Jack keeps a distance after this, which I respect, never mind how difficult it is. He’ll talk to me in the course of ranch work, like he does the other men, but there is nothing outside of the day-to-day. I glance at him from time to time, letting him know I’m up for a repeat of that rough welcome he gave me, and while he’ll meet my gaze, drill his back at me, that’s it. The wall he’s built around his heart is a sturdy one.
Settling into ranch work, and the bunkhouse, comes easy, which is sort of a surprise, what with being away from it for a dozen years. Oren cooks for us and is right good at laying out a fine meal. The others do as I do, check on cattle up the canyon, which are fattening nicely. This is my first experience with cattle not being driven Texas to Kansas. Having a railhead
