Stab, squeeze, lift, release. It was because of her that he was starting over with nothing—his entire life and livelihood up in smoke. When he’d rejected her, she’d turned on him like a viper. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
Stab, squeeze, lift, release. This was his sixth day of riding fence. The ranch was vast and remote. With nineteen thousand acres, he’d be out here for a couple more weeks at least. The isolation was the only blessing. It gave him time to think. He’d come to accept his fate, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. He told himself it was all for the best. It was well past time to get his life back on track.
Grinding his teeth, he raised his arms and punched the ground even harder. Crunch. The jarring pain careened up his arms and into his shoulders before the crash of metal on solid bedrock registered in his ears.
“Sweet motherfucking son of a bitch!” His shrieked curse carried on the wind, but it wasn’t enough. Spinning like a discus thrower, he flung the posthole digger as far as his numb arms would allow. Venting his frustration and rage was only a temporary relief. Once he cooled down, he’d have to retrieve his instrument of torture and dig another fucking hole.
At the sound of an approaching ATV, he shaded his eyes against the late afternoon sun, squinting at the horizon. His gaze tracked the trail of dust originating in the direction of the ranch. As the vehicle got closer, he recognized Tonya. He snatched up his discarded shirt and jerked his arms into the sleeves, not bothering with the buttons.
Moments later she put the brake on and dismounted. “Got some food, water, and supplies for you, Cuz. Thought you might be getting low.” He hoped she’d brought something better than jerky and canned beans. “So how’s it coming along?”
“It’s coming,” he grunted.
“Really? Don’t you think you might need this? Or do you plan to use your bare hands?” She reached into the utility cart and tossed him the digger he’d thrown.
“Must have dropped it.”
She gave him an appraising stare. “I know this has to be hard on you after living like some kind of movie star—”
He raised a hand to cut her off. “It’s honest work.” And, admittedly, more honest than what he’d been doing for the past eight years.
“I got wind of something that might suit you better,” Tonya suggested.
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
“The BLM called the ranch last night, looking for wranglers for some emergency horse gathers. They’re removing seven hundred head from the checkerboard, and then they have another emergency roundup scheduled out in Nevada.”
He pushed his hat back. “Why you telling me?”
“C’mon, Cuz. Don’t be ridiculous,” she chided. “I can’t believe you’d rather dig holes and pull wire.”
He jutted his chin. “Someone has to do it.”
“I don’t get it. Why are you wasting yourself like this?”
Why? He stared down at the hard, unforgiving earth, as hard and unforgiving as his grandfather’s heart. He’d come back seeking peace and anonymity, only to learn he’d lost what had once mattered most. He’d brought shame to his family and to his tribe; now he had to pay the price. His worst penance, however, was self-inflicted—he hadn’t touched either a woman or a horse in almost a year.
“You know I don’t believe in that program,” he said. “Most of those horses are going to fall into the hands of idiots who don’t know what the hell they’re doing.”
“At least the animals don’t starve,” Tonya argued.
“Maybe not in body, but what about the spirit, Ton? Captivity is no life for them. It’s no better than prison.”
“Look, Keith, it is what it is. We can’t change the system, but we can try to make the best of it, right? So why don’t you at least help? You know those mustangs better than anyone. This is a chance for you to make some money and also get first pick of the horses.”
“I’m not doing anything with horses anymore. Haven’t you heard?” He gave a bitter laugh. “I’m just a counterfeit, a con artist, the Native American gigolo.”
“Don’t look to me for pity. You brought all that on yourself by playing up to the Twinkies. You exploited our heritage. You know that’s not our way.”
He dropped down to the ground, resting his elbows on his knees, gazing off into the distance. “Is that what you think too, Ton? That I sold out?”
“Does it really matter what I think? You’re the one who has to live with your conscience.”
“I asked you, didn’t I?”