Cowboy

Bob Holt

Description

The second son of a hard-as-nails Texas rancher is drafted out of college for the Vietnam war. Assigned to the Pentagon, he observes the great March on Washington protesting the war and questions why his peers are marching outside and he's inside the walls of the citadel. After his discharge, he enrolls at the University of Connecticut where he hopes to catch up with his generation. There, he meets and falls in love with a beautiful Woodstock flowerchild, a beguiling, free-loving, Tinker Bell in blue jeans, who guides him through the new mores that sorely test the values he was taught growing up. After she breaks his heart, he seeks solace by returning home, and like the prodigal son, his family welcomes him and "kills the fatted calf." It's good to be home, but like the rest of the country during that time-he is forever changed. "There is definitely one, if not a couple of movies in this novel. It's not only the story of these characters in the sixties, but is also the story of the country." -The late Myron (Mike) Weinblatt, President of NBC Entertainment and Showtime/The Movie Channel. "It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. It was the Sixties, and Jim Davis faces a world at odds with the one in which he grew up. Bob Holt captures the essence of the decade with his impressive debut novel that is bawdy and tender and wise as a young man reconciles his past with his future." -Mary Bryan Stafford, author of A Wasp in the Fig Tree and The Last Whippoorwill. "Bob Holt offers a compelling story of Jim Davis who grows up under the controlling power of his father, a Bible-thumping Texas rancher. Holt's vivid account sets the stage for Jim's stint as a rising army lieutenant before he turns away searching for his own independence. He lands in a liberal eastern college where the counter culture opens him to a new world of experiences and a love that almost destroys him. Holt's imagery immerses his reader in Jim Davis' search for himself and his fight to capture his love." -Myra Hargrave McIlvain, Award-winning author of Stein House and The Doctor's Wife

Sujets

• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Outskirts Press
• Date de parution: 06 juin 2018
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781977200402
• Langue: English

Extrait

Cowboy
All Rights Reserved.
Copyright © 2018 Bob Holt
v6.0

This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Outskirts Press, Inc.
http://www.outskirtspress.com

ISBN: 978-1-9772-0040-2

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018904264

Cover Photo © 2018 thinkstockphotos.com. All rights reserved - used with permission.

Outskirts Press and the “OP” logo are trademarks belonging to Outskirts Press, Inc.

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA


For Butchie and Robyn – my loves, my life, my reason.


PART ONE


CHAPTER 1
SEPTEMBER, 1959
S tars were filling the evening sky when the lean fourteen-year-old got to the house empty handed. Jimmy stood his bolt-action .22 rifle in the corner of the porch and nodded to his mother as he passed through the kitchen. “No luck, today. Missed that jack rabbit you saw in the garden.”
“Your daddy’s waiting at the barn.” She didn’t look up from her cooking. “Baines said to come out as soon as you got back. Your brother’s with him.”
“Something smells good.” The aroma of fresh baked cornbread filled the room.
“He said y’all won’t eat till that young cow drops her calf.”
Jimmy paused a moment to watch Cronkite and the evening news on the TV in the den. A young senator and his attractive wife stepped off a sail boat at the family compound on Cape Cod.
“Go on. They’re waiting!”
“I’m going. I’m going.” He glanced back at the TV. A Lucky Strike Cigarette box with shapely legs was doing a high kick. He pushed open the back door and stepped into the cool night air. He tugged the brim of his beat-up cowboy hat low steeling himself against his old man’s demands and his big brother’s first-born arrogance.
A bare lightbulb in the tack room lit the corral, and a full moon hovered over the horizon. Looking bored, his brother, John Henry, perched on the top rail of the stall, his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. Their father leaned against the ranch truck, scraping mud off his boots with a screw driver. Jimmy was in no hurry. It had been a long day with school and chores and was sure to go into a good part of the night. He slapped at an insect on his neck and saw movement at the barn.
“Hey, Dad!” John Henry had leaped to the ground. “Need some help, here! This little heifer’s in bad trouble. Oh, God! There’s a lot of blood! She’s down on her knees breathing real hard. Her stupid calf’s coming out butt first. Dang. It’s—”
“Keep it calm, son.” His father climbed through the rails. “Just stay still. She’s got help now.” He knelt beside the trembling animal and rubbed her heaving side. After a minute, he shook his head. “Get me some rope.” He looked up. “Jimmy, get us some rope—and bring my pistol.”

A week later, Jimmy sat at the desk in his bedroom after school struggling with a freshman English paper. He stared at the yellowed Roy Rogers shade on the desk lamp and thought of the dead cow and her calf. He wondered if pulling the trigger had bothered his father. There had been no sign, no evidence of it. The phone rang in the house, and he heard his mother pick it up in the kitchen.
“He did? He quit varsity?” After a few moments of silence, she said, “Any son of mine that doesn’t play football, won’t eat at my table.”
Jimmy looked back at his paper and wondered which of his brother’s friends quit the team—a rare event in Morrison, Texas.
A Buddy Holly song played on the radio between his and John Henry’s beds. He started to pencil another paragraph when the bedroom door crashed back against the wall. His father filled the doorway. His khakis were smeared with calf slobber, but Jimmy’s eyes locked on the rolled up object in his hand.
“Where’d you get this?” Baine’s voice nearly broke, “And don’t lie to me. Where’d you get nasty thing?”
Jimmy pushed his chair back and stood beside his desk. He stared down at his white-socked feet. School boots stood paired at the foot of the bed. “What—?”
“You know damn well.” His father flung the magazine at him. It crashed on his bed with pages splayed open.
A lump crowded Jimmy’s throat. His brother had pulled the “Sun N Fun” nudist magazine out from under his pillow last night after everyone had gone to bed and waved it in his face. Said he’d bought it from Stump Bosworth who got it from a cousin home on leave from the navy.
Jimmy had watched him thumb through the pages of naked men and women playing volleyball with all their hairy parts showing and things flopping. He’d worried the old man would come in and catch them. John Henry hadn’t seemed bothered about it.
“I’ll ask one more time.” Baines glared at him. “Where’d you get this? And tell me the truth. Mama found it under your mattress this morning.”
He didn’t know what to say.
His father lifted his Stetson and ran a callused hand through graying hair. He shook his head. “And don’t think you’re too big to get my belt across your backside!” Another moment passed before he jammed the hat back on his head. “So, till I say different, you will stay in your room except for school and chores. You got that, mister? And I’ll say when you can come out!”
Baines grabbed the magazine off the bedspread and with spittle flying, ripped it to pieces. Red faced, he fisted the remnants in front of him. “And don’t bring this crap around ever again. Understand me? Your brother would never bring this shit into my house.”
Jimmy blinked. He wanted to yell that the magazine wasn’t his. That his brother had more of ‘em stashed around. But he didn’t.
“If you’re as smart as you think you are, you’ll get on your knees and beg the good Lord for forgiveness.”
Jimmy’s gaze returned to the floor.
His father paused like he wanted to say more, then spun and slammed the bedroom door behind him.
Jimmy listened to heavy boots pound down the hallway. When the sound drifted away, he dropped back into his chair and stared at the unfinished paper. He read and reread the first sentence, but the words failed to register. He put his head down on his arm and rubbed his face across his sleeve. Both fists slammed down on the desk. God damn him! God damn him! God damn him!
He stared at the bedroom door. It always works this way. John Henry turns them against me.
After several deep breaths, he closed his eyes. “Forgive me, Jesus, for. . .for. . .well, forgive me for my sins. Also, forgive the old man for not knowing, and forgive John Henry for—for being stupid. Amen.”



CHAPTER 2
J immy picked a seat several rows behind the driver on the afternoon bus and set his books beside him as they departed school. The ranch was only ten miles from town, but the route home took over an hour. A month had passed since the discovery of his brother’s contraband. Two days of confinement and nothing more had been said about it.
“Hey Jimbo.” The driver’s voice sounded far away. “Your stop, son”
He lifted his head and blinked to jump-start his brain. After the bus rumbled away, he crossed the cattle-guard and headed up the dirt road toward his family’s red brick ranch house. Two walnut trees provided shade in the front yard, their trunks encircled with old tractor tires painted white and filled with his mother’s flowers. A metal lawn chair lay on its side in the yard, a victim of the north winds that blew across the High Plains this time of year. Beyond the barn, the waning sun looked like an orange ball teed up on the windmill.
His boots kicked up dust as he hiked the quarter mile. He’d never owned a regular pair of shoes. Cowboy boots and football cleats were all he’d ever worn on his feet, and his boots, like most everything else he had, first belonged to John Henry.
The screen door banged behind him. The house was dark, and the familiar odor of pine-oil hung in the air. He picked up a note on the kitchen table.

Jimmy,

Gone to town to watch John Henry’s football practice.

Will be back by supper. Baines says feed the steers in the barn and bring the milk cows up from the canyon. Cornbread and milk are in the icebox. Don’t leave a mess.

Love, Mother

He crumpled the paper and tossed it in the direction of the trash bag next to the refrigerator. After pouring a glass of sweet milk, he carried it down the hall to the bedroom. He pulled off his red western shirt with white pearl snaps, lifted it to his nose and sniffed. Not bad, he thought and hung it in the closet crowded with John Henry’s things.
He pulled on denim work clothes and a pair of scuffed boots with broken down tops. In the kitchen, he spooned mayonnaise between two slices of white bread and stepped out the back door to do his chores. Passing the barn, he decided against saddling a horse. Too much time to tack up and groom out after.
As he crossed the wire fence between the pasture and field crops, he thought of his mother’s note. The old man never watched me practice. Even the summer I made the Little League All Star Team that Billy Thompson’s dad coached.
He kicked a loose stone off the track that led to the canyon. At least Coach Thompson doesn’t blame Billy for things he didn’t do.
The cow path snaked a quarter mile through pasture to a deep