ikissdhimbck | OOM: Barlow estate: 1881

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OOM: Barlow estate: 1881

It was mid-morning when Doc rode out from Green Lake on his new paint, with saddlebags a little fuller since staying the night previous with the Hawthorn's. Millicent had packed him a lunch, though it was really just bits and pieces he could eat in the saddle: pulled pork wrapped in brown paper; fresh bread; and rhubarb jam.

It takes a little over an hour and a half, once heading out north from the road behind the old church, to get to the little barbwire fence the doctor had said would lead him into the Barlow's estate.

The barley harvest is already past, and there can be seen a few men out among the golden fields, threshing the barley hay and getting it divided and tied off for feed, which they will later carry up the gently sloping hill to the barn for the winter. They pause and watch Doc as he rides up the path, exchanging nods as he passes.

Closer to the farmhouse, on the opposing side of the road, grows rows of corn, some new and green, but most nearly ripe. There's a silo, back behind a large red barn, and several corrals straight ahead.

As Doc draws near, two hounds come barreling out from the vicinity of the barn, baying loudly as they trip over each other to get to Doc. They pass a gentleman who is crouched near a fence, fixing a bit of barbing. He tips his head back to peer from beneath the wide brim of his hat, squinting down the path at the young man on the paint horse. He straightens, calmly wiping sweat from his brow, and walks to join the small convoy.

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Doc smiles and nods once the offer is made. "Thank you, sir," he says honestly. Cortez follows him easily enough, even with the two hounds finally rising from the dirt to trot along in front of them, wrestling and chasing the entire way.

Somehow he manages to hide the grin that is tugging at his chest, his heart beating just a bit faster.

He said yes. That means he don't think you're all that bad.

When they round the corner to the stables, the hounds bound on ahead of them, to where a man is standing, fiddling with a lead, trying to work a knot out. He glances up at the dogs, then flicks his gaze to the two gentleman and the paint briefly.

"Bring home 'nother stray, boss?"

If there's a moment's confusion over whether he means the horse or the young man, the tone of his voice should quickly clear that up.

(He didn't mean the horse.)

Samuel doesn't answer him. Instead, he turns his attention to Jay, jerking his head toward the ranch hand.

"This is Jim. He's the stable master, and a bit of a bastard."

That earns an amused snort from the other man, who's still working at that knot.

A wry smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth, as he raises one hand to tip his hat back, letting it fall and hang from his neck, that hand then raking through his hair.

"Pleasure."

He nods his greeting.

(He's the new guy. That means you catch flack until you've earned respect. Until then, you bust your ass and don't get in the way.)

Jim glances up again, lingering on the new guy a little longer this time around. Eventually, he wipes his right hand on his pants leg, and offers it to the kid.

"Yeah."

Once the introductions have been exchanged (both for the men and the horse), Jim gets a clean stall ready for Cortez while Samuel shows Jay where the tack and feed is.

Once Cortez is watered and clean, Samuel Barlow can continue Jay's tour of the ranch.

It doesn't take all that long - he knows horses well enough and Cortez cooperates, especially with the prospect of a drink and getting out of the tack as the reward - before things in the stables are taken care of.

And then it's back to the tour.

His eyes are making mental notes of everything, trying to commit the entire scene to memory.

"I saw barley on the way in," he comments. "And y'got a good sized corn crop. You work anything else, field wise?"

"Barley's nearly finished," he nods, replacing his hat atop his head as he leads the two of them back out into the hot July sun. "Just got the work of shucking the grain, and gettin' the hay tied off."

He gestures out ahead, to where a dirt lane winds off past the corn fields.

"Raise some wheat, too, but I mostly breed. You'll see our neighbors got most of the richer crops, down the way. Cotton and the like."

There's an aggravated nicker, and the sound of hooves, and that's the only warning the men get before they have to pull up short, a horse and rider blocking their path and, momentarily, the sun overhead.

"Who's this?"

The voice is, unmistakeably, female.

Compared to the frigid and cold January that has taken over the bar, he's needed a few days to get used to the Texas heat. But the sun is welcome, heat soaking into his bones as they walk, and he listens.

Until they are interrupted.

The voice is indeed, unmistakeably female, and familiar, as he stops walking and glances up at the silhouetted horse and rider, the face looking down at them.

(There's that coil of nerves in his stomach again.)

"Howdy, Miss."

Manners and all. He tips his hat back slightly.

She shifts her mount slightly, stepping out of the sun's glare. Her face is serious and intent, and those piercing blue eyes are focused on him.

"Katie."

At length, she glances to her father.

"This here is Jay Gordon. Mr. Gordon's going to be helping out around the farm for a spell," he tells her, something tight in his voice. Given the intent look on his face, it's likely something along the lines of 'Now please don't go starting trouble.'

Her eyes flick back to 'Jay,' and given that she can't currently curtsy, she lowers her head in greeting instead. "Mr. Gordon."

There's a pause while Samuel chews on his bottom lip.

"You about ready to head in?"

She looks nearly affronted by the suggestion.

There's another please hanging in his eyes, and she sighs softly and nods.

"Suppose Margaret could use some help in the kitchen," she murmurs, her horse stepping impatiently as she keeps her reined in. "If you'll excuse me, Mr. Gordon."

The bite in her eyes has not dissipated, but she is, at least, polite.

Doc notices the way the horse sidesteps - she wants to run.

(And so does the horse.)

The exchange between father and daughter is observed, and so is the way she keeps that bite in her eyes as she studies him. She is indeed polite, even if she'd rather be riding like hell across the desert or through those fields her daddy owns.

He lifts a hand to the brim of his hat. "Of course, Miss Barlow," he tips his head politely, to return the show of manners.

(Even if he knows she could probably give a damn less.)

She's definitely interested in him, and every move he makes. When his hand returns to his side, though, she finally clicks to her horse, and the two take off towards the stables behind the two men.

Samuel scratches at his brow absently with his thumb again. There's an almost embarrassed little smirk tugging at his lips, as he tries to find something to fill the silence.

"My daughter," he offers, likely needlessly. "Now, I know what you must be thinking."

A girl Katherine's age in slacks and cowboy boots, hair loose around her shoulders, just strutting on up to the men as she did, isn't exactly commonplace in 1881. For a variety of reasons.

"But she's a good girl," he sighs.

He keeps his eyes on her own as long as she keeps her eyes on him, which is just until she breaks from the gaze to take her horse back to the stables.

"She reminds me of my kid sister," he admits. "That same bit of spunk and fire in her eyes. Can't tame 'em, as much as you might try."

Granted, growing up with a pack of brothers teaching you everything from how to fish to how to fight, despite their mother's protests, probably doesn't help much in that regard.

Doc offers the older man a small, knowing smile. "She's settled down, now, a bit."

He rubs at the back of his neck, motioning Jay towards the fence-line ahead.

The two men walk, slowly.

"She doesn't have a mother around," he admits, softly. "Not for a long time, now."

"M'sorry to hear that, sir," he replies, after a brief period of silence as he lets the gravity of the admission sink in. "I don't imagine it's easy."

But you do just fine.

He focuses his eyes on the fence-line.

"Likely harder on her," he says.

But it's not true.

"She indulges me, though," he shrugs, smiling tautly.

He switches gears then, leading Jay through the basics of the farm. As they follow that fence-line, they eventually come to the corrals he might have seen on his ride up. There's a good-sized field, where horses are grazing, and nearer the barn is the pig pen. The goats are also penned up, but the chickens are loose and wandering the entire estate.

It also gives Samuel the opportunity to introduce Jay to the various other hands working today, and explain wages and accommodations to the boy.

Nearer the house, adjacent to the barn, are the bunks where most of the boys sleep.

(Because it just wouldn't do to have them in the house, you see.)

He trails along beside Samuel as he gets the tour of the place, still making mental notes and making certain that if he has any questions, he asks them now - rather than get asked later why he's not sure where something is.

Each introduction goes pretty well, and so does the explanation on the wages he'll get for his work.

(He'd work for free, if Barlow wanted him to prove himself.)

He's well aware of the the fact that he won't be staying in the house. He doesn't mind it. Tunstall had the same set-up on his ranch, and even after so much time in Milliways with his own room, the prospect of something familiar is actually welcome.

Plus? It's an actual bed. Not the ground or a patch of grass alongside the road.

This automatically makes it better than a good majority of the last few years, which is something Samuel will probably notice, if he's paying close attention.

(Which Doc does not doubt the older man is.)

And it's a good, clean, straw bed, with fresh linens. Mr. Barlow doesn't believe in holding out on his workers.

Dinner, too, will be in the main house, not from some day-old pot heated outside.

Mr. Barlow is, indeed, paying attention to Jay as they move along, and the look on his young face does make him smile a bit. He likes the kid already, so help him god.

"In the mornin' you can saddle up your mount and come work on the fences with John and I. It'll give you the opportunity to see more of the property."

And it'll give Samuel the opportunity to keep Jay close, see how he works. But he'd never tell him that.

"Dinner's in about an hour. Why don't you get yourself settled and cleaned up. You can have Jim show you in to the house when it's time."

"All right," he confirms, grateful for the chance to see more of the property come morning, and for the fact that he'll get to work with him.

This is her home. This is her father. She grew up here. I want to remember as much of it as I can, and write it all down, big things and the little things 'bout the place. I want t'get to know it like she does.

A pause, and he offers the older man a hand to shake, with a slight nod of his head. "I'll do that. Thank you, sir."

Once they part ways, he'll head back to the stables to fetch his satchel and the things out of his saddlebags, find himself an open spot in the bunkhouse to put his stuff down, get himself settled. He'll dust off and wash up, and comb his hair back a bit before finding Jim prior to heading in for dinner.

Unless, of course, Jim finds him first.

He stands in the doorway, watching as Jay leans over the bowl and basin to see in the oval mirror behind, while he combs through his hair.

"So. Jay."

He smiles tightly, thumbs in his pockets.

"How do you like the place, so far?"

The sudden appearance of the man behind him nearly makes him jump - thankfully, he heard quiet boot-steps before Jim spoke up, otherwise he might have

"Helluva lot nicer than the stockyard up in Galveston," he tells him, glancing over his shoulder after another stroke through his hair. He doesn't overdo it because he doesn't want to come off as a tenderfoot, but he does clean himself up pretty good.

Doc crosses the floor to his bunk, to put the comb back in his back, still speaking. "I like it."

A beat.

"How long you been workin' for Mr. Barlow," he asks, conversationally.

He doesn't move but to follow Jay with his eyes while he speaks, until someone shoves him out of the way.

"Whut? You gettin' paid t'be our new door now?"

"Yeah, Tom. You're real sharp."

There's laughter, but Jim's eyes stay on Jay.

"Who's this?" asks the man recently identified as Tom, when his eyes fall on Jay.

"New hire."

"This late in the season?"

Jim shrugs.

"You know the boss is tender when it comes t' strays."

It's interesting, the difference between knowing that you're the new guy, and being called a stray when you're standing in the same room as the men doing the talking.

(Especially when it's been a handful of years since you thought of yourself as a stray. There was a time, though...)

"Jay," he introduces himself, with a slight nod of his head. "Jay Gordon."

"Tom McCleary," offers the new guy, with a similar nod of his head. His eyes are warily sizing Jay up.

The small group is joined by yet another hand -- by the name of John -- who was introduced to Jay earlier in the day.

"Mr. Gordon comes to us all the way from Galveston," Jim offers the room. Tom lets out a low, impressed swear in response.

"You don't sound like a Galveston boy," John says, eying Jay from his bed across the way.

"Been working stock outta port to New Orleans, ain't that right?" Jim soldiers on, eyes never having left Jay's face. "Come to work with us for a spell."

"Well gol-ly," hoots Tom, snorting a soft laugh.

"John an' I have been here, what? Seven years now?" asks Jim. "Tom is goin' on five. We're real loyal hands, guess you could say."

That's both a statement and a warning.

"To New Orleans," he confirms. "An' I was raised there, but I've been a few places since." He nods, slightly.

Thanks to the hairs on the back of his neck, he's well aware that Tom's sizing him up, but he ignores the prickle at his spine that it causes.

(He can't help it. As much as he hates the instincts, they've saved his life too many times before not to listen. But not here. He doesn't need them here. He just wants to turn them off but he can't.)

But Doc's not stupid. He senses the statement - these are loyal hands, longtime workers and they have rank - and the warning.

It's not hard to miss. He suspects that's on purpose.

Well, he does have good instincts.

They banter for a bit longer, but Jim never moves from his spot in the doorway, or takes his eyes off Jay for more than a moment.

Eventually, he turns his head over his shoulder and spits into the dirt outside the bunkhouse. "Well, c'mon then, boys."

He doesn't wait for them to follow before he makes his way to the farmhouse.

If they're dumb enough to get lost on their way, well then they don't deserve to eat.

Once they head out of the bunkhouse, he follows along with the rest of the boys as they make their way into the farmhouse, not unlike the way the hounds followed along while he and Samuel walked a bit earlier in the afternoon - though there is definitely more obedience on his part than those dogs.

He's quiet, because he's not sure exactly where they're going, and he doesn't want to get in the way.

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