Rugged Cowboy - Elana Johnson Page 0,48

have time?” he asked.

“Yes,” Momma said. “Go now, Dallas, and get it done.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He touched the brim of his cowboy hat, noticing how his mother’s gaze lingered there for an extra moment. No, he’d never worn a cowboy hat for longer than it took to go trick-or-treating, but they were dead useful around the ranch, and he found he really liked wearing the hat.

He retraced his steps down to the sidewalk and went around the side of the house opposite the driveway. In the back corner of the back yard sat a shed, and his father went there when he wanted some peace and quiet, or when his brain had started to work on a new idea for a new fishing fly, and when he wanted to make those flies.

His father loved to tinker with things too, and he’d once taken the toaster apart to see if he could put it back together. His workshop smelled like feathers and fishing line, and Dallas had always loved going out there with his dad.

Now, he stopped outside the closed door and raised his fist to knock. His father didn’t answer, and Dallas figured he knew who stood out here while he waited in there. The stubbornness of people sometimes fascinated Dallas, and his heartbeat stormed in his chest. His father clearly didn’t want to see him. Why should Dallas force a reconciliation upon him?

“It’s not about him,” Dallas muttered to himself. He had to feel like he’d done everything he could to make things right between him and his dad. And that required going into the shop without being invited.

He pushed open the door, surprised at the blast of heat that came out. It was almost December, but certainly not cold enough to pump the heater the way his dad was. “Daddy?” he asked, and his father turned from the tall workbench where he attached feathers, threads, chenille, hooks, and other items to make the flies he used to fish with.

Their eyes met, and so many things were said. Dallas could hear the last thing his father had said to him, and it crushed his chest as strongly now as it had then.

You’ve ruined my name.

His father had taught all of his children growing up that they might not have much money, but they had something far greater. They carried the blood of great men and women in their veins, and it meant something to be a Dreyer.

Remember whose name you carry, his father had said so many times. It’s my name. It’s Grandpa’s name. Your great-grandmother’s. We’re all counting on you to be a good citizen. Honest. Upstanding. Helpful. That’s what Dreyers do. It’s who we are.

No one in the Dreyer family had ever gone to prison before, and his father could convey how disgusted, disappointed, and downright angry he was by simply saying Dallas had ruined his name.

Dallas had tried to apologize then, but his father hadn’t wanted to hear it.

“Hey, Daddy,” he said, taking a step and letting the door close behind him. “What are you working on?”

His dad looked back at his workbench as if he’d forgotten where he was. Perhaps he had; his father seemed to have aged a decade in the thirty months Dallas had been in prison. He’s always been mostly bald, but now his hair existed in a dull shade of gray. His skin, which had seen too much sun in its life, seemed to sag everywhere. He wore a blue T-shirt and a pair of jeans, and Dallas wondered how he could survive with the heat as high as it was in the shed.

“Wooly buggers,” he said. “And some mayflies.”

“You like the mayflies.”

“The fish like the mayflies,” Daddy said.

Dallas dared to go over to the workbench, and he stood beside where his father sat on a high stool. He had little bits of everything on the bench, and how he knew where to put what, Dallas didn’t comprehend. He supposed making flies for fishing for his father was a lot like being a mechanic for Dallas.

The knowledge of it just existed inside his head.

“I’m really sorry, Daddy,” he said. “I know you might not be able to forgive me for a while, but I really hope you’ll try. I’ve been doing good things in Sweet Water Falls. The kids and I have our own place. They’re never late for school. I run the entire mechanical repair shop at a decent-sized ranch.”

His father said nothing as he reached for a pair of pinchers