Page 15 of Jensen

I’m bored, and a little depressed. Therearethree months left until my fortieth birthday. The last few years, all my friends out in Montana have been settling down, coupling up and having kids. It’s hard being the odd one out, but it’s how I prefer it. There’s alwaysthe possibility, even after nineteen years, that I might have to disappear in the dead of night.

I turn and walk down the hill to the ranch house. Deacon’s woman, Freya, is on the porch,her dog panting at her side. My useless hound, Chicken, is passed out in the dirt on the walkway. He barely opens an eye as I ride up and dismount.

“You hungry?” Freya asks.

I shake my head.

“I’ve got to head out,” I say. “But thanks.”

The barn door slides back,and Deacon appears. He takes off his dusty hat and strides across the lawn, reaching into his pocket for the check. I take it, and click my fingers for Chicken, who doesn’t even turn his head. Deacon sinks down on the steps and takes his handkerchief out to wipe his forehead.

“You staying for dinner?” he asks.

“He’s got someplace to be,” Freya says, sitting onthe top step.

They’re an odd couple. Deacon is about my age, roughed up from years of hard living. He’s bullish and hardheaded, used to swaggering through life and getting what he wants. Freya is twenty-three, I think, and sweet with some fire to her. She comes from the mountains, same as me, but I don’t talk about that with her—or anybody else. The last thing I want is to dig up the past. Deacon knows I don’t like discussing it,so I doubt he’s brought it up to her either.

“Where you off to?” Deacon asks.

I shrug. “Stockyards.”

“Maybe you should consider going on a date or something,” Freya drawls. “Like a real one.”

Deacon laughs. “I don’t think Jensen’s the settling down type, sweetheart.”

I shrug, slapping my thigh for Chicken. He stares vacantly before finally pulling himself upright, bones creaking, but that’s as far as he gets.

“Oh, just leave him here,” says Freya. “He’s not hurting anything.”

“Fine.I’ll pick him up next time I drop by,” I say, putting on my hat. Freya likes my dog, and that’s alright by me. My dog probably likes Freya better than he likes me. “I’ll see y’all around.”

They sit on the porch and wave me off. Then, it’s just me in the silent truck, eating up highway as I head towards South Platte. Just beyond lies West Lancaster, a little rougher of a placebutwith a better nightlife. Being out at Ryder Ranch, seeing Deacon so happy with Freya, has me feeling a bit hollow.

But there’s a cure for that.

The stockyards are humming when I arrive. There was an auction just hours earlier,and the first people I run into are Westin and Sovereign, two friends who run one of the biggest ranches in the state. Westin is a tall, lankier fellow with a penchant for minding his business or getting into colossal trouble, depending on how he’s feeling that night. Sovereign is a behemoth—not only in stature, but when it comes to the cattle business. We met a few years after I arrived in Montana and have been fast friends since.

Sovereign is counting bills, then pushing his wallet into his pocket. Westin leans on the makeshift bar, hat over his eyes.

“Y’all staying tonight?” I ask, pulling up beside them.

Sovereign glances up. “No can do. Got family stuff.”

“Made out like bandits at the auction today,though,” Westin says. “You’re fighting again?”

I nod, leaning across the bar to tap the chalkboard so the bartender knows to add me to the list.He catches sight of me and nods.

“You should try actually dating instead of fighting,” says Westin. “The end result might keep you a little warmer than winning a couple hundred bucks tonight.”

I shake my head. “I can get laid if I want.”

His forehead creases, and I know what he’s thinking. Westin, Sovereign, and Deacon all settled down in the last few years. Now, they’ve got kids,and they come around the bars and stockyards less and less. That leaves me, the last person still knocking around my ranch alone. Unless,of course, Icount—

“Jack Russell, goddamn it,” murmurs Sovereign.

The uncomfortable fifth wheel of our group appears behind the bar.

“Did you miss me?” he says.