A big barn, corrals, a long, single-story ranch house, two pickup trucks parked in a dusty front yard. Bobby Ray’s worst nightmare had come true. The court might as well have sent him to Mars.
Sam turned left onto a freshly graveled road. As they pulled into the yard, two large German shepherds barked ominously. Sam chuckled. “Another reason not to run away.” He got out as a tall, broad-shouldered man with cropped dark hair came out of the house. He looked half–country hick in boots, jeans, and a plaid shirt and half–action figure. Bobby Ray had seen others with his confidence and aura, most with hard eyes and fists. This man had laugh lines around his mouth and eyes.
A quiet word silenced the two dogs. “Good to see you, Sam!” His voice was deep, rock grinding in an earthquake.
“How’s Susan?”
“On the road again.” Masterson laughed. “She’s in San Antonio, visiting her folks.” He took in Bobby Ray with a glance. Bobby Ray pretended not to notice or care. “Long way from your neck of the woods, isn’t it, Mr. Dean?” Bobby Ray stiffened, sure he was being mocked. When he met Masterson’s gaze, the man grinned. “We’re glad to have you.”
“I’m not glad to be here.”
“Didn’t expect you would be. You look like a tough kid. It remains to be seen how tough you really are.”
Sam opened the car trunk. He said something low, and Masterson chuckled. “He wouldn’t be the first. He can try.”
Sam handed over a thick file. “Everything you need to know about him is in there.” Bobby Ray knew it held family history, a list of foster homes he had been in and out of over the past eight years, along with his former foster parents’ reports, school records, test scores, court records, and whatever else the system had managed to dredge up and commit to paper in an attempt to describe who he was. Nothing worth anything. Nobody knew him.
Masterson held the file flat on his large hand, as if weighing it. “Impressive.” His blue eyes sparkled.
Sam looked edgy, ready to get back on the road. “I promised my son I’d be at his basketball game tonight. If I leave now, I’ll just make it.”
Bobby Ray felt a twinge of jealousy. Must be nice to have a dad who showed up. Must be nice to have a father, period. Then again, you could always have one like Reaper or Wolf.
Masterson slapped Sam on the back. “I’ll call in a couple of weeks and let you know how he’s doing.”
Bobby Ray didn’t plan on sticking around that long. “Where do I go? The barn?”
“You stay where you are until I’m ready to show you in.”
Bobby Ray muttered his opinion and turned toward the house. He’d forgotten the two dogs until they stood and bared their teeth. He swore again. Masterson chuckled. “Nice fresh meat, boys. Easy now. Stand still, Mr. Dean. They’re about to get to know you.” He gave a soft command and the two German shepherds moved around Bobby Ray. The hair rose on the back of his neck when they stuck their noses in private places. “Easy now. If you run, they’ll take you down. They’re just giving you a good canine hello.”
“Don’t expect me to reciprocate.”
“That’s a big word for a street kid.”
Masterson gave another soft command and the two dogs sat, tongues lolling in doggy grins. Sam got back in the car and gave Bobby Ray a salute.
“Come,” Masterson commanded, and the two dogs walked on either side of him. Grinding his teeth, Bobby Ray followed, making sure his pace let Masterson know he wasn’t one of his pets. “A word of warning, Mr. Dean. You go AWOL, and Starsky and Hutch will hunt you down.” He grinned at him. “They know your scent now. You can run, but you can’t hide.”
Bobby Ray felt a chill run down his back. Was this guy for real? “There must be a law against using an attack dog on a kid.”
“Did I say I’d command them to attack? All I’d say is ‘Go find Bobby Ray.’ A city kid can get lost real fast in all those hills and dales. Starsky and Hutch know every tree and bush, every rock and stream. They’ll show you the way home.” He gave Bobby Ray a measuring look. “I’m hoping I won’t have to send them after you.”
Bobby Ray didn’t say anything more. Better to wait and get a feel for who this man was and what kind of place he was running. It usually didn’t take more than a couple of days for Bobby Ray to figure out how things worked.
Five boys lounged in the living room. Two were stretched out on large, brown leather couches reading. Two others were playing a board game. Another was sitting at a table, reading a book and writing in a spiral notebook. They looked up and gave Bobby Ray a once-over when Masterson introduced him as Mr. Bobby Ray Dean. Bobby Ray made eye contact with each one so they’d know he wasn’t afraid of any of them, even if several looked older and tough. He wondered which one would be his roommate or if they all slept in a bunkhouse somewhere.
The living room was big and well-furnished. There was money in the leather sofas and the polished oak coffee table. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covered one wall opposite a massive stone fireplace. The ranch had an impressive entertainment center with a large-screen television and stereo system. Sliding-glass doors opened to a huge lawn with a soccer net at one end.
The house was bigger than any he’d ever been in, with spacious bedrooms and bathrooms with double sinks, showers, and tubs, a professional kitchen connected to a dining room with a long table and straight-backed chairs. Another corridor had a laundry room and pantry and an office that looked more like a library. Another door led to separate quarters where Chet and his wife, Susan, lived.
“We live a simple life here, Mr. Dean.” Masterson summed it up quickly. If you show respect and courtesy, you can expect to receive the same. Check the board daily for your rotation of chores. Everyone living at Masterson Mountain Ranch learned bachelor arts: how to cook, wash dishes, vacuum, wash floors, clean toilets and showers, do laundry and mending. Susan Masterson would start his training as soon as she returned from Texas, which would be tomorrow afternoon. Wake-up call at six, breakfast at six thirty, school from seven thirty, free time when you finished your assignments and chores. A master teacher came daily, and Bobby Ray could set his own pace. If you want to finish high school early, go for it. Any interest in college? No? Well, nothing was set in stone. He might change his mind after a few months of working with Jasper Hawley. Chet would be having one-on-one sessions with Bobby Ray three times a week starting tomorrow. Any questions?
Bobby Ray had been given rules before. He’d never lived by them and didn’t intend on starting now.
Chet gave him a slow, knowing smile. “It’s a lot to take in. You’ll catch on soon enough.” He nodded toward the kid at the table. “That’s José. Get your gear, Mr. Dean. You’ll be sharing a room with him. Second door on the right down that hallway.”
José glanced up when they came into the living room. Clearly, he’d already been informed. The look he gave Bobby Ray held a warning. “The bed under the window is mine. You have the left side of the dresser.” It sounded like a dismissal. Bobby Ray picked up his duffel bag and went down the hall.
Everything simple and functional: two twin beds; two desks with shelves, one already filled with textbooks; two reading lamps; two bulletin boards, one displaying the Mexican flag and half a dozen family photos; one corkboard with some pushpins. Bobby Ray yanked open the top left dresser drawer and dumped in his few possessions.
He looked around at the clean white walls and itched to have a black marker in his hand. Images came: a party scene at Red Hot’s apartment, Reaper high on meth, Lardo dead, screaming faces all around him, a jail mess half-filled with caricatures of homey inmates, the kind that wanted to cut out your heart with a shiv. Bobby Ray sat on the end of the bed and rubbed his face, wishing he could rub away the pictures flashing through his head and the gut-aching sense of loss. He should have remembered it was better not to make friends with anyone. Here today, gone tomorrow.