Page 8 of The Banker and the Blue Collar Man

“What are you doing out here?” a voice asked. “Are you barefoot?”

I saw a flash of light and turned, and there was Jake. It had to be him, a tall, hard-cut silhouette against the darker dark. I could barely see his face, but easily imagined his scowl. “Just looking,” I said, a little breathless.

“At what?” he barked.

“At the sunrise.” I pointed, even though it was too dark for him to see what I was pointing at. “And the moonset.”

“You never seen a sunrise before?”

“No,” I said. “Not like this. Not without something between me and it.”

“Oh.” With that one word, I sensed a change in his attitude. Maybe it was the tone of his voice, or the fact that he came up to me silently, clicking a light on and off in his hand. A flashlight.

“What areyoudoing out here?” I asked.

“I heard some coyotes howling nearby,” he said. “Wanted to make sure they weren’t bothering the cattle or the horses. We’ve got young calves, too. I could have brought out a rifle, but the flashlight’s enough to keep ’em back.” He paused before adding, “We used to have dogs, but dogs grow old. Jesse and Lucas aren’t sure what kind of livestock we’ll have moving forward, so I think he doesn’t want to get a dog that we might not need later.”

The flow of words ended, as though Jake didn’t want to come across as complaining.

“That makes sense,” I said, my teeth clacking together. Who knew a summer morning in the foothills would be so cold? “I know Lucas wants to make something of the place.”

“Itissomething.” Jake huffed out a breath. “Or at least it was.”

I didn’t know what he meant by that, but it was obvious something was wrong. Maybe it was as simple as the fact that he didn’t like Lucas making any changes. Or maybe he thought he should have inherited the ranch, rather than the grandson who’d never had any connection to it before.

“I’m sure he appreciates you being out here this early, checking up on things,” I said. I rubbed my arms and felt for my flip-flops with my toes, doing my best not to seem obvious about it.

“I reckon he does.”

My attention was on how cold it was, so I didn’t really notice until he was right next to me. For a hard second, I thought he was going to hand me the flashlight and tell me to help him keepthe coyotes at bay. Then he’d mock me, because in my mind coyotes were as big as wolves and just as dangerous, and I’d be timid about it. In the city, I didn’t think twice about waiting on a sidewalk for a taxi at two a.m., but ward off coyotes? No thank you.

But that’s not what happened. Instead, as he moved near me, I was struck by his closeness and the quiet swoosh as something was draped over my shoulders.

It was a denim jacket; it smelled like the cologne he wore. And like dust. And fresh air. And woodsmoke. An embrace in the dark.

“Thank you.” I said and pulled the jacket around myself. I was warmer instantly.

Had this occurred in broad daylight, I might have refused the gesture, made without him even asking if I wanted it. But now, in the dark, he’d given me something I’d not known I needed. Or had been too foolish to realize, but then I was a city slicker out here in the foothills, on a ranch that seemed more wild than tamed.

“How was your sleep?” he asked. “I heard ’em talking.”

“All night long,” I said, so unbelievably grateful to have someone to complain to, even for just a second. “But they’re kids. You know, with all the energy in the world.”

“I don’t remember ever being that young.” He cut the last word off, as if he hadn’t meant to say so much.

But then, the darkness did that, or at least that’s what I’d found. Darkness put a mask on everything, letting you say things you might not normally say. Truth came out. And vulnerability.

“I don’t remember having that much energy,” I said, to keep him company, at least partially. And because it was true.

He made a small sound. Of agreement, perhaps, or at least acknowledgment. Then he touched my shoulder in a way that made me shiver. “Best not to go barefoot.” Before I could openmy mouth in protest, he added, “It looks like soft dust in this area, but there could be sharp rocks or goat’s heads.”

“Goat’s heads?”

“Small, uh, burrs with curved spines. Go right through your foot.”

“We don’t have those in the city,” I said. “Or maybe we do. I just never go barefoot there.”

I sensed, more than saw, his answering nod in the darkness. Together we watched the sun come up, a gentle light filling the sky, a predawn yellow and pink blossoming into full gold. There was nothing between me and the horizon, and I absorbed every minute of it to take back with me to the city.