He wore straight-legged jeans tucked into cowboy boots. Tyrel had always maintained that the difference between a working ranch hand and a drugstore cowboy had been whether the jeans were worn on the outside of his boots or tucked in. A ranch hand tucked them in so they didn’t catch in the stirrups or get caught on anything while he was working.
The black Western shirt was carefully pressed and had white pearl snaps. Tyrel’s high-crowned black cowboy hat sported a silver hatband etched with Native American symbols. Don’s mama, part Lipan Apache, had made the hatband for her husband and marked it with signs that she’d claimed would bring him peace.
Though his mama had been a devout Christian woman who went to church every Wednesday and Sunday, she’d also held on to some of the old ways because she hadn’t wanted the culture to disappear. And if her husband was dead set against believing in the works of the Good Lord, maybe he’d have been a little more open to something else. Anything that would have brought him peace.
Tyrel smoked an unfiltered Camel cigarette and kept his gaze focused on the baseball game on the big-screen TV on the wall. A handful of other men sat quietly and watched the game as well.
Don approached his daddy and stood nearby. Even as a grown man, he’d never walked up to his daddy without being acknowledged first.
“What do you want, boy?” Tyrel asked in his coarse voice. He never turned his gaze from the TV.
“I came to see you, Daddy,” Don said.
“I thought you just did come to see me.”
“Yes, sir. But that was back in May.” Don’s mother had succumbed to her illness on May 12, and Don always visited on that anniversary so his daddy wouldn’t have to be alone.
“You came out to put flowers on your mama’s grave.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tyrel nodded in quiet satisfaction. “She’d have liked that. You looking after her like that.”
“Yes, sir.” When he’d arrived at the grave, Don had discovered a woven flower blanket that covered his mama’s final resting spot. His daddy made them himself. At least, Don hadn’t ever found out if anyone else did them. And the braiding was similar to the rope mending his daddy had taught him to do.
“Well, you planning on standing there all night?” Tyrel asked. “I thought you had a church to run.”
“You don’t exactly run a church, Daddy,” Don said. “It’s not a business.”
“Seems to me you get paid by people who go there. That’s a business.”
Don knew his daddy was deliberately baiting him and avoided the old argument. “People go there to be with God. They leave money so they have a house to do that together in. And to help out people in the congregation that aren’t able to fend for themselves.”
Tyrel flicked ash from his cigarette in annoyance. He took another draw on the Camel and breathed out a cloud of smoke.
“You say toe-may-toe; I say toe-may-tah.”
Don had long since given up trying to caution his father about smoking. Tyrel McHenry wasn’t a man much given to listening to advice he didn’t want to hear.
“Don’t you gotta get back to that church soon?” Tyrel asked. “Must be an evening prayer or something you gotta give.”
“We’re not having service tonight till seven,” Don said. “I wanted families to have time to spend the day together.” He paused. “Do you mind if I sit with you, Daddy?”
Tyrel hesitated for a moment, and Don thought he almost looked over. “Suit yourself. You’re a grown man.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, Daddy.” Don took a chair beside his father. As he looked at Tyrel, he realized that the years were marking him harder. Don couldn’t help wondering how much longer his daddy would be with them.
Then Don felt miserable because his daddy had never truly been with any of them.
That’s not true, he reminded himself. Daddy was always there for Mama.
All throughout the time he was growing up, though, Don couldn’t remember much softness between his parents. Tyrel had worked from sunup to sundown, and he’d been early to bed after he’d washed the supper dishes for his wife.
Don could recall nights he’d sat by the fireplace and listened to Rachel McHenry read from the Bible. They were always stories from the Old Testament, filled with wars and fearful things, because those were the ones Tyrel tolerated best.
The stories of David from the books of 1 and 2 Samuel were Tyrel’s favorites. Don could remember his mama asking his daddy one night why he liked those stories so much.
Tyrel had thought long and hard about his answer before he gave it. That was usually his way. Tyrel had always taken longer to answer deeper questions. Responses to general questions about right and wrong, about the code Tyrel McHenry lived by, came lightning quick, but things beyond mending fences and how a man should react in everyday situations took him longer.
“I like that book,” Tyrel had said, “because even though David did a powerful lot of wrongful things, God still loved him. It just seems uplifting. Can’t see how it would be true, but I like those stories.”
Don had read the books several times to try to figure out what drew his daddy to them. He’d finally given up in frustration. Whatever secrets lay in those pages had eluded him.
›› 1654 Hours (Central Time Zone)
“You want something to drink?” Tyrel asked.
“No, thank you, Daddy. Katie’s bringing me a soda.”
At that moment, Katie appeared, placing a cocktail napkin and the soft drink glass in front of Don.
Tyrel smiled in disbelief and shook his head. “Come to a bar to drink a soda pop. Don’t that beat all.”
“I got to deliver a sermon tonight, Daddy. I’d rather not do it with beer on my breath.” Don took a sip of his drink.
On the screen, the Rangers turned a double play against the Yankees. Their success spurred a spate of happy curses from a couple of the men.
“And I didn’t come here to drink a soda pop.” Don looked at his daddy, who had yet to turn his full gaze on him. “I came here to be with you.”
“I came here to be alone,” Tyrel said.
“If you’d wanted to be alone, you’d have stayed at home.”
“But you already been by there, ain’t you?”
Reluctantly Don nodded. He’d gone by the Rafter M Ranch first and found only Gonzalez snoozing on the porch. Gonzalez was nearly Tyrel’s age, but Tyrel took care of the other man and gave him lodging and payment for his help around the ranch.
“I wanted to ask you to come to church tonight, Daddy,” Don said.
“I’m not interested in church,” Tyrel replied. “What happens between me and God stays between me and God. Don’t need to go airing it out in public.”
As always, that bit of insight into his daddy’s spiritual affairs made Don relax a little. His daddy was a believer or was at least paying belief lip service. That was a start.
“It’s Father’s Day,” Don went on. “I thought maybe you’d like to spend part of it with me.”
“You’re here, ain’t you?”
“And my family,” Don went on patiently.
“Son, we’ve had this conversation a hundred times if we’ve had it once.” Tyrel stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray. “Comes a time in a man’s life when he cuts loose from his family to make one of his own. A man can’t ride two broncs. You gotta choose one or the other. I think you’ll find that in the book of Ecclesiastes.” He paused. “Personally, I think you made a fine choice in leaving. You married a pretty little gal, and you got two fine boys and a daughter. You got your family.”
“They’d like to see more of their granddaddy.”
“You and yours are welcome to come on out to the ranch any time. You know that. I’ve told you enough. And you’re coming out there enough that them boys are learning to ride good enough. Might even be as good as Shel someday.”
“We’d like to have you to supper after the service.” During Don’s eleven years of marriage, his daddy had never once stepped inside his house other than to help repair or install something. Even that was done after protest, after Tyrel became convinced his son really couldn’t manage it on his own.