The Farmer's Son

Chapter 11 Swinging for the Fences

Dawn hadn't finished yet before the Walker men were up and breakfasted and about to head out.

"You doing the fences today?" Noah asked, pouring coffee into his thermos.

"This afternoon," Alan said, scraping the remnants of breakfast into Bear's bowl, and getting eggs on top of the eager black and white head. "I have to check the irrigation in the western fields first."

"I'll check," Noah said, pouring coffee into a second thermos. "I'm headed in that direction to check on Dusty."

"What's wrong with him?" Alan asked, glancing up from picking eggs off Bear's head.

"Got into it last night with some bikers across the tracks. Sheriff said he had to fire into the air just to get them to notice him."

Alan laughed, shaking his head as he turned to the dishes in the sink.

"Leave 'em," Noah said, packing both thermoses into a bag, along with a few sandwiches. "Let Ray wash up. I swear that boy is obsessed."

"You basically gave him a Christmas present," Alan said. "He was out past midnight, and I heard him leave just before I came down this morning."

"I ought to go drag him away by the ear," Noah huffed, squinting and frowning through the kitchen door. "Take him to help with the fences. That's what I'm paying him for."

Alan smiled. Noah picked up the bag and placed his straw hat on his head. But just as he pushed the screen door open, he paused and looked back. "Meetings tomorrow," he said.

Alan, at the sink, didn't stop or turn around. "I remember," he said. "I'll be there."

Noah let out a breath. He nodded, then banged out the door and off the porch.

Alan glanced at the door, then turned back to the dishes. He was only a few plates in when the kitchen door opened once more, this time to let in Ray, whose shirt and hands were already streaked with dirt and grease.

"I was just coming to get you," Alan said, turning back to glance at him.

"Your Pa already got me," Ray said, crossing through the kitchen. "With a gentle reminder of why I was hired."

Alan laughed. "Did you eat this morning before you left?"

"What do you think?" Ray called back from the hallway.

Shaking his head and the water from his hands, Alan paused to make a plate of the breakfast he'd kept for Ray, and had actually planned to take to him in the garage. When Ray returned, grease and dirt washed away and ready for work, he ate while Alan finished with the dishes, talking nonstop about the truck. After annoying Alan by adding his own dishes at the last minute, he went out to attach the trailer to the jeep and pack it with supplies.

They drove out to the western fences, which flanked a line of trees and gave much appreciated shade during breaks. In the early morning, it was still cool and hazy, smelling of earth and wood. While Bear entertained himself with the chirping, whistling birds flapping in the trees, they got to work. Old, rotten wood had to be removed, holes cleaned out, and new anchor poles inserted and hammered down, before horizontal pieces could be nailed on.

It was long and involved, and usually done in silence, even when Alan had his father's help. But with Ray, there was not a moment's peace. And it went faster than usual, even though Alan had to constantly pause to catch his breath from laughing.

"You're making this up," Alan said, bracing a pole with his hands and shoulder. "You have to be."

"I swear," Ray said, kneeling and centering the pole in the hole. "You can fight in all the bars you want, but no one will teach you dirtier tricks than a little girl on a playground. She made that marine cry. If I didn't see it, I wouldn't believe it either."