Sweeping beams tracking across the lattice work of the house cast a moth bitten blanket of shadow over and across the porch for a brief moment before being swallowed back into the valley. Humble engine churning over in a quake beneath, he allowed the engine to die of it’s own accord before yanking up the emergency break as a pre-cationary measure. A pat at the steering wheel’s leather wrap the final farewell for the journey as the door was swung open on lazy hinges. Casting off any lingering low spirits as one would by refreshing his mind’s eye Boyd left the dour surrender to encapsulate in the truck. Walk taller, more resolute with pins of false pride embedded in his heel.
Guardianship of a masthead embalmed in the darkness meant that his vision didn’t pick up Ava right away. Puff of mauve rings circling a cherry-light from the wicker furniture the only movement in a night serenaded by cicadas and nocturnal amphibians. So still that it wasn’t until the hitch of a leg bearing weight upon the second step that he saw the basic contours of grey on grey, the ring of hair opaque against the marshy siding.
“Oh you know, just settin’ up the foundations of a new empire, rule n’ conquer, wage war ‘gainst the folk on the hill by usin’ lofty wiles and flare guns.” Manufactured grin pulling back wide, hooks starting to release so that more natural lines dug forth and creased into his eyes, the brightness present there; however briefly to suggest true humors. Hand on the guardrail, stroking it’s worn length with intent to pull Boyd climbed another set of stairs, ever cautious of advancing too quickly these days. A courtesy that for personal policy reasons had Boyd keeping a tight radius from her, an orbit both productive and respectful. Ducking down his head, lower mandible connecting to the cut collar he withdrew some of the remark by gutting the inside of his lower lip with a shovel of teeth.
“Got work come Monday.”
A repeating hammer at the rail with the plump meat of his palm formed into a loose fist that finally laid to rest upon the drum. Flexing there in waiting as Boyd sought out the ether of her approval or dismissal. Without an immediate response he found himself having to elaborate for the sake of a reputation tarnished by history.
“-At the mines north of Ransom Holler, new developments bought out by the larger company outta Texas; Black Pike I believe.” Returning attention to her section of the porch after contemplating the step before him for a length of time past due, his formed cordiality waned into a lopsided grin. Caused mostly by the ridiculous line of internal dialogue that had him wanting to either retreat completely or bypass as a stranger into the home. Would she be willing to join him outside of the confines of their arrangement? Indulge in a clumsy night of casual celebration on behalf of the news? Or was he pushin’ whatever luck he’d been granted up to this point?
Kicking out the tip of his boot to displace a couple flakes of lifting paint, two fingers came up to nervously trace the lines connecting lip to growth. Rub away at the course flesh there before flicking them outward, extended in a form of invitation punctuated with a gesture of sudden influence. “Seein’ as it’s been a decade or possibly two since I’ve put to use all my movin’ parts to something legitimate…I think was wonderin’…I mean, what I’m sayin’ is—, there— there’s this waterin’ hole past Ol’ Jeremiah’s Coleson’s place that just startin’ servin’ somethin’ other than everclear and anti-freeze..”
Left eye winced and pale roseate tiers pursed askew. Bearing hints of a smirk, she fought to maintain stoic expression, but sarcasm’s palavers were difficult to disregard. “Very funny,” sardonic reply fell from lips, apertures rolling in accompaniment of loosely shaking head. Vision settled intently on the outlaw’s facial features, drinking in the warmth of wolf-like grin. He thought he was amusing, but as admittedly entertaining his conjecture may have been, there was a frightening reality hidden beneath depressed layers. If anyone was capable of creating criminal consortium in Harlan County, it was Boyd Crowder. Bringing cigarette to pout for final draw, limb extended and burning embers ricocheted circular glass surface. Frame hunched forward as legs untangled, pads of digits tracing the span of worn in leather cowboy boots in adjustment before feminine figure extended to full height.
Got work come Monday.
Palomino crescents arched and again eyes would peruse the outlaw in silence, this time spectating the full expanse of his leisurely pose. She was pleasantly impressed. Optimism waned and wavered in dismay, but not by dumb luck did he come through as vaguely promised.
—at the mines north of Ransom Holler.
Lips fell slightly agape and gilded lashes fluttered in silent bewilderment. She wasn’t quite sure what convey in that moment. Working the adits wasn’t a job most men wanted to pursue. It was an occupation for desperate men, those with questionable backgrounds and lack of high school level education. A destiny handpicked from the bottom of a barrel. Bowman was miserable working long hours in the Appalachian peaks; it drove him further into alcoholism and ultimately extirpated their dysfunctional marriage. Boyd left the grindstone to take on the life of an outlaw for a reason. Ava didn’t initially think he would resort to returning to former line or capitulate to drastic measures in accommodating strictly enforced household rules.
Impression flourished into nasturtium of perplexities. Willingness to do right by her wouldn’t go attenuatedly unnoticed. Corners of lips compressed and curved dilatorily, revealing tightly concealed flash of pearly whites against the amber light overhead. “—That’s great news, Boyd.” Her words reflected recovery of ephemeral marvel and unbeknownst subconscious breath retained released at last. “I’m proud’a you, really, I am.” Nodding, she stressed sincerest statement as grinning beryl hues verged emerald tincture mirrors. She shouldn’t have doubted his capacity, but his colorful past was to blame. Boots shuffled forward, presence approaching him without caution until shoulder snagged archway pillar. Leaning against sturdy timber structure, single arm flung enthusiastically in Boyd’s direction and backs of knuckles graced navy fabric of his aviator jacket. “And here, I was beginnin’ to think you were runnin’ a game on me,” Ava enunciated in lighthearted tone and arms reeled to casually cross.
“I knew you could do it.”
Silence befell them and visage deliberately canted at his gesture. She could tell he was attempting to compile words together, witness the gears turning as large hand brushed chin. Teeth gently grazed lower pout and rested brows raised as she patiently waited for delayed manifesto. Feminine aspect tilted further, deepening curious expression. Laughter contained by perfect bridgework bearing further into plush flesh threatened to escape and Ava’s eyes averted in any direction away from him. “Uh,” poorly mustered annunciation reverberated over chirping crickets and gentle rustling of leaves. “– Should probably eat somethin’ first if y'plan on drinkin’,” she suggested, “there’s some, leftover creamy Cajun chicken pasta in the fridge.” Repelling framework, her head shook as screen door undulated and fingers wrapped around brass knob, but Ava failed to stride over threshold.
Chin met shoulder and honing optics shifted to corners. “I’ll go out with you an’ celebrate, but I just want to make somethin’ clear, it ain’t a date. You got it?” Fervent doe azures emphasized the gravity of sternness in her tone as they sought verdant headlights. She didn’t want him to get any funny ideas. Heavy fog dissipated and she pushed main entrance open, venturing into the kitchen. Reaching the refrigerator, she retrieved the leftovers tightly preserved in plastic Tupperware and tossed it on the counter.
“Is that what you were up to all this time?”
The entirety of his day couldn’t have been spent north of Ransom Holler.
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