Chance Cullen stood on the high school steps,
having just turned in his graduation robes. He glanced at the certificate in
his hands and sighed. What difference does a high school diploma mean when I
don’t even know what I want to do? The parking lot was awash in colour, the
girls in their fancy dresses flitted from group to group like a flock of
butterflies. The thought brought a wry smile to his lips. The after grad was
out at the Rowan ranch, unbidden his gaze sought out Laurel Rowan, long corn
silk blonde hair twisted into some crazy up do, his sister called it. The blue
of her dress was the exact colour of her eyes, not that he was likely to get
close enough to her to compare the two.
Jamming his wide brimmed hat on his head Chance wended
his way through the throng of students, parents and grandparents, and probably
most of Pincher Creek besides. He was stopped a couple of times by friends
wishing him well, but finally reached the sanctuary of his truck. Tossing his
diploma onto the passenger seat, he slid into the driver’s seat. His hand
hesitated in the process of starting the engine and he leaned his forearms on
the steering wheel, resting his chin on them.
Without meaning to, he searched for Laurel in the
crowd. With unerring accuracy, his Laurel-dar, as he liked to call it, found
her standing with his sister Carly. Laurel’s parents were with the two girls
and Chance’s own mother. Anna Rowan’s hair was the same spun silk colour as her
daughter and Colt Rowan towered over both of them. Sally Cullen clutched at
Carly’s arm and glanced toward Chance’s truck, attempting to pull her daughter
away. Chance grinned, it looked like Carly was standing her ground. No doubt
Mom was going to make another attempt at forcing the family together. He
straightened up and grimaced. He wouldn’t be surprised if Mom hadn’t streamed
the whole graduation ceremony to Dad up in prison at Bowden. Bitterness twisted
his gut, like that man cared about anything but himself.
He started the truck and backed out of the spot,
pretending not to see his mother making her way toward him, he turned out of
the school and headed out of town. His phone buzzed in his dress shirt pocket,
he pulled it free and dumped it beside the diploma on the passenger seat
without checking the caller ID. There was no one he wanted to talk to right
now. He drove north out of town, past the hundreds of power windmills sprouting
from the rolling prairie hills. God, he hated those things. They marred the
stark beauty of the land and the constant noise drove him crazy. Chance chose
north on purpose. It was the opposite direction from the Rowan’s. After what
happened last November, getting Laurel in danger with those bastards from the
dog fight organization, Chance couldn’t look Colt Rowan in the eye, let along
his wife. Mr. Rowan said he’d forgiven him, but Chance still struggled
with guilt. He slammed his palm on the wheel. Dammit, dammit all to hell!
The last thing in the world he ever wanted was to put Laurel in any danger.
Why did I ever listen to Dad? How did I ever
convince myself that getting involved with those guys was a good idea? How
fucking stupid am I? And what happened to those dogs…
Chance pulled to the side of the gravel road and
rubbed at his blurred eyes. Those images would never leave him. Christ, he had
nightmares every time he closed his eyes. Willing himself to force the memory
of the savaged dogs and the high-pitched screams of terror drowned out and
silenced by the harsh growls of the victorious dogs. Chance put his hands over
his ears which only served to intensify the chaos in his mind. Flinging the
door open he stumbled out into the June sunshine, rounding the front of the cab
he collapsed in the tall grass at the edge of the ditch. Burying his head
between his knees Chance let the emotions locked down for so long escape. It
was more than he could do to hold them in check any longer. Physical pain
accompanied the roar of emotions that swept through him carried on his sobbing
breath. The images and sounds raging through his head were more real than the
gravel biting into his hands where he clutched the ground beside him. Anything
to feel anchored to something.
The sun was almost touching the horizon when the
visions finally released Chance. He took a shaky breathe and scrubbed his hands
over his face, grit from the road scraping his cheeks. The pain was welcome and
immediate, serving to ground him in present and chase the last vestiges of the
memories away. “Christ, when is this going to stop? I don’t know how much more
of it I can take.” He shook his head, removed his hat and ran fingers through
his damp hair. Glancing at the sun, he shoved himself to his feet. “Gotta get
home and check the stock,” he muttered. Harvey Good Smoke would be at the
Rowan’s party, along with his wife. They were so proud of Joey and Chance
guessed they had good reason to be. Grimacing, he shoved his hat back on his
head and climbed into the still open truck door.
The engine was slow to catch and Chance cursed
himself for leaving the door open and running the battery down. How long was
I out there sitting on the side of the road like a dead coyote? The truck
finally rumbled to life, the phone on the far seat ringing at the same time.
Chance closed his eyes and fought the urge to throw the thing out on the road
and drive over it a time or two. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes and
picked up the phone. The caller cut off before he could decide if he wanted to
answer it or not. Seven new voicemails, ten texts. Scrolling through, he
ignored the call from his father. Waste of skin. Likewise, he skipped
the voicemails from his mother, four of them. There were two from Carly, he
grinned. She must have been desperate, his sister much preferred texting.
Checking those, his grin widened, five were from Carly. A small jolt of
adrenalin shot through him, the last one was from Laurel. His hand trembled as
it hovered over the keys. What could he say to her, hell, what should he
say to her? While he procrastinated, the phone vibrated in his hands. What
the hell? Colt Rowan! Why is he calling me? Deliberating the wisdom of
answering the call, Chance’s head shot up and he slammed the truck door shut.
Slouching down in the seat he pulled his hat lower over his forehead. The last
thing he needed right now was company.
The approaching pickup slewed to a stop beside
him, the driver leaping out and wrenching Chance’s door open before he realized
what was happening.
“You been drinking?” Joey Good Smoke demanded,
knocking Chance’s hat off his head.
“No,” he snarled in reply. “And why the hell do
you care if I was?” Chance jammed his hat back on.
“Are you kidding me? Your sister is in hysterics
thinking you’ve gone and done something stupid, the Rowan’s had to call the
doctor to settle your mother down.”
“They should know better than to worry about me,”
Chance muttered, refusing to look at Joey.
“Yeah, they should. But for some reason they still
love you. Damned if I can figure out why, the way you act.” Joey kicked the
gravel in disgust. He pulled his cell out of his pocket and punched a finger on
the first contact that came up.
Chance tried to shut his door, but Joey blocked it
with his hip.
Whoever he was calling finally picked up. “Yeah, I
found him.” A long silence. “Looks like hell, but he don’t smell like he’s been
drinking.” Joey glanced at the passenger side of the cab. “No empties I can
see.” Another silence. “Range Road Eleven, out near the Castle Valley
campsite.” Joey pushed his hat back a bit and glared at Chance. “I’ll try,” he
said.
“You’ll try what, Joey?” Chance demanded,
attempting to wrest the door shut again. “You reporting to Carly?”
Joey shook his head. “Colt. He’s worried about you
and he’s on his way. He told me to tell you to stay here.”
“Like hell!” Chance threw the truck into gear.
“I wouldn’t,” Joey warned him. “The cops are
looking for you too. You might as well sit here and face the music.”
Chance swallowed against the dizziness that made
his head float and his vision blur. “I ain’t done nothin’ wrong. Why’re the
cops involved?’ He wiped a shaky hand across his mouth. “I don’t need this, for
fuck’s sake.”
“Blame your mom, she was so worked up she called
the RCMP before anybody could stop her.” Joey slammed a fist against the box of
the truck. “Why couldn’t you just answer your God damned phone? You looking for
sympathy or something? Poor Chance, all alone on grad day when we should all be
celebrating. Poor misunderstood Chance. You make me sick! If it wasn’t for
Carly, I swear…” Joey stepped back and slammed Chance’s door, sending a quiver
through the vehicle. “You know what? Go ahead, go drive off the coulee, go
drive into the river. Take your pity party somewhere else. I’ll tell Colt I
couldn’t stop your from leaving. ” Joey stomped back to his truck and reversed
so he was parked behind Chance.
“Fuck you,” Chance snarled and took his foot off
the brake, releasing the clutch at the same time. The pickup rolled forward,
the tires catching in the deep gravel at the side of the road. Chance tipped
his hat back and pounded his fist against the sudden tightness in his chest.
“Not now,” he muttered, hitting the gas. He clung to the wheel, driving more
from instinct than anything else, while the road and hills snaked around him.
Chance fought the constriction in his chest as it rose to his throat and pulled
his lips back from teeth. Hang on, just hang on, almost home.
Finally, the familiar ranch gate loomed in front
of him and Chance turned into the lane, barely avoiding driving off the edge of
the cattle guard. He jammed his foot on the gas when the barns and shed rose up
in front of him. The pickup slewed to a stop by the grain bins. On somewhat
safe ground, fairly certain he was alone, Chance released the death grip on the
steering wheel and leaned his forehead on it. Fighting for breath, he tried to
slow the rapid breathing tearing at his lungs and twisting his gut. Sweat ran
down his back, he threw his hat onto the passenger seat, leaned out the door to
hurl his guts up. Make is stop or let me die. God, make it stop. What the
hell is going on. God make it stop. Jumbled thoughts bumped and crowded
each other in his mind.
After what seemed forever, Chance opened his eyes
and raised his head. Moonlight cascaded into the cab, reflecting off the silver
grain bins beside him. Raking a hand through his hair, Chance grabbed his hat
and stepped out of the truck. His good shirt stuck to his back and his best
boots had stains on them. He couldn’t remember how that happened. Bending over
with his hands on his knees, Chance drew deep breaths into his lungs, his ribs
and back protesting as he did so.
“Christ, I feel like I got dumped and stomped on.
What the hell was …whatever that was? Am I going nuts or something?” He
straightened up and shook his head, instantly regretting the movement. The cell
buzzed from inside the truck. Wearily, he reached in and snagged it from the
passenger floorboards. Carly. Chance cleared his throat and took the
call.
“Yeah, Carly, what’s up?” He tried to sound
normal.
“What’s up? What’s up?” Carly’s voice could have
been heard by the coyotes two sections over. Chance held the phone away from
his ear until the shrill sounds died down a bit.
“Carly, shut up and let me get a word in, would
ya? I just didn’t feel like going out to the Rowan’s.”
“Why not, you’re part of the grad class, you were
invited, and you were welcome. You know that—”
“I couldn’t…Colt…and Mrs. Rowan…after what
happened with Laurel…I just couldn’t…”
“Well, you could have told someone, you could have
answered your phone, your texts. Damn it, Chance! How much fun do you think I
had dealing with Mom and her hysterics. Got herself so worked up she was sure
you’d done something stupid.”
“I’m sorry about that Carly. I didn’t mean to
cause trouble.”
“Don’t you ever think before you act? It wasn’t
just me, Joey and Mister Rowan and bunch of the guys and their dads went
looking for you. Then Joey finally finds you and you run off again. Idiot!
Where the hell are you now?” Carly demanded, still on a roll.
Chance sighed and rubbed a hand gingerly over his
sore ribs. “Tell them to call off the search, I’m at the ranch and getting
ready to do chores. Tell Harvey he doesn’t have to worry about night check.”
“That’s big of you.” Sarcasm dripped off his
sister’s voice.
“Look, I said I’m sorry. I’m telling you I just
couldn’t do it, face everyone. Them looking sideways at me and whispering under
their breath…”
“You’re imagining a lot of that, Chance. The
Rowan’s are over it, Laurel’s worried about you. She wanted to go look too, but
they talked her out of it.”
“Ya see! Colt wouldn’t want Laurie to find me, be
alone with me, not after what happened with the dogs last fall…”
“Get over yourself, Chance! For God’s sake, you’re
starting to sound like Dad. Coming up with excuses and blaming other people for
your stupidity.”
“Fuck off, Carly. I’m not like Dad,” Chance
growled.
“Aren’t you?” Carly snarled and ended the call.
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Great start. He has a long road to take. Keep writing
ReplyDeleteWonderful insight into this tormented character. Thanks for sharing. Now, the reader wants to read the previous books to find out what happened with the dogs. :-)
ReplyDeleteWow. Sounds great!
ReplyDelete