The Rancher's Surprise Son

Slim whistled sharply and motioned for him to hurry. Cody jogged over to him. “What’s up?”

“You’re supposed to meet with your parole officer and J.W. in J.W.’s office.” Slim lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. “He wants to see you immediately.”

Cody had expected a summons sooner or later, but was hoping that it would be later.

“Where?” Cody knew that J.W. had an office at the ranch house. If the meeting was to be there, maybe he could see Laura again.

“In A-2.”

Cody forgot that J.W. had another office in the Arabian-2 barn, which was far from the ranch house.

“I’m on my way.” Cody hurried away from the smoke of Slim’s cigarette and headed down the gravel path leading to A-2.

Cody was in no rush to talk to J.W. or hear about his conditions of parole again from his parole officer. He was instructed on each of them at length before he was released from prison.

He slowed his progress through the desert to J.W.’s office, hoping that his new parole officer would be a decent guy and easygoing. As he walked, he enjoyed the occasional rush of a family of quails in front of him, as well as the dash of a roadrunner.

It was a great day to be free, and it’d be a great night with Laura.

Hawks looped above, black feathery kites against the turquoise sky. He’d like nothing better than to take a long hike through the mountains and connect with the land again. He’d missed being able to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted to do it.

Freedom would take some getting used to, but then again, he still was tethered to J. W. Duke.

On the left side of the low, grayish barn, the door to J.W.’s office was open, but Cody knocked on the door anyway. No one answered, so he paused in the doorway, taking in the scene before him.

J. W. Duke sat in an oversize black leather chair behind a huge, gleaming desk. J.W. was bigger than life and so was his gut. An unlit cigar stub stuck out of the corner of his mouth, and he was shouting into the phone in his usual gruff voice.

J.W. motioned for Cody to take a chair in front of him, but Cody decided to wait outside instead. He couldn’t stand breathing in the same air as J.W. any longer than he had to.

“Masters, I’m ready for you!” J.W. bellowed, slamming down the phone.

“I’m here. No need to yell.”

“Take a seat.” J.W. didn’t even glance up at him.

“I’ll stand.” Cody didn’t want to sit in front of the oak desk as if the other man was his parole officer.

Where was his parole officer anyway?

Although Cody should be grateful for whatever J.W. did to get him out of prison, he didn’t want J.W. adding his own spin to his conditions of release.

“Suit yourself, but at least stand where I can see you.”

Cody walked to the front of the desk. He liked this vantage point, looking down on J.W. as the man often did to others. The only other man who had always stood toe to toe, belly to belly with J.W. was Mike Masters, Cody’s father. The two had had a dislike/respect relationship, if such a thing could exist.

“I thought my parole officer was going to be here,” Cody said.

“Something came up. He won’t be at our little meeting.” J.W. looked him over, then chomped down on his cigar stub. “You got skinnier in jail.”

“Not a lot of good food in prison, but I’m sure you didn’t bring me here to talk about my diet. Why did you bring me here?”

“What do you mean? Bring you to the Duke Ranch or to my office?”

“Both.”

J.W. grunted. “I brought you here to work your ass off and to try and convince you every damn day to sell your sorry ranch to me.”

“I figured as much.”

“And all you have to do is give me a reason, and I’ll send you back to do your other two years with a smile on my face.”

Cody grunted. “I figured that, too.”

“And no one else is going to give you a job, and you can’t leave the county.”

Cody shrugged. “Why isn’t anyone going to give me a job?” He knew the answer to that, but he wanted to hear it from J.W.

“Because I’ll blacklist you, and because you’re a murderer.”

“I pled to involuntary manslaughter. Not murder.”

“I don’t care what fancy thing you call it. Your stepfather turned up dead, cowboy.”

Cody made as if he was checking his watch, a watch he’d pawned years ago. “Are we almost done here? I have manure that I’d rather shovel.”

“I’m not done yet.” J.W. took his unlit cigar out of his mouth and set it down on a stack of papers. He pointed his index finger toward Cody’s face. “If I catch you near my daughter or my grandson, I’ll find a way to send you back. I don’t care what I have to do. I have twenty hands who’d swear to whatever I told them to say.”

“I’m bound to run into Laura and your grandson. It’s a small world, Duke, and I’m working here. What do you want me to do?”

“Run—don’t walk—the other way.” J.W. snapped his fingers, then spoke as if he were thinking out loud. “I could always send them both to my sister Betty’s in Boston. There’s a nice military school nearby for Johnny when he gets older.”

Cody remained silent until he said, “All this is about you getting the Double M?”

“Mostly.”

“What’s the rest of it, Duke?”

“That’s Mr. Duke to you, convict.” The cigar stub returned to his mouth, and he picked up the stack of papers, tapping them on the desk to straighten them. “We’re done here. Get back to work.”

Outside, the wind had kicked up and so had the dirt, but it was still better than being cooped up with J.W. Cody lowered his hat and bent his head to shield his eyes and nose.

Slim met him in the barn just as he was about to pick up the pitchfork.

“Go home, Cody. You’re off the clock.”

“What?”

“That’s enough for your first day. Hit the trail.”