Wind River Wrangler (Wind River Valley #1)(100)

Reese kept one ear cocked toward the phone call Charlie was making. Let there be an opening for me. He worried because even though he no longer stank, his clothes were dirty and long past a washing. He knew he looked like a burned-out druggie or a homeless person, his hair long, unkempt, his black beard thick and in dire need of a trim. Reese didn’t have a pair of scissors on him to do the job. His scruffy dark green baseball cap was frayed and old, a holdover from two years ago when he was a Marine.

He eyed the box of colorfully frosted cupcakes and his mouth watered. He wanted to grab all of them, but his discipline and his sense of manners forced him to pick up just one. His fingers trembled again as he peeled the paper off the pink-frosted cupcake.

Swallowing the accumulated saliva, Reese bit into the concoction, groaning internally as the sweetness hit his tongue and coated the insides of his mouth. For a moment, he was dizzy from the sugar rush, his whole body lighting up with internal celebration as the food hit his gnawing stomach. Standing there, Reese forced himself to take slow sips of the coffee. It tasted heavenly. He heard Charlie finish the call and his footsteps came in his direction.

“Hey, Mr. Lockhart, good news,” Charlie said. “The owner, Shay Crawford, is still in need of a wrangler. She’s coming into town in about two hours, going to be dropping by here to pick up some dog food and such. Said she’d meet you at that time.”

“That’s good to hear,” Reese said. “Thank you . . .”

Charlie nodded. “I have a bathroom with a big shower in back, over there,” he said, and he jabbed his index finger toward the rear corner of the store. “It’s got some shaving gear and such in there, as well. On your way there, pick out a pair of jeans, a work shirt, boots, and whatever else you need before she arrives.”

“I don’t have the money to pay you,” Reese said, hating to admit it. But he understood what Charlie was really saying. The woman owner of the Bar C would probably NOT want to hire him the way he looked and smelled right now. The guy was trying to help him out.

Charlie gripped the arm of Reese’s damp, dark olive green military jacket. “Come this way. Just consider my offer as grateful thanks from this nation of ours for your sacrifices, Mr. Lockhart. You pick up what you need. It’s free to you. It’s the least this nation can do for our vets.” Charlie drilled a look into his eyes that told him he wasn’t going to budge from his position or offer to him.

Reese was going to say no, but the man’s face turned stubborn. He felt like he was in a dream instead of a nightmare. “Tell you what,” Reese said, his voice suddenly thick with emotion. “If I get this job, I’ll pay you back every cent. Fair enough?”

Charlie smiled a little. “Fair enough, Mr. Lockhart. Now, eat all you want and once you’re filled up, choose your clothes, find a good Stetson, work gloves, and anything else you might need. Bring it to the counter and I’ll write it up for you.” Charlie studied his sorry-looking boots. “And get a pair of decent work boots to replace those guys.” He gave Reese a grin. “They look like they need to be permanently retired.”

One corner of Reese’s mouth twitched. “Sort of like me,” he admitted, more than grateful to the man. He felt like he was being treated like a king.

“Son, you’re just having a bad streak of luck, is all. We all go through them at some point in our lives. You’ll get through it too.” Charlie released his arm and patted it. “I think your streak is gonna end right shortly. Miss Crawford is an angel come to earth. If you present yourself well, I’m sure she’ll hire you. She’s a good boss to work for. The people she hires stay and that says everything.”

Reese watched Charlie walk back to the counter. Hot tears pricked the backs of his eyes. Reese swallowed hard several times, forcing them away. He ate four more cupcakes, and had three more cups of hot coffee, and felt damn near human in the next fifteen minutes. He found the jeans, work shirts, thick, heavy socks, a couple of pairs of boxer shorts, two white T-shirts, and carried them up to the counter.

Charlie scowled. “Where’s your work gloves? You need a good, heavy Carhartt work jacket, too. Your Stetson? Get a pair of snow gloves. It stays winter until mid-June around here. And don’t leave out getting a good, heavy knit sweater you can wear under that winter coat of yours,” he said, and he pointed in another direction where a turnstile of men’s sweaters hung with a spring for sale sign on top of it.

Chastened, Reese nodded, his throat locked up with shame.

“Oh, and serious work boots, Son.” He shook his finger in another direction where the footwear department was located. “Get a darned good pair. Don’t skimp on quality because of price.”

Reese wished he could turn Charlie’s name into the White House and he be lauded as the hero he was to him. There should be recognition to civilians who helped out vets who were faltering or who had walked away from society. Charlie deserved a civilian medal of the highest order.

Once Reese located the rest of the gear, he brought it up to the counter.

“Grab your new duds and take a good, long, hot shower, Mr. Lockhart. There’s razors, a pair of scissors in the medicine cabinet should you want to trim that beard and long hair of yours a bit.”

*

Later, Charlie smiled from behind the counter as Reese approached it. In his hands, he held his old clothes. Reese smelled food. Real food. And then, he spotted two large Styrofoam boxes near Charlie’s elbow.