2 Chapter 2

Jase was down by the house, where he’d gone to fetch them some coffee as they went about their daily chores. Orr had to admit it was good to have a partner, someone who shared his enthusiasm for the strange long-eared critters that many folks scorned, although lately around here, mules had gained a certain cachet and class. They sold damn well, too, if you found the right guy or gal who wanted one.

Business had sure picked up this last year. Jase was a good businessman with a flair for marketing and skill in dealing with people, which had always been Orr’s weak spot. However, Jase had also surprised Orr and probably himself by fitting into the cowboy lifestyle and developing a real sense for working with the stock. For a guy who’d grown up in cities, he was amazing. Not bad in some other areas, either. In spite of himself, Orr grinned, remembering the night before in the king-sized bed they now shared in the refurbished, traditional adobe ranch house. Wherever he had gained them, Jase had some amazing talents in the bedroom.

Orr ambled down the lane toward the house where he could soon see Jase and a somewhat shorter man, standing near the back gate to the yard around the old adobe. Jase turned as he approached.

“Hey, Orr, meet Bobby Estrada. Says he wants to learn how to be a mule man so he can get a job at the Grand Canyon. I don’t think he has the gear, but I could be wrong. What do you think?”

* * * *

Bobby’s gaze skated back and forth between the two larger and older men. He tried to read from their expressions what they were thinking, how they responded to him. He had no real paradigms to evaluate them against. Teachers in school? Hardly. Not even his old coach or scoutmaster. These were real manly, outdoor-type guys. The one called Orr seemed to be in charge. He was big, real big, definitely more than six feet tall, and lean, although he looked totally hard and strong. The other man was not as huge, but he had a presence, energy, and control, something that made you listen and take notice.

Orr fisted his hands and planted them on his narrow hips. “You want to become a mule man, huh? Just so you can work at the Grand Canyon and impress some rich dude? Won’t work, kid. The mules will know right away if it isn’t about them, that you’re a fake, and they’ll ignore you. Now, if you were sincere, it would be different.”

Bobby fidgeted a few seconds, scuffing the toe of his badly worn shoe in the soft loose dust. “Well, that’s only one reason,” he hedged. “I think mules are pretty cool. I spent two summers down on my uncle’s ranch in Texas. He had some mules, and they were awesome.”

Orr, the apparent boss, spoke again. “Why don’t you go back and work with him, then?”

I may as well come clean. It’s my only chance. “I fucked up bad, I think. I’m supposed to be enrolled in college, but I skipped out. I’m sick of books and rules and authority-type shit, you know? I wanna live free and do something, something real and tough.”

Both men laughed. Orr sobered first. “Do you know how to use a shovel, a wheelbarrow?”

“I—I think so. Like to clean corrals and stalls?”

Orr nodded. “Yep, that’s it. That’s where you need to start if you’re going to work here. We’ll give you two good meals a day and a light lunch, a bed to sleep in, and probably find a pair of boots your size unless you want to muck stalls barefooted.”

“Yes, sir, er, I mean no, sir.” The meals and the bed got him and the boots were not far behind. “I don’t like being homeless and hungry and…”

Jase broke in. “But there are rules. No booze and no drugs. No sassing back, whatever you’re told to do. You just do it as best you can. You can ask questions as to how or when but not why. Okay?”

Bobby nodded. He might have jumped right out of the frying pan into the fire here, but he was pretty close to being out of options. He’d try it for a while. They had not mentioned wages, but if he worked out, that might come later. For now, a bed and regular meals sounded pretty cool. And what could he spend money on out here, anyway? He hadn’t seen a convenience store or even a gas station for a lot of weary miles. No candy bars, sodas, or even probably cigs. Talk about roughing it 1

Six months later

Bobby paced behind the brightly speckled rump of the young mule, driving her with long reins. Just a yearling, she was too young to ride, but ground work, he had learned, could go a long way toward easing that final critical part of a mule’s training. This little gal was his pride and joy. At a big sale, a month ago, to which he had gone with Orr while Jase minded the home ranch, he had picked her out and bought her himself. The fact he actually had money he had earned still amazed him at times.