The Colt Chapter Five
Wow, I can't believe it's been so long since I posted the last installment of this (August 28 2008)! Anyway, here is Chapter 5.
Chapter Five
Malcolm sat opposite Marcus in the small diner across the street from the pub where they’d met. He was tense and uncomfortable. Some of the boys who’d challenged him to fight sat at another table. They’d eyed him when he came in with Marcus, but although they made some deliberately loud comments about cheats and thieves, they didn’t approach him.
So you’d be well past eighteen now,” Marcus remarked and Malcolm looked up from his plate, meeting the rancher’s eyes. “I just want to be sure I haven’t got a runaway who’s gonna bring the sheriff to my door on my hands,” Marcus said.
“I was born in 1968,” Malcolm said. “I’d be near enough to twenty.”
“Well you'll soon be old enough for a few beers so we'll make sure you don't miss your next birthday.”
Malcolm shrugged. “I never usually pay my birthday too much mind.” He looked down at the half eaten burger on his plate.
“Eat,” Marcus said. “I don’t like to see food wasted.”
“I ain’t fixing to waste it,” Malcolm said. He took a reluctant bite of the burger. His stomach felt overfull already, but he didn’t want to give Marcus cause to change his mind about him. If it meant he had a gripe the rest of the day, he was going to try and eat the whole thing.
Marcus chuckled, watching him. “I guess it’ll take some getting used to,” he said. “Eating regular meals, I mean.” He leaned back in his chair and took a sip of the coffee he’d ordered with his meal. “I’ll expect you to take your share of the kitchen work. I’m not gonna be your Mom and Dad. We’ll work out a routine for cooking and washing up.”
“Yessir,” Malcolm nodded.
“Mrs Prentice, Andy’s wife comes in a couple times a week to clean the house. She’ll wash and iron your clothes if you bundle them neat and leave them in the laundry room. That don’t mean you leave stuff at your tail and expect her to clean up after you. She'll wash stuff when it's dirty, not when you haven’t bothered to take care of it, and you can't wear it because of the creases...understood?”
“Yessir.”
“All right,” Marcus let his tone and his features soften. “Let’s go see that long eared colt. He’ll be pleased to see you no doubt.”
Malcolm quickly wiped his lips with a napkin and got to his feet. He followed Marcus out of the diner, noting how the rancher limped, sparing his right leg. He frowned. “You sure you’re all right?”
“What?” Marcus shot him a look. “Oh, yeah,” he patted his thigh. “That happened here in town the other day when I came to get your gear. Damned pot holes.”
Malcolm frowned at the obvious lie, but kept his mouth shut. It was none of his business how Marcus had come to be hurt. Old Rodeo injury, or pothole, but he wondered why his new employer just didn’t come out and tell him how the injury happened, instead of making up stories about it.
“You comfortable out in that bunkhouse? You need anything? Extra blankets or whatever?” Marcus glanced at him and Malcolm nodded.
“Yessir. It’s right warm out there just now, summer and all,” he said. “I don’t need anything.”
Marcus fixed him with a steely gaze. “You need anything, and you tell me, understand? I don't want you lightin’ out on me because you didn't think you could talk to me or ask me for stuff you need. Rest assured you won't be getting it for nothin’...this is a big ranch and it needs looking after.”
Malcolm lowered his gaze. “No, sir.” He bit his lip. “I-I mean Yessir. I understand.”
Marcus stopped and turned to him, one hand gripping Malcolm’s chin, tipping his head back so that he had to meet the rancher’s eyes. “Don’t drop your head, Malcolm, and quit with the yessir, no-sir, stuff. That’s not who you are. Believe me, I know.”
Blinking in surprise, Malcolm looked into those vivid blue eyes. He opened his mouth to reply but couldn’t think of anything to say other than yes, sir, so he closed it again and took a backwards step when Marcus let him go and turned to climb into the truck.
Frowning, he hurried around to the passenger’s side and climbed in, watching as Marcus shifted in his seat, trying to make his injured leg comfortable.
“I think we’ll make a start on those driving lessons first thing tomorrow,” Marcus said. “That way I’ll know I’ll always have a ride when this thing acts up.”
“Okay.” Malcolm nodded and turned to look out of the window, glancing at the pub as Marcus drove away from the diner. He let out a breath, glad to get away from the stares and comments of the locals.
“Now I’ve laid down the law, and given you a third degree about your life, is there anything you want to know about me, or the ranch?”
“You said you don’t run any cattle, other than those horses,” Malcolm said. “Near’s I can figure, three horses ain’t gonna bring in a whole lot of money. You got some other business on the side?”
Marcus grinned. “You could call it that,” he said. “I’m in the entertainment business. Nothing much, just some small roles on television, and I’ve done some modeling-if you snigger, you can walk back home.”
Malcolm cast him an appraising glance. “I can see how you could be a model,” he said after a moment. He turned to the window again. “I was offered to do some modeling once-nearly did it, too, but then I got to thinkin’ it didn’t smell right.” Another pause, then, “Come t’hear later it was just a fancy way of getting kids to hustle.”
“There are a lot of sharks out there,” Marcus said. “My mother though, she just wouldn’t be told no. She entered me in every baby show and every modeling contest since I could walk. Even enrolled me in acting classes. I’m looking to retire to the ranch with my horses by the time I’m forty, so every penny I earn goes towards that.”
“You said you grew up around horses,” Malcolm noted.
“Yeah, my Daddy’s got a ranch and runs some horses on it, but he and I never did see eye to eye. I guess that ranch’ll go to my brother someday.”
They pulled into the vet’s driveway and Marcus cut the engine. Marcus went in to talk with the vet, while Malcolm was shown to the barn out back where larger animals were kept for treatment.
Malcolm walked into the very clean barn, spotting Sylvie’s grey nose hanging over a half door he walked over to her. “Hey, Sylvie,” Malcolm scratched her nose as he peered into the stall, smiling to see Jack on his feet. The foal was a little wobbly, but looked around with bright, alert eyes. “Hi, long ears!” Malcolm grinned as the little horse took one or two stiff legged steps towards him and then stopped.
“He’s a little sore yet,” the nurse who’d shown Malcolm to the barn said. “You can go in with him if you want.”
Pulling the door open, Malcolm let himself into the stall. He ran a hand along Sylvie’s flank as he approached her foal, holding a hand out to him. “C’mon, Jack, come here, boy.” He offered the colt his fingers as Malcolm had said to do, chuckling when the colt took them in his mouth and suckled for a moment. “Hey, you’ve got teeth!” Malcolm pulled his hand away, laughing.
He ran his hands over the soft hide, amazed at how much the colt had changed in a little over a week. “You look like a little horse, now,” he said softly. “Even your ears fit better.”
Malcolm glanced up as Marcus came to the stall door.
“How’s he doin’?” Marcus asked.
“He’s up.” Malcolm grinned. “And he grew teeth.”
Marcus let himself into the stall, taking a step towards the colt which quickly moved so that Malcolm was between it and Marcus. “Looks like he’s picked a master, too,” Marcus chuckled. “Hey, you, I’m the one pays the bills to get you well, even if scrawny here saved your life.”
Malcolm laughed. “He just thinks you’re too grumpy,” he said.
“Is that so?” Marcus smiled and moved to stroke Sylvie’s neck. “You ready to get back on the road, Malcolm?”
After giving the colt one last affectionate pat to his neck, Malcolm nodded.
Marcus’ limp was a little more pronounced as they made their way back to the truck.
“You’re really hurt,” Malcolm said. “Do you think you should see a doctor?”
“It’s fine.” Marcus shook his head.
“Are you sure? I mean, it’s not every day you ride a bronco into town and let it toss you into a pothole,” Malcolm said, drawing a puzzled look from the rancher.
“Boy, you’ve had a touch of the sun,” Marcus said.
Malcolm shrugged and climbed into the truck.
They were quiet most of the way back to the ranch. Malcolm was the first to break the silence.
“That fist-fight you drug me out of the other night…” he said.
“Uh-huh?” Marcus flicked him a glance.
“They called me a cheat, and a thief. I just wanted you to know, I don’t steal and I didn’t cheat those boys.”
Marcus laughed. “I know that,” he said. “Everyone around here knows those boys can’t play pool. A one armed man with a hearing aid could beat them.” He looked across at Malcolm. “I know you won’t steal from me, Malcolm. If that’s what you’re trying to say.”
Malcolm nodded. “My people, momma and me, we didn’t have much, but what we had, we come by right. Momma would’ve whooped the hide off of me if I stole anything.”
“Malcolm, you did more than hustle pool to survive, didn’t you?” Marcus asked as they turned in at the ranch.
Ducking his head, Malcolm avoided Marcus’ look. Hot color flooded his cheeks and he folded his arms across his chest. “Only when I was real hungry, and I couldn’t get a game,” he said.
“I’m not judging you,” Marcus said. “You did what you had to, to survive and it’s better than stealing.” He sighed softly. “I want you to know, I won’t ever expect anything from you more than a fair day’s work for a fair wage.”
“Okay,” Malcolm nodded and got down from the truck. “I’ll go get Bullet in from the pasture,” he said, walking away before Marcus could say anything else.
You can read Chapters 1-4 on my website
Chapter Five
Malcolm sat opposite Marcus in the small diner across the street from the pub where they’d met. He was tense and uncomfortable. Some of the boys who’d challenged him to fight sat at another table. They’d eyed him when he came in with Marcus, but although they made some deliberately loud comments about cheats and thieves, they didn’t approach him.
So you’d be well past eighteen now,” Marcus remarked and Malcolm looked up from his plate, meeting the rancher’s eyes. “I just want to be sure I haven’t got a runaway who’s gonna bring the sheriff to my door on my hands,” Marcus said.
“I was born in 1968,” Malcolm said. “I’d be near enough to twenty.”
“Well you'll soon be old enough for a few beers so we'll make sure you don't miss your next birthday.”
Malcolm shrugged. “I never usually pay my birthday too much mind.” He looked down at the half eaten burger on his plate.
“Eat,” Marcus said. “I don’t like to see food wasted.”
“I ain’t fixing to waste it,” Malcolm said. He took a reluctant bite of the burger. His stomach felt overfull already, but he didn’t want to give Marcus cause to change his mind about him. If it meant he had a gripe the rest of the day, he was going to try and eat the whole thing.
Marcus chuckled, watching him. “I guess it’ll take some getting used to,” he said. “Eating regular meals, I mean.” He leaned back in his chair and took a sip of the coffee he’d ordered with his meal. “I’ll expect you to take your share of the kitchen work. I’m not gonna be your Mom and Dad. We’ll work out a routine for cooking and washing up.”
“Yessir,” Malcolm nodded.
“Mrs Prentice, Andy’s wife comes in a couple times a week to clean the house. She’ll wash and iron your clothes if you bundle them neat and leave them in the laundry room. That don’t mean you leave stuff at your tail and expect her to clean up after you. She'll wash stuff when it's dirty, not when you haven’t bothered to take care of it, and you can't wear it because of the creases...understood?”
“Yessir.”
“All right,” Marcus let his tone and his features soften. “Let’s go see that long eared colt. He’ll be pleased to see you no doubt.”
Malcolm quickly wiped his lips with a napkin and got to his feet. He followed Marcus out of the diner, noting how the rancher limped, sparing his right leg. He frowned. “You sure you’re all right?”
“What?” Marcus shot him a look. “Oh, yeah,” he patted his thigh. “That happened here in town the other day when I came to get your gear. Damned pot holes.”
Malcolm frowned at the obvious lie, but kept his mouth shut. It was none of his business how Marcus had come to be hurt. Old Rodeo injury, or pothole, but he wondered why his new employer just didn’t come out and tell him how the injury happened, instead of making up stories about it.
“You comfortable out in that bunkhouse? You need anything? Extra blankets or whatever?” Marcus glanced at him and Malcolm nodded.
“Yessir. It’s right warm out there just now, summer and all,” he said. “I don’t need anything.”
Marcus fixed him with a steely gaze. “You need anything, and you tell me, understand? I don't want you lightin’ out on me because you didn't think you could talk to me or ask me for stuff you need. Rest assured you won't be getting it for nothin’...this is a big ranch and it needs looking after.”
Malcolm lowered his gaze. “No, sir.” He bit his lip. “I-I mean Yessir. I understand.”
Marcus stopped and turned to him, one hand gripping Malcolm’s chin, tipping his head back so that he had to meet the rancher’s eyes. “Don’t drop your head, Malcolm, and quit with the yessir, no-sir, stuff. That’s not who you are. Believe me, I know.”
Blinking in surprise, Malcolm looked into those vivid blue eyes. He opened his mouth to reply but couldn’t think of anything to say other than yes, sir, so he closed it again and took a backwards step when Marcus let him go and turned to climb into the truck.
Frowning, he hurried around to the passenger’s side and climbed in, watching as Marcus shifted in his seat, trying to make his injured leg comfortable.
“I think we’ll make a start on those driving lessons first thing tomorrow,” Marcus said. “That way I’ll know I’ll always have a ride when this thing acts up.”
“Okay.” Malcolm nodded and turned to look out of the window, glancing at the pub as Marcus drove away from the diner. He let out a breath, glad to get away from the stares and comments of the locals.
“Now I’ve laid down the law, and given you a third degree about your life, is there anything you want to know about me, or the ranch?”
“You said you don’t run any cattle, other than those horses,” Malcolm said. “Near’s I can figure, three horses ain’t gonna bring in a whole lot of money. You got some other business on the side?”
Marcus grinned. “You could call it that,” he said. “I’m in the entertainment business. Nothing much, just some small roles on television, and I’ve done some modeling-if you snigger, you can walk back home.”
Malcolm cast him an appraising glance. “I can see how you could be a model,” he said after a moment. He turned to the window again. “I was offered to do some modeling once-nearly did it, too, but then I got to thinkin’ it didn’t smell right.” Another pause, then, “Come t’hear later it was just a fancy way of getting kids to hustle.”
“There are a lot of sharks out there,” Marcus said. “My mother though, she just wouldn’t be told no. She entered me in every baby show and every modeling contest since I could walk. Even enrolled me in acting classes. I’m looking to retire to the ranch with my horses by the time I’m forty, so every penny I earn goes towards that.”
“You said you grew up around horses,” Malcolm noted.
“Yeah, my Daddy’s got a ranch and runs some horses on it, but he and I never did see eye to eye. I guess that ranch’ll go to my brother someday.”
They pulled into the vet’s driveway and Marcus cut the engine. Marcus went in to talk with the vet, while Malcolm was shown to the barn out back where larger animals were kept for treatment.
Malcolm walked into the very clean barn, spotting Sylvie’s grey nose hanging over a half door he walked over to her. “Hey, Sylvie,” Malcolm scratched her nose as he peered into the stall, smiling to see Jack on his feet. The foal was a little wobbly, but looked around with bright, alert eyes. “Hi, long ears!” Malcolm grinned as the little horse took one or two stiff legged steps towards him and then stopped.
“He’s a little sore yet,” the nurse who’d shown Malcolm to the barn said. “You can go in with him if you want.”
Pulling the door open, Malcolm let himself into the stall. He ran a hand along Sylvie’s flank as he approached her foal, holding a hand out to him. “C’mon, Jack, come here, boy.” He offered the colt his fingers as Malcolm had said to do, chuckling when the colt took them in his mouth and suckled for a moment. “Hey, you’ve got teeth!” Malcolm pulled his hand away, laughing.
He ran his hands over the soft hide, amazed at how much the colt had changed in a little over a week. “You look like a little horse, now,” he said softly. “Even your ears fit better.”
Malcolm glanced up as Marcus came to the stall door.
“How’s he doin’?” Marcus asked.
“He’s up.” Malcolm grinned. “And he grew teeth.”
Marcus let himself into the stall, taking a step towards the colt which quickly moved so that Malcolm was between it and Marcus. “Looks like he’s picked a master, too,” Marcus chuckled. “Hey, you, I’m the one pays the bills to get you well, even if scrawny here saved your life.”
Malcolm laughed. “He just thinks you’re too grumpy,” he said.
“Is that so?” Marcus smiled and moved to stroke Sylvie’s neck. “You ready to get back on the road, Malcolm?”
After giving the colt one last affectionate pat to his neck, Malcolm nodded.
Marcus’ limp was a little more pronounced as they made their way back to the truck.
“You’re really hurt,” Malcolm said. “Do you think you should see a doctor?”
“It’s fine.” Marcus shook his head.
“Are you sure? I mean, it’s not every day you ride a bronco into town and let it toss you into a pothole,” Malcolm said, drawing a puzzled look from the rancher.
“Boy, you’ve had a touch of the sun,” Marcus said.
Malcolm shrugged and climbed into the truck.
They were quiet most of the way back to the ranch. Malcolm was the first to break the silence.
“That fist-fight you drug me out of the other night…” he said.
“Uh-huh?” Marcus flicked him a glance.
“They called me a cheat, and a thief. I just wanted you to know, I don’t steal and I didn’t cheat those boys.”
Marcus laughed. “I know that,” he said. “Everyone around here knows those boys can’t play pool. A one armed man with a hearing aid could beat them.” He looked across at Malcolm. “I know you won’t steal from me, Malcolm. If that’s what you’re trying to say.”
Malcolm nodded. “My people, momma and me, we didn’t have much, but what we had, we come by right. Momma would’ve whooped the hide off of me if I stole anything.”
“Malcolm, you did more than hustle pool to survive, didn’t you?” Marcus asked as they turned in at the ranch.
Ducking his head, Malcolm avoided Marcus’ look. Hot color flooded his cheeks and he folded his arms across his chest. “Only when I was real hungry, and I couldn’t get a game,” he said.
“I’m not judging you,” Marcus said. “You did what you had to, to survive and it’s better than stealing.” He sighed softly. “I want you to know, I won’t ever expect anything from you more than a fair day’s work for a fair wage.”
“Okay,” Malcolm nodded and got down from the truck. “I’ll go get Bullet in from the pasture,” he said, walking away before Marcus could say anything else.
You can read Chapters 1-4 on my website