private school erected to educate the sons and daughters of the outfit’s small army of employees. Still, he’d never encountered anyone who looked, smelled, or moved quite like May.
She asked questions about his work and mission, seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say, and looked at him with eyes that bewildered the big man unlike anything he’d ever experienced.
Butter’s mother had died during childbirth, his father killed by a loco mare before he was four years old. Other than a worn, black and white photograph, he had no memory of either parent. Yet, it wasn’t a sad story. He felt no remorse, had never considered himself shortchanged in any way. Carlos Beltran may have ramrodded his spread with an iron fist, but the ranch was a community. The people who worked there were family.
An orphaned child wasn’t all that rare. Life on a working spread was difficult at best and often dangerous. In additional to laboring around large, unpredictable animals and deadly machines, Beltran men went to war when their country called. Many never returned. When such tragedies did occur, the young ones were absorbed without question, accepted into the loving, social fabric of what was essentially a small town in the vast isolation of the West Texas desert.
Like many boys, Butter had neither the time nor the inclination for female companionship. His world revolved around rugged men, horses, cattle, and the modern machinery used on a working ranch. His life was the land, his environment the great outdoors, his heroes the multitude of father figures who treated the young lad like one of their own.
Puberty’s arrival modified that behavior somewhat, the oversized teen finding his eye drifting toward the hourglass shape, softer hair, and smoother skin of the women who operated in various roles around the ranch. He began to listen more intently to the stories and conversations of the older men, dialog that just a few short years before wouldn’t have held his interest.
Secondary school meant leaving the ranch’s friendly confines and entering the Alpha, Texas Independent School District. Butter’s amazing size, herculean strength, and nimble agility immediately drew the eye of every coach at the small school. Within hours, he was being recruited for football and wrestling.
Intense training regiments, private instruction, national competitions, and doing his fair share around the ranch left little time for the now-massive youth to develop social skills or chase girls. Still, Butter was happy and content. His co-workers often consumed a majority of the bleacher seats during home matches. Even Mr. Beltran had taken to setting his beef-empire aside and attending the events.
By the time his senior year was rolling around, every major college west of the Mississippi offered scholarships and promises of professional football recruitment or Olympic-level participation in wrestling. Butter had never been bested on the high school mat and had exhausted all of the competition his coaches could provide.
The natural athlete was about to start touring college campuses when the terrorist attacks crippled America. Like most of the extended Beltran family, he retreated to the familiarity of the ranch when society began its slide into the abyss. There he stayed, his hand-to-hand combat skills making him a natural bodyguard for the expansive outfit’s owner.
It was in this role that the big kid first encountered Nick, Bishop, and Miss Terri. Their “fight” on Meraton’s Main Street was now the stuff of legend and tall tales … the oft-debated details filling the walls of Pete’s Place with fierce, libation-induced discussions.
Butter had simply never had the time to pursue female companionship, always far too engaged with sports, work, or earning a place on Bishop’s SAINT team. An inherent element of shyness also played a significant role in the big kid’s lack of courting experience.
Now, May’s doe-like eyes, buxom
She asked questions about his work and mission, seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say, and looked at him with eyes that bewildered the big man unlike anything he’d ever experienced.
Butter’s mother had died during childbirth, his father killed by a loco mare before he was four years old. Other than a worn, black and white photograph, he had no memory of either parent. Yet, it wasn’t a sad story. He felt no remorse, had never considered himself shortchanged in any way. Carlos Beltran may have ramrodded his spread with an iron fist, but the ranch was a community. The people who worked there were family.
An orphaned child wasn’t all that rare. Life on a working spread was difficult at best and often dangerous. In additional to laboring around large, unpredictable animals and deadly machines, Beltran men went to war when their country called. Many never returned. When such tragedies did occur, the young ones were absorbed without question, accepted into the loving, social fabric of what was essentially a small town in the vast isolation of the West Texas desert.
Like many boys, Butter had neither the time nor the inclination for female companionship. His world revolved around rugged men, horses, cattle, and the modern machinery used on a working ranch. His life was the land, his environment the great outdoors, his heroes the multitude of father figures who treated the young lad like one of their own.
Puberty’s arrival modified that behavior somewhat, the oversized teen finding his eye drifting toward the hourglass shape, softer hair, and smoother skin of the women who operated in various roles around the ranch. He began to listen more intently to the stories and conversations of the older men, dialog that just a few short years before wouldn’t have held his interest.
Secondary school meant leaving the ranch’s friendly confines and entering the Alpha, Texas Independent School District. Butter’s amazing size, herculean strength, and nimble agility immediately drew the eye of every coach at the small school. Within hours, he was being recruited for football and wrestling.
Intense training regiments, private instruction, national competitions, and doing his fair share around the ranch left little time for the now-massive youth to develop social skills or chase girls. Still, Butter was happy and content. His co-workers often consumed a majority of the bleacher seats during home matches. Even Mr. Beltran had taken to setting his beef-empire aside and attending the events.
By the time his senior year was rolling around, every major college west of the Mississippi offered scholarships and promises of professional football recruitment or Olympic-level participation in wrestling. Butter had never been bested on the high school mat and had exhausted all of the competition his coaches could provide.
The natural athlete was about to start touring college campuses when the terrorist attacks crippled America. Like most of the extended Beltran family, he retreated to the familiarity of the ranch when society began its slide into the abyss. There he stayed, his hand-to-hand combat skills making him a natural bodyguard for the expansive outfit’s owner.
It was in this role that the big kid first encountered Nick, Bishop, and Miss Terri. Their “fight” on Meraton’s Main Street was now the stuff of legend and tall tales … the oft-debated details filling the walls of Pete’s Place with fierce, libation-induced discussions.
Butter had simply never had the time to pursue female companionship, always far too engaged with sports, work, or earning a place on Bishop’s SAINT team. An inherent element of shyness also played a significant role in the big kid’s lack of courting experience.
Now, May’s doe-like eyes, buxom
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