The long and winding road

that leads to your door

will never disappear

I've seen that road before

It always leads me here

Lead me to you door

Jack pulled his F-150 into Big O Tires on Yellowstone Rd. He was pissed like a mule because his brand new truck had just started to act up on him. He'd been passing through Cheyenne, almost had the city completely behind him, when the CHECK ENGINE light on his instrument panel started blinking. He'd slowed down and eased his truck off to the side of Interstate 25. He got out, annoyed by the disturbance and by having to leave the comfort of the cool air conditioning, and popped open the hood. He'd looked around, hadn't seen any glaring problems, but he'd tried tightening a couple things and making some small adjustments anyway. He'd only had the truck for six months, shouldn't have had any trouble with it. He slammed the hood closed when he was finished and then grabbed at the small of his back for a long, satisfying stretch. He wasn't sure if he'd done any good, it had been years since he'd worked on a truck. When he'd married Lureen and gotten rid of his old clunker, he'd never kept a truck long enough for it to start having problems. His mind was rusty on the mechanics of engines, and it'd been so long, and so many changes and upgrades had been made over the years, that even had he remembered, it wouldn't have done him much good.

He got back in his truck, ready to continue the trip, and crossing his fingers that he'd fixed the problem. No such luck. Once he'd turned the key in the ignition, the light came back on and a horrible beeping started along with it.

"Great." He thought. "All I did was make it worse."

He'd gotten off the highway at the next exit and asked directions to the nearest auto repair shop. And here he was. As he drove into the parking lot he surveyed the area. Seemed pretty run down for a big city, must have been in a lousier part of town. He shrugged and pulled his truck into the open garage space, put it in park, and hopped out, grabbing his black hat off the passenger seat and settling it on his head. He slammed the door and stood looking grim at the black F-150 with his arms crossed over his chest. A short, red headed garage attendant approached him.

"Well, hey there, sir. How can I help ya?" The small man held out his hand and Jack reluctantly shook it. He sure as hell didn't feel like being friendly.

"Ma truck here's got some sort a' trouble goin' on. Few miles back the engine light came on, so I pulled off the highway and checked it ma self. Didn't see much wrong with it, but I'm not so sure 'bout the workin's of engines no more. Need ta have it checked, make sure it's all right, cuz I need to get back on the road. I'm tryin' to get to Riverton by five or six."

The small man nodded all the while, looking down at the floor and chewing on his bottom lip, intently listening to his words. Jack noticed from his coverall that his name was Karl. Finally he looked back up.

"How old's yer truck?"

"It's new. Just got it in January, a 2000 model."

Karl chewed some more on his lip and then clapped his hands together.

"Well, I'll check it out fer ya. Make sure there's no trouble. Sometimes these new F-150's get kinda antsy and their lights start to flash fer no reason. Could be the lights goin' out, even. But I'll give it a good look over."

Karl ushered Jack away from the garage towards a little door.

"While I check it out, ya can sit in the waitin' room. It's right through this door here. We got sev'ral magazines and today's newspaper, so ya can jest read fer a spell. I'll come n' get ya when I'm done."

Jack opened the door, eager to be alone. But when he came into the waiting room, he was immediately disappointed because there were two young boys sitting in the room playing cards across the seat of a plastic chair. They looked up when he entered and then immediately went back to what they were doing. Jack took a seat on the opposite side of the small room, trying to give himself some sort of privacy.

He folded his hands in his lap and looked around. There were six plastic chairs lining the sides of the little waiting area. The two boys, one skinny and blonde, the other slightly round and red headed like Karl, played cards beneath the only window. Jack noticed the view out the window wasn't much. It opened out onto the east side of the parking lot, empty except for an old beat up Chevrolet. Beyond that there wasn't much, a few houses and some grassland. He was definitely on the outskirts of Cheyenne. He was definitely in Wyoming. Even though he had been away for a long time, and even though he wasn't very deep in the state, he could still tell that this was where he'd grown up.

"Seems like not much has changed, even in all this time."

Jack returned to his inspection of the waiting room and saw that the rest wasn't much. There was one stool topped with layers of outdated issues of American Angler magazine and a small table that had a coffee pot and some Styrofoam cups. It was really quite depressing.

The blonde, skinny kid that was facing him noticed his roaming eyes.

"Pretty dull in here, huh?"

Jack tore his gaze from a large fly on the wall and looked at the boy.

"Well, I certainly been in nicer places."

"Tell me about it." The red head piped in.

Jack looked at the boys who were busy playing what looked like Texas Hold 'Em. He frowned because he could see the red headed boy's hand, and knew that he was playing reckless. He told himself to mind his own business, but as usual didn't follow his own advice.

"You shouldn't bet so much before the Fourth Street with a hand like that."

The chubby kid turned to look at Jack, then saw that his hand was completely visible. He turned his cards away and pursed his lips.

"So what are you an expert at the game or somethin'?"

Jack shrugged and looked back at the fly on the wall, which hadn't moved in the past ten minutes.

"If'n ya don't want my advice, I'll be happy not ta give it."

He crossed his arms and started to hum. Both boys stared at the strange man with wide eyes. The blonde one leaned across the chair and whispered something to the chubby one. The chubby one shrugged and then turned back to Jack.

"Say, mister, do ya wanna play a game or two with us? We could use some pointers."

Jack laughed softly and shifted to the edge of his seat.

"Well since ya went and asked so nicely. But I'll jest deal, you guys don't wanna have to play with me, you'll lose some real money."

He scooted his chair closer to where they played.

"My names Jack. Jack Twist."

"I'm Jonah." Said the blonde boy. "And this here's Dewey."

Jack reached out and shook both of their hands. He noticed they were dirty, and smirked. Reminded him of his own days as a boy, except for the being cooped up in the waiting room of a body shop bit.

"Say, what're you boys doing sittin' 'round this room? Shouldn't ya be out causin' a ruckus or somethin'?"

Dewey shook his head and started collecting their cards. "Nah. My brother had ta come inta work today ta cover fer his buddy, Stan, and my ma and my sis are in Cheyenne lookin' fer churches fer the weddin'." He shuffled the cards. "Karl wouldn't let me stay at home, so I had ta come ta work with him. He says he don't want me messin' around in the garage or gettin' too far outta his sights, so I have ta stay in here 'till my mom can come and pick me up."

Jack nodded his head and raised his eyes brows at the long story. He turned to Jonah.

"And what 'bout you? Why're you here?"

The boy shrugged. "Eh, got nothin' better ta do. Ma folks don't care where I am, no how."

Dewey put the cards back in a neat stack and handed them to Jack.

"All right, so show us yer stuff."

The three of them played a few games, and Jack taught them all the poker tips he knew. The boys finally persuaded Jack to lay down some money and play, and after two games he found that he was out nearly twenty bucks.

"Shoot. You boys're too good fer me. Shoulda never shown ya them tricks."

The boys laughed and counted what they'd won.

"Sure can't thank ya enough fer showin' them, though." Jonah chuckled.

Just then the door opened and Karl came into the waiting room.

"She's all ready, sir. I checked her out and everythin' looks fine."

His eyes landed on the two boys that were still puttin' away their cards and their winnings. He frowned and placed his hands on his hips.

"Now I thought that I told you boys ta behave! And here I find ya playin' poker and swindlin' this nice man outta his hard earned money."

He turned to Jack. "I sure hope they didn't get too much outta ya. I'm awful sorry. I'll make 'em give it back."

Jack stood and waved away the comment. "It's no problem. Got myself inta it." He pushed his chair back where it belonged. "Don't be too hard on the boys either. I was the one teachin' them some playin' techniques, so it's my fault, really."

Karl gave Jack a look and then turned his weary eyes to the boys.

"All right. I'll talk ta you boys later. Be out here waitin' ta square things up, when yer ready, Mister..."

"Jack Twist. But Jack is fine."

Karl hesitated and then said, "All right. Jack." He walked back into the garage, leaving the door open for him.

Jack picked up his hat, which he'd taken off in the heat of the game, and planted it squarely on his head, his poor mood forgotten.

"Well you boys take care a' yerselves, and don't get inta too much trouble."

"We won't." They chorused in unison.

Jack turned to head out the door, but before he could leave Jonah called him back.

"Hey Mister Twist, yer not from around here are ya?"

Jack turned. He thought on his answer for a minute.

"No, son, I'm from Texas. But I was born here in Wyoming, up in Lightening Flat. Been a while since I've been back, though."

Jonah and Dewey looked up at the tall man in black. There was nothing else for them to say, no more questions to ask. Jack nodded at them and turned once again to walk out to the garage.

"Welcome home, Jack!" Jonah called as he left the room.

Jack walked towards Karl, who was standing by the truck with a clipboard.

"Home. Seems like a long time since I've thought of it as that. Somehow, don't sound so wrong, though."

He reached the side of his truck where big brother Karl was waiting. Karl looked down at the clipboard once more before speaking.

"Well, like I said, I checked her all out, and she seems jest fine. I couldn't see nothin' wrong with the engine and when I turned the ignition back on, the light had turned off and stopped blinking. Was probably jest a faulty light bulb that was decidin' ta go out. We don't have the bulbs fer the dash in stock right now, otherwise I would've changed it out fer ya, but if it gives ya more trouble jest call me up and I can order 'em fer ya."

Jack smiled and shook his head.

"Thank ya kindly, but I was jest passin' through. I'm headin' ta Riverton, hope ta get there by this evenin'."

"Oh yeah, ya mentioned that earlier. Well then, if it turns back on, don't worry too much. You can order the bulbs when ya get ta where yer going."

"Yeah when I get ta where I'm goin'. Where exactly are ya goin', Jack?"

He shook Karl's hand and paid the fifteen dollars for the routine check up. He hurriedly pulled out of the garage and waved at Karl in his rear view mirror. Before Jack had pulled out, Karl had stopped him and apologized once again for the behavior of his younger brother and his friend. Jack had assured him it was okay. He thought on the boys as he waved to Karl, hoped that they didn't get themselves into too much trouble, hoped they stayed boys for a long time to come. Jack sighed. He'd always been somewhat of a sentimentalist, but he couldn't be worrying about a couple of kids he met in a car shop waiting room. Right now he was too eager to get back on the road and closer to Riverton.

Jack passed a sign that said there were 25 miles to Casper, which meant he wasn't too far from Riverton. Jack's stomach had already started doing summersaults, and his left leg was shaking anxiously. He was more nervous than a newborn kitten, could hardly think straight he was so jumpy.

It was already a little past six o'clock, later than Jack had wanted it to be, but he figured he could make it to Riverton by 7:30 or so. He just hoped that he wouldn't be interrupting anything once he got there. Wouldn't want to show up in the middle of a family dinner or something. That was the worst-case scenario.

"No, Twist, the worst-case scenario is you arrive, open yer fool mouth, spill the whole story ta this man, and he punches yer lights out."

Okay, he had to admit, that was worse. Jack looked out the window at the passing scenery. It was mainly grassland, but in the distance he was beginning to see the mountains. They drew nearer and nearer the closer he got. He knew it was silly, but he almost felt like the mountains were egging him on, calling out to him, begging him to just keep his eyes on the road, his foot on the pedal, till he got to the man he'd come looking for.

It was a very odd feeling he'd had the whole trip, had had it since he woke up in the morning and put his bag in the truck, and it only intensified by the time he turned onto the highway and started his long trek to Wyoming. It was all so surreal, and it was hard as hell to describe. Even Jack, a man who had a way with words, couldn't rightly explain what he was feeling.

"It's like being two people at once, except, both people are still me, just…different versions of me."

He was traveling on the same highway, making the same journey that Brokeback Jack (which is what he'd started calling the story version of himself) made for twenty years. The same route, because there was only one practical way to get to Riverton, Wyoming from Childress, Texas. The scary part was that real life Jack was making the trip for the same reasons as Brokeback Jack. Well, almost.

"Still goin' to go see Ennis Del Mar. Just won't be meetin' him up in the mountains and havin' sex with him."

Jack felt himself begin to harden at the idea and was immediately uncomfortable. He was not going to Wyoming because he wanted to have sex with Ennis Del Mar. He was not. He was not. He wasn't sure why he had to convince himself so stern-like, though.

So the whole trip he'd felt like he was dreaming, or stoned, one of his favorite past times during the late 70s. It terrified him, because the closer he got to Wyoming, the closer he felt he was getting to Brokeback Jack, almost like the two were becoming one and the same. It was this odd feeling that was growing in the pit of his stomach, of reality meeting fiction, of some sort of communion between universes.

"Getting' a little out there aren't ya, Twist? Ya sound a little like Bobby when he went on his Zen kick during college."

Jack chuckled at the thought of the days when Bobby had thought he was a hippy. It'd lasted maybe two months, and then he was back to eating red meat and wearing cowboy boots. Sure had been an interesting time for him and Lureen, though.

He passed another sign that said he was now only ten miles outside Casper. As he drove on, he saw more and more billboards on the side of the road, advertising restaurants and realtors. Jack tried the radio, figuring he could get a signal now that he was near the city. He flipped through the channels, getting a lot of static and then finally finding a station that was playing Willie Nelson's song "You Were Always On My Mind". Jack hummed along and kept driving, letting his thoughts waft out the open window in lieu of listening to good music.

When he passed Casper, the radio started to fade out again and he turned it off. The silence brought his nervousness back. He tried to just focus on the road ahead. The highway became nearly deserted after he passed Casper, except for the few pick-ups and semis that he'd passed. It was damn lonely out on the road.

His mind wandered to the mountains, to the clear night sky, and the fresh air, and the sound of mountain streams softly babbling. He hadn't been up to the mountains many times before. His father once took him hunting in the Bighorns, a one time thing that his old man had done against his will, but he didn't remember much from that trip. He did, however, remember a few times that the rodeo circuit had taken him to areas near the Tetons, and he'd go up into the mountains at night with a group of some other rodeo folk. They'd get drunk as hell and sit out under the stars joking around and telling stories. He'd never gone for the company. Truthfully, he'd never made any solid friends that he'd felt like spending time around, but the allure of the night sky seen from the mountains was always too strong. He would go up there with them, pass the bottle around, and then go off and sit by himself, tuning out the stories of their wild escapades and conquests. He'd sit on a rock and just stare up into the sky. Just stare and think about how small he was in comparison to all the sky above. Those were the memories he had of the mountains.

Jack was startled out of his thoughts by the next road sign.

Riverton, 15 miles.

He swallowed hard and sped up. His engine rumbled a little and then the truck lurched, and he cut his eyes quick to his instrument panel. The light was still out, but he'd definitely felt something in his engine just then, and that worried him slightly. He took one more look at the speedometer and instrument panel and then returned his eyes to the road.

"Jesus Christ. Yer almost there, Jack. Yer almost there. Can't believe ya actually had the balls to do this, can't believe yer actually in fuckin' Wyoming right now."

He yawned and rubbed at his eyes with one hand. He was starting to feel all the miles he'd driven, but that didn't stop him from sitting straight up in his seat and pushing the pedal even closer to the floor. He had to get there soon or he was going to bust.

Jack'd stopped earlier at a diner in Colorado, and he'd tried to think up something to tell Ennis. He'd decided it would be best to keep his mouth shut about the story, figured he'd feel out the situation first, which meant he had no reason to give Ennis to explain his presence. He tried to think up some sort of lie that would make sense, came up with squat, and to top it all off, decided it would be wrong to lie to the man. So he'd run things around in his head, and had decided the only thing he could do was tell the truth. Dilemma. It was like Catch 22. He remembered about Catch 22 because he'd seen the movie at the theaters in the early 70s. It was sort of like 'damned if you do, damned if you don't'. Which is exactly what he was. He knew that the only way to start off was by telling Ennis the truth; except he didn't think the truth was the best icebreaker. Jack could picture it now.

"Hi, um, my name's Jack Twist, and I came here ta Riverton ta look you up after reading a book that was about me n' you bein' in love and havin' sex with each other fer twenty years. Can I come in?"

Jack laughed despite his nerves and his serious problem. He laughed long and hard, and could barely catch his breath by the time his laughter started to die down. It comforted him that after all these years he could still find humor in almost anything.

Eventually Jack had decided to just leave it to up to fate.

"Que sera, sera, as the song says."

He wasn't sure how smart the idea was, but it was the only thing he could think to do.

A while back, Interstate 25 had turned into Highway 26, and he was approaching the exit he needed to get to Riverton. He eased his truck off onto the exit ramp and turned onto a small two-lane service road Looked pretty deserted, but then he saw another sign that showed Riverton was just a couple miles north or where he was. Jack turned his truck in the direction he needed and swiftly made his way to the town he'd been thinking about for the past two weeks.

Here he was. He'd finally found it. He had to ask several people around town if they knew where to find the address, but he'd gotten lucky with the last guy he'd asked, and here he sat.

He was parked on the street outside the tiny house; the sun had almost completely disappeared behind the trees. His house was small and white, not too run down, but not the Ritz either. All together it was pretty quiet, but there was a light on in one of the windows and that gave him hope.

He knew he couldn't just sit in the truck all evening, but he didn't think he could move. His legs were numb and there was a loud ringing in his ears. He couldn't do it. He couldn't get out of the truck. It was all too real, suddenly too horribly real. This is what he'd wanted, some definite proof, some answers to ease his mind, but now that the answer was just a few steps away, he couldn't do it.

He sat motionless watching a couple of kids playing down the street in the fading sunlight; the street lamps were just beginning to flicker on. The boys were messing around with a skateboard and Jack was amused by the fact that they could have been the same kids he'd met back in Cheyenne. Young kids were all the same; all had that innocent air about them. Sure they could be little devils at times, but they still had the look on their face of absolute naiveté. They were at a stage where they didn't know how cruel life could be, how imperfect the world was, and how bitter it all made you. Life's a bitch, and Jack yearned for the days when he hadn't known that, when he hadn't been plagued with worries about his son and granddaughter, or his marriage, or the business, or a book that had been written about his life.

He sighed and let his head fall forward into his hands. He had to do it. He knew it.

"Seems like I've been in this same predicament a lot lately. Can't be healthy puttin' yerself through this kinda stress. Though none of it compares to this. Jest keeps getting' worse and worse each time. Let's jest hope that this will be the last, and I won't have to do it again. Might not survive another go around."

Jack opened the door of his truck like a man in a fog. Somehow his legs did have enough strength, even though he still couldn't feel them, and he managed to get himself up the first part of the drive. When he got to the walkway that led to his door, he stopped.

"Oh Jesus, I can't do this. I know I can't. I'm gonna pass out, I'm gonna puke right on whoever opens the door. I can't do this, I can't do this, I can't do this."

He was sweating intensely now and he considered running back to his truck and the safety of Texas for a brief moment. Brief was all it was though; he'd come too far to just turn around like a scared horse. Somehow he managed to get up the narrow walk and onto the concrete step in front of his door. He reached out a shaky hand and rang the doorbell.

Time stopped. Jack could hear his own ragged breathing loud in his ears, could feel his heart beating. Figured it might be loud enough to be heard from ten feet away.

"Calm yerself down boy, ya don't want to look a mess when he answers the door, do ya?"

He took in one more slow, deep breath and tried to relax his shoulders. Still no answer. He waited a moment longer and then rang the doorbell again. No answer.

"Fuck." He spat under his breath.

He tried looking through one of the window, but the blind were down. He went back down the walkway, his nerves momentarily forgotten, and checked the side of the house. There was a lean-to type garage with no car in it. Not a sign of him.

"What the hell is with this guy? Why the fuck won't he ever answer me? I call and his phone is disconnected; I fuckin' drive to his fuckin' house in fuckin' WYOMING and he's not home!"

Jack kicked a rock violently across the yard. That was that. He'd had enough. Ennis wasn't home and that was just as well.

"It's a sign that this was a stupid idea. I should have never come. Seems like someone's been tryin' ta give me that message since I started, but when do I ever listen?"

He walked back to the front door and stood there for a few more minutes. He considered waiting, maybe Ennis'd show up in a little bit, but he quickly tossed that idea aside. It was stupider than his idea to come to Riverton in the first place. What would he say to him when he came driving up? How would he explain what he was doing waiting on his front stoop?

Jack walked back to his truck angrier than he'd been in his life. He kicked his front tire, hurting his foot but ignoring the pain, and stood next to the driver side door, pinching the bridge of his nose. It sure had been a waste coming all the way to Wyoming. Sure had been a waste. But it just served him right, because he never should have come in the first place. He was a damned fool and he planned to not let himself forget that.

"Let's leave the self loathing for the ride home, how's about it? Right now, I think yer best bet is ta get good n' drunk."

He remembered passing a little bar not far from where he was and decided that was where he would spend his evening.

The bar he'd seen was called Bottom's Up and was on Sunset drive just a little outside the heart of Riverton. Jack pulled his truck, which was still behaving funny, into a parking spot and slowly got out. He looked up at the neon sign (dull in the semi darkness), figured this place was as good as any, and made his way to the single steel door at the entrance.

When he walked inside he immediately saw how dark and smoky the place was. Perfect. Just what he wanted. It also wasn't very crowded, which was surprising for a Friday night. Jack looked at his watch and saw that it was just five past eight, so he figured it hadn't gotten busy yet. He walked over to the bar and sat on one of the stools. There were two other people sitting at the bar, one was an extremely drunk, and extremely sweaty bald man who was talking in a loud voice to the female bartender. Jack figured he came here often. The other was a middle-aged guy sitting by himself on the opposite end of the bar. He was wearing a jean jacket and a light colored hat that was pulled low over his eyes. It looked like he was busy inspecting the wood grain on the bar countertop. Jack gave him a sidelong glance and then looked down at his hands.

"I feel like shit. I'm tired and I jest wish I'd never pulled this stupid stunt. Jest wish I could forget all about it."

"What can I get ya?"

Jack looked up at the bartender. She'd somehow torn herself away from the flirtatious drunk and was wiping down some glasses to his left.

"I'll have a Bud, please."

"Coming right up."

She walked to the other side of the bar and said something to the somber man Jack had noticed before. The man finally raised his head and said something back to the bartender. He was too far away and the room was too noisy for Jack to hear what he'd said. Jack held his gaze on the man a moment longer, then once again looked away.

"Why does he keep catching my attention? He's not doing anything to draw it to himself, jest sittin' there quiet n' all."

Jack figured it was the fact that he was so quiet; he almost gave off an aura of silence, and amongst all the noise from the few boisterous drunks in the bar, his silent demeanor was striking. Not that it was all too uncommon to see a quiet guy in a bar, in fact, most times that's the way things were; people liked to keep to themselves when they were drinking alone.

Jack's thoughts were interrupted by the bar tender who had returned to his side of the bar with a Budweiser in hand.

"Enjoy." She left her post from behind the bar to attend the people scattered around.

Jack followed her with his eyes and turned in his stool, taking the place in. There was a jukebox in the corner that was playing some old Hank Williams tune, and some booths lined the far wall. A couple of guys and a frumpy looking woman were sitting in one, sharing a pitcher of beer. In the center of the room, there was a pool table, and that is where all the noise was coming from. There were four guys, must have been drunk as hell, singing along with the juke and waving their pool sticks around. The bar tender walked over to where they were playing, asked one big fella with curly hair if they needed anything else and presumably told him to quiet down a bit, because they were getting a little rowdy.

Jack turned when he heard the door open, and another couple walked in and sat at a booth. The bar tender went to where they sat, not too eager to take more orders, it seemed. He had to wonder if she was working by herself, seemed like a pretty tough place for just one female bartender, then figured she was probably short handed for the night, or maybe the next shift hadn't arrived yet.

Jack turned away from the rowdy scene, and found himself staring straight at the man sitting at the other end of the bar. The drunk who had been sitting between them had gotten up some time, most likely to go to the john, and had left Jack with a perfect sight line of the man with the hat pulled low over his eyes. He could tell that the man was pretty tall; there was a lot of leg bent underneath the bar, and how those legs were lean. His eyes made a trail from the man's worn leather boots back up to his face that was still turned down. Jack couldn't tell exactly how old he was, was guessing he was somewhere near his own age, maybe a couple of years younger. His hair, what he could see of it anyway, was kind of light, almost golden. Jack took in his strong jaw and curved shoulders. Looked like he'd had a hard day.

Suddenly, the man was starring back at Jack with a stern look on his face. Embarrassed, Jack turned away quickly and took a long swig of his beer.

"Shit, he saw me lookin' at him. Seems like the type a' guy that'd kill ya jest fer lookin' funny at him."

Jack stole one more glance and saw he was still looking his way.

"Ah fuck. Please don't cause any trouble, jest wanna be left alone tonight. No trouble."

He kept his gaze down for a long time and when he finally looked back the man had turned his eyes back to his beer. Jack's gaze lingered and then he turned away for the last time, not wanting to be caught looking again.

"Sure is one sexy sonofabitch, though. I'll give him that."

He sighed and took another drink of his beer, finishing it off.

"Well Jack, that's the end. Yer career as a man is over. Ya just checked out another guy in a bar, congratulations."

None of this would have happened if he hadn't read that book. None of it. He cursed that damned book to hell, and he cursed himself for buying it, for being intrigued by the cover and then going home and flipping to the end and reading that story. He cursed himself for not letting things be, for calling Annie Proulx's agent, and then looking up Ennis Del Mar's number, and for whacking off three times a day when he should have been out being a grandpa and a husband and a business man. But most of all, he cursed himself for getting in his truck and driving all the way to Wyoming on a whim. He hadn't thought things through, not really. But then Jack had always been like that, always doing things on the spur of the moment, always regretting it later. That's what had happened when he'd married Lureen.

It took him a minute to realize that someone was calling out to him, trying to get his attention. He turned to see who was bothering him, and noticed the man at the end of the bar turned to look as well. A short, skinny man with a gray cowboy hat on, one of the guys that had previously been singing along with the jukebox, was pointing his pool cue at Jack.

"Hey, hey there! Howsabout you come n' play a game a' pool with us, old man? Ya look like ya'd be mighty good at gettin' them balls in the pocket, if ya know what I mean." He laughed loud and some spit ran down the side of his mouth.

Jack swallowed hard. "No that's all right. Look's like you got that all covered."

He turned his back on them again and took a handful of peanuts out of a bowl to his right. Tried to convince himself that the guy wasn't incredibly intuitive and was just being nasty for the hell of it. He figured if he could make himself inconspicuous enough, no one would bother him and eventually they'd just forget he was there all together. He didn't notice that now the man at the end of the bar was studying him from under the brim of his hat.

Jack heard the drunken men behind him guffaw some more and then there was a hand on his shoulder. He turned his head just enough to see the big guy with curly hair, the one the bar tender had talked to. He had his sleeves rolled up and a glazed look in his eyes. Seemed like he wasn't done with these assholes after all.

"Looky, looky, looky. Fellas, look here! This cowboy's sittin' on my stool."

Jack took a look around and noticed all eyes were on him.

"Hey come on, I don't want no trouble."

"Well, looks like ya were asking fer trouble when ya came n' sat on this here stool."

Jack turned to fully face the large man. He held his hands, palms out, in front of him in an 'easy' gesture.

"Let's not get excited, here, okay? The chair didn't have yer name written on it."

"Everyone that comes 'round here knows that there's my stool. Don't need my name stamped on it."

The other three men stepped away from the pool table and stood behind the big guy, who was apparently their leader. Jack quickly saw where this was going. Seemed like his luck just kept getting worse and worse as the day wore on. He managed to keep his cool and put on his soothing voice, the one he used to calm angry store managers.

"All right. I can see that I was wrong. I'll let ya have yer chair back, and we don't have to have no trouble, how's that sound? Hell, I'll even buy you boys some beers."

It didn't appear they were taking the bait. The big man suddenly grabbed Jack by the front of his shirt and brought him roughly to his feet. Jack could smell the liquor on his breath, and realized they must've been drinking since that afternoon. He should have known that his calm voice wouldn't have the same affect on a big, angry drunk man.

"Looks like we got ourselves a real smooth operator, huh boys? A real fuckin' gentleman. You must not be from 'round here, and that means it must not be yer lucky day, cuz I hate strangers, and I hate smooth talkers even more."

Jack looked over the man's shoulder at the three others behind him and saw their good humor had quickly turned to aggression. Wasn't sure there was much of a way out of this. All the rest of the people in the bar, including the bartender, who'd sat down at the booth with the two men and the woman, were completely silent and wearily watching the scene that was unfolding. The bar tender called out from where she was sitting.

"Dale, don't go causing no trouble now, ya don't want me callin' the police."

Some good that did. Didn't appear they'd heard a word she'd said. Jack looked back at the ugly bastard that had him by the collar and did the only thing he could think to do.

He kicked him hard in the balls with his boot as quickly as he could, and got out from his grip when he doubled over. In seconds the others were on him. Jack reached out and punched the person closest to him, a guy with a baseball cap, hard on the side of the mouth, knocking the cap off his head. The short one with the cowboy hat, who'd heckled Jack in the first place, came up from the side and hit Jack square on the temple and then kneed him in the stomach, bringing him to his knees retching and ready to black out.

Just then, Jack felt someone step to his right. He opened his eyes and saw a pair of worn leather boots. It was the man from the other end of the bar! He slugged the guy who'd gotten Jack and then grabbed the pool cue out of the third man's hands and hit him on the back of the head with it. Jack looked up from his hunched position on the floor and saw that now the two guys who'd been sitting with the large woman had also gotten up and joined the fight. Then he felt two strong hands under each of his arms and he was pulled back on his feet.

"You all right?"

He stood blinking, his vision still a little blurry, at the man who he'd originally thought he might have trouble with, the guy he'd been looking up and down. From this close he could see his face clearly and noticed his eyes were chocolate brown and surprisingly concerned.

"Uh…yeah. Think so."

Jack heard some glass break and saw that the bar fight had turned to an uncontrollable melee. It appeared there were more people in the bar than he'd thought, because now there were about ten men full out battling each other.

"They prob'ly don't even remember why the fight started in the first place."

Jack looked back over at the man who'd helped him up, surprised at the genial tone of his voice despite it's deep, throaty pitch. He didn't seem like the type that talked to strangers much, but maybe Jack'd just read him wrong. A beer bottle sailed past Jack's head, and he ducked just in time to miss it. He saw the bar tender in the corner on the phone, most likely calling the police. The man at his side grabbed him by the arm.

"Come on, let's get outta here 'fore the cops come. Last thing I need's to get arrested."

They managed to slip past the brawl and out the door. A few steps into the parking lot Jack realized that he hadn't paid for his beer.

"Oh, shit. Hold on a second." He turned to go back inside.

"Where the hell're you goin'? Ya cain't go back in there!"

"Just hold on," Jack threw over his shoulder. He snuck back inside, slid a few crinkled dollar bills down the bar and then slipped back out the door without a scratch. The man who'd saved his ass was standing under the neon sign lighting a cigarette. He looked up when Jack came out.

"Warned ya not ta go back in there." He mumbled around his cigarette. He closed his lighter and then looked at Jack, held out his pack of smokes.

Jack starred hard at the pack, shoved away any thoughts he had of refusing, and took one, letting the tall man light it for him.

Jack inhaled smoke into his lungs and then blew it out his nose. "Forgot ta pay fer ma beer."

The man gave him an odd look. "Yer crazy."

Jack laughed. "Maybe I am."

There was a minute of comfortable silence, which Jack eventually broke.

"Thanks fer helpin' me out back there, sure do appreciate it. Getting' too old ta take four guys on at once."

"No problem. Jest thought ya could use a hand."

Jack was inspecting the stranger's mannerisms with a quirked smile. He liked this guy, didn't know why, but he seemed all right. He looked out into the now completely dark parking lot towards his truck.

He inhaled again, not as deep this time, and then looked up at the stars. "Jesus. Sure was a mess in there."

The other man gave him a sidelong glance. "Yeah. Sure was. Happens a lot though. Them boys are assholes, always drunker than sailors, always ready ta pick a fight." He took another drag of his cigarette.

"Didn't mean to cause no trouble. Didn't know that guy had a fuckin' stool that he reserved."

The other man spit on the ground. "He don't. Was jest messin' with ya. Like I said, they're always causin' trouble, specially with outta towners."

Jack looked at him. "How'd ya know I was from outta town?"

He held his gaze to the ground. "Well first off, never seen ya 'round here, which is a pretty good tip off. Second, no one in Riverton can afford a leather jacket like yers."

Jack, surprised, looked down at his leather jacket, immediately ashamed, though for reasons he couldn't explain. The man never took his eyes off the ground.

"And then there's yer accent. Don't sound like it's from 'round here."

He was astounded at this man's perception. It hadn't seemed like he took his eyes off his own beer the whole time he'd been in there, and apparently he already had Jack all figured out. Jack let out a short laugh and then held out his hand.

"My name's Jack Twist. Pleased to meet ya, uh…"

The man looked up, put his cigarette firmly between his lips, and shook Jack's hand.

"Ennis. Ennis Del Mar."

To Be Continued...