I followed the stable buck out of the room. As I stepped outside and into the cool, mildly humid air, I gazed up at the speckled sky, illuminated by the light of a thousand stars. Crooks and I walked along the dusty road that led to the slightly worn stable, occasionally glancing at the grazing livestock, who were mindlessly chewing at the fresh, tall grass swaying methodically in the evening breeze. When we reached the barn, I stepped into the large, dusty building.
"I got it from here," I reckoned.
Crooks merely nodded and went to the harness room. I grabbed the bucket of hot tar sitting next to the open door and headed over Millie's stall; my lead mule. Sighing, I slowly opened her door, not scaring her in the process. She has been skittish for the past few weeks, no doubt because of the ruckus Lulu caused when she charged into the barn, barking at a few loose chickens that had meandered in.
Closing the door behind me, I glance over Millie. Her chipped right hoof was dangling an inch off of the ground. I slowly bent down to her hoof and, gently dragging the old oak stool behind me under her hoof, pulled out the small tar-covered brush out of the bucket. I slowly wrapped my free hand around her hoof, causing her to jolt.
"Hey, hey, it's okay Millie. It's just me."
I heard shuffling behind me.
"Who's there?" I asked, surveying the barn.
My eyes landed on Lennie, playing with Lulu's puppies.
"Hey Lennie, why don't you head on back to the bunkhouse; you shouldn't be pettin' them pups so much."
Lennie frowned, not wanting to leave the puppies, but eventually got up and unhappily trudged back to the bunkhouse.
The mule snorted and glanced back at me with her soft, coal-black eyes, filled with fear.
I began to smoothly paint the hot tar onto her chipped hoof, humming softly to myself. When the job was done, I lowered her hoof onto the stool, with the warm tar facing up to cool. I stood up and cracked my back, stiff from being hunched over. I reached for my back pocket and pulled out a picture of Heather. It was in these silent moments that I could reflect on my memories.
Heather was the most beautiful gal I'd ever seen; her iridescent emerald eyes complimented her bright russet hair, which she held back in a loose bun. But it wasn't her eyes or her hair that made her so amazing; it was her voice. She would softly sing sorrowful and serene soliloquies, it's emotion seeping through every aspect of my life. We would meet at Calli's piano bar every Saturday night, and she would sing while I would accompany her with a light piano serenade. After our performances, we would wander up the coastal mountains of southern California, catching the last rays of sun and gazing with amazement at the endless night sky above us. I loved watching the beautiful sunsets with her. But I would give up every sunset I'd ever seen to see her just one more time.
After a few years, we decided to get married. After a few weeks, she was pregnant. After a few months, she had Emmie.
I still remember the night my Emmie was born. The hospital was stark white, and the smell of cleanliness reeked. I held Heather's hand as she softly cradled the newborn child. She was fading. Fast.
"Heather, just hang on; I can't do this without you. Please," I whispered, my throat sore from encouraging her throughout the day. She glanced out the window at the setting sun, it's blood red streaks covering the sky. She smiled as a single tear raced down her cheek.
"Take care of our Emmie for me," she whispered.
She would have been a great mother.
I soon quit my job at Calli's, the memory of her too strong for me. When I ran out of money, I had to sell the ranch and search for a job. I gave my sweet Emmie to Heather's sister, Elysa, knowing that she would take better care of her than me.
I was shaken out of my thoughts when Curley stormed into the barn, scaring Millie. The mule bucked, and I barely escaped her previously chipped hoof.
"Damn it, Curley! What the hell?!"
Curley searched Millie's stall, only finding me. Whit and Carlson trailed behind Curley.
"Do you know where Sally is?" he asked, his face beet red with anger.
"I ain't in charge of your wife; I ain't seen her," I replied snarkily.
"You ain't got no right to talk to me that way; I can have you fired in a second!" Curley taunted, sneering at me. I glared right back into his eyes, defying him.
" Oh, please. Anywhere else would be better than here. I've seen the way she looks at you. She purposely avoids you. So let me give you a small piece of advice before you lose her."
My words were as cold and forceful as steel.
"Keep her close, 'cause you never know when she'll leave you."
Pushing my way past Curley, I stormed my way back to the bunkhouse.
I was probably going to regret talking back to him later, but the words needed to be said.
He should appreciate that his wife was still alive.