Landry Minor sat across a polished oak desk in Skip Hall’s office at the Cattleman’s Exchange Bank of Cheyenne and waited, nervous about what this meeting could be about.
He clasped and unclasped his dry hands and fiddled with the brim of his hat.
A rustling sound behind him signaled that Skip had returned to his office and he jumped up and shakily addressed the man.
“How are you Mr. Hall,” Landry said.
“Landry, I am great. Have a seat.” Skip settled himself behind his new desk and then went on after a short pause.
“Landry, I appreciate you coming here to visit with me. I know you have been busy with your dad’s place.”
“No trouble Mr. Hall. What can I help you with?” Landry asked the question and tried with every ounce of control to be calm. He wanted to appear as if being called to the office of the president of a bank, where he did not keep his money anymore, and worse, a bank he had robbed and secretly unrobbed just a short six months earlier, was perfectly normal.
“Well, I have a business proposition for you.”
Landry’s eyes widened as he willed himself to keep breathing.
Then suddenly, Skip looked up at someone standing just beyond the door. It was someone who Landry couldn’t see.
“Oh, come on in Gatlin.”
Landry Minor felt a bead of sweat form on his temple and his head pounded worse than the day he had been snake bitten.
Gatlin Standridge stepped into the office to the chair next to Landry and shoved his hand out to him.
Landry stood, looking somewhat confused and shook Gatlin’s hand, despite himself.
“Now I know the two of you have had some water under the bridge,” Skip began. “But if we are to grow this bank and this town, I need, not just one of you, but both of you to assist me.”
Both Gatlin and Landry silently and awkwardly waited while Skip gathered his thoughts.
“Landry, I want to hire you to be the security advisor to this bank. We have been remiss in our duties regarding better protection of our customer’s money.”
Skip drew a breath, appearing that he too was somewhat nervous and unsure with this new direction. But he went on.
“Gatlin, if Landry is to be my senior security advisor, I need for you to coordinate closely with him on areas of concern.”
Skip stopped and leaned back in his newly decorated office and stared at the two men.
“Can we accomplish this?”
Gatlin studied his hands a long moment and then spoke.
“If Sheriff Minor can get past the wrong that my family and I did him, then I have no trouble. I can sure use his help in many ways.”
Landry sat rigid for a moment, guilt eating at his guts like a hungry coyote on an old deer carcass.
Here was a chance to do one of two things.
He could take the deal and leave the past behind him and begin a new life here with a chance to regain his dignity. Or he could seize the moment to simply lay his burden of guilt down and admit the truth, that he had been the one who had done this. It would ruin him, he knew that for sure. But maybe that is what he deserved. He had escaped
Skip eyed Landry and wondered what the man would choose. He indeed wondered a lot about this complicated man who sat in front of him now.
“Landry, take a few moments to think.” Skip said, exhaling deeply. “I know this might be a tough decision, considering all that has transpired. I have an idea. Why don’t you take a walk by the fish tank and feed the new fish? We have some great big new Cory Catfish in there. It is something I noticed you never miss doing any time you are here in the bank. It seems to calm you.
“Then come back in and let us know your decision,” he said.
Landry took the man up on his offer and sauntered, in deep thought to the huge aquarium. And like he had for years now, he picked up the small, round box of fish food and sprinkled a tiny amount on top of the water. And like they had for years now, the fish eagerly rose to the top of the water and feasted on the bounty.
Suddenly, Landry froze in his place and glanced nervously toward Skip’s office and knew what Skip knew. He knew and had known all along that it was Landry who had robbed the bank.
Landry peered into the tank and noticed there was a new Angel Fish gliding about in the tank.
Why would he want me if he knew? What made him stick his neck out to me, the very man who had done this to them.
The thoughts raced in Landry’s mind.
Landry glanced again at the office where Gatlin and Skip sat together. Did Gatlin know? No. He seemed as surprised by the meeting at Landry had been.
He tapped his fingers on the edge of the tank and turned his back to Skip’s office, choosing instead to gaze out the new plate glass window. A hand on his shoulder startled him. It was Skip.
“Don’t get lost in what is now the past Landry,” Skip said quietly. “You and I and this whole big town needed to come to this point where we let the past go and move on.”
Landry stood for a moment and considered his options. Finally, he spoke.
“Are there others who know about it?”
Skip interrupted him.
“Landry, I never mentioned it to anyone because it was such a unique behavior and yet I still couldn’t be sure. But the point is, it just doesn’t matter. I know who you are and if I didn’t before, after getting the money back, I certainly do now! Come to work for us.”
Landry’s face relaxed and he smiled at Skip and took his hand in both of his.
“You got yourself a deal Mr. Hall.” Landry shook his hand, warm and strong. “But what about Standridge in there? What will happen if his father-in-law gets wind that he’s workin’ alongside the ‘enemy’?”
“Oh that? You didn’t hear?”
“Uh, nope. No I didn’t hear.”
“His wife Izzie left him and went home to Montana to live with her parents. I guess being the wife of a Sheriff isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“You would be right about that.” And Landry Minor laughed out loud.
Tawny squinted into the early morning sunlight while she read a tag number on a bouncing spring calf.
She sat atop her gray and surveyed the scene around her.
She was in her fifth year at the Bar-G Ranch.
A breeze danced across Buffalo Grass and Sage and lifted to her a scent unrivaled by the finest perfumes of France. And she was pleased.
She would need to get her cattle counted and plans for shipping some of them made before 2 p.m., because she was due in court to finalize a plea agreement for Frog Tatum.
Most knew Frog as the town drunk, but Tawny had learned to know him as one of the most talented cabinet makers she had ever known.
The poor old guy was on his fourth DUI and she had done all she could to keep him out of prison. She had succeeded in keeping Frog out of the system by promising that he would never again drive any vehicle, to include a riding lawn mower. She also had agreed to go on a date with the travelling circuit court judge, Hamp Seabert.
Sometimes you just have to take one for the team.
When all had been said and done, Frog had paid her in the freshest and tastiest brown eggs laid by his chickens and some corn moonshine the likes of which Tawny had never experienced.
Tawny leaned forward in her saddle, hearing its leather squeak as she pulled a tiny note pad from the back pockets of her jeans. She marked the tag numbers of each cow that had calved and paired that number with the calf’s tag number.
Suddenly a rambunctious, slightly larger calf tore through the pasture. The calf moved at what he must have felt was warp speed bucking and bawling through the center of the herd and stopped short right in front of her horse. The calf shook his head and snorted playfully. Tawny laughed and petted Gray and spoke to the calf in a motherly way.
“Well, aren’t you somethin’.”
It was the calf born that night, so many months ago. He had survived and had turned out to be a milk thief, racing from cow to cow, stealing a suck.
He had been so efficient at it, that she had left him with the herd, where he had been cared for by not just one momma cow, but almost all 52 of them.
Now, as she sat astride her gelding counting the herd, Tawny’s eye captured another movement in the distance.
Her hand shaded her eyes as she studied the form coming toward her on a horse.
Little by little, the form came into view. As the form grew nearer, Tawny’s heart leapt in her chest and tears pooled in her green eyes.
The tall sorrel trotted easily, closing the space between her and the man atop him.
Wayne Coulten sat the old gelding easily and comfortably. He grinned under his white felt cowboy hat but said nothing.
He pulled the horse up short and stared into her astonished eyes. He reached, silently into the pocket of his ratty old jean jacket and pulled out a horse shoe and handed it to Tawny silently. She took the uniquely crafted shoe and pocketed it quietly and refused to meet his gaze.
Wayne Coulten spoke first.
“I told you not to buy that gray gelding with the bad feet.”
Tawny laughed.
“You told me a lot of things that I should have listened to.” She laughed, but said nothing else.
“Oh, never mind all that shit. I was wrong Tawny. You done all right for yourself. I just had my life all mixed up with yours. I thought I knew how to make things better for you. But I should have listened to you.”
Father and daughter stood together quietly and gazed out over the plains before them.
The cattle munched on grass, occasionally issuing short lows and grunts to each other as they moved within the safety of a pasture these cattle had known all their lives and would know until they died here.
“How bout a father-daughter evening on the tailgate at the ranch?”
I’d love to. But it’ll have to be this evening. I have a court case in Cheyenne this afternoon.”
“Yeah, I heard about that,” Wayne threw his head back and his hands up in a question.
“Frog Tatum?”
“A new lawyer has to have clients!” Tawny laughed while she pretended to defend herself.
“Well, better get to gittin’ then. I can come back this evening. We have some catchin’ up to do.”
Tawny laughed and slapped the old sorrel on the rump.
“I changed my mind,” She said and took off on her gelding to get some lead on her father’s faster horse. “Last one back to the ranch buys the tequila.”
Clumps of red dirt flew from the feet of the gray and sorrel as Tawny and her dad raced toward home.
On a ridge to the north, a piebald mare stood erect, ears pointed as she watched the horses below her gallop away.
Like any horse would, she danced and fought the bit to follow, but her rider gently checked her. Two dogs, an ugly Catahoula and a Queensland Red Heeler stood on either side of his horse. Finally, as dust from the trail of the other two horses was carried away by an Oklahoma breeze, Zeke turned his horse and headed north to whatever lay ahead.
