Tim Washburn - Powerless

The sun breaks on the horizon, lighting the surroundings in an amber glow.

“You’ve got quite the setup here,” Zeke says. A fire pit resides not far from the back door and an old picnic table is set off to the side. “You always up this early?”

“I can’t sleep late. Must be because I go to bed so early. Guess we’re turning into the pioneers—sleeping in rhythm with the sun.”

Zeke points at the turkey. “Want me to clean that?”

“I gutted it already. It’ll keep until I can pluck the feathers. How did you sleep?”

“I slept, I think,” he says with a smile. “Ground was a little hard and my body is sore from being in the saddle all day. I’m not sure my butt is up for another round.”

She chuckles. “You could stay here and rest up for a day.”

“You made yourself pretty clear yesterday you wanted me gone by first light.”

“Yeah, but that was before we talked last night. How did I know you weren’t a serial killer?”

“So you’re satisfied now. How do you know I’m not an extraordinarily charming serial killer?”

She smiles and the laugh lines enhance her beauty. “So, not just charming but extraordinarily charming?”

Zeke shrugs and offers his own smile.

She pours two mugs of coffee and hands one to Zeke. “I like to think of myself as a good judge of character. Seriously, you’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”

Zeke’s not sure how to take that, maybe because his mind is churning through all sorts of possibilities. This is the first time he’s truly looked at another woman since the death of his wife. “I should probably scoot on down to Dallas and grab my sister and her family.” His response elicits the smallest of frowns, confusing him further. “I would like to stop by on the way back through, if that’s okay.”

“Absolutely. I’ll bag a couple more turkeys in the next day or so to feed your family.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“I know I don’t. But I want to.” She drifts away from the subject. “I’d offer sugar and cream, but I have neither.”

“Black is perfect. I’m going to put some more feed out for the horses,” he says, turning for the barn.

“Wait. I’ll walk with you.”

They walk to the barn, not touching, but close enough to do so.

“Give them some of the hay in the barn, too,” she says, glancing up at Zeke.

His heart skips a beat. “Thanks, I will. I wasn’t sure if the hay was included in the accommodations.”

Summer looks away and blushes before turning to punch his arm. “I couldn’t invite a killer into the house.”

“I’m glad you didn’t. No telling who might be out and about. Better to be safe than sorry.” He pushes the barn door to the stops and leaves it open, allowing enough light to see what he’s doing.

He watches as Summer steps over to Ruby and runs her hands across her flank, whispering softly. It’s obvious she’s been around horses before. He grabs the sack of oats and pours a couple of neat piles for the horses, then scatters some fresh hay around for them to munch on. He turns to Summer. “How long are you planning to stay here?”

“I don’t know. I don’t have any place to go back to. We put our home up for sale when I filed for divorce. Aubrey and I were still living in the house, but I have no desire to go back. I feel like I need to stay here just in case Aubrey and my father make their way home.”

Zeke has no desire to burst her bubble and offers no response. He grabs up his canteen and takes a long swallow, trying to frame the next question in the best possible light. He works on screwing the lid back on. “Any chance of a reconciliation between you and your husband?”

“Uh… no. We’ve been separated for over a year and a half. I held out some hope we might get back together, for Aubrey’s sake if nothing else. But the longer I was estranged from him, the more I came to dislike the man. What about you? Married?”

“No… yes… I… was—” Zeke stops, not sure he wants to break the scab of an old wound. His hand drifts toward the locket around his neck but he pulls it back. “I was married. My wife died during her first pregnancy.”

She covers her mouth with her hands. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s been over three years. Long enough that I should put the whole issue behind me.”

Summer takes a step closer toward him but pulls up short. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” He rakes his hand across his face. He can tell she’s on the verge of asking more. “All right if I leave the door open so the horses can get to the water?”

“Of course. Let the horses roam for a while. Let’s go back to the house and I’ll fix some of the leftover venison.”

They exit the barn and the chatter on the return trip is somewhat subdued. Zeke reaches for her arm and pulls her to a stop. “What happened was three years ago. You’d think I’d be over it by now.”

He releases her arm, but instead of turning away Summer threads her arm through his. “I can’t imagine how horrible that was for you. That’s not something you can put behind you very easily. Time heals all wounds, they say, but they never specify how much time. You’re a good man, Zeke Marshall.”

Back at the fire, Summer pours more coffee for them before disappearing into the house. Zeke carries his coffee over to the picnic table and takes a seat. But he doesn’t sit long. The hard wood sends a direct signal from his butt to his brain. Instead he makes his way over to the fire, contemplating how he’s going to sit in the saddle for another long day.

She returns from inside with a heavy cast-iron skillet. He reaches out to relieve her of the burden and their hands touch, sending a pleasant jolt tingling up his arm. The sensation felt exactly like a static shock, that little pop, and from her expression he can see she felt something, too. Unnerved, he sets the heavy pan on a nice bed of glowing coals while she returns to the house.

He takes advantage of her leaving and sneaks around the side of the house to relieve himself. As he returns around the corner she catches him.

“Bathroom?”

“How’d you guess? I kind of miss the sound of a flushing toilet.”

“Try being a girl. You’ve got it easy.”

She puts some meat into the pan and the sizzle and aroma make his stomach rumble. “I hope the meat’s not spoiled. I kept it down in the cellar overnight.”

He bends down to take a quick sniff. “I think we’re safe, but we should cook it little longer just in case.”

She nods and pours herself more coffee. They make small talk until the venison is cooked through. Summer loads up two plates and hands one to Zeke. Between bites, he looks toward the barn and sees the horses wander out and make their way to the water tank. After drinking their fill they leisurely graze on the few patches of still-green grass. I should be miles down the road by now . But the fire and the food are good reasons for the delay. Or so he tells himself.

The coffeepot soon runs dry, leaving Zeke without a ready excuse to hang around any longer. He takes his and Summer’s empty plates and washes them both in a tub of water sitting by the picnic table. Using a rag, he wipes the heavy cast-iron pan clean, and with nothing left to do, reluctantly turns for the barn.

“I’m coming,” Summer says, falling in step beside him. Inside the barn he saddles Murphy and puts the wooden carriers on both mares and secures their leads to one another. He leads the horses out into the bright sunlight, but pauses before putting his foot in the stirrup.

He turns to Summer. “Thank you for everything.”

“You’re very welcome.”

They’ve arrived at an awkward moment. Zeke desperately wants to wrap his arms around her, but instead he pulls himself up and screams out a groan when his ass hits the saddle.