Texas Drive by Bill Dugan Page A

Finally, unable to stand the pressure of her expectant stare, he shook his head. “No, I don’t know that. But it doesn’t change anything.”
    “It changes everything. That’s the whole point. You’re different now, not like Johnny, not like the rest of the men around here. You know you don’t have to pick up a gun every time someone looks at you cross-eyed.”
    “I don’t know that.”
    “Yes, you do.”
    Ted walked to the edge of the spring and squatted down. He swept at a water skimmer with theends of the grass, then watched as the long-legged bug sailed across the surface until it was out of reach.
    The sun on the pond hurt his eyes, and he squinted across the water to where Jacob, his back bent under the bright light, hacked at the ground with a hoe. Row by tedious row, he’d been slashing at the hard-baked soil, then crawling on hands and knees to plant seedlings.
    As he finished the latest row, he straightened to mop the sweat from his face and neck. He took his broad-brimmed hat and fanned himself a few times, then glanced over to where Ted and Ellie were sitting. When the old man noticed Ted watching him, he waved before dropping to his knees and going back to the planting.
    “I think I ought to give Jacob a hand, Ellie. That’s too much work for one man.”
    “It’s honest work, and he doesn’t mind.”
    “And what I do isn’t honest?”
    “I didn’t mean that. He wants to do it, even though it’s not easy. He gets pleasure from it.”
    “I just meant that it was hard on a man his age.”
    Ellie didn’t answer and he looked over his shoulder. She was staring at the ground.
    “What are you thinking about?”
    “I was just … never mind.”
    “Come on, tell me.”
    “It was nothing, really. Just woolgathering, I guess.”
    “You won’t make a sheepherder out of me, if that’s what’s on your mind.” He laughed, but she took him seriously.
    “Actually, I was wondering what you were going to do. If Johnny doesn’t come back, I mean.”
    “Johnny’s not coming back. He made that pretty plain.”
    “Then what
are
you going to do? You can’t keep that ranch going by yourself.”
    “It’s not much of a ranch, really. But it
is
our land. My daddy’s buried there. I can’t leave.”
    “Johnny did.”
    “I’m not Johnny,” he snapped.
    “My point exactly.”
    “Don’t try to confuse me.”
    “You seem to be doing that pretty well on your own.”
    “What do you know about it? It’s easy for you. You know what you think, and you see what you want to see. You wouldn’t change if a thousand men died in front of your eyes. And you’re a woman, to boot.”
    “You noticed.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “I don’t know. Forget I said it.”
    “Look, I’m going to help Jacob. We’ll talk about it later.”
    “You run away from the wrong things, Ted.”
    “I’m not running away.”
    “No? Then what do you call it?”
    Ted stalked off without answering. He skirted the pond, then cut through the tall grass and out into the plot of baked earth. It felt like stone under his feet, and he wondered not only how Jacob could work it by hand, but why.
    As he drew close, he tried to smile. “Need some help, Jacob?”
    The old man stopped to lean on his hoe. “Always need help, Theodore. It seems like this ground resents my attempts to cultivate it.”
    “That’s cow country for you. Stubborn, ornery.”
    “Cowmen, too, I think.”
    “You mean me?”
    “Not only you. I’ve been watching you two. Anything wrong?”
    “You’ll have to ask Ellie.”
    “I’m asking you, Theodore. You can say what’s on your mind. Plain speaking is my preference, you know.”
    “So I see.” He looked off at the sky for a moment before answering. “I don’t know. I guess me and Ellie just don’t see some things the same way.”
    “I sometimes think that’s what God wanted. It gives husbands and wives something to do on winter nights.”
    “What’s that?”
    “Argue, what