Deserves to Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

Eli O’Halleran couldn’t believe his good luck. Though his father, Trace, had always taken him with him when there were chores to be done around the farm, until today he had never said, “Yeah, son, come with me. You can be the lead dog on this one. Let’s see if we can find any other holes in the fence.”

“All right!” Eli had said, thrilled. Within a matter of minutes, he’d ignored his breakfast, run to the barn and, with his dad’s help, saddled and bridled Jetfire, his black gelding.

While his dad was still cinching his bay mare’s saddle, Eli rode Jet through the barn’s big roller door and into a back paddock. Both dogs, Dad’s shepherd and Bonzi, Kacey’s dog, which was at least part pit bull and probably yellow lab, were milling around, anxious to be a part of the action.

“Hold up!” Trace called, but Eli kept going through a series of corrals as the snow fell, all the while feeling like a real cowboy, though he was not quite nine years old.

“Come on,” he urged the horse as they reached the open gate to the final field. Glancing over his shoulder, he caught a glimpse of his father leading Mocha from the barn and swinging into the saddle. The dogs, of course, had already escaped the barn and were sniffing and running in the fallen snow, while a cold wind was blowing, snowflakes falling from the gray Montana sky.

“Eli!” his father called, just as Eli leaned forward, eased up on the reins and let the horse go.

Jet surged forward, speeding into a full gallop and tearing down the long, tractor lane covered in snow. Eli’s hat blew off, but he didn’t care, loving the feel of the wind slapping his face and blowing his hair as he caught sight of the dogs bounding through the drifts and giving chase. Jetfire, after being cooped up in the barn, was eager to run. As Eli hung on, Jet tore up the field, a black blur streaking toward the foothills.

Breathless, Eli didn’t care that his dad would probably be mad at him for taking off. It just felt right.

The ground sloped up to a small rise and the gelding ran eagerly upward, breathing hard, racing toward the crest. Eli clung like a burr, his nose running and feeling numb in the cold.

On the far side, the ground dropped off, sloping downward to the creek where the fence separated O’Halleran land from that of the federal government. It was where the problem had started, his dad had told him, a broken spot in the fence where five calves had found the break and gotten through. The strays had been rounded up, and the major hole in the fence had been repaired, but they were just making sure there weren’t any more areas where those idiot cows could get through.

The truth was that Trace was tired of being cooped up, too. Otherwise, why would he have decided to survey the fence line in the middle of a near blizzard? It didn’t matter, though. Eli was just glad to be out of the house as there was no school.

Plowing through the snow, kicking up powdery clods, Jet crested the hill and raced downward to the meandering brook that cut like a sidewinder back and forth beneath the fence. The field gave way to woods that, on the government side of the property, covered the foothills of the Bitterroots.

Nearing the creek, Eli pulled back on the reins and Jetfire slowed easily, cantering down to a walk just as his dad and Mocha appeared over the rise behind them.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Trace demanded as he reined his horse to a stop once they’d reached the corner of the property. He held the reins with one gloved hand and in the other, Eli’s stocking cap.

“Sorry,” Eli mumbled, though he really wasn’t. For the first time, he felt a jab of the cold piercing his jacket.

Trace glared at his son for a second, then let out a sigh. “No harm, no foul, I guess.” He still wasn’t smiling. “Believe it or not, I was your age once. Broke my arm, being bucked from Rocky. That was my horse at the time.”

Eli knew better than to say “I know,” even though he’d heard the story before.

Leaning forward, Trace handed Eli his hat. “Think you lost something.”

“Thanks.” Eli pulled the hat down over his ears as they were starting to freeze, but he didn’t dare complain. After all, he’d begged to be a part of this. But as snowflakes slid under the collar of his jacket and the wind blew bitter cold, he was starting to second-guess himself. Not that he would admit it.

“You still want to do this?” his father asked.

Though much of Eli’s enthusiasm had faded, he wasn’t going to admit it. Nodding, he swiped the back of his gloved hand under his running nose.

His father raised one eyebrow, then gave a quick nod. “Okay, then. You ride up ahead and I’ll follow. We’ll see if there are any more breaches.”

Eli did as he was told, riding along the fence line, growing colder by the second, while his father, more thorough as he scrutinized the wire from atop his mount, lagged behind.

Sometimes being a cowboy really sucks, Eli realized belatedly, his gaze trained on the wire mesh that cut a straight line through the thickets of hemlock, fir, and maple. The stream, nearly frozen, wandered back and forth, a thin trickle in the middle gurgling softly.

Another blast of wind rattled the branches of the surrounding trees and he shivered, tired of the adventure. He just wanted to return to the house, so he urged Jetfire forward through the icy woods. The sooner the job was done, the sooner he could go back inside.

Though he’d begged his father to let him come, Eli began to wish he’d never said a word, just stayed in his pajamas and played on his iPad until breakfast was ready, because inside the house there was a hot fire, a warm cup of hot cocoa, and Kacey, his soon-to-be stepmom. She would be getting ready to go to the clinic where she worked. But instead of being seated at the table, sipping hot chocolate and eating peanut butter toast while watching television, he was out in the cold.

r /> Jetfire stepped quickly through the drifts and Eli swept another quick glance over his shoulder to make certain that his dad was following on the rangy bay. Sure enough, he saw Trace easing his horse through a stand of pines about twenty yards behind him. The two dogs were following, Bonzi with his head lifted as if he were testing the air, Sarge farther behind, exploring a bend in the creek.

Eli wished his dad would hurry.

Through the veil of snow, man and rider were partially obscured, blending into the wintry landscape, appearing almost ghostly. Even the dogs seemed to disappear.

Eli waved at his father, but Trace didn’t notice, his concentration and gaze steady on the fence as he appeared and disappeared in the wind-fueled flurries. It worried Eli a little that he was so far ahead of his dad, but he reminded himself to be cowboy-tough. He had a job to do. Once more, Trace and the bay vanished for a second and Eli wondered what he’d do if his father didn’t reappear, if he became lost somehow.