Brandon and Marissa exchanged a glance, and Brandon said, “So what is it you want with us?”
“First of all,” Pingston said, “I need to tell you a little story. It’ll explain why I’m here.”
“Go ahead,” Marissa said.
“Six years ago this area was booming with oil-field workers. That’s before the bottom dropped out of the market. I’m sure you know about that,” he said. “Them boys had more money than they knew what to do with and for a short time there were four banks in town. Now we’re back to one, as you probably noticed.
“The old man resented the hell out of the oil boom because none of it was on his land. Plus, he didn’t like it that a bunch of out-of-staters had moved into the valley and they were acting like big shots. As far as your old man was concerned, they didn’t deserve to run the county.
“Well, somebody got clever and hit one of the Brink’s trucks after it picked up a bunch of cash at one of those fly-by-night banks they had then. Nobody got killed, but the driver and the guard were pistol-whipped and tied up and the thieves stole all the cash out of the back of the truck. Something like a hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars, if I recall. It was quite the big story in Sublette County: an armed robbery at gunpoint.”
“I remember reading something about that,” Brandon said. Maybe in one of Sally’s letters?
“At the time it happened I’d just told the old man I was quitting the ranch to seek employment in the oil patch,” Pingston said. “I thought to myself: Why should I bust my ass for that mean old bastard when I could get a job driving a truck or delivering tools for twice what I’m making out here? Peggy deserved a better life and Tater was in junior high at the time. So why should I put up with that old bastard?”
Brandon shrugged.
Pingston continued, “The old man didn’t like that. He knew the word was out up and down this valley that he was a bastard to work for and he didn’t pay much. So he said he needed help around here and he wouldn’t let me quit. He said I had to pay off all this damage he claimed I’d caused when I worked for him—wrecked trucks, cattle that died during the winter, anything he could think up at the time and pin on me. You know how he was,” Pingston said.
“I do,” Brandon said.
“I told him to shove all that up his ass,” Pingston said. “I didn’t owe him a damned thing. You can imagine how well he took it. The last I seen of him, he was limping toward this house to get his gun so he could kill me. He was so mad, smoke was coming out of his ears. So I jumped in a ranch truck and beat it toward town. It was that old ’48 Dodge Power Wagon that had been here forever. I figured I’d leave it in town for the old man to pick up later.”
Pingston paused and looked around the room. Brandon guessed that Wade, Peggy, and Tater were about to hear a story they’d heard many times before even if Brandon and Marissa hadn’t.
“The sheriff’s department intercepted me before I could even get to Big Piney,” Pingston said. “Lights flashing, sirens going, the whole damn deal. The old man must’ve reported a stolen Power Wagon, and they had me on that. But before I could explain I was fleeing for my life they had me facedown in the dirt and I was being arrested for that armed robbery and for hurting them two Brink’s guys.”
Pingston lowered his voice now for effect. He said, “The old man said it was me who did that Brink’s job. He told the sheriff some bullshit about me being gone the day it happened and that he’d suspected it all along. If you remember the sheriff and the judge here at the time, you know that ranchers like your old man pretty much told them what to do and they did it.
“Supposedly the sheriff found a pistol in my duffel bag in the truck that matched what was used in the armed robbery, but I always suspected he planted it there after the fact. I was in prison in Rawlins at the Wyoming State Pen before I knew what hit me, just because I quit my job here. Your old man put it to me, and hard.
“To make matters worse,” Pingston said, “Peggy had to get a job to survive and the only one she could find was at the senior center.”
Peggy spoke up. “So two or three times a week I had to ladle the gravy on your old man’s lunch and pretend I didn’t know what he’d done to my Dwayne,” she said. “There he was with that big roll of cash he always kept in his pocket for buying drinks for politicians, but he never missed a free lunch at the senior center with old folks who didn’t have two nickels to rub together. I’d look out from behind the counter at your old man holding court with his cronies and think of my Dwayne down in Rawlins surrounded by murderers and rapists.”
She turned to Marissa. “Honey, you may think having a child is hard. But what’s really hard is putting a fake smile on your face and serving the man who put your husband away.”