“I’m wondering if she’d take me,” Ted said, his voice made of ice. He wouldn’t give away if he wanted the RRC at Hope Eternal or not, that was for sure. But him just asking about it meant he wanted it.
“Oh.” More surprise danced through Nate. “I mean, I don’t know. Is she allowed to have more than one inmate here at a time?”
“No idea.”
“I suppose your six months is coming up in what? Three months?”
“Eighty-eight days,” Ted said. They’d talked many times about their release dates, and what they’d do once they got out. The meals they’d eat. The things they’d see and do.
Nate hadn’t done any of them. Yet, he told himself. He wasn’t really out yet anyway.
“Let me find out,” he said. “You sure you want to come here? It’s a lot of work, and Ginger expects you to know it all already. There’s very little training, and a lot of horses, and I don’t think I’ve worked less than twelve hours a day since I got here.”
“I’m not afraid of hard work,” Ted said at the same time someone behind Nate said, “Of course I expect a lot of you, especially that you’re where you said you were going to be.”
He spun around at the angry—no, furious—tone in Ginger’s voice. He wasn’t sure how many minutes Ted had left on the call, but he knew they wouldn’t go into a bank his friend could use later. He took in Ginger’s blotchy, red face and her folded arms, and decided his friend would have to eat the leftover minutes.
“I have to go,” he said to Ted, who started to protest. “Sorry. Call me next week.” He hung up the phone and glanced at the man who’d come up behind Ginger, huffing and puffing and clearly not wearing the right kind of footwear for a ranch. Nate knew, because he hadn’t been for the first week either.
“I’m sorry?” he asked, his nerves fraying a bit. He knew who that guy was, and he’d rather go shovel manure out of a stall than deal with an angry Ginger and then sit through an interview with his parole officer.
“You’re supposed to be in the stable,” Ginger said, practically shooting fire from her eyes. “And you didn’t answer when I called.”
“I was on the phone.” He lifted his phone as if she hadn’t overheard him talking on it. He’d actually considered asking her about bringing Ted here too, but there was no way that could happen. At least not right now.
“Yes, I heard.” Ginger’s glare could take an entire herd down, but only a flicker of annoyance started in Nate’s gut. It fanned into a flame that burned up and up, and he found himself glaring back.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “But I am entitled to a fifteen-minute break in the morning.” He looked at the other man. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Nathaniel Mulbury.”
“Oh, of course,” the man said. “I’m Martin Landy.” The two shook hands, and he nodded back toward the more civilized parts of the ranch. “Should we go talk at the house?”
“Sure,” Nate said, casting one more glance at Ginger. She hadn’t softened at all, and Nate’s ire went right back up. He couldn’t believe he’d told Ted she was nice or easy to work with. Right now, she seemed like a simmering pot about to boil over, and he’d be the one to clean it all up.
Martin walked away, but Nate held back for a few moments. He turned to Ginger, who still wore that growl right on her face. “It sure is nice to know for certain that you don’t trust me,” he said, his voice on the growly side too.
“I didn’t say that.”
“I’m at least a mile from the fence,” he said, taking a menacing step closer to her. “And I don’t have to drop everything in my life and answer your calls, Ginger. That’s not part of the program.” He glared down at her, actually satisfied when she started to wilt. “And you do expect a lot, and you’re demanding, and you know what? I haven’t cared, because I’m just so dang glad to be here. But that doesn’t mean it’s been easy for me.”
“Who were you talking to?”
“None of your business,” he said. “Who I talk to is another thing I don’t have to clear with you.” With his heart pounding in his chest, he fell back a step. “If you’d have told me my parole officer was coming this morning, I’d have met you at the house.”
“I thought—” She cut off when Nate held up his hand, and he supposed he probably wore a storm on his face too. They looked at one another, and Nate had a lot more to say. Instead of letting it out and regretting it later, he simply shook his head and turned around to follow Martin.
The interview with Martin passed in a blur where Nate only tuned in half the time. He must’ve done a good enough job to pass, because Martin took his phone number and said he’d call next month.
Once he was gone, Nate focused on his chores, but he found himself slamming buckets down when he should just set them. A hurricane blew through him, and he didn’t know how to get it to move on.
The sound of crying met his ears, and it was far too early for the kids to be on the ranch for their riding lessons.
“Connor,” he said under his breath, his mood morphing from anger to concern in less time than it took to breathe. He abandoned the buckets of oats he’d been distributing to the horses and jogged out of the stables, already searching for his nephew.
Hannah Otto, the accountant for the ranch, carried the little boy, who clung to her as if his life depended on it. “I’m sorry,” she said. “He fell while riding his bike, and nothing I did could calm him.” She passed him to Nate, who took the dribbling, sniffling boy and drew him right into his chest.
“It’s fine,” he said to Hannah. “Thank you for bringing him. I’d have come if you’d called.”
She stepped back and put her hands in her back pockets, her short blonde hair sticking out at odd angles. “I have to get back. I have an appointment in ten minutes.”
“Go,” Nate said. “I’m fine.”
The woman walked away, and once again, Nate felt nothing with her, though she was slim and pretty and educated. She spent the most time with Connor during the day, as she had an office in the house with a TV in it. Connor said he liked her, and that she had boxes of cookies in her bottom drawer that he could have whenever he wanted them.
“Are you hurt, bud?” he asked Connor, trying to get him to let go of his neck. Connor finally did, and Nate looked at his face. “I don’t see any blood.”
“My knees hurt,” Connor said with a whimper.
Nate glanced down, though the boy still had his legs around Nate’s waist. “All right,” he said as calmly as he could. “Let’s have a look.” He took Connor into the stables and set him on the top of one of the doors that led to an empty stable. “Oh, yeah, look at that.” He looked at Connor and smiled. Anything to put on a brave face. “Skinned knees.”
Connor’s bottom lip trembled, and Nate wanted to fold him into a hug and never let go. “I can fix these.”
“Can you, Uncle Nate?” One big alligator tear fell down Connor’s cheek, and Nate’s heart turned to mush. This kid needed him, and Nate was as committed as ever to make sure he was there for his nephew. As much as possible, he was going to be there.