2 – Reaching Out
The Sheriff's new Ford Bronco sped down the highway and off the Rez with Henry in the passenger seat, elbow bent out the open window, wind tossing jet black hair into his eyes, waiting for an explanation from Walt as to what was going on.
"I heard you talking to Julia," Walt finally began. "You had plans today. Why didn't you say something?" he asked as they headed toward the Big Horn Mountains.
"She and Carl can handle it. Besides, you said you needed my help. What is wrong?" Henry watched the emerging prairie whiz by and change to tree-lined grassland.
Walt sighed, jaw tightening. "A lot's happened lately. A sheep herder is killed over a land deal. Stolen cattle show up on Main Street. A man puts a hit on his wife and you apply for the job. Another man's painted red and someone blows him up. What's this world coming to?" His fist gripped the steering wheel.
"It has, indeed, become a difficult place," Henry replied flatly.
"Then, someone sabotages Cady's car. Nearly kills her. Over what?" he half absently grumbled.
Henry's jaw flexed. The thought of almost losing his goddaughter to a texting accident angered him beyond words. And, between his trip to Kenya and Cady's accident, he'd been thinking a lot about how quickly life can change and how much is so often taken for granted.
"She should be out of the hospital by the end of the week." Walt sighed heavily. "This world's gone crazy, an' I don't know how much more I can take."
"You are a good man, Walt. A strong man." Henry reached to clasp his friend's shoulder. "Maheo does not give us more than we can handle. You will get through," he reassured.
Walt paused, then continued. "You've been different since you've been back."
"Different? How so?"
"Quieter. More serious. Working more."
Henry smirked. "That from a man who would rather work than keep company with a beautiful, spirited, willing woman."
Walt snorted. He hadn't told him that he'd already crossed that barrier with Lizzie the night before the election. "I'm just saying, I've noticed a change, and if there's anything … I mean, if you need…aw, hell…"
Henry chuckled. "Do you remember when Julia and I came home, when we had everyone over?" Walt nodded slightly remembering the breathtaking photos and stories that were told. "I tried to explain it then, but it was difficult to put into words." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "As a society, we take a great deal for granted. We complain about all that we do not have when we should appreciate, even celebrate, all that we do have." He shook his head and sighed. "I always thought I understood poverty, survival, but not the level that I saw over there. But, that is not what struck me the most. Even with what little they have, their struggle, they celebrate life; embrace it, dance and sing." Henry's face shone with the passion of his words. "We should all experience that."
"Like that picture on your mantel. The one of you and Julia with the tribe in Mandera. Looked like a big party."
Henry nodded. One of his favorites. It was mostly of faces tipped to the sky in song and smiles. A group photo of him, Julia and the tribe, dancing. The feeling exuded through the frozen image. "It was spontaneous. Brooke took the picture."
There was a long silence as trees whizzed by.
"How do you appreciate almost losing your child?" Walt nearly whispered.
"By recognizing that she is still alive." Henry tipped his head, gazing out the window as another round of silence passed through the truck. "I am going to ask Julia to marry me."
Walt jerked, swerved, hitting the soft shoulder of the highway, and quickly straightened back.
"What?" he choked then shook his head. "Should'a seen that coming."
Henry's thin lips curved up slightly at the corners.
Pulling off the road and onto another gravel drive, Henry's brows furrowed at the log cabin in front of them.
"Why are we here?" he asked suspiciously.
"I need his help, too," Walt replied swinging the driver's door open as a middle-aged, medium built man in a well-worn, light green, gabardine hunting vest and khaki cargo pants stepped onto the rough-hewn balcony of the rustic cabin, shotgun over his shoulder. "Omar," Walt greeted.
"What's he doing here?" Omar motioned with the tip of his rifle as Henry swung the passenger door open.
"Best tracker I know," Walt answered.
Omar grunted as he stepped down the stairs toward the truck. "I gotta sit in the front. Bum knee."
Henry eyed him contemptuously but obligingly moved to the rear seat. It wasn't worth fighting about.
"You know the murder of that game warden couple of days ago? Over the poaching of an elk?" Walk began now that both men were in the truck. "Well, I got a line on the guy who did it. A fella who acts as a guide for a couple of hunting companies in town. One of the outfits says he's up near Piedmont Falls scouting fishing holes. Thought we'd go up and track him down."
Henry scowled from the back seat. He felt for the young warden and his family, and there was not much lower than hunting an animal out of season, except killing it and leaving most of the carcass behind as this poacher had done. Only certain parts of the animal had been harvested and the rest left to rot. Henry's jaw clenched. He looked forward to this.
xxxxxx
"You and me, hunnn, darlin'?" Carl grinned, his southern drawl dripping charm as I stepped into the unexpectedly modern kitchen of the Red Pony.
He already had pots rattling on the stove and a plastic bin of something on the prep counter. The man stood barely five-seven, with a short-cropped hair speckled with gray, though he was only in his mid-forties. His black Tennessee Whiskey t-shirt was loose over the top of ancient Wranglers as he leaned his wiry body onto his elbows on the counter.
"What's on the menu today?" I asked moving to the stove and lifting a lid, sniffing.
"Beef stew with buttermilk biscuits an' caramel pudding." He came up beside me, one hand on his lean hip, the other slowly pushing the lid back down. "It'll cook faster with the lid on."
"Trying to get rid of me already?" I teased with a playful pout.
"Not a chance." His grin showed an engaging little dimple in his right cheek.
Carl was the type of man who quietly sat on the fringes watching people, and enjoyed it. He liked his solitude, but never minded a bit a company. He was efficient, almost obsessive, about his work and work space. And, was a fantastic cook often being approached by rival restaurants, to which he always declined. He'd made it clear that he enjoyed life at the Red Pony and had no intention of leaving. He'd even tried (and succeeded) in making a few of my favorite Kenyan dishes. Yay!
"What can I do to help?" I turned to find him closer than I expected and could smell the Old Spice soap he'd used in his morning shower. There was an unmoving second before he drew himself back to the moment and retreated.
"Tins are over there." He pointed to a stack of round, aluminum take-out tins as he returned to the stove. "We'll put the stew in those, the biscuit in plastic wrap, an' the pudding in those half-cup containers we use for coleslaw. I'm glad to say, most of the folks recycle what we send. 'nita collects most of the tins an' cups, an' they get a good steam wash here. It'd be a waste if it all ended up in the trash." He stirred the pot. "Pass me that container." He motioned to the plastic bin on the counter.
The preparation for the stew was easy. The leftover vegetables had been parboiled and refrigerated during the week, and the meat and gravy had been put on to slow cook the night before. It was just a matter of mixing the two together and making sure the veggies were soft enough. Then, the stew was poured into the tins, and the rest up got wrap. Carl and I were done in less than two hours, and together we loaded my little Escort.
"You need anything else, you let me know. Got my cell number?" he asked while sliding the last box into the back seat. As I pulled out my phone, gentle fingers lifted it from my hand, and he deftly keyed in his number. "That'll do it. Drive safe." He absently tapped the roof of the car as I moved to the driver's side.
Pulling out of the packed-dirt lot, I glanced in the rear view mirror. Carl stood watching with his hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans. As I turned onto the highway, he lowered his head and went back to the kitchen. Prep for the lunch crowd had to be started.
xxxxxxx
"Aw for Pete's sake, stop yer moanin'," Omar grumbled as he helped Henry hobble into the emergency room, Henry's arm swung over his shoulder for balance.
"I am not moaning. And, Pete has nothing to do with this. If you had not distracted me, I would not have stepped into a hole with four-inch wooden spikes in it." Angry annoyance was clear as pain shot from Henry's calf to hip.
"Yer moanin'." Omar unceremoniously dropped him into a moulded plastic seat and waved toward a nurse. "I thought you were such a great tracker. Couldn't ya see there was a trap?"
"I would have had you not been talking so much."
"Yadda yadda yadda, we caught the guy, didn't we?"
Henry scowled. Yes, they'd caught the man and he was presently sitting in the back of Walt's truck outside the emergency room doors. Walt had insisted on driving Henry to the hospital before taking him to jail.
"Think you can handle it from here?" Omar grinned at the pretty young nurse who came to look at Henry's leg. "Walt wants to get that guy to the station."
"I will be fine," Henry muttered to Omar's already retreating back.
"Hunting accident?" the nurse asked as she knelt in front of Henry taking a quick look at the wound.
"You could say."