving grasses and further out, stalks of corn.
“Not too many mosquitoes?”
“A few,” he said. “It is by the water.” He’d taken Connor out to a pond in the middle of the ranch, where Spencer had told them to go to catch a few small fish. They hadn’t caught anything though, and Nick said they had to take bacon to get the crawdads to come up. Nate was planning on doing that with Connor in the near future. “So you get fifteen minutes,” he added. “And I know you didn’t call to chat about the ranch.”
To an inmate, their outbound calls were precious. With only three each week, and only fifteen minutes long, every call had to be really important. The prison monitored every call, except those to lawyers, but Nate wasn’t worried about something Ted would say. They’d banded together inside River Bay for a reason, and that was so they’d be able to watch each other’s backs.
“Right,” Ted said, another chuckle coming from his mouth. “Down to twelve minutes. I wanted to ask about the RRC program.”
Surprise darted through Nate. “Oh.” He’d never given it much thought, because he hadn’t dreamed Ward would die or that he’d altered his will. Nate had asked his lawyer to find out where Ward’s ex-wife was, but he hadn’t heard anything yet. “What about it?”
“Do you like it?”
“It has some advantages,” Nate said. “For sure. For one, I have a place to live. A job. A way to earn money. Someone to help me with all the things it takes to live.”
“Bank account, utilities, stuff like that,” Ted said.
“Yeah, all of that,” Nate said. “But I can’t leave the ranch. I can’t go to town myself. I’m driven everywhere.” He didn’t want to dwell on the negative. “It’s nice having my daily interview with Ginger, though. We’re to weeklies now, and I haven’t heard from my parole officer yet. So that’s nice too. She’s nice, and she’s actually pretty easy to work with.” He’d never truly met with a parole officer, so he couldn’t say if he’d like it or not, but he knew it wouldn’t be as casual or as enjoyable as chatting with Ginger about what help he needed and what he was doing fine with.
“I’m wondering if she’d take me,” Ted said, his voice made of ice. He wouldn’t give away if he wanted the RRC at Hope Eternal or not, that was for sure. But him just asking about it meant he wanted it.
“Oh.” More surprise danced through Nate. “I mean, I don’t know. Is she allowed to have more than one inmate here at a time?”
“No idea.”
“I suppose your six months is coming up in what? Three months?”
“Eighty-eight days,” Ted said. They’d talked many times about their release dates, and what they’d do once they got out. The meals they’d eat. The things they’d see and do.
Nate hadn’t done any of them. Yet, he told himself. He wasn’t really out yet anyway.
“Let me find out,” he said. “You sure you want to come here? It’s a lot of work, and Ginger expects you to know it all already. There’s very little training, and a lot of horses, and I don’t think I’ve worked less than twelve hours a day since I got here.”
“I’m not afraid of hard work,” Ted said at the same time someone behind Nate said, “Of course I expect a lot of you, especially that you’re where you said you were going to be.”
He spun around at the angry—no, furious—tone in Ginger’s voice. He wasn’t sure how many minutes Ted had left on the call, but he knew they wouldn’t go into a bank his friend could use later. He took in Ginger’s blotchy, red face and her folded arms, and decided his friend would have to eat the leftover minutes.
“I have to go,” he said to Ted, who started to protest. “Sorry. Call me next week.” He hung up the phone and glanced at the man who’d come up behind Ginger, huffing and puffing and clearly not wearing the right kind of footwear for a ranch. Nate knew, because he hadn’t been for the first week either.
“I’m sorry?” he asked, his nerves fraying a bit. He knew who that guy was, and he’d rather go shovel manure out of a stall than deal with an angry Ginger and then sit through an interview with his parole officer.
“You’re supposed to be in the stable,” Ginger said, practically shooting fire from her eyes. “And you didn’t answer when I called.”
“I was on the phone.” He lifted his phone as if she hadn’t overheard him talking on it. He’d actually considered asking her about bringing Ted here too, but there was no way that could happen. At least not right now.
“Yes, I heard.” Ginger’s glare could take an entire herd down, but only a flicker of annoyance started in Nate’s gut. It fanned into a flame that burned up and up, and he found himself glaring back.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “But I am entitled to a fifteen-minute break in the morning.” He looked at the other man. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Nathaniel Mulbury.”
“Oh, of course,” the man said. “I’m Martin Landy.” The two shook hands, and he nodded back toward the more civilized parts of the ranch. “Should we go talk at the house?”
“Sure,” Nate said, casting one more glance at Ginger. She hadn’t softened at all, and Nate’s ire went right back up. He couldn’t believe he’d told Ted she was nice or easy to work with. Right now, she seemed like a simmering pot about to boil over, and he’d be the one to clean it all up.
Martin walked away, but Nate held back for a few moments. He turned to Ginger, who still wore that growl right on her face. “It sure is nice to know for certain that you don’t trust me,” he said, his voice on the growly side too.
“I didn’t say that.”
“I’m at least a mile from the fence,” he said, taking a menacing step closer to her. “And I don’t have to drop everything in my life and answer your calls, Ginger. That’s not part of the program.” He glared down at her, actually satisfied when she started to wilt. “And you do expect a lot, and you’re demanding, and you know what? I haven’t cared, because I’m just so dang glad to be here. But that doesn’t mean it’s been easy for me.”
“Who were you talking to?”
“None of your business,” he said. “Who I talk to is another thing I don’t have to clear with you.” With his heart pounding in his chest, he fell back a step. “If you’d have told me my parole officer was coming this morning, I’d have met you at the house.”
“I thought—” She cut off when Nate held up his hand, and he supposed he probably wore a storm on his face too. They looked at one another, and Nate had a lot more to say. Instead of letting it out and regretting it later, he simply shook his head and turned around to follow Martin.
The interview with Martin passed in a blur where Nate only tuned in half the time. He must’ve done a good enough job to pass, because Martin took his phone number and said he’d call next month.
Once he was gone, Nate focused on his chores, but he found himself slamming buckets down when he should just set them. A hurricane blew through him, and he didn’t know how to get it to move on.
The sound of crying met his ears, and it was far too early for the kids to be on the ranch for their riding lessons.
“Connor,” he said under his breath, his mood morphing from anger to concern in less time than it took to breathe. He abandoned the buckets of oats he’d been distributing to the horses and jogged out of the stables, already searching for his nephew.
Hannah Otto, the accountant for the ranch, carried the little boy, who clung to her as if his life depended on it. “I’m sorry,” she said. “He fell while riding his bike, and nothing I did could calm him.” She passed him to Nate, who took the dribbling, sniffling boy and drew him right into his chest.
“It’s fine,” he said to Hannah. “Thank you for bringing him. I’d have come if you’d called.”
She stepped back and put her hands in her back pockets, her short blonde hair sticking out at odd angles. “I have to get back. I have an appointment in ten minutes.”
“Go,” Nate said. “I’m fine.”
The woman walked away, and once again, Nate felt nothing with her, though she was slim and pretty and educated. She spent the most time with Connor during the day, as she had an office in the house with a TV in it. Connor said he liked her, and that she had boxes of cookies in her bottom drawer that he could have whenever he wanted them.
“Are you hurt, bud?” he asked Connor, trying to get him to let go of his neck. Connor finally did, and Nate looked at his face. “I don’t see any blood.”
“My knees hurt,” Connor said with a whimper.
Nate glanced down, though the boy still had his legs around Nate’s waist. “All right,” he said as calmly as he could. “Let’s have a look.” He took Connor into the stables and set him on the top of one of the doors that led to an empty stable. “Oh, yeah, look at that.” He looked at Connor and smiled. Anything to put on a brave face. “Skinned knees.”
Connor’s bottom lip trembled, and Nate wanted to fold him into a hug and never let go. “I can fix these.”
“Can you, Uncle Nate?” One big alligator tear fell down Connor’s cheek, and Nate’s heart turned to mush. This kid needed him, and Nate was as committed as ever to make sure he was there for his nephew. As much as possible, he was going to be there.
Don’t go to the mall, ran through his mind, and Nate’s smile slipped. “Sure I can,” he said, wishing he had an older brother to call. Ward would know what to do with skinned knees on four-year-old boys—and what to do about the money drop this weekend.
He stepped over to a first aid box attached to the wall and pulled it down. “It’ll be quick, and then you can help me with the horses for the riding lessons.”
“Can I?” Connor’s voice held so much hope, and Nate didn’t want to tell him no.
So he said, “Yep. You’ll have to stay right by my side.”
“I can, Uncle Nate.”
He smiled at Connor as he quickly cleaned his knees and then put two Band-Aids over the bloodiest parts. “All done.”
Connor looked at him like Nate held the world in the palm of his hand, and the whole sky got brighter for just that one moment.
“Hey, little man,” Nick said as he entered the stable. “You helpin’ with the horses today?”
“Sure am,” Connor said, made of smiles now. Nate helped him down, and he ran over to Nick, who picked him up and swung him around, both of them laughing.
Nate smiled too, because Connor was happy again. As he watched Nick set Connor down and take his hand, all the while talking about a horse named Willowwood, Nate wondered if maybe he could have the other cowboy make his drop for him this weekend…
He’s Ginger’s cousin, Nate told himself. And then Ginger lodged herself in his mind, and Nate started working on the words he needed to apologize to her. A whole new kind of sigh moved through his body, but he needed Ginger on his side. So he’d swallow his pride and make sure he got back on the same page with the woman he wanted to spend more time with. Go to dinner with.
Maybe even kiss…