Free The Cowboy Poet by Claire Thompson Page B

Tyler‘s thigh as he opened the cooler.
Boy, it sure is hot, Tyler said.
Yeah. This old truck‘s bout had it, Clint agreed. He cranked down the windows and Tyler reached for the radio. Merle Haggard‘s distinctive, gruff voice filled the cab.
Good ol‘ Merle, Tyler said, surprising Clint that he knew the old-time artist. He‘s so good you can almost forgive him his politics.
Clint laughed, and began to recite from Haggard‘s famous anthem about being an Okie from Muskogee.
Tyler chimed in with the line about white lightning. They grinned at each other, and Clint felt something ease inside him. True, they were only nine years apart, but sometimes that was enough of a gap to include a whole generation.
Another song came on the radio, the man‘s voice rich and powerful, the soulful guitar licking beneath his words like a lover‘s kiss. The man singing warned his lover to keep their distance, that they must give all or none at all.
That‘s Richard Thompson, Tyler announced, further impressing Clint. I saw him live in Austin. He‘s amazing.
Can‘t say as I know him, Clint said. But I like the sound of this music. It‘s mournful but with a kind of hope, if you know what I mean. Tyler nodded and Clint felt he really did know. They rode on in companionable silence for a while, listening to the radio and drinking their soda.
When they were only a few miles from Hoss Johnson‘s place, Clint tried again to reach him on his cell, but had no luck. The back of his shirt was soaked and sticking to the leather of the seat. He turned apologetically to Tyler, whose blond hair had darkened with sweat, his fair cheeks flushed from the heat. Guess we should have taken your fancy car, huh? Sorry about that. This heat spell came on pretty sudden.
Tyler shrugged. It‘s okay. I‘m no stranger to West Texas summers.
Taking this as a lead-in, Clint ventured, You wanna talk about it some, Ty? Why you really left the ranch? What happened to make you so gun shy?
Tyler wiped his forehead with the back of his shirt sleeve, pushing a wing of damp hair away, though it promptly fell back again. I‘m too hot to talk about anything. Tyler looked out his window so Clint could no longer see his face.
Clint nodded, accepting that for the time being. After all, despite the intensity of their experience so far, they really barely knew one another. And in fairness, he‘d told Tyler next to nothing about himself. Not that there was all that much to tell. Shouldn‘t there, he suddenly thought, be more to tell? Yeah, Tyler had run from something, but was Clint any better? He‘d let life slide over him, taking small pleasures and accepting things as they came, but at what cost? Had he, in these passing years, lost the power to yearn with the intensity he‘d felt in Tyler over these past two days?
Sensing he had to give Tyler room, he kept his tone light. Now wasn‘t the time to speak of things that mattered. He forced himself to focus on their mission. After all, his boss had given him a specific task—to find out what had happened to their tanks and, if possible, to get them back.
If only Hoss would call back. He drummed his fingers a moment on the steering wheel as he marshaled his thoughts. He stared at the cell phone on the seat beside him, willing it to ring.
It‘s too hot to wait in the truck, Clint said, turning to Tyler, but I don‘t want to go on without checkin‘ out Johnson‘s place. I got an idea. If memory serves, there‘s a creek off the road not too far from here. We could take a swim and cool off. I got towels and stuff in the back of the truck. How‘s that sound?
Sounds great, Tyler said, turning back to him with a smile.
Clint maneuvered the truck onto a narrow rutted dirt road that paralleled a thicket of trees. He drove alongside it a while until he found a break in the trees. Turning the wheel, he drove through the brush, following the sound of the water, now an audible rush and tumble in the quiet.
Past the thicket the