"They should be here any minute. Whatta ya think he'll be like, Vig?" asked the owner of the general store.
The local merchant stood on the porch of his small business and peered down the two-lane road that ran through the center of the tiny Arizona town of Whistlestop Corners. After a moment, he turned to look at the man leaning against the wall.
"Can't rightly say, Clem," the cowboy answered belatedly, finishing a hand-rolled cigarette.
The lanky man struck a match against his boot heel and lit up, using his habit as an excuse to avoid further conversation. Words, at least when used in speech, were not Viggo Mortensen's strong suit. He preferred horses to people for the simple fact that horses didn't feel a need to flap their gums all the time. Old Clem had asked Viggo the same question five times in the last half hour, even though he knew Viggo didn't know anything about the new boss other than a name and a few sparse facts such as his nationality.
Orlando Bloom. Now there was a name, Viggo thought, glancing at the fidgeting shop owner. Taking pity on Clem, he said, "He's an Englishman."
"A Brit!" Clem exclaimed. "I knew a few of those boys in WWII. They was all purty as girls, but I'll tell you what, they fought like wildcats. Never saw one a those johnnies turn yella."
Viggo pushed the weather-beaten cowboy hat up on his head and turned to look at the highway. "I doubt this Bloom fella saw any action, Clem. He's a kid, barely into his twenties."
Clem snorted. "You'll soon wipe the milk off his upper lip," he predicted. "What's takin' the girl so long? She usually drives fit t' scare the daylights outta me."
Viggo blew a series of smoke rings as a mental image of Clem's grand-daughter flashed through his mind. Adele Pike, who up until recently had been Adele Pike-Atchison. Divorce from her local golden boy/real estate baron husband had necessitated the amputation of her hyphenates. Adele recovered quickly from the dissolution of her marriage by returning to school and becoming mayor of the Corners, as everyone but the rankest tourists called Whistlestop. When they were growing up together Viggo had thought of Adele as five feet of heaven in ponytails and just sort of assumed they'd get married and raise horses. Fate had other plans, and they had drifted apart, she to college in Phoenix and he to the rodeo circuit. She was going to be an art teacher and he was going to get out of the Corners for good. Funny, they had both ended up back here, having learned a bit about the world and themselves. With a rueful smile, Viggo shrugged off of the wall and crushed the butt of his cigarette, carefully placing the remnant in the breast pocket of his denim jacket. A plume of dust down the road heralded an approaching vehicle and Clem's dogs bestirred themselves from some important sleeping to get to their feet and stretch, preparatory to a volley of loud barks to announce what everybody already knew.
"Here she comes," Clem said unnecessarily, as the fast-moving speck resolved itself into a big blue pickup truck.
Viggo swallowed, resenting the dryness of his mouth. Why should he be nervous just because he was meeting his new boss for the first time? He swallowed hard again, this time to dislodge the lump that had formed in his throat. Blinking rapidly, the tough-as-nails head wrangler suppressed his tears at the reminder of Pop Kelly's passing. The old man had been Viggo's boss and surrogate father for two decades and now he was gone. Gone just like that and for no better reason than a gopher's choice of building site, a short flight from the saddle of his broken-legged horse and Pop had landed with a snap of his neck.
Viggo had been on the other side of the ranch when it happened, but he had heard the medivac helicopter and known with a chill of sick dread that something had happened to Pop. He had ridden his cowpony into a lather, knowing it was futile, but compelled to try. Pop was long gone before Viggo reined in his winded mount at the scene of the accident. He had gazed helplessly into the sky for several long moments and then had gone, with practical purpose, to put Pop's horse out of its misery.
Ian Bloom McKellan, known as Pop Kelly to his extended family of employees at Silver Sage Ranch, had instructed his lawyer to reveal the contents of his will to Viggo first. The head wrangler, whom Pop had always called Honcho, had been shocked to learn that the old man had family in England. He'd been even more surprised to learn that the ranch had been left to the surviving member, one Orlando Bloom. Moreover, Pop had asked that Viggo stay on and run the ranch for his heir. All of the employees were guaranteed their jobs unless this Orlando Bloom decided to sell. In that case, everyone who worked the ranch was to receive a share of the profit from the sale. That was just like the old man, tough as boot leather on the outside, soft as new grass on the inside.
*Some cowboy I am. I can't even keep my mind from straying today,* Viggo thought, as Adele's truck pulled up at the curb.
Whistlestop Corners' mayor hopped down from the drivers' side of the blue behemoth, her auburn hair bouncing on her shoulders, as she stepped briskly around the front bumper. She flashed her brilliant smile at Viggo and her father, jerking her chin toward the truck. The passenger door opened, and a foot shod in what looked to be a python skin boot alit on the asphalt. Viggo's eyebrows climbed into his sandy bangs and he was stopped dead for a minute by the figure that emerged from the cab of the pickup. Now he understood the reason for Adele's gritted teeth and devilishly twinkling eyes. She was trying not bust a gut laughing at this dude.
Aside from the snakeskin boots, more Rodeo Drive than rodeo, Bloom wore skin-tight embroidered jeans slung low across his narrow hips. At least two inches of fawn-colored skin showed between his waistband and the too small bruise purple t-shirt with silver letters reading, "Frodo Lives". A pair of rock star dark shades covered the young man's eyes under an artfully tousled mop of loose chestnut curls. Viggo shook his head and shot a glance at Clem as Adele took young Mr. Bloom by the arm and brought him up the steps.
"I know it's rude, but I'm bursting for a pee," Orlando said before anyone could speak.
"Toilet's inside," Clem said. "Just walk straight back and through the swingin' door."
"Howdy, Addie," Viggo said, as soon as the outsider was out of earshot.
Adele smiled up at her best friend. "Lord have mercy, did you get a good look at him? And what you can see ain't even the half of it. He pulled up his shirt just outside Phoenix city limits to show me his favorite piercing. The boy has a nipple ring."
"Bullshit!" Clem said succinctly.
"I'm crappin' you negative, Dad. I didn't even mention the tattoo."
Clem shrugged. "Lotsa guys got tattoos," he said. "I got Semper Fi over my heart."
Adele's eyes sparkled. "It isn't on his chest or his upper arm, Dad. It's a bit south of that."
"How'd you happen to see it?" Viggo drawled.
"I was trying to climb into that bloody great truck and caught my belt loop on something," Orlando's voice spoke from behind them, and the three turned to look at him. "Pulled me strides halfway off and as I'm not wearing any knickers, I nearly gave the lovely Adele the full Monty. Anyway, here it is."
Viggo stared in disbelief when the young man yanked down the waistband of his jeans to reveal a sunburst tattooed on the smooth flesh of his lower belly. Clem glared in disapproval and looked away from so much bare skin. Adele found herself enjoying every second with a kind of horrified delight. Viggo saw her enjoyment and played in to it as though they were back in junior high school. Bending down until he was eye level with the tattoo, he feigned keen interest.
"Well, will you look at that," he said admiringly. "That's just about the cutest thing I ever did see. Clem, look at this. Ain't it the cutest thing?"
"Are you taking the piss with me, mate?" Orlando asked in good-natured tones.
"I'm not rightly sure what that means," Viggo said. "Did you mean to say 'take a piss'?"
"What?" the delicately handsome Brit asked in confusion.
"Viggo Mortensen," Adele cut in, "meet Orlando Bloom, the new owner of Silver Sage. Orlando this is . . ."
"Honcho!" the young man exclaimed delightedly. "Great-uncle Ian wrote about you."
Viggo started at hearing the nickname spoken in Pop Kelly's soft accent. No one but Pop and the hands called Viggo that and it took him off guard.
"Well, I'm sure you're anxious to see the spread," Adele said to Orlando. "I'm going to leave you in Viggo's more than capable hands and I'll see you this evening for dinner."
Orlando pressed forward and hugged Adele enthusiastically, kissing her on the cheek. "Thank you so much," he said. "I know you're right and I'm going to love it here."
Adele nodded, seeing Viggo's bemused look in her peripheral vision. "I'm sure the Corners is going to find you as charming as you find it," she said and got back in her big truck.
"She's brilliant," Orlando said, as Adele drove away.
"That all your luggage?" Viggo asked, looking at the one suitcase and overnight bag sitting on the sidewalk.
"What? Oh, yeah. I figured I'd have to buy real cowboy clothes so why bring all my old stuff with me?"
Viggo picked up the two bags and started walking toward the beat up Jeep Wagoneer with "Silver Sage Farms" painted on the side. Orlando turned and looked at Clem.
"Clemson Pike," the old man said, holding out his hand. "I'm Addie's father."
"Pleased to meet you," Orlando said, shaking Clem's hand.
"Would you like a drink for the road, Mr. Bloom?" Clem asked.
Orlando's face lit up. "Mate, I'd love a beer."
Clem smiled. "Come in on, Mr. Bloom, and have a gander."
"Please call me Orlando, Clemson."
"Aw, I'm Clem to everybody 'round here. Come get yourself a cold one."
When Viggo turned from loading the bags in the wagon, Clem and Orlando were nowhere to be seen, but a moment later, they exited the general store laughing companionably. Both were holding sweating bottles of Guinness.
"Ain't it a bit early in the day, Clem?" Viggo said mildly.
"I can't let Orlando drink alone," Clem said, and chuckled.
Viggo's brows rose. He had rarely seen Clem take a drink during daylight hours and never during business hours. Now the man was swilling Guinness in the middle of the afternoon and laughing like a hyena with this fruity-looking English boy.
"Care for a beer, Honcho?" Orlando asked.
"I'm drivin'," Viggo said flatly. "We should be goin' if you want to see much of the place before the sun goes down."
"Oh, absolutely!" Orlando almost squealed. "I can't wait to see my ranch."
*At least he doesn't expect me to open his door for him,* Viggo thought as the Brit got in on the passenger side. The boy waved cheerily to Clem as Viggo backed up the big Wagoneer and pulled onto the road. The man didn't speak as they left the town limits, but he could feel Orlando's eyes on him in curiosity.
"You look just like a real cowboy," Orlando said.
Viggo gritted his teeth and answered calmly. "Well now, I'd say that's 'cause I am a real cowboy."
"This is brilliant!" the young man said. "Will you teach me to be a cowboy?"
Viggo's eyes slid toward his passenger. "Are ya serious?" he asked.
"Absolutely! It looks like such fun in the movies!"
"If I take you to raise," Viggo said slowly, "you'll have to abide by my rules. Can ya do that? Think before ya answer. You'll be one of the hands, a greenhorn. The boys won't go easy on ya and neither will I. Maybe you better see what you're gettin' yourself into before you agree to it."
"No!" the boy said, his good humor becoming petulance. "I want to be a cowboy!"
*So don't look before you leap, colt,* the man thought, *run right off that cliff.*
Read chapter Two of Eleven of Bailey's The Greenhorn
