Kathleen Eagle - The Prodigal Cowboy

“No, but it don’t taste too good.”

Dempsey leaned back against the truck and howled.

“Maybe you’d better keep your mouth shut and get done, Bongo,” Ethan said. “I gotta get cleaned up for supper.”

Folding dining tables flanked a large pass-through window that separated the kitchen from the commons area. Two worn sofas, a card table, a TV and a few chairs furnished the opposite end of the great room. The setup was a small version of the commons at the Indian boarding school Bella had attended before her mother decided she should come back home and go to little Sinte High School. It was not Bella’s choice—the South Dakota mission school had a good reputation for preparing kids for college—and she remembered questioning her mother’s judgment, even accusing her of being selfish, which had turned out to be true. Her mother jealously guarded those years, claimed them as her time. But what she really meant was their time, and Bella had had no idea how short the time would be.

She wondered how many of the two-dozen boys who lined up at the window and came away with plates loaded with meat and potatoes would be taken home by their parents if and when the state stepped aside. They behaved like the boys she’d gone to school with, jostling for position, be it in suckling, pecking or batting order. Dying to get noticed, an expression a few of them would take literally if they found no other way. But here they were allowed to be boys while they learned to be men. If they could, and if they would. She’d reported on more than a few who did not.

“You really are their hero,” Bella noted after Bongo and Dempsey had taken the long way around the tables to congratulate Ethan for “scoring.”

“Yeah, they think I’m bad,” he said with a smile.

“Which is good.”

“In their eyes, maybe. Should I leave it at bad, or should I admit to a generous helping of stupid?” He shook his head as he cast a glance at the fluorescent fixture overhead. “I don’t know, Bella. I’m new at this job, and I’m kinda wingin’ it. You never know what’s gonna work with these gangsters.”

“They don’t seem like gangsters.”

“A couple of them are here because they won’t go to school. They’d rather sit in a hole and smoke weed.” He scanned the tables behind her. “Some have done worse.”

“What’s worse than throwing away your best chance to climb out of a weedy hole?”

“How long have you been reporting the news? You tell me.”

She drew a deep breath as she ran down her mental list. She’d interviewed hardheads in all shapes and sizes. “Throwing away your next best chance on top of the first.”

“Which is why they’re back to Square One. It’s a good option for kids who are open to this kind of rural life.”

“Is it good for you?”

“It’s perfect for me. Tailor-made.” She gave him an incredulous look, and he laughed. “No, I’m serious. I’ve got a place to stay, but I’m free go. I get to eat and sleep and shower whenever I feel like it. I’m doing something useful, and they pay me for it. Plus, they let me keep a horse here.” He winked at her. “I’m makin’ progress.”

She poked at her mashed potatoes with her fork. “I went to Sinte this morning to do a little research.”

“Research?”

She nodded without looking up. “I spoke with your father.”

“If you’re interested in horse training, Logan’s your man.”

“I’m interested in the story behind the horses.”

“How much time you got?” He gave her a sly grin. “Some ‘tails’ are longer than others.”

It wasn’t much of a joke, but the way his eyes sparkled, she had to reward him with a laugh.

“And some kicks are harder on the gut than others,” he added, the sparkle fading. “So watch yourself, okay?”

The smile fell from her face. “Are you talking about Logan?”

“I’m talking about poking around behind the horse. I’m talking about being in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong questions.” He sipped his coffee, studying her over the rim of the cup. He set it down slowly. “With all this interest in sleeping dogs and horses’ asses, have you thought about doing something useful?”

“Like what?”

He frowned briefly. “Maybe go back to school for veterinary medicine.”

She laughed. “You know, I never had a dog, and I’ve never really ridden a horse.”

“No lie?”

“I try not to do that, either. So I bet you’re thinking, an Indian girl who’s never had a dog? No way.”

“I’m thinking, a girl who’s never been on a horse? That is heartbreaking.”

“I didn’t say I’d never been on one. I got on, got scared, had a very short ride.”

“End of story?”

“Well, I’ve always loved horse stories, but you get up there, and the horse raises his head right away and starts prancing around, and you’re so high off the ground …” She could almost feel the prickly tummy-to-toes whoosh just thinking about it. “I was six years old. That was my one chance, and I blew it.”

“Stick with me, Indian girl.” He cocked a forefinger at her. “I’m all about second chances.” He smiled. “You want one?”

She stared at him. She knew that come-on look, the charismatic smile, the reflexive wink—she’d seen it all, generally directed at someone else. But she’d only been favored a time or two, and her adolescent self had yearned for once more, Ethan. Look at me that way again, and I’ll follow you anywhere .

Thank God he hadn’t. She would be in a fine mess now, wouldn’t she?

“Tomorrow’s my day off,” he said. “Come back in the afternoon and let me take you riding.”

“Today was my day off.”

“That’s right,” he recalled. “They don’t pay you to dig.”

“They do, but only in certain places. They’re called assignments . I’m very good about getting my assignments done before I go back to digging in more fertile—” she demonstrated, sinking splayed fingers into air serving as ground “—loamy ground, dark and loaded with secrets. In my business, there is no right or wrong question, only true or false answers.”

“Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no …” His smile was slight, almost sad. “Truth is, I’ve got no answers. I’m still looking.”

“My mother told me once that she was taught not to ask questions, but eventually she decided it was no good to hang back.” She sat back in her chair, listening in her mind’s ear, reciting word for word. “‘We live in a world full of people who love to give answers. They might not be generous with anything else, but they have answers to spare. If you don’t ask, they think you’re not interested. And if you’re not interested …’”

“I’m interested. I’m asking.” His smile turned inviting. “Would you like to go out with me sometime?”

“What time tomorrow afternoon?”

“Whenever you get off work.”

“I have some flexibility in my schedule. I could try to move some things around.” She pulled her woolen shoulder bag into her lap and fished out her phone. “What’s your cell number?”

“I don’t have one.”

“So you don’t have a phone number?”

“No numbers.” Ethan looked straight into her eyes and gave the two words— true words—a moment to sink in. They were heavy enough to crush her no wrong questions theory. And then he smiled. “I’ll be here all afternoon. Come when you can.” He smiled slowly. “Just call out my name.”

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