Three

Sounds of dishes clattering and knives and forks beating against plates filled the air during dinner time at Skylark, accompanied by the banter of ranch men exchanging their tales of the day. Men cluttered all of the ten checker-clothed wooden tables, shaded while they ate and talked by the leaves of the tall oaks above their heads. Scents of meat, corn, and beans wafted through the small area, delighting the noses of those waiting for meals of their own and who had yet to eat. A line of men such as these stood beneath the tin overhang outside of the kitchen building, chatting amongst themselves as they did. George was one of them, and with him stood Walt, and the two were speaking of the day's events as if they had known each other for years.

"I mean, you heard him, right?" Walt's mouth twitched, trying to form a smile. "I bet you I could carry three of these here barley bags at one time! And then he tries it…" Both men's faces broke in amusement as they each raised a hand over their lips, trying to stifle their sniggering. Walt leaned in closer to George, preparing to give the final stanza of that day's story.

"And twists his ankle at one!" Walt finished, and the two's bodies shook with contained laughter. Walt wiped his eyes, shaking his head and smiling amusedly. George leaned against the wooden post, fanning himself with his hat as his own face held a wide smile. He peered backwards along the line, and spotted Kelly near the rear, favoring his left leg as he waited for his own meal. George turned back to Walt, hitching a thumb back in the direction of the injured man.

"He always like that? Braggin' an' startin' fights an' pickin' on people?" he asked.

"Thinks he's the greatest, Mark Kelly. Best thing since sliced bread."

"I can tell." George placed his hat back on his head, then crossed his arms over his chest. "Hell of an idiot."

"And more." Walt shook his head. "You're gonna see so much crap from this guy that you're gonna wanna get yourself miles away from him. Haven't a choice though, of course. We're on his team. And there ain't no complaint filin' like there is at those fancy businesses back east. So we carry on."

"So that's how it is all the time with him? Don't he ever do nothin' people like?"

Walt's eyes peeked left then right, then he said softly, "I know it ain't nice of me to say so, but I'll be one hell of a happy guy when he kicks the bucket."

George snorted, and Walt grinned.

"Well, hey, George. Now that you're here, I'll have more help pissin' off that bastard."

George shook his head. "Nah, I like to keep my neck outta that sorta thing."

"Oh, come on! George, you gotta live a little, my friend. Sip the cup of life! Taste the bitter sweet dregs of mortality! Live it up!"

"Where did you come from?" George asked, laughing.

"Sacramento, but that's not the point. The point is that you need to lighten up! Have fun! Get a girl!"

"Get a girl?"

"That's right! A girl! Now you're startin' to—"

"Where the hell you find a girl in these parts?"

"In the town. There are a lot of girls in the town."

"Are you talking about real girls or two bit floozies?"

"Well, both. Regular and two bit, or cheaper, depending on where you're lookin'. Some more expensive too, but we ain't rich now, are we?"

"Well, I don't really have the money—"

"Oh, bull. I seen your cash, and there's at least a hundred bucks in there. That's fifty flops."

"Fifty flops. Are you out of your mind?" George laughed again.

"Yes, but you're the one who brought up the drabs."

"I did?"

"Yup."

"Well, I wasn't talkin' about no fifty flops."

"No, that was my elaboration. You could have fifty flops."

"I have a hundred and ten."

"Excuse me, fifty-five flops."

"This ain't really somethin' you talk about before dinner." George shook his head. "And besides, it's all garbage anyways." Walt shrugged.

"Well," the other man said, placing a hand on George's shoulder. His face was serious. "I guess a man's gotta sleep sometimes."

"I guess!" He shoved Walt's hand off his shoulder, and they both laughed. Their amusement drew looks from others in line, and even some eating, but the two men didn't seem to notice. When their mirth had died down, they moved into the serving portion of the line, where the food was being shoveled by the cooks onto the men's tableware. George and Walt stepped up to take their plates, then progressed to get the beans, corn, and meat plopped onto the dishes. As they disengaged themselves from the line and moved towards the tables, George took time to check over his meal. His stomach growled as he eyed the steaming steak, and as soon as he and Walt had slid themselves into facing opposite seats at one of the tables, he was ready to dig in.

Walt took no time in beginning; his fork was already in his food before he'd fully situated himself on his seat. He looked up at George as he chewed some meat off the utensil. "Ain't you gonna eat?" he asked.

"No silverware," George answered, throwing one leg over the wooden bench. "I'm gonna go get some right now."

"Hurry back, or I might move on to seconds." Walt pointed his fork in the direction of George's plate, and George smiled and shook his head. He put his other leg over the bench, then stood up and walked back towards the kitchen, hurrying so as to not have to put Walt's words to the test. As he neared the area, the resonance of shouting reached his ears.

"This dumb bastard was behind me! I was first, so I get my food first!" The unmistakable sound of Kelly's voice came, followed by the stuttering of another man.

"I was—just so hungry—"

"You was just so hungry, well guess what, I'm hungry too!" George stepped closer to the argument, and saw the mean look in Kelly's eyes as he yelled at the smaller man. His twisted ankle had made him subject to weakness, and he'd been looking for someone to take out his wrath upon ever since. If he beat the guy up, it would show the other men that he was still the toughest guy on the ranch, despite his small injury. His pleasure in causing the other man discomfort was evident even through the put on anger.

Kelly took a slow step towards the man, grabbing at the other's collar. "I got a mind to teach you a lesson."

George opened his mouth, preparing to defend the other man, when another voice spoke up first. "Last time I checked, Kelly, this was the kitchen, not a schoolhouse."

Kelly's head jerked around in the direction of the voice, and George followed his gaze. Standing a few feet back near one of the props holding up the tin overhang was a girl. She had round eyes shaded with dark makeup, and her full, un-rouged lips were pulled into a shrewd smile. Her brunette hair was curled expertly into large ringlets that hung down just a little past her shoulders, and she wore a cream-colored blouse and blue skirt with matching heels. She was thin and shapely at the same time, and she held herself in a self-assured posture that made her appear taller than she actually was. One eyebrow was raised quizzically at Kelly. "Well?"

"Well what?" Kelly spat back.

"Well, aren't you gonna let him go?" Her voice had a smooth, rich tone to it, one that sounded both feminine and forceful at the same time.

Kelly turned away from the girl and eyed the man in his grip. With only a moment's hesitation, he dropped the other guy back onto his feet. His face took on a strange shade of red as he began to speak in a soft voice to the newly released other man. "Just don't let it happen again or I'll—"

"Or you'll what?" The girl's eyes gleamed viciously, though she continued to smile.

Kelly was quiet for a second, then he finished. "Nothin'. I won't do nothin'."

"That's a good boy. Now what do we say?"

The big man looked at the ground, his face darkening yet again. "Sorry," he muttered.

"What?"

"Sorry," Kelly repeated, only a little more audible than before.

"Louder, Kelly, so we can all hear that pretty voice of yours."

"Sorry," said a beet-colored Kelly, his voice loud enough to reach even the farthest tables in the area. The girl's smile widened, and she nodded her head in approval.

"Good. It's nice to hear you apologizing like a civilized person, Kelly." George's eyes were wide, and he moved out of the girl's way as stepped forward and broke into the line just before Kelly. "Now, I need to get myself some dinner. I just got back from town and I haven't had a bite to eat since noon."

George stood still for a moment, then seemed to suddenly come back to life as he remembered what he'd come down to the kitchen for. He stepped next to the girl in line, on the side away from Kelly. He looked around nervously for the silverware, fully aware of the girl's curious eyes on his face. He felt the small jab of something poking into his left arm, and he turned his head in the direction. The girl was holding out a fork, spoon, knife, and napkin to him, a small smile on her lips. Gingerly, George took the utensils from her fingers.

"You're new, aren't you?" she asked, turning back and grabbing herself a plate from the counter. "My father said some guy came up last night."

"Yeah, I'm new." George stepped backwards and out of the line, but the girl continued to talk to him.

"I thought so. What's your name?"

"George Milton, ma'am."

"Ma'am? There's no need for that. My name's Grace Stewart." She set he plate down on the counter so the cook could place the food on it, then extended her hand out to George. George eyed the small, well-groomed hand, then slowly lifted his larger, work worn one to shake. She smiled as they withdrew their hands, then turned back to pick up her dish. "No 'ma'am' in there. Just call me Grace."

"Alright." George's discomfort was obvious, and he tried to conceal it by turning away to face the tables. Grace's voice carried from behind him. "So, I guess I'll see you around."

"Probably."

"Bye then."

"Bye." George waited a moment, and as soon as it was apparent that she had no more to say, he quickly walked back to the table where Walt waited. The other man raised head up from his plate to look at George, then leaned forward over the table to gaze back towards the kitchen. "Trouble?" he asked.

"Just Kelly." George moved onto the wooden bench as he set his utensils down onto the table. As soon as he was situated, he reached for his fork, and began to poke at his meal.

"Hey, you meet the boss's daughter?" Walt asked, turning his head back to George.

"Yeah."

"She put Kelly in his place, didn't she?" Walt grinned, shaking his head. "That girl sure knows how to hit people hard with that tongue of hers."

"I'll say."

"There she is." Walt nodded his head forwards, and George turned to look behind him. Grace was walking slowly with her plate towards one of the wooden railings surrounding the area, picking at her food with a fork as she moved. When she reached the fence, she climbed up onto it, and sat with her back leaning against the tall oak tree from which it protruded. She lifted the food covered fork to her lips as she gazed into the distance, a placid look on her face. After a few moments, she sensed George and Walt's eyes on her, and turned towards them with a smile. She lifted a hand to wave lazily at them, and George turned back to face Walt.

"She's a real card, ain't she?" Walt asked, smiling to counter George's bemused expression.

"I can't for the life of me begin to guess what she's got goin' on in that head of hers." George stabbed his meat with a fork.

"Can't you?" Walt smirked knowingly at his friend, one eyebrow raised. George ignored him, and lifted the punctured piece of steak to his mouth. The meat was cold.