Page 6 of Captivated (Salvation #3)
Chapter Six
Nate listened to the sound of Zeeb’s boot heels on the steps. When he could no longer hear them, he drew in a deep breath. Zeeb seemed like an all right guy—on the surface—but Nate knew better than to trust anyone from the get-go.
Dr. Keller had seemed like an all right guy, remember?
It had been years since he’d last seen the doctor, but the memories were still there, lurking in shallow water, occasionally rising to break through, like those long dead bodies from The Lord of the Rings.
He gave himself a mental shake.
Stay positive. Or at least try.
He gazed at his surroundings. The cabin was pretty much an open space with a vaulted ceiling. What light there was soaked into the dark logs that comprised the walls. A heavy wooden staircase led up to a mezzanine, and he peered through the railing running around it.
That’s the bedroom part, I guess. He could just about glimpse the bed.
Below that was a small kitchen area, complete with refrigerator, and the rest of the room was taken up with a couch in front of a brick fireplace, lamps, and a couple of rugs. No TV, but that was fine. Nate hadn’t expected one. Everywhere appeared clean and uncluttered?—
Except for a bottle of lube on the mantelpiece.
He bit back a smile. I don’t have to guess what went on in here, do I?
His phone pinged, and he knew without looking it would be Dad. He pulled his phone from his jeans pocket and checked.
Dad: Are you there?
Nate clicked on Call. “Hey. I got here about ten minutes ago.”
“Have you seen the cabin yet?”
He laughed. “I’m standing in it.” He had to admit, the cabin gave out a chilled vibe. This feels like a safe space.
“I was telling the truth, wasn’t I? It’s a beautiful place. The ranch, I mean.”
Nate chuckled. “I haven’t seen that much of it. But I did meet someone called Zeeb.”
“He’s a good guy.” Nate could hear the smile in his dad’s voice. “He’s good with horses too.”
“If you say so.”
There was a pause. “Nate, if you’re going to get anything out of this, you’ve got to keep an open mind. Remember what I told you. A mind is like a parachute. It doesn’t work if it isn’t open.”
Nate snickered. “You know, for years I thought that was something you’d come up with. Then I discovered it was some guy called Frank Zappa.” He waited for the explosion, smiling.
“‘Some guy’? He was only the most innovative guitarist of his generation. For more than?—”
“Chill, Dad. I’m yanking your chain. But seriously, I just got here. Can this conversation wait until I’ve had some sleep?”
Another pause. “Listen, I’m not going to be calling you every day, checking up on you, okay? Eat well, get lots of sleep, enjoy the fresh air and the open spaces. Take your time. Love you.”
“Love you too.” Nate ended the call, and a moment later there was a gentle knock at the door. He froze. “Who is it?”
“I’ve brought your supper.”
Nate recognized Zeeb’s low rumble. He opened the door to find Zeeb standing on the porch, his arms full.
“That looks like more than supper.”
Zeeb chuckled. He held up an insulated bag.
“The stew’s in here.” Then he held up another.
“There’s some of Matt’s freshly made cornbread, and a piece of whatever pie he’s made today.
There’s also a flask of coffee.” He handed them over.
“I forgot to tell you. There’s plenty of coffee in the cabinet, and creamer in the fridge, in case you take it white.
I think there’s tea too—black, peppermint, chamomile, lemon, you name it.
If there’s anything else you need, just holler.
” He reached into the pocket of his worn jeans and removed a folded piece of paper. “This is my number.”
Nate placed the bags on the floor and took the paper.
Zeeb stroked his chin. “I’m sure there was one more thing.” His eyes lit up. “Breakfast, that was it. I’ll bring it to you about six, unless that’s too early. You don’t run to the same schedule as everyone else. So if you want a different time, just let me know.”
“Thank you.” Nate managed a forced smile. “Six is good. I’m an early riser.”
“Great. In that case, I’ll leave you to your supper and I’ll see you at six. Have a good night’s sleep.” Zeeb tipped his hat, and descended the steps.
Nate closed the door. The quiet hit him, and he realized there was one sound he wanted to infiltrate the cabin. He opened a window, and there was the burble of water over rocks, leaves brushing against each other in the breeze…
Dad was right. This place is perfect.
He hoped the stew was as good as Dad had made it out to be. Nate had a feeling that once he’d eaten, all that was left of his day would be a shower and then bed.
Let’s see what tomorrow brings.
Zeeb got behind the wheel of his truck, his gaze focused on the cabin.
I still think he looks like he wants to be anywhere but here.
Nate appeared tired, but that could be down to the long trip.
He’s all sharp angles and guarded edges.
Maybe that was why Zeeb had kept his tone warm and relaxed. He’d hoped to smooth out some of the tension humming between them. Nate’s expression was a mixture of wariness tinged with the smallest hint of curiosity. That guarded look… The way some guys wore their walls like armor.
Yeah, Zeeb had seen that look before. Many years ago, he’d even seen it in the mirror.
Whatever had brought Nate to Salvation, it wasn’t anything simple.
He started the engine, turned the wheel and headed back down the narrow track leading to the ranch. He prayed they’d left him some supper: healthy appetites were also a thing at Salvation.
Except while he drove, his mind wasn’t on food but on Nate.
What happened to you? Because no one got themselves into that state on their own. There had to be external forces.
Remember what the boss said. Don’t push. Don’t pry. Let Nate move at his pace. You might never learn his history, but that don’t matter none. He’s here to leave the past behind him and move on.
That last thought hadn’t come from the boss. That was Zeeb functioning on instinct.
He parked the truck next to the bunkhouse, and followed the aroma of stewed beef and herbs.
“If you fuckers have eaten all the supper, heads are gonna roll an’ asses are gonna get kicked.”
Butch wagged a finger. “Has anyone ever mentioned your potty mouth?”
Zeeb grinned. “Nah, they’re too busy enjoying what it can do.”
Three of the guests chuckled at that.
Butch pushed a plate toward him. “There ya go.”
He stared at the spoonful of stew. “Tell me this is a joke.”
“Yeah, and it’s Butch’s.” Walt dished up more stew and dumped it on Zeeb’s plate. “There’s plenty. Matt said the plan was to freeze what didn’t get eaten.”
Zeeb snorted. “Good luck with that.” He forked some of the tender beef, groaning when it hit his tastebuds. “Man, this is good.”
“I take it the VIP is here,” Butch commented.
He scowled. “He ain’t no VIP so don’t call him that. He’s a guest, who’s here for some healin’.” He locked gazes with Butch. “Like a lot of folks who come here. Some of ’em even work here.”
His barb found its mark.
Butch flushed. “Then he picked a good spot.”
The door opened, and Sol entered. “Okay if I join you guys for supper?”
Walt smiled. “Take a seat. You wanna sit next to the hubby?”
Butch narrowed his eyes. “I thought I told you about calling him that.”
Sol laughed. “Take it easy. He’s only jealous.” He pulled out the empty chair next to Butch and sat.
“Am not,” Walt retorted. “But that doesn’t mean I wanna see you two locking lips, you got that? I mean, we’re eating here, and you’re givin’ off not-in-front-of-my-salad’ vibes.” His eyes sparkled.
Sol’s lips twitched. “So Butch’s lips are off-limits. Got it. I’ll just have to pick another spot.” He acknowledged the new guests with a nod. “Hey. I’m Sol Davenport. I’m the media manager for Salvation, among other jobs. If you saw us online, that was my handiwork.”
“Are you two… an item?” one of the guests asked.
Zeeb thought Sol would be the one to respond but to his surprise, Butch smiled.
“Yes, we are. Two years now.”
Sol’s face glowed with pride.
“And like I told you when I picked you up in Bozeman,” Butch continued, “we speak our mind around here.” He flashed them a grin. “Not that I’ve seen any pearl-clutchin’ from any of you.”
The older of the guests chuckled. “I didn’t come here expecting anything else.”
Sol helped himself to the stew. “Hey, Zeeb. After supper, can you and I have a chat?”
Zeeb didn’t bat an eyelid. He’d been expecting as much. “Sure.” Then he went back to the really important task of enjoying Matt’s stew.
He wants to talk about Nate . Which was understandable, seeing as Sol was the ranch’s counselor.
Whether Nate would talk to Sol was another matter.
When he couldn’t eat another mouthful, Zeeb pushed his plate away.
“If any of you see Matt, tell him that was awesome.” He stood, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and went outside to stand in his usual spot by the paddock, his arms resting on the railing, watching the sun sink over the mountains, painting their snow-capped peaks pink, and casting long shadows across the dusty ground.
The air smelled earthy, fresh, tinged with the scent of hay and grass and fading heat.
My second favorite time of the day.
He didn’t have to turn to know the footsteps crunching over gravel belonged to Sol. The others couldn’t be that quiet if their lives depended on it.
“I thought you might be out here having a smoke.” Sol commented as he joined Zeeb.
He let out a wry chuckle. “I gave ’em up, remember? It’s been over a year now.” He felt better for it.
“So you’ve met Nate?”
Zeeb nodded.
“First impressions?”
He took a drink from his bottle. “Looks like he’s hurtin’. He says he don’t talk much.”
“That’s okay. We’ll see how he is after a week. You know what to do?”
Another nod. “I let him lead. I don’t push. And if he wants to be alone, I let him.” He smiled. “But I also get him around the horses. If he wants to paint someplace, I take him there.”
“At some point I’ll introduce myself. But I don’t want him to think he has to talk to me.”
Zeeb bit his lip. “And if he wants to talk to me?”
“Be there for him. Don’t judge. Just be a sounding board if he needs one. And that goes for you too. I’m here if you need me.” Sol patted Zeeb’s back. “I know this is new, but from what Robert says, Nate’s dad is pinning a lot of hope on this.”
Zeeb had gotten that impression too.
“I’m ready. We’ll start with the stable, and take it from there.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Zeeb glanced at him. “What do you know about Nate?”
“No more than you do. And I think that’s a good thing. We’re both going in with an open mind.”
He took another drink. “Wanna hear something weird? There’s something about Nate that reminds me of someone.”
“Who?”
Zeeb sighed. “Me.”
Sol turned to face him. “Okay, that’s interesting.”
He guffawed. “Sorry, Sol, I’m not about to climb on your couch or whatever it is you counselors use. I got rid of my demons a long time ago.”
“Oh? How did you manage that?”
Zeeb grinned. “I hit ’em with a shovel an’ buried ’em.”
Somewhere between Idaho to Montana.