The Cowboy Who Strolled Into Town, Page 2

  “Neither has it deemed your sense of humour,” He said skipping away as she made to take a hand he was nursing hands, “I’m all greasy!” he protested, “I don’t want to soil them ivory fingers of yours.”

  “Oh come of it! These ivory fingers are here to help, besides I’m sure I seen worse.” She said grabbing his hand.

  “You mean at the hospital?”

  “hmmh-hmmh, nothing a good rub won’t fix; suck on it for a few minutes, and it should be good as new in no time.”

  “Thanks. You always hard on your patients like that?” he asked, his eyes mocking. She was standing just in front of him.

  “Only when I need to be; some people don’t know when to lie still and ask for help.” She said, openly admiring the muscles bursting through the seams of his coverall, “So where do we start Cowboy?” she asked, punching at his rock had chest.

  Working with Julianne felt more like play to Daniel than actual work. It was hard work nonetheless; one that they both agreed would take the better part of a week to accomplish; opening up of the windows and letting the air, and life back into a house that had been closed off in the darkness for too long. They moved the furniture about, to the sound of popular country music, and scrub cleaned the living room to the sound of both of them singing along to songs they both knew by heart. The sound of music and laughter and good old fashioned labour did not go unnoticed by the neighbours, and within an hour, Mrs Yalow had sent her son Steve over with some lemonade to cool temperatures, after which Steve stayed to help out himself. Three other neighbours came along, all with more lemonade and some fresh baked cakes for refreshments and all stayed. It was good old Southern Hospitality, and in short order, there were six people in total, rubbing the house down, both upstairs and downstairs; three women and three men, one taking a look at the car, five taking a look at the house. Daniel worked with Steven upstairs while Julianne coordinated the women downstairs. It was hard work, but they all sang to the radio, and enjoyed the company. By noon, with the essential parts of the house cleaned, and the growl of the car mixing with the blast of the radio, they reclined in the shade of the porch; tired, soiled and sticky, but content. They made the last of the lemonade and cakes to disappear, and nobody protested when Daniel offered to carry all of them home in his newly up and running ford truck, even though all of them lived within a mile of each other, counting out Julianne who lived farther up in the part of the suburbs closest to the city center.

  The small group cheered playfully when the truck came to life immediately the key was turned in the ignition; Gary Wade, middle-aged and sombre faced, who had been working on the truck all morning, nodded his head in satisfaction, and accepted the pats on his back with a rare smile as the car sped along in a cloud of dust along en route to the city center.

  It was already past one o’clock when Daniel pulled up beside Julianne’s house. The sun was high in the sky, and Daniel put his hat on as he saw Julianne up to her door.

  He looked like a cow hand straight from the prairies in all respects, the lazy, yet steady walk, the strong arms protective over those of the woman he hoped to claim his own, the hard stare, hidden beneath the brown hat; all this supporting a brown jacket over a tight fitting blue bodice, and blue denims, all soiled by the day’s work. He still wore yesterday’s stubble, and Julianne rubbed her hands playfully over this as she caressed his chin in the hot southern sun. The feel of her surprisingly soft hands against the hard lining of his face, felt consoling, soothing; perfumed balm for his restless soul. He took her in his strong arms, and kissed her. He kissed her hard, and he kissed her long there under the sun, and it seemed an eternity before he let her go, breathless, as hungry as he was for more.

  She stared into his eyes, their blue hue, more intense than she had ever seen them, and at that moment neither the sun, nor the house, nor the very earth they stood on existed, as a bond more enduring than time was forged between them. A gasp escaped her parched lips, leaving her breathless, as he kissed her lightly on the forehead, sending wild shivers from the top of her crown, through her sooty frame to the bottom, the very soles of her feet.

  The breeze blew warm against her cheeks as she watched him drive away, the prospect of being away from those strong arms more agonising than the heat overhead.

  Chapter 4

  Tyrone Hayes looked on at the Ford truck, until it disappeared from sight down the road. His room upstairs would have been completely dark if not for the adamant rays of sun light which insisted on getting through the drawn curtains. The result was twilight on a sunny day with a brownish rather than golden hue pervading the place. Tyrone sat on the dirty sheets, and exhaled a dense puff of grey smoke that rose lazily to the ceiling.

  Julianne followed the reeking stench to the closed and jammed it open, “For God’s sake Tyrone! How many times do I got to tell you not to smoke your pot in the house?!” The figure on the bed lay as if dead, and for a second Julianne was fearful, “Ty?” She asked coughing, ignoring the burning sensation in her throat as she sidled over to the bed to the check on him. The figure on the bed jumped up all of a sudden, causing Julianne to stumble and fall back onto floor with a painful thud.

  Her scream echoed around the house as her older brother stumbled to the floor beside her as her tried to grab her with his mangled hands. The dried out husk of a human being who fell beside her only scared her further, and she scrambled to her feet. She felt his hands begin to close around her ankle, but she jumped out just in time to make it out the door. She rested, with her back, her whole frame to the door, her chest heaving up and down in panic, and her heart. She dug her legs in as she pushed back against Tyrone’s insistent banging, tears streaming down her eyes as she held on tight.

  An hour later, in in the shower, she could hear him calling out to her. His voice was crisp and clear, calling her by the abridged form of her name, which their father used to favour whenever she was pouting, and needed cajoling; Julie. Whatever heights he had been on, she was sure he was not there now. He always did this when he was sorry and wanted to apologise. Julia let the cool water stream over her, enveloping and caressing every nook and cranny of her soft, chocolate brown skin; washing away every inch of the sick smell of cannabis from her body, if not from her mind.

  When she came down stairs he was nowhere to be found, and for that Julianne was grateful. She immediately set about preparing supper.

  Tyrone walked briskly past the bus stop, hat over his head shielding from the hot overhead sun. He hailed for the first taxi he could see, yanking the door open before it had even come to a proper halt.

  “Triple H; step on it!” he said crisply, leaning back into the seat for the half hour ride to the more affluent parts of town.

  The taxi sped on, through the scanty traffic that was characteristic of that time of day, through the business district, past the St John’s Hospital where Julianne worked, before finally slowing down as it broke off from traffic into the district known as Hill’s Head. Tyrone squinted as the sun shone through the slow moving glass and against his face. The chauffeur, his eyes still steady, despite the sun pulled into an arc before a huge metal gate that read at the top: Hill’s Head Halls.

  “Triple H, sir”

  Tyrone shuffled out of his seat as he paid the money to the chauffeur, whose worldly eyes watched with interest the oddly inappropriate quality Tyrone’s demeanour possessed in the high class surroundings. Tyrone ignored the comic look in the other’s eyes and turned purposefully towards the opulent gates of Triple H.

  A haven from all the hustle and bustle of life for the movers, and shakers of the greater city area, Hill’s Head Halls was ‘officially’ open to all, so Tyrone, dirty jeans loose against his emaciated legs, and pot stained t-shirt blowing in the wind, marched through the gates, and up to the open doors of the club.

  He burst into the plush, elegantly furnished, cigar filled foyer like a desert wind: haggard and unwanted. Silence fell like a blanket upon the totally white population sea
ted therein, as heads turned to look at the ‘intruder’ in all his ungainly glory as he stood wide-eyed, and out of place, clearly looking for someone as he turned his head from side to side.

  A waiter, clad in the proprietary attire of a white shirt over slim black pants surrounded by a velvet waistband, came to ask the purpose of his visit; a hardly camouflaged air of disdain about him.

  “What?!” Tyrone asked belligerently, “Ain’t this a free for all? Do I need a reason to be here?” he asked the flustered waiter, “I am looking for somebody and he better be here.” Tyrone said as he pushed past the waiter towards the twenty or so people scattered across the room. “No don’t get up on account of me, please by all means sit down; that’s what I intend to do.” He announced loudly as a few white bearded old men rose, cigar in hand, to move to an adjoining room. Tyrone took a seat, just close to the door; even in his cannabis excited state, he had more sense than to go too deep into a room as this one where his kind was clearly not wanted.

  At that instant a man walked into the cigar smoke filled air of the room. His walk was steady, his eyes hard, and his airs, authoritarian. The last part was probably explained by the brown sheriff uniform he adorned. He was stunned to see Tyrone seated in there, not only inappropriately dressed, but clearly coming down from a high or going up-you could never know.

  “What?! Don’t I have the right to-“The sheriff did not let him finish. He grabbed him by the cuff of his dirty shirt, and yanked him roughly out of the chair, put him in an arm lock and hauled him out of the club all together. Tyrone protested all the way to the white stone gravel he was tossed unto.

  “It’s because I ain’t rich isn’t it? Because I’m black that’s why-“ he was cut off by a warning glare from the hard eyes from the sheriff, “You gon’ get yours one day McGrady-you mark my words. This cannot continue forever.”

  “Shut the hell up you crack head. If you want to mix up with decent company then at least stay off the drugs for crissakes!” Even if Vincent McGrady was interested in the intricacies of racial politics, which he was not, he was not inclined to talk about it with a lunatic like Tyrone Hayes. He toyed with the idea of tossing him in for illegal use; it would certainly bring in some bonuses from certain quarters. “I outta lock you up! You blinking lunatic!”

  “But you can’t can ya? Not when you get pai-“ Tyrone was too stoned to see the blow coming, and it caught him squarely on the jaw, flooring him.

  “You shut your yap! Jesus!” Sheriff Mcgrady spat at the crumpled heap on the white gravel, “Jesus I came to see my father, who is in there you freaking lunatic!” the sheriff hissed fiercely, his face fiery red with rage.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll take it from here sheriff. You did a good job; our boy is just not feeling well. Are ya Tyrone?” A civilised, masculine voice spoke from behind. McGrady could feel a manicured hand on his left shoulder. Tyrone groaned on the ground, clutching his face, “Thought not.” The voice continued.

  “Your boy has a mouth on him; bigger than a pie hole!” McGrady turned to face a clean-faced, sophisticated-looking man of about forty years of age, “Quite frankly I don’t know why you keep him around, Tyler.” he hissed before storming off.

  Tyler Blackford watched the crumpled heap that was Tyrone Hayes with disgust, and shoved it back to the floor with his foot as it tried to rise, “How many times have I told you not to look for me here, or anywhere else?! You don’t call me, I call you; I thought we were clear!”

  His faced softened as Tyler groaned again, “Come on, shake it off; now what is the problem? You know this is not your crowd; reason why I don’t want you coming here.”

  “Not my crowd or you don’t just want them to know that we hang out? Tyrone spat on the ground as he straightened himself to his full height, “You owe me!”

  “Hey, hey take it easy; you are my main man, and I got nothing but love for you. Now why don’t you tell me-“

  “Daniel Hellas is back! You hear me?!”

  “Wait, what do you mean, back? His house is abandoned and he hasn’t been back in twenny years!”

  “Well he’s back! Now excuse me your highness my kind live that way” Tyrone hissed and ambled off in the direction of the gate, leaving Tyler to ponder, his white coat billowing slightly in the wind, and the sun reflecting on the pure, polished leather of his cowboy boots.

  Chapter 5

  Stanley Yalow proved to be just as restless as his father, and agreed to help Daniel in his farm. It was meant to be a neighbourly gesture, but Daniel insisted on paying him full wages for his work quoting, “the labourer deserves his wages”

  With the help of his father’s old bank, he had been able to secure a tractor, and seeds through their agricultural program. His old man had run a successful farm, and had left a reasonable amount of savings all of which had passed on to Daniel.

  “Your father always knew you would come back; he knew it like it happened yesterday.” Paul Virchow, the bank manager said. He was a burly, red-faced man, neither born nor bred in the south, but originally from New York. He had been transferred there and forgotten by the powers that held sway; resentful at first, the environment had grown on him and now one wife, four kids, and twenty five years later, he was as southern as the birds in season.

  “Hmmh,” Daniel grunted, “I was not expecting this at all.”

  “Yeah your pops was the silent type; but he prepared as best as he could.”

  Presently Daniel and Stanley stood at the back of the house, the tractor ten metres away stood in front of the barn. They admired in silence, the gleam of the warm morning sun upon the fresh paint job of the tractor.

  “So we begin only with the crop; no animals yet?” Steven asked

  “Hmmh-hmmh” Daniel answered.

  “I’ll still check out the stables and chicken coops from time to time; make sure no wild animals don’t make it a haven or nothing.”

  “Hmmh, good idea; I could put one or two horses, you never know; maybe to help with going about the farm when it’s done.”

  They were pulled out of their reverie by the sound of a vehicle pulling up in front of the house. Sheriff McGrady was dusting himself up with his brown hat, and already making his way to the repaired gates by the time they had circled the house.

  Daniel waited for him on the porch as he made his way up to the house. “Vincent I never knew the badge was hereditary around these here parts; I must have been gone too long.” Daniel began mockingly.

  “Oh you know the apple never falls far from the tree; Somebody gotta keep an eye on things.”

  McGrady was on the porch now. Stanley could see that there was no love lost between them, and offered the sheriff a seat in the long chair on the porch to defuse the situation.

  “Naw I won’t be staying long young’un I just came to see my old friend here; you know this area has been abandoned for some time and could harbour wild animals. I hear the coyote frequents here to give birth this time of year.” Sheriff McGrady said carefully, “I would tread carefully if I were you; you know, start small while I retake the land gradually.”

  Daniel’s thousand yard stare could have killed a bird mid-flight, Sheriff Vincent McGrady seemed unimpressed, and Stanley found himself shifting from foot to foot as the situation inexplicably seemed about to escalate.

  “The only thing I hear is the rage in these parts is the weasel that walks on two feet, and has a habit of cropping up where he doesn’t belong; lucky I brought my shotgun with me.”

  “I only wanna help; it’s my job. I’ll be seeing you around. In the meantime, I don’t want any trouble in my county.” The sheriff said icily, as he made to leave, his shiny shoes sounding harsh against the old wood of the porch, “See you folks around maybe; say hello to your ma and pa for me boy.” He said, shoving his chin slightly towards Stanley.

  Stanley leaned on one of the posts that ran from ceiling to floor along the length of the porch, as he and Daniel watched the sheriff walk back towards his official vehicle.
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  “You really have a shotgun up in here?” He asked Daniel as the car swirled round in a flurry of dust.

  “Nope,” Daniel said, the smile thinning his lips not reaching his eyes, “But I better get one, and fast. We also better keep an eye out for anything unusual in these parts. I’ve known Vince McGrady a long time and something tells me he did not come over here because it was the neighbourly thing to do.”

  “You think he came over here to take a look at things.” Stanley said matter-of-factly, shaking his head with comprehension. “I take it you two used to see a lot of each other back in the old days.”

  “A skunk can never hide its smell; it would do him more good to wear it proudly. Vince is a two-timing weasel; always was, always will be.”

  Stanley Yalow had heard talk about Daniel Hellas, and how he got to be away from home for so long. He thought, what happened in a man’s life was his business, and also his prerogative for bringing up. He observed the dust raised by the Sheriff’s vehicle drift off and scatter in many directions till it had all but disappeared.

  “I’m gonna juice the old girl up and take her for a spin; why don’t you help me attach the plough before you run on home.” Daniel finally said.

  A little while later, just before nodding off to sleep, from the comfort of the rocking chair in his comfortable old home, Old man Yalow could see Daniel Hellas plough back and forth on the piece of land, that had belonged to his father before him, and that stretched ten acres away into the distance.

  The shadows of evening were already creeping around the edges of the buildings when Daniel decided to call it a day. The sheriff’s visit had him worried, and after he parked the tractor, he cast a wary eye about the barn. He stormed off towards the house, in a huff, his boots sounding ominous in the gathering twilight.