Montana Hearts - 2. Chapter 2 - Road Trip

-- Chapter Two --

The sun had only just cleared the horizon the next morning, when Rip and his coffee mug stepped outside onto the flagstone verandah along the front of their home, on the new Dutton Ranch. Beth was still in bed, and Carter would be joining him soon, before they began their day; which would be filled with the start of preparations that would be needed before they began their long haul north for the branding.

As he settled into his favourite chair, Rip heard the familiar sound of Diaz’s truck coming up the drive. Rip had messaged him the night before and asked him to come straight to the house this morning, so they could talk details.

The old F150 soon came to a stop at the end of the verandah, and the young cowboy climbed out, before stepping up onto the flagstones. He was in his twenties, and like most of the Hispanic workers Rip had encountered so far, he wasn’t tall, and nor was he overly stocky. He was a good man, and Rip felt he was lucky to have him.

‘Hey, Jefe,’ the foreman greeted him. His boots made a sharp clicking noise with each step as he walked towards Rip.

‘Hey, yourself,’ came the reply, before nodding to the adjacent seat. ‘Time to make some plans.’

Diaz had been born in the States, but his parents were from Mexico, and the entire family was fearful of ICE, and the possibility that the parents may get sent back. Living remotely on a ranch as they did certainly helped to keep them from prying eyes, but the risk was always there.

‘We’ll be heading off before sunup on Friday. That’ll give us three full days for travelling and settling in at their end,’ Rip said.

‘Big haul, jefe.’

‘Maybe twenty-four hours of driving, give or take, and that’s only if driving directly there. With our horses, we’ll probably have to space it out some. At least one overnight stop. And with travelling at both ends we’re looking at a full two weeks away.’

Rip was right. It would be a long haul from the new Dutton Ranch, near Rio Paloma in Texas, to the Lazy D in Montana – nearing thirty hours of driving with a truck and trailer – and so preparation would need to begin immediately.

The foreman nodded, then ran one hand back through his hair, lifting his baseball cap with the other hand as he did so, before pulling the grubby cap back in place. Even at this hour, the heat and humidity of south Texas could be a bitch.

‘And today is Tuesday,’ Diaz replied. ‘So, we better stock up on supplies.’

‘Exactly. Can you take Carter into the store today and load up what’s needed?’

‘Sure,’ Diaz answered, just as Carter came out the front door, holding his own mug of coffee.

‘What am I doing?’ he asked, having just heard his name mentioned.

Diaz got to his feet, then slapped Carter on the back.

‘You and me, bro, we’re going shopping,’ the foreman answered. ‘I’ll meet you at the barn when you finish that mud you got in your cup!’

‘Mud?’ Carter exclaimed as he stared down into the depths of his coffee mug, but Diaz was already gone.

Rip gave a, ‘Hmmppff,’ and Carter glanced his way.

‘Shopping?’ Carter asked.

‘Supplies for the ranch, from Reardon’s. Fencing supplies, fuel and feed, for while we’re up north,’ Rip answered. ‘Diaz knows what we need. Just help him load and unload. When you get back, we’ll sort out which horses and what gear we need to take. Then you can start cleaning out the trailer.’

‘Great!’ Carter grumbled, as he drank some coffee down.

***

By Thursday lunchtime the rig was ready to roll, freshly serviced and cleaned, with all the saddlery and gear they would need also packed away. Diaz joined them for dinner that night, with final instructions issued by Rip, then after seeing off their foreman, Rip, Beth and Carter turned in early. They would only be getting a few hours sleep before they would be loading up their horses and hitting the road by around four in the morning.

At three, the ranch house was dark except for the kitchen light. By four, two figures were heading out into the darkness to load horses and start the truck. The world felt new, unfinished even. The stars still hung overhead and the mesquite shadows stretched black across the yard. The only sounds were the soft breeze in the trees, horses softly neighing, or stamping their feet in their stalls. Somewhere in the distance a coyote yapped.

Boots crunched on gravel as Rip and Carter headed for the barn. A switch was flicked and lights came on, then the process of loading up began. Horses were haltered in their stalls and hay nets were filled, then tied in place in the trailer, so the horses could eat as they travelled.

Carter turned the key in the ignition and started the truck, to allow it to warm up while he and Rip returned to the house.

Ten minutes later, Rip stepped back out onto the flagstone verandah carrying a travel mug big enough to water cattle from, followed closely by Carter. They paused long enough to look across the property, where outlines of trees and fences were slowly beginning to emerge with the lightening sky.

The silver RAM sat in front of the gooseneck trailer, idling softly. Red taillights glowed against the darkness while diesel exhaust drifted into the cool Texas air.

The horses were loaded and the tailgate shut.

It was a long way to Montana. A very long way. But they were almost ready to roll.

Behind him the screen door slapped shut.

Beth emerged carrying a paper sack containing approximately half the food in Texas.

‘Breakfast.’

Rip glanced inside it.

‘You packed enough to feed the trailer too?’

‘Unlike somebody, I know better than to trust gas station burritos for twenty-four hours.’

He grinned.

‘You're talking about one incident.’

‘One incident that evacuated an entire motel room.’

‘Allegedly.’

Before Beth could answer, footsteps thumped across the porch.

Carter ducked back inside, then emerged moments later with a backpack slung over one shoulder and a cap sitting half sideways. At eighteen, he was still all elbows, boots and enthusiasm, but you could see the change coming over him. You could see the man he was becoming.

‘You ready?’ Rip asked.

Carter's answer came immediately.

‘Been ready for an hour.’

‘That's because you're crazy.’

‘One word,’ Carter replied. ‘Montana.’

Rip nodded. That was explanation enough.

Yeah. Montana. The word carried weight.

It had been more than a year since they'd left the mountains that bordered Yellowstone National Park and moved south. Life hadn’t always been good, but things had settled now they were in Texas. The mountains had a way of lodging themselves in a person's heart, however, and the Yellowstone, along with the Bighorns and Beartooths, had never really let go of any of them.

Rip climbed into the driver's seat. Beth took the passenger seat, and Carter climbed in the back.

‘My truck.’

‘Yeah, your truck, your rules,’ Beth muttered. “We know!’

‘Damn right.’

A moment later the RAM was rolling and was moving down the driveway, before then passing through the ranch gate.

It was four-thirty, and they were heading north in the cool of the early morning. It was the best time to travel with the horses and Rip wanted to make good time if he could. There was a long way to go.

The first hours passed beneath darkness and silence. Carter occupied the back seat with pods in his ears and his boots resting on a cooler. Beth dozed in the passenger seat.

The highway stretched ahead in the tunnel of the headlights.

The Hill country slowly surrendered to dawn. The eastern horizon softened first. Black became grey. Grey became silver. Then suddenly the entire sky exploded into shades of orange and gold.

Fields stretched endlessly on either side. Fence lines. Scattered cattle. Mesquite trees standing stubborn against the open land.

The trailer rode steadily behind them. Rip checked the mirrors every few minutes. Years of hauling horses and stock made it automatic.

By the time they reached San Antonio, sunlight was pouring across the interstate, and traffic thickened.

As the sun began to creep higher they pulled into a roadside rest stop and quickly grabbed coffee refills, then before they’d even had a chance to catch their breath, they were on the road once more.

Carter took the shotgun spot this time, while Beth stretched out on the seat in the crew-cab behind the front seats and pulled her hat down over her eyes.

‘You just get some rest back there, darlin’. It’ll be your turn behind the wheel soon enough.’

***

Carter woke as they were approaching a town called Eden, Texas. It was about two and a half hours beyond San Antonio and was often returned to as the gateway to the Hill Country.

‘Can we stop?’

‘We stopped an hour ago. You slept through it’

‘For fuel?’

‘Still counts.’

‘It absolutely does not count.’

Beth opened one eye. ‘He's got a point,’ she said from the back seat.

Rip shook his head.

‘This is how road trips fail. First, it's breakfast. Then it's coffee. Then somebody needs a bathroom.’

‘Somebody always needs a bathroom.’

‘Exactly,’ added Beth.

Carter grinned.

‘Speaking of which . . .’

Rip groaned, then started to slow the truck, as he spotted a rest area ahead.

A couple of hours later they rolled through Sweetwater, surrounded by plains and what seemed to be miles upon miles of wind turbines. Great white towers marching across the landscape.

The hill country had given way to broader open spaces, with straight roads, beneath an enormous sky.

‘Looks like an alien invasion,’ Carter said.

Beth glanced out the window.

‘An environmentally friendly invasion.’

‘You know what's environmentally friendly?’ Rip asked.

‘Not listening to either of you.’

He reached over and turned up George Strait, and immediately the protests began.

‘Pops!’

‘No.’

‘Rip!’

‘No.’

‘We've listened to George Strait for three hours.’

‘It's educational.’

‘The man's been dead for at least thirty years,’ Beth laughed.

‘George Strait is very much alive.’

‘Really?’

Carter looked genuinely surprised.

‘Then why does all his music sound ancient?’

Rip nearly drove off the road laughing.

***

Around noon, the flatlands surrounding Lubbock stretched to every horizon. Cotton fields swept away into the distance. Grain elevators rose from tiny communities like lonely skyscrapers.

The miles accumulated. So did the conversations. Stories they had heard before. Stories they had never heard – including a commentary from Rip advising that the worst tasting water in the whole United States could be found here in Lubbock.

They discussed plans for the branding. Predictions for who would show up at Hank's gathering. Questions about Hank’s granddaughter, Maddie.

She was thirteen years old now. The last time Carter had seen her, she'd been a horse-crazy little kid following her grandfather around. She would have been no more than eleven or so.

‘Think she'll remember me?’ he asked.

Beth smiled. ‘Of course.’

‘What if she doesn't?’

‘Then you'll survive.’

‘What if she's annoying?’

‘Almost guaranteed.’

‘Good.’

Rip glanced across at him. ‘You nervous?’

‘A little.’

‘About what?’

Carter shrugged. ‘Just going back, I guess.’

Nobody answered immediately. Because they all understood. Going back wasn't simple.

‘Things will be different,’ Carter mused.

You expected things to stay exactly where you left them. They never did.

***

The afternoon carried them into Amarillo beneath a huge blue sky. The heat shimmered above the pavement.

The horses were checked. Fuel tanks were filled. Coffee was replenished. And arguments resumed. They also changed drivers, with Carter stepping into the driver’s seat for the next stint.

The first thing he did was to connect his phone to the sound system and line up his playlist, which was mostly modern country. As they pulled out, a song from Keith Urban was playing, then after that a song from a new Australian band he’d just started listening to came on.

‘Who’s that singing?’ Rip asked.

‘A new band I found online. They’re not too bad. They’re called The Painted Ponies.’

‘And what the fuck is he singing about? What’s he not feeling guilty about . . . another guy? Are they gay cowboys?’

‘That’s what it sounds like to me,’ offered Beth. ‘And you might be surprised, honey, but they do exist.’

‘Well, I’ll be damned . . .’ was all Rip said, before turning his head and looking out the window at the passing plains.

The next song was by Garth Brooks, which was followed by a Kenny Chesney number. The mood shifted, the tightness Carter felt in the pit of his stomach slowly loosened, and the trip continued.

By the time they crossed the Texas state line near Texline, the sun was dropping lower behind them.

The sign announcing New Mexico flashed by.

Carter glanced over at Rip. ‘One state down.’

Rip laughed. ‘Only four more to go.’

Carter sank back in his seat. Ahead of them, the highway stretched north toward Clayton and Raton. Far beyond that lay Colorado. Then Wyoming.

And somewhere out there, hidden beyond hundreds more miles, mountains waited beneath the setting sun.

For the first time all day, Rip could almost feel Montana pulling them home.

‘There’s a ranch near Colorado Springs where we can stay overnight,’ Rip said. ‘Stayed there once when I was hauling some horses with Travis, so I booked us in. We can turn the horses loose in a corral and let ‘em stretch their legs. Then we’ll be there by tomorrow night.’

‘A ranch? I hope it has a shower and a restaurant?’ Beth asked from the back seat.

‘Yes, darlin’! And a big ol’ double bed.’

‘A ranch with a restaurant?’ Carter asked from behind the wheel. ‘And where do I sleep? Hope it’s not on a couch?’

‘Relax, kiddo. We’ve got a cabin, with two bedrooms. Figured that seeing as we’ll be roughing it for the week, we may as well be comfortable for our last night before we get to the Lazy D. And the restaurant is just down the road . . . well, it’s actually a bar and grill, but I’m sure we’ll get by.’

‘Now we’re talkin!’ offered Beth.

***

At East Camp, near Yellowstone, things were also gathering steam, even though Kayce and Tate didn’t need to be at the Lazy D until sometime on Sunday. They were planning to leave first thing Sunday, and with the ranch being less than two hours away, they would be there by lunchtime, giving him and Tate plenty of time to catch up with everyone.

He had spoken to Rip briefly today and found out that he and Beth and Carter were already on their way, so they would all meet up on Sunday.

When Kayce arrived home on Friday afternoon he noticed Tate working his filly in the front pasture, so he stopped in the driveway and watched for a few minutes. Tate was swinging a rope around, as if he was getting ready to catch something, though Kayce couldn’t see what that might be. He stepped out of his truck and walked over to the fence, just as Tate threw his rope.

The loop landed on a loose tree stump, with a root sticking up, and Tate landed the catch with his first effort. Not a bad effort, but a live calf it definitely wasn’t. As soon as the rope had landed, Tate pulled it tight, ensuring that the stump wouldn’t escape, then quickly dallied the rope around the horn of his saddle, turned the filly, and then started dragging the stump behind him as he started trotting over to where Kayce stood at the fence.

‘Lucky it wasn’t moving when you threw the rope,’ Kayce gently teased.

‘Best thing I could find to practice on, for now,’ Tate replied. ‘She handled it okay though. At least she didn’t freak out when we started dragging it.’

‘Well, at least you’re not treating her like a princess.’

‘She’s okay. Reckon she’ll earn her keep.’

‘Think you might be right there, son. Spoke with Rip today. They’re on their way. Staying in Colorado Springs tonight, so we’ll see them Sunday.’

‘Sounds cool.’

***

The journey continued the next morning, with the Dutton Ranch truck and trailer pulling out shortly after sunup. After a good meal and a shower, followed by a good night’s sleep, they were refreshed and ready to roll.

Beth stepped into the driver’s seat this morning. The trip from Colorado Springs to Billings would take about eight or nine hours, and from there another two or three hours to the Lazy D. But with Beth at the wheel for at least half that journey, Rip knew they’d be able to shave a bit of time off those estimates.

The day proceeded much like the previous one, with the usual minor disagreements over stops, coffee, food and music. Carter enjoyed the banter and the camaraderie between the three of them. When he was a kid, he’d never known a family life like the one he had now with these two. He knew they weren’t his real parents – his mother had died when he was very young, and his worthless-piece-of-shit-father had died following a drug overdose, the day that he had met Beth at the hospital – but these people, for all their faults, were the closest thing to family he’d ever had. And the Yellowstone Ranch had been the first place he’d ever been able to truly call home. If it wasn’t for Beth and Rip, he knew that he’d be dead by now, so he would always be grateful for that fateful day from about five years ago.

Shortly after crossing the State Line into Wyoming they entered Cheyenne, where they pulled into a gas station to top up on fuel, food and coffee once more. While inside Carter noticed some glossy tourist brochures on a stand, and curious about what Wyoming had to offer he picked up a couple of these to read on the journey.

i25 - Cheyenne to Sheridan was the heading on one glossy flyer, which looked to have all the hot-spots mapped out. Fort Laramie, Pioneer Museums, places of significance along the Oregon Trail, various natural wonders, the Fort Caspar Museum, even a park dedicated to the country singer and rodeo rider Chris LeDoux, and a hotel that had once been frequented by famous figures such as Buffalo Bill Cody, Teddy Roosevelt, Tom Horn, Butch Cassidy, the Sundance Kid, and Calamity Jane!

Carter wasn’t too sure just how many of these places he would actually get to see, but just reading these flyers brought home to him how much history these lands held.

As they drove on through Wyoming, with Carter ticking off places, sites and towns as they went, something began to stir inside him. He knew they were getting close to Montana now. He had noticed the change in the country, he could see the mountains in the distance, out to the west, standing majestic and snow-capped. Like a picture postcard. He’d been watching them for a while now. Watching them grow bigger. Closer. He sensed the change in the air . . . and he felt a tightness in his guts that was beginning to take control.

After a long day on the road, Carter felt the truck begin to slow about half an hour out of Sheridan, and he automatically sat up and leaned forward, between the front seats, to see what was happening.

‘Here we go boys,’ Beth crowed. ‘Almost there.’

They all looked up ahead, and then Carter saw it. The state sign.

Welcome to Montana.

He smiled.

Rip noticed. 'Feels good, don't it?'

'Yeah,' Carter replies. 'Sure does.'

Beth, watching from behind the steering wheel, said nothing, as they passed the sign and crossed the state line.

Because she felt it too.

To be continued . . .