Cowboy Up, Part II

A guest post by my truckbuddy Tim from England, now resident in Spain:

Cowboy Up

Chapter 2.  First Impressions

Summary:  The mysterious young stranger seems to be getting under Chris Redfield’s skin. But who exactly is he?

"Oh, er, well, if you're not Peter Carney, who the hell are you?"

"Piers, Piers Nivans."

Chris Redfield stared hard at the young man.  He was trying to regain control of the situation.  A situation which, at the moment, confused the hell out of him.

"So let me get this straight, you're not Peter Carney?"

"Nope."  Nivans smiled.

"Any reason why he didn't make it?"

"I made him a better offer."

"You what!"

"I made him a better offer than your job here."  

Chris looked dumbfounded, so the young man continued pleasantly.  "Oh, he wasn't really suited for it, preferred a life on the ocean waves.  You'll thank me later, I'm sure." Another smile.

"I see."  said Chris, although he didn't.  "OK, forget about Carney.  What about you?  I need a junior hand on my ranch.  Have you got any experience, references?  Mr, er ... ?"

"Nivans, but I prefer to be called Piers."

"And I prefer someone with references, and who shows some respect for their employer!"

"Oh, so I've got the job?  Thank you."

"What, no ... !  I don't know... dammit!"  Chris had suddenly felt flustered.  He took a deep breath, and started again.  "Your references!"

"They're from the highest authority, trust me."

Chris held his hand out.  He was scowling now, and he was getting hot in the midday sun.  He seemed to be a supporting actor in something he didn't quite understand.  Not for the first time since meeting this strange young man, he shook himself out of his thoughts.  

"References!"

"I left them at home, in the rush.  Can't go back now."

"No, I suppose not ...Wait!  Who's running this conversation?  I'm the boss, you'd better understand that Nivans!"

"Piers."  Another devastating smile.

Chris scratched his head, he had to force himself not to return the smile.  "Can you ride?"

Piers nodded towards the tan saddle and a couple of holdalls sat under the tree.  "Got all the gear."

"That's not what ... Oh, never mind!  Pick up all the gear, and put it in the back of the truck."

Piers collected his belongings, and put them into the flat-bed of the old Ford.  

"Nice, you like antique cars Chris?" Piers said conversationally.

Chris looked at him, he knew his jaw was dropping.  He decided attack was the best form of defense.  "Are you gonna' put a shirt on?  The sun's fierce this time of day.  And I prefer to be called Boss, or Mr Redfield."

"Nope, I'm fine.  I like being warm.  It's the cold I don't like ... you?"

"I like the fall ... wait, listen, you'll be no good to me sunburned Nivans!  Have you any idea about ranch work?  And by the way, the winters here are really cold, you ready for that?"

"I, I don't burn.  Don't know if that's a blessing or a curse.  And yeh, I know what I know, I'll put a shirt on come winter."

It was the first sign of hesitation the young man had shown.  Chris grasped at it, still trying to regain control.

"Any reason you don't burn, Mr Nivans?  Most people with your coloring do, normal people."

"Ha, ha!  I'm not normal then, Chris ... by your standards."

"Get in Nivans!"

Continued after the jump . . .

Chris had planned to talk about the Lazy-R and the cattle he reared on it, but he decided to cut down on the conversation as they drove back up the dusty track to the ranch house.  Just as well.  The young man kept up a running commentary on everything he saw for the twenty minute drive.  When he wasn't opening and closing the various gates they passed through, that is.  Chris hadn't had to ask, Nivans had seemed to know what to do instinctively.  And his knowledge of the cattle and terrain was good.  Like he already knew the place.  The boy wasn't a greenhorn, and yet ....  For a moment Chris entertained the notion that perhaps the guy was a stalker; no telling what folk from the coast got up to for fun.  But he seemed too convincing.  Chris tried to trick him on the cattle, saying they were mainly a Longhorn-Charolais cross.  Nivans had immediately corrected him, saying "I think you mean Angus, not Charolais Chris.  They're the white ones."   And what was with this 'Chris' thing?  It was way too familiar.  And the 'shirtless' look.  Was the guy queer?  A gay Californian stalker?  'Christ, that's all I need!' Chris thought to himself as he pulled up outside the ranch-house.

"Mmm, homely, I'll be happy here.  I'll stow my gear, bunkhouse is over there, right?"  said Piers, looking to one side.

"Er, yeh, over there ..."  replied Chris, cautiously.  How come he'd known where it was?  "... Pick any bunk.  There's only you and my foreman in there; and he has his own room."

"OK, is Andy about?  Be nice to introduce myself."

"Andy ... Mr Walker, is out fencing.  He won't be back till this evening.  You'll meet him then, we all eat in the house.  In the meantime freshen up, then come and find me.  We need to talk Mr Nivans.  And perhaps you can put a shirt on?  My sister's due to visit later this afternoon.  I ... we, like to keep proper standards with our womenfolk at the Lazy-R."

"OK."

Was that a twinkle in Nivan's eyes?  Chris went inside and checked over Carney's resume.  There was nothing about the sea in it, nothing to suggest he'd any desires outside of ranching.  He shrugged his shoulders.  Perhaps Claire would get to the bottom of it?  She was good at digging out secrets, even from her buttoned-up brother.  And Andy would surely suss Nivans out.  He was way too experienced to have the wool pulled over his eyes.  What was it the strange young man had said, 'stow my gear'?  That sounded vaguely military.  Perhaps he'd served on the army range?  It might account for how he seemed to know all about the Lazy-R.  Chris was looking for some logical explanation to the whole business.  There had to be one, so how come he knew Andy's name then?

************************

Piers found a suitable bunk, under a dusty window.  He liked to be able to see the sky when he was in bed.  He took hold of the tattered curtain and rubbed the dirt and cobwebs off.  That was better, now only the glass pane was between him and the blue heaven above.  He stowed Carney's gear away neatly in a locker.  Good thing they were roughly the same size.  Carney was a little bigger maybe, but Piers had the feeling he'd grow into the clothes as he worked and muscled-up on the ranch.  There was plenty to repair from what he'd seen on the drive up to the house, Chris Redfield included.  Man, was he wound-up tight!  He briefly entertained thoughts of his new 'Boss' and found himself stiffening.  "A cold shower for you Nivans!  Show some proper respect!"  he said in a passable imitation of Chris' somber baritone.  He laughed, then stripped unselfconsciously in front of the window and walked with an animal grace to the washroom; his feet making no sound as he padded slowly across the rough stone floor.  Did Carney have any hair gel in his wash-bag he wondered?  He wanted to look his best when he met Claire.  Like his meeting with Chris, he knew that first impressions were always important.

************************

Chris sat at the table by the upstairs study window, Carney's resume held absently in his hand.  The window looked down onto a bare courtyard, and across towards the low bunkhouse.  When Aunt Jane had been alive the yard had boasted roses and aromatic shrubs.  Now the flower beds were empty, save for the odd lizard or two skittering amongst the weeds.  Neither he or Uncle Bob had ever had the time to be gardeners.

Chris had seen Nivans peer through the bunkhouse window and watched him wipe it clean.  He'd seen him start to undress before he'd looked away guiltily.  But then he'd looked back just in time to see a tan line and tight buns walk out of sight.  He'd felt a sudden, strange thrill, and had immediately hated himself for it.  When he looked back down, red-faced, Carney's resume lay crumpled in his hand.

He smoothed the paper out on the desk and read it again, looking for the clues he'd missed the first time.  They still weren't there.  Irritated, he made his mind up to drive Nivans into town the next day and personally put him on the first bus out.  Whichever direction it was bound!  The sound of a car horn made him look out of the window again.  Dammit, Claire was early!  He was always pleased to see her, but he'd hoped to have dealt with Nivans first.  He watched as Claire parked-up.  As she opened the trunk to get her overnight bag, Nivans came out of the bunkhouse.  At least he had a shirt on now.  A green and yellow plaid.  It matched his eyes thought Chris absentmindedly.  Why on earth should he think that?   

Nivans touched the rim of his hat in greeting and took the bag out of the trunk in one swift, easy motion.  Chris couldn't catch their conversation, but he could hear Claire's laughter.  She sounded just like her mother did in Chris' memory.  He smiled, he liked to see Claire happy, then he heard Nivans laughing too, and he didn't know what to think.  He got up quickly and went downstairs.  He suddenly felt what? ... jealous?  Of both of them?

He gave Claire an exaggerated hug, almost sweeping her off the ground as he deliberately put himself between his sister and the smiling Piers Nivans.  

"Do you know this guy?" he whispered hurriedly in her ear.

"What?"

"Him!  Nivans!"

"Hello Sis would be a better greeting Christopher."

Chris put her down.  "Sorry, you're early, and I'm confused."

"That makes two of us then."

"Ahem, shall I take your bag in Claire?"  said an amused voice behind them.

"Oh yes please Piers, just leave it in the hall, I'll take it up to my room later thanks."

Claire looked up at her brother.  "Why the scowl?  Did you want to carry my bag bro?"

"I asked if you knew him."

"Probably, he seems to know me, friend of a friend on the coast perhaps?  There's so many, you'd understand that if you had lots of friends yourself."

"I've got ... some friends." Chris replied defensively.  "Anyway, he's not Peter Carney!"

"I know, he's Piers Nivans, he told me.  Are you alright?  And where is Carney anyhow?  Has he arrived?"

"He's Carney, him, Nivans."

"Chris?  You're making even less sense than usual.  What do you mean 'He's Carney'?"

"He offered Carney another job and came in his place.  I don't even know if he can ride a horse."

"Where are his references?"

"He says he left them behind."

"Ah!  Well, you’re the practical one.  Have you thought about putting him on a horse and finding out?"

"Er, no, not yet.  I was getting round to that."

"Well, no time like the present bro.  Why don't you two saddle up and ride the range?  I'll freshen up, then have a look over the latest accounts whilst you do.  Deal?"

"Hmm, good idea.  I don't want you and him alone until Andy and I have sussed him out, OK?  I think he might be a stalker."

Claire looked at her brother strangely.  "A stalker, yeh, that'd be it for sure, not some simple, logical explanation.  Are you sure you're alright?"

Piers rejoined them.  "Saddle up Nivans!  We're gonna take a ride." Chris announced gruffly.

"Great!  I'll go fetch my saddle."

"No!  You can use one of ours, they're in the stables.  You can take the palomino mare."  Chris didn't know why he'd suggested that particular mare, other than she was wonderful gold color, just like Nivans' skin.  Then he realized what he was thinking and flushed at the thought.  "C'mon Nivans!"  he said, irritably.

Piers tipped his hat to Claire.  "See you later Ma'am."  Chris clenched his fists tight as he headed for the stable block.  "Damn smart ass!" he muttered through teeth that were also tightly clenched.  As he said it, he had a sudden mental image of Nivans' pale buttocks contrasting with his tan.  "What the fu ...?"  He shook his head to free it of the image.  

In the stables, Piers ran his hands expertly over the mare, checking her mouth and tongue, her legs and shoes.  He chose exactly the right saddle and put it over the horse's back, talking gently to her all the while.  'Goldie' had a habit of puffing herself up as the cinch was passed under her.  The better to loosen the rider later.  Chris watched in expectation, but for once she didn't, standing placidly as Piers made sure it lay flat and untwisted at her heart girth.  He finished tacking up, making sure the leathers were adjusted for his leg length.  Chris was grudgingly impressed.  They led their horses into the yard and mounted.  Chris broke his horse straight into a trot, but Piers held back at a walk.

"Better to let 'em warm up first."  

Chris shot him a glance but reigned in nonetheless.   They left the track and crossed open ground, sloping away down to the south.  Chris figured it was a better test of horsemanship.  He hung behind Nivans and watched every move.  The man was a natural, he couldn't deny it.  He rode true Western style, but something wasn't quite right.  Then he realized, simple, Nivans was a leftie, riding left-handed.  Funny how he hadn't noticed before, this young man was full of surprises.

They rode for over an hour, Chris pointing out landmarks and place names.  It was important not to get lost on a big spread.  Chris knew it was easily done if you were a greenhorn.  Nivans listened to him attentively, asking all the right questions, he seemed relaxed and at ease.  His confidence irritated Chris, everything seemed to come naturally to the mysterious Mr Nivans.

Eventually, Chris broke away in frustration, putting his horse into a gallop.  He hoped Nivans hadn't seen him, but he soon found the palomino alongside.  Nivans was grinning.  "Race ya?" he shouted across to Chris.

They both headed back towards the ranch, Goldie moving ahead, Chris didn't like using too much spur, but he wasn't going to be beaten on his own spread.  Then Piers inexplicably slowed his horse and Chris flashed by.  "Yah, yeehaw!"  Chris couldn't help himself.  It felt so good, winning for once.  He looked over his shoulder and grinned at Nivans.  Piers waved his Resistol back in acknowledgement.

"What happened back there?"  asked Chris as they led their horses into the yard.  "You were well in front."

"You're the Boss."  Piers replied simply.  Chris didn't know why, but he missed Nivans calling him by his first name. 

"And you might just be the new junior hand." 

To be continued . . .