Page 2 of Flowers To Give

Jose rushes out into the rain, Barry and Jeremy sharing a grievous glance before tossing the half smoked cigs and reluctantly following. They all hop into an ATV Gator, mud andslushy left over snow getting kicked up by the tires as they race through the storm and around the ranch to the indoor arena. Lightning flashes all around and thunder quickly follows as they hurry inside.

The crowd is dense, pretty much every ranch worker huddled around in the dirt inside the rails and muttering amongst themselves. Jeremy breaks away from Barry when he spots Yana, the horse trainer and his dear friend, nodding to the familiar faces he squeezes past as he makes his way to her. In reach, he touches her elbow and greets her, “Hey.”

She turns to him and grins, “There you are.”

“They called us down from a roundup. Do you know what’s going on?”

“No clue,” Yana shakes her head, “But you should be grateful. Saved your hide from gathering cows in a storm.”

“Yeah, but not from the rain,” Jeremy grumbles, still plenty wet.

Barry reaches them and nods to Yana, “Sup?”

“Look what the cat dragged in,” she says, eyes to the front of the crowd.

“Yikes,” Barry turns Jeremy, “I really look that bad?”

He’s about to respond when Yana cuts in, “Not you, moron. Look. It’s Wilcox.”

Both Jeremy and Barry turn towards the entrance, the geriatric ranch owner entering with Sheila. The workers quiet down as the pair slowly make it into the center of the arena, Wilcox using the ranch manager’s arm for balance as he shuffles his well worn boots through the dirt. They finally make it to the front of the crowd and step up on a wooden winners’ podium, carefully scaling to the top while gripping Sheila’s hand.

Wilcox at last looks to all his workers, smiling at them and gripping his liver spotted hands in front of his chest. Opening his mouth, his words are so quiet that the group collectively leansforward. Nobody gets a single word, Jeremy even going so far as to cup his ear. Barry catches his eye and mouths, “What the fuck?”

Wilcox’s whispery voice stops, beady gaze looking over his workers expectantly. Some awkwardly clap but most people looking at one another in confusion. Sheila gets Wilcox’s attention, whispering something in his ear. He nods and slowly steps down with her assistance, Sheila taking his place.

“Hello, everyone," Sheila’s authoritative booming voice says over the crowd, “Thank you for joining us today. Mr. Wilcox has an announcement to make. He has decided to sell Willmaker Ranch.”

Everybody bursts into conversation, some comments directed at Sheila and others at one another. Jeremy remains quiet and focused, wondering what that means for him. Sheila, claps her hands to get everyone’s attention, yelling over them, “All your questions and concerns will be answered in due time. As of now, there is no change to anyone’s employment status. Final transfer of ownership will be completed tomorrow.”

“Who’s the new owner?” Clarice loudly asks at the front.

“That cannot be disclosed until everyone has signed the non-disclosure agreements emailed to them this morning.”

The group erupts once more into mayhem as some push forward and Jeremy’s shoulders get squeezed. Sheila unsuccessfully attempts to calm them, shouting over everyone, “This is a delicate situation!”

“We have a right to know!” Someone yells over the crowd. Everyone shouts in agreement, Jeremy keeping his eyes trained on Sheila. There’s a hush as she leans down to Wilcox and they whisper in each other’s ears.

Standing straight once more, Sheila sighs and finally gives in, “Clark Radison will be the new owner.”

Jeremy’s heart is in his throat, hearing everybody’s excited chatter as if underwater. Even Yana’s question directed at him and Barry sounds a mile away, “The actor? The one in Final Reclamation?”

“Oh, yeah! Didn’t he get an Oscar nomination for that?” Barry answers, “What’s somebody like him doing coming to li’l ol’ Limerick, Colorado?”

Jeremy feels like he’s about to throw up, pushing away from his friends and out through the crowd. He beelines for the exit as Sheila fails at settling down the rowdy workers. He walks through the rain all the way back to the bunkhouse, numbly gliding through the house and making puddles on the hardwood floor with each step.

Drifting to the bathroom, he draws a hot bath and strips. The soaked clothes wetly plop on the tile, not caring to wring them out or hang them up to dry. He steps into the steaming water and lowers himself until he’s fully submerged. Thinking of Clark Radison being his new boss, Jeremy holds his breath and dunks his head under the surface.

The rain has ceased but a swath of clouds still hang low in the sky, diffusing the bright moonlight and casting the earth in soft glow. Jeremy sips at his cigarette as he sits on the fence’s top rail and stares at the racing clouds above.

Footsteps against the gravel draw close, Jeremy not looking over even though a passing breeze catches the end of the cigarette and whisks some stray embers into the wind toward the approaching person. The wooden rail moans and slouches in the post’s notches at the additional weight as Barry sits down, voice gentle, “Hey.”

Jeremy inhales more smoke, eyes trained at the sky.

“Where’ve you been? You really booked it out of there earlier.”

Chewing on his lip, Jeremy’s gaze lowers to the bright burning at the end of the Marlboro as he asks, “What do you think about the new owner thing?”

“Clark Radison?”