Page 26 of Lone Star Longing
He rolled on his side toward the window, presenting the greatest surface area to the breeze that flowed through, and he heard the lonesome call of a coyote.
Well, maybe not so lonesome because a chorus of cries, spine-chilliingly close, responded to the first animal. Beck sat up in bed, straining for a glimpse of the animals that howled just on the other side of the barn. He didn't know why they fascinated him. Maybe he’d been away too long. He’d always strained to see them when he was a kid, too, and had, many times. His father had killed them on sight, because they were a threat to the livestock, and Beck understood that, though it always made him sad, especially when there were pups or a nursing mother.
Now they weren’t a threat to anything he had, and he wanted to see them. But the night was too dark, and they sounded farther away. He lowered his head to his pillow and let the scents and sounds of his childhood carry him to sleep.
*****
“BECK! I’D HEARD YOUwere back in town!”
Beck turned from the counter of the hardware store when he heard the deep voice of Con McKay from behind.
Con had always been a big guy, but now in his late twenties, he was in his prime, his shoulders broad beneath his t-shirt, his arms stretching the sleeves. He wore his dark blond hair shorter than he had in high school, and the planes of his face had sharpened, but otherwise, Beck would know him anywhere.
“How long are you here?” Con demanded after a back-slapping embrace.
“Getting my mom’s place fixed up.” Beck rested a hip against the counter. “After that, my plans are fluid.”
“Fluid, huh?” Con picked up a key ring measuring tape from a box near the register, then put it back. “I thought I heard you were working for Riley Foster? Why aren’t you up there in California with him?”
“We parted ways. I needed to get some stuff done around here and his schedule isn’t very flexible, you know. I needed more flexibility. I’m still waiting to realize I don't have to be somewhere at a certain time. It’s an adjustment.”
“I can imagine.”
“And you? Working on the family ranch still?”
A shadow passed over Con’s face before he replaced it with an affable smile and nodded. “Yeah, not a lot of flexibility out there, either. Tied to the land with its own schedules.”
“Working horses out there, still?” Con’s father had raised some of the best of the best Appaloosas, the most beautiful horses Beck had ever seen.
“My number one priority.”
Beck didn't know if his father was still living, still running things, and he didn't want to ask, didn’t want to bring it up in public. Con had had to put on a positive face for Broken Wheel for years. Beck didn’t want to chip away at it.
“So where are you staying?” Con asked. “Your mom’s place?”
“Yeah, for now. It’s in pretty bad shape so I’m trying to help her get it taken care of. Then I’ll figure my next step.”
Con straightened. “Hey, let’s go over to The Wheel House and I’ll buy you a beer. Couldn't do that the last time I saw you.”
Beck’s first instinct was to say no, but damn, he and Con had been friends in high school. And he could use a friend now. He wondered if Con could, too.
“That place still around?”
“Not exactly the same. Come on, I’ll show you.”
Beck hadn’t been to The Wheel House since he had to go in and drag his dad out when he was a kid. Yeah, that had been fun. But apparently it had new owners or something. Beck didn't remember what building had been next to it, but that building was gone, and the area was partitioned off by a split rail fence. Inside the fence were picnic tables, three-hole washer game boards, a small stage. He could see where this would be a nice gathering area some evening or a Saturday afternoon when it wasn't blazing hot outside. A couple of trees grew around the perimeter, though they didn't add much shade yet.
The two men walked into the bar, which was in the same orientation it had been years past, but a big chalkboard behind the bar listed a menu of food and drinks. They could sit at wooden stools at the bar, or at additional picnic styled tables inside.
Con chose the bar.
“So who bought this place?” Beck asked.
“Ah, well, no one you know. She came in a couple of years ago, thinking the boom from the basin would trickle down here. It hasn’t, but this is a nice place to hang out. I don't know how she’s keeping her head above water, but I do what I can to keep her in business.”
The casual reference made Beck wonder to whom Con referred. “So what’s new with you, man? You knew about me, about my life. What about you? Married? Kids?” Con and Britt Fraser had been inseparable when they were in high school. Everyone had been sure they’d be married. For all Beck knew, they had ten kids by now.
Con flicked a hand to the side. “Nah. Neither of those things.”
