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New Horse In Town

"Bound For Colorado"

The horses depart abruptly from the picnic, following a twist in the plot. What is it that's caught Kimi's attention? What's Clay going to find out in the Western States of America?

An insistent jangling that might have been a music clip suddenly interrupted the conversation, and Kimi stopped to answer his phone. Clay was just out of earshot but could see the young stallion bobbing his head and laughing. A moment later, the call ended, and Kimi trotted to catch up with Clay.

"Claymore, I'm so sorry, but I have to head back into town. One of my classmates called and I have to, I have some urgent business to attend to. I'm so sorry, can we do this another time?"

Outwardly, the Clydesdale's expression didn't change from the pleasant smile he'd worn on the drive out of town; his voice remained even and friendly. "Sure, that's fine, some other time, buddy. Got things I need to do around the shop anyway." Inside, far away from prying eyes and unintended blows, his heart felt slightly hollow.

"Beer sounds pretty good right now," he thought as he strode to the passenger side of Kimi's little ecomobile. "Good strong beer. Several pints of it." There was a liquor store on the way home, where such beer was probably waiting, as faithful as an old Black Labrador Retriever and nearly as strong and dark. Might be a day to catch up on some gardening too; but first, the beer.

The ride back to the diner was uneventful, with Kimi chattering excitedly about the coming school year and his interest in the field of business. Apparently his Business Calculus course was particularly intriguing for some reason, but Kimi was coy regarding details. In an unusual display of discretion, Clay chose not to probe for information. His demeanor was pleasant, even jovial, but those who knew him better would have called him reserved.

"All right, Kimi, thanks for the lift," Clay neighed as the ecomobile pulled up to the diner. He extended his hand, which Kimi took with both his front hooves.

"Clay, I'm really sorry to bail like this, I'm gonna get this taken care of and we'll do this again soon, okay?" His voice trailed off, an apologetic smile on his muzzle.

"Don't worry about it, colt. Manure happens, right?" Clay clambered awkwardly out of the vehicle, a tight fit even for someone of his smaller-than-typical Clydesdale stature. "Take care of yourself, Kimi, and I'll see ya soon." His voice was steady and sincere, his smile well matched to his words and tone, but it was the presentation he'd honed in years of dealing with the public. The words were sweet to the ear, but almost completely empty.

"You're the best, Clay, talk to you later!" Kimi neighed as he drove off. Waving politely, Claymore waited until the car was out of sight before hopping into his truck. What the hell was I thinking? he grumbled silently to himself, jamming the key into the ignition. As usual, the old S10 kicked over a couple of times before catching. Might want to do that tune-up before I grab those beers, Clay thought, signaling and pulling onto Quaker Street. There was a Napa on the way home, sometimes open on Sunday during tourist season. Clay hit a button on the radio, and part of an old 'Journey' song came blaring from the speakers as he drove north toward the auto parts store.

While he was rarely known to be in a hurry, Clay's drive back home took far longer than even he usually needed. The parts store was closed, the liquor store was out of Guinness, and then whatever 'this' was with Kimi had dissolved. His eyebrows knit in a pensive gaze over the steering wheel as Clay passed the driveway to his farm. "Shit," he muttered to no one, but he wasn't cursing the missed turn. "Just what was it with Kimi?" the Clydesdale pondered.

Making a slow U turn on the deserted county road, Clay headed back toward his farm. While there was no denying that the younger stallion was pleasant and cute, it didn't seem to be a sexual attraction Clay was feeling. "Some kind of crush, I suppose" the Clydesdale puzzled, absently tapping the cold six-pack on the seat beside him. As he pulled into his driveway and parked outside the kitchen, he noticed how very large the farm house appeared. It was, he decided, far too big a house for one old horse.

Despite dwelling by himself in the former Johnson farmstead, Clay was not sole occupant of his well-kept wasteland, which was in fact shared with numerous memories. Their shadowy silence crowded into the farm's dim and hidden places, manifesting in sundry ways: Mementos of his life with Cheryl, the girl he'd known in college and nearly married, were most prominent, scattered throughout the house. A leather racing jacket still hanging in the hall closet had been left there by Brad, a paint stallion who'd swept through town a few summers back buying collectible cars. On the desk in the office was the deed to Mitch Donaldson's old place; Clay had bought the property for back taxes when farming drove Mitch broke and back to the city. He'd long ago lost touch with Mitch, but the undisturbed document was still there, beneath a blanket of dust.

Entering the unlocked kitchen door, Clay took little notice of these phantoms and headed for the cupboard, grabbing a stein and a bottle opener. "Liquid bread," he mused while pouring several bottles into the stein, "cause a man's gotta eat." The indicator light was flashing on his answering machine, but Clay had no interest in messages right now. Customers knew he was 'off the clock' on Sundays, and if it was Kimi, well, that would just have to wait.

In a well-kept neighbourhood an hour or so away, several college students were celebrating a reunion of sorts. They'd been a loose-knit study group the previous semester, and had gotten along well enough to consider rooming together, except that housing near the college was prohibitively expensive. All of which changed when one of the girls received an inheritance. Not a jackpot, certainly, but enough to cover the move-in expenses on an actual house. Being in college, the girl was naturally more tolerant of anthros; further, she'd developed a certain fondness for a gangly colt in her study group. Kimi therefore found himself invited to move into this spacious bungalow just minutes from campus, with a private bath and an immense kitchen.

The room was huge, far bigger than anything Kimi'd had since moving here for school, and his share of the rent was actually affordable. Hanging the last of his shirts had barely begun to fill the closet, and he reached for his phone again. His call went directly to voice mail, again, and neither of the messages he'd left on the business number had been answered. "Where," Kimi wondered, "had that old Clydesdale hidden himself?"

That hiding place was actually in plain sight, located adjacent to Claymore's farmhouse. There, among the welding machinery, the grinders, the tablesaws and other tools, the Clydesdale threw himself into his work. It was easier to avoid thinking uncomfortable thoughts and assessing his feelings when he was busy, and besides, there were bills to pay. Nervous energy could be wasted on worry or turned into profit, and true to his breed Clay chose the latter. There were few people besides customers needing repair work of various kinds who saw Claymore over the next several days.

Steve managed to get a glimpse of the old Clyde on Friday afternoon, when he walked toward the cluttered shop with a single postcard in hand. "Clay! You around here? Looks like I got somethin' special for you today -- and it's NOT a 'final notice' from the power company!"

Clay snorted as he looked up from his workbench and saw the jovial mail carrier approaching. "You still intercepting my mail, Steve? You know, I never do get my 'Plowboy' magazines on time any more!"

Holding the postcard up in front of his free hand, Steve shot back with a grin, "Very funny, now guess how many fingers I'm holding up here. No, better yet, just take the damn postcard!"

Snatching the card away with a mock sneer, Clay recognized the handwriting immediately. The card was from his old buddy Carson, but it wasn't postmarked in one of the glitzy cities he'd usually written from; this one was cancelled in Leadville, Colorado. The memo was terse:

Get your lazy ass out here, work's plentiful. leadvillesgrowing.org

(Carson had wisely decided against any mention of running into an old friend of Clay's out in the west. After all, there was no sense in giving the cranky Clyde any more information than was needed to get him out to Colorado, and the rest would take care of itself later.)

"Leadville? What the hell is Carson talking about?" Clay muttered.

"It's out there in the Western States of America, Clay" Steve said. "Rocky Mountain region of the continent. You planning a little getaway or something? We're gonna miss you, when you leavin'?" The smirk on Steve's face translated perfectly into snark when he spoke.

"Hm? Uh, I don't know, this is just some crazy idea a buddy of mine's cooked up is all." Clay flicked the edge of the card absently before turning his muzzle toward Steve. "That's it? Don't you have rounds or somethin' to do? Now, unless you got a stack of missing PLOWBOY magazines in your pouch, you'd best GIT!" Clay swatted at Steve with the postcard as the mail carrier dodged and trotted off. It sounded like the old Clyde was playing around, but it was probably best not to take chances. Clay tossed the card on his bench and tried to get back to work.

But attempting to grind off the rough edges from a new seat bracket he'd just welded, Clay wasn't able to keep his mind on the job. Carson had family in the WSA and often spoke of the simpler, wide open aspect of the states out west. Officially a separate nation, the WSA had splintered from the US after the horrific Soviet attacks of the early 1960's. Relations between the two halves of the continent had improved since then, however, and trade and travel now took place nearly as if there weren't a new international border between them. With the local economy far from booming, maybe a change of scenery wasn't entirely out of the question. Ripping away his goggles, Clay wiped down the bracket with a degreaser before setting the piece aside. The primer coat of paint would have to wait as Clay picked up the postcard and headed inside to his computer.

"Well, that's interesting," Clay mused as he scrolled through the Web site. Leadville was a former mining community that had become a ghost town in the early 20th Century, but which had become an industrial center in the years following secession. A quick scan of several blogs gave the town good marks on economic activity but also noted a high crime rate. The sense Clay got of Leadville was that it was a resurrected version of an Old West boom town, equal parts lawlessness, opportunity, freedom, and fraud. In short, it looked like the perfect spot for a quick getaway.

While he was at the computer, Clay printed up a couple of pages, then shut down and sat back in his chair. There were things that needed wrapping up before leaving, but nothing that would delay him more than a few days. Mostly he'd need someone to look after his kitchen garden and hen house for the three weeks or so he was planning on being away. The sign he'd printed should take care of that, Clay thought as he thumbed through his calendar. No major projects pending in the near future, and he'd call his regular clients to alert them about his "vacation."

The rest of the day was spent tying up some loose ends around the farm, mainly securing the shop and soaking the soil in his garden. Clay laid in extra food in the hens' feed bins, set a couple of lights on timers, and pulled a suitcase out of the cellar. Wednesday he spent going over his S10 bumper to bumper, making sure it was ready for a little road trip. And potential employment in a 'frontier' town out west: Basic blacksmithing tools, carpenter's gear, bedding, extra clothes. The little pickup truck was efficiently packed for traveling, and by Friday morning at 6 dew glistened on its newly waxed metal body.

Several years had passed since Clay had even been out of the county, and as left the old farm in his rearview mirror, he noticed his mood was light, even expectant. He didn't feel as though he was leaving anything behind, but much more like he was heading toward something. He expected the road would take him all the way to a sign marked "Leadville," but had no clue what was waiting for him on the other side. Had he known, it's hard to say whether he'd have driven faster, or never begun the trip at all.

***

Sunday morning after Clay's departure, the little diner was just starting to come to life, with sleepy locals drifting in for early breakfast. It was still slow enough for Shirley to linger at the cash register, flirting with the usual suspects. She was surprised to see Sam, who rarely came in this early before heading over to open his feed store. But Sam had gossip that was just too juicy to keep to himself.

"I'm telling you, the old Clyde's up and left, Shirley! He said it was a 'vacation,' but he posted a note up at the store looking for a caretaker, and that's not somethin' you do when ya take time off!" Sam gestured with hands as he spoke, almost as though signing for the deaf.

"No kidding!" Shirley's brow knitted as she listened. "Didn't even come in and say goodbye or anything, either. Huh. Do you think somebody will move in while he's gone?"

"Oh, there's no doubt, Shirley," Sam drawled. "I'm almost certain somebody will jump at the chance." In fact, given the financial incentive Clay had offered him (fifty percent of the rent), Sam already had several prospects in mind. "You know, he made up his mind and didn't want waste time dawdling here in town, Shirley."

"I suppose," she answered, a little wistfully it seemed. "Just thought, I don't know, just thought the old so-and-so would maybe take a little notice of me. But maybe he doesn't notice the mares so much, if you know what I'm sayin'..." Shirley's voice trailed off and she winked at Sam.

"C'mon now, hon! The fact that he's not 'interested' in you doesn't mean he's gay, it just means he's got good taste!" Sam guffawed at Shirley's expense, but he knew to flinch and move out of range.

"Oh, now don't you start on me, Sam McKenna! You should better than anyone that I taste JUST FINE, thank you very much!" Shirley snorted and gave Sam her best 'drop dead' look, wondering if she could get ahold of the fly swatter before he moved too far away to hit with it.

Sam blushed so hard that his ample, shiny forehead turned an even redder shade, and failed to notice the young stallion entering the cafe. Shirley, of course, noticed right away and raised both her hand and voice in greeting. "KIMI! How ya, honey! Come on over here and give me some sugar, haven't seen you in, why, I don't know how long, but too long anyhow!"

Kimi shuffled over to the cash register and managed to kiss Shirley's cheek, but found himself embraced before he could wriggle free. "Uh, hi, ma'am, it's uh, nice to see you again," he said, grimacing uncomfortably. Shirley's welcomes always felt like one of those pre-flight passenger exams at the airport.

Sam felt slightly jealous as he watched Shirley pawing at Kimi, and interrupted to shake his hand. "How ya doin', young fella? Haven't seen you in a while, how are things?"

Untangling himself from Shirley, Kimi was mortified to discover that he now had to stand slightly stooped. Shirley noticed his discomfort, her eyes twinkling as the colt flustered and began speaking softly. "Doing very well, sir, thank you. I, uh, moved into a place out in State College, very close to school, actually. I came by to see, maybe uh, well I was wondering about Claymore? I was busy with the move and all, and I haven't heard from him and I... ."

Shirley's eyes narrowed, a smirk twisting her smile slightly as she listened. "I KNEW it, a lovers' quarrel," she thought triumphantly to herself. "Guess can I take this one off the list too," she noted before speaking. "I'm sorry, hon, Clay's gone lit outta town for a little while. Took off, what, Friday morning, Sam?"

"Mm-hmm, just about daybreak. He's gone on a little vacation, he told me, not sure where he was heading, Kimi. He left a note for me to post in my store, hoping to get a caretaker for his place while he's gone. 'Bout what I know at this time." Sam noted that the colt seemed to slump a bit more.

"Oh, all right then, thank you, thank you both. I wonder, would you tell I him I said hello? You know, if he calls or anything."

"We will, hon, you just stay in touch, okay? Can I get you some breakfast?" Shirley asked, in a kind tone. Kimi's face had that sad-puppy-eyes look that would melt a heart of stone, and Shirley was nowhere near that lacking. She truly felt for the disappointed young horse.

"No, thank you ma'am. I ...uh, I need to go get some homework done." Kimi smiled weakly, turning to leave the cafe. Although he was nearly six feet tall, it seemed to both Shirley and Sam that he was a good deal shorter as he slouched away.