Branch Connally tossed his keys on the worn tile of the kitchen counter, pondering for a moment how differently they had sounded when landing on the granite topping the counters in his former home, the one his attorney now lived in. The keys were different, too, squad car long gone, along with the truck so new he'd not even had time to wash it before David Ridges' "suicide" had killed his own career.
He thought on that for a moment before pulling a glass from the cabinet and filling it with water from the tap. The well water tasted of the iron in the soil, but was cool, at least, and lacked the city-water chlorine that now made his stomach burn.
It had been a long drive to and from Billings, and he cracked his back as he'd learned to do in his rodeo days before pulling amber pill vials from the cabinet.
"Take two before bedtime." The sun was setting over the mountains, so it qualified as close to bedtime. He swallowed the pills, bitter in so many ways, and strode out the door to a small corral whose occupant stretched her neck over the top rail.
"At least somebody's happy to see me," he hooked the bridle with his left hand and smoothed his right hand up the mare's chocolate brown face, flicking the flax mane which dangled between her eyes.
The mare followed him to the gate, standing patiently while he entered the corral, and then the small six-stall barn, nuzzling his elbow while he scooped feed from the nearly-empty container into a shallow bucket. She pushed past him into the stall and he closed the door with her inside. He secured the barn door against the predators that still roamed remote ranches. Halfway to the house, his head swam and he hurried, sinking into bed as the medicine plunged him into a heavy sleep.
Morning's first rays sliced through the thin curtains, prompting him to stumble through his morning routine, truly waking only after his first cup of coffee. He downed his morning dose of medication, which did not make him dizzy, but made the world feel flat and distant.
He hurried to the barn, releasing the mare, whose stall was marked Amedei, back into the corral. Ensuring she had sufficient water and feed for the day, he turned the key in the 10 year old pickup, relieved when it started on the second crank, a quick glance at the fuel gauge prompting a prayer he had enough gas for the 25-mile drive to the Falling Water Ranch.
His commute took him through the edge of Durant, past the former offices of Connally, LLC. They were empty now, recently sold along with Barlow's ranch to satisfy the company's debts. He pressed his lips together, acknowledging the irony that it had been the company's ruinous financial state that had likely convinced the jury that he had not killed his own father so he could inherit a fortune. The fortune had evaporated in the construction crash of 2008-Barlow had managed to stave off bankruptcy for 6 years-so Branch had been acquitted.
The ranch house at Falling Water had 3 flagpoles: an American flag in the center, flanked by a Wyoming state flag and a black POW-MIA flag. Gip Howard had been drafted the same year as Walt Longmire and Henry Standing Bear. Like them, his words about his Vietnam experience were sparse and terse. But there were days when Branch would find the rancher backed into a corner, eyes wild and searching for an escape route. Those were the days they would work silently, side-by-side, until Gip would suggest they stop for water. They'd find a shady spot and sit for a minute, each of them scanning the horizon for approaching danger before sheepishly returning to work. It had been Gip who had hooked him up with a PTSD support group in Billings when his COBRA benefits had run out. And it had been Gip who'd offered him a job after the trial.
"Morning," Gip's hat tipped in the slanting rays of the sun as he drained the last drops from his mug. He followed Branch to the ranch's pickup which they had loaded with posts, tools, and rolls of barbed wire the evening before. By day's end, they had replaced three posts and repaired wire on four sections of fence. After they unloaded the truck, Gip proferred a sealed pay envelope and wished him a good weekend. Branch drove back toward Durant, stopping at the bank to pay the weekly portion of his ranch rent, and the power company to pay his utility bill. The gas station depleted the envelope further, leaving just enough for a month's worth of feed for Amedei and a tiny bit of pocket money. He had the feed bag balanced on his shoulder and was stuffing the change into his pocket when he walked straight into Cady Longmire. He managed to hold onto the feed, and caught her before she fell. She grabbed onto his shirt, her touch lighting up nerve endings long dark.
"I'm sorry!"
"Are you okay?"
They blurted at the same time. Her red hair shone in the late afternoon sun.
"I'm fine."
"It's okay."
They replied, again in sync.
She paused, looking at him intently before releasing him. He nodded, hat dipping, and walked toward his truck.
"How are you?" He could feel her gaze, scrutinizing his feed-store jeans, shirt, and work boots.
He set the feed in the bed of the pickup, then turned and leaned against the truck, maintaining a buffer zone between them. "How are you?"
She met his gaze, then, just as quickly, cast her eyes downward. "Good. I'm good."
He nodded. "How's the public defender's office?"
"I like it. A lot more than I thought I would." She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Dad says you're working for Gip Howard."
He crossed his arms. "Yeah." He croaked, silently cursing the medicine and its cotton-mouth side effect while climbing into the truck.
Cady followed him, and stood beside the truck, but kept her distance. "Branch, I'm sorry about your dad. I never got to tell you. Things got so complicated, but I'm sorry."
"No reason for you to be sorry." He felt his heartbeat quicken, and willed it to slow. "He caused a lot of misery for many people."
"Especially you." She reached out her hand, but stopped short of touching him. "But he was still your father."
He could not remember how to grin wryly, so he stared at her, all of her, for a long instant before nodding, then pulling away.