***Wow... I'm a bit on the speechless side... This piece was written remarkably well. The visuals that you created were strong and vivid. The feelings that the character felt were strong and well described. If this had been a book it would have been a real page turner. I am anxious to see where it might all end up. The title seemed familiar some how, but it was not what I expected I was pleasantly surprised. I am impressed at the dialogue and the terminology you chose. I read it so fast I didn't even look for errors or gammar flaws, sorry... I read it again out loud...if you ever want a voice over for an audio...I'm your man( sort of speak)...you did a great job and I look forward to more of the story and more of your work... You have a forever fan! Bravo and write on...***

They were heavy veined and they looked like chunks of gnarled wood.

Notice that in this section, you call the hands they, and then in the next sentence of the paragraph, they are hands again. I would try to start your paragraphs with The hands.

He had beaten them on dozers and ground moving machines covering them with raw diesel and blood red dirt torn from the skin of the earth.

“Go get ‘im again Tucker,” His father said. “We got a lotta work to do yet.”

Tucker Jackson went and got him again.

 

 The calf’s bawling was answered from the herd, and a large black cow charged out, coming for the boy at full charge. Her head was lowered, her hooves churned dirt, and her tail was raised high.

The boy let go of the struggling calf and curled into a fetal position covering his head with his arms.

Daa…a…a..ad!” He screamed.

In the next instant, his father cracked the cow with a gnarled fist, hard, right between the eyes. It stopped her dead in her tracks with the wet smack of bone against bone. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she sagged to her knees, her problems with the boy all but forgotten.

 

It was ten years later when Deputy Tuck Jackson drove his cruiser into the gravel driveway of the dark and desolate construction site.

This sentence pretty much cries out, "WHAT HAPPENED IN THOSE TEN YEARS?" If anything, explain how he has physically taken on the shape and strength of his father. Or reference the prologue with, Years of wrestling with calfs...blah blah blah. Because right now that introductory story seems a bit out of place.

He sported a thick flowing mustache and the cold of the night caused his breath to condense in it giving him the appearance of a walrus.

This metaphor is confusing. Pretty sure that a mustache makes someone look like a walrus, how does his breath condensing on it do that?

The deputy looked into the other man's eyes as the dispatcher confirmed his suspicion; where there should have been two windows to this mans' soul, there were only twin black pools as emotionless as those of a crocodile.

POV problem here. Would a really raw, farm-raised man relate eyes to to windows to this man's soul? This sentence could be streamlined to, his suspicion...where there should have been frightened eyes of a calf, there were only those of a beady crocodile, or something. relate animal to animal, perhaps, or find a simpler way to say it.

Paul Debonet's revolver spit sparks and bucked away from his chin, twirling in slow motion. The force of the recoil sent the gun spinning into the darkness as a large piece of Paul's scalp flapped loose and soft tissues erupted from his shattered skull with a pink mist accentuating a spurt of dark red blood.

The last sentence is a bit long. Consider Hemingwaying it a bit. "The force of the recoil sent the gun spinning into the darkness. A large piece scalp flapped loose.  Tissues erupted from his shattered skill."

Have you ever gotten into a car accident? When you are in it, it all seems to go so slow. Your mind just can't keep up with the events. You remember some things rather than others. Would he see the pink mist? Or would he just see the events pertaining to the man's head?

 

When Tuck finally got home, it was too late to buy beer so he went out into his garage and drank a six pack of Coors John Wayne Commemorative beer that he had bought to keep as a collector's item. The beer was flat and tasted like the inside of a spare tire, but it did its job.

You have beer in each of these three sentences. How about, "When Tuck finally got home, the town's liquor store had long since closed. Instead, he went outside to his garage and drank the six pack of Commemorative Coors he had intended on collecting. The liquid was..."

Charlie's face twisted and he stuck both tiny hands into his mouth. He was so horrified that he had angered his daddy he swallowed too quickly and was choking on his food. Gagging, little Charlie tried to pull the blockage from his windpipe as tears streamed down his face and he turned bright red with the effort.

Tuck Jackson felt like he had been kicked in the bag.

Again, you do a great job describing events. This part was fantastic.

Tuck Jackson snapped awake with a shudder, reaching inflexibly into the darkness. Reaching for something, agonizing, he glimpsed what he was reaching for, what he had always been reaching for; he saw that he was reaching for the hands of his father, faithful hands that were strong and quick to defend, hands that were elusive and beyond his grasp, hands that were hard and scarred by nails.

Great ending!

This story has great images and actions. It is very well presented.

The only confusing part: the dream.

That night Tuck Jackson dreamed about the shooting of Paul Debonet.

In the dream, He didn't wait. In the dream He shot right away. In the dream he didn't cower from the sparkling eyes and horrible fixed smile. In the dream he would walk up to the still form and look into the face of the person that he had just killed. It would be the face of a woman staring blankly into space, eyes glazing over with the dry crust that comes when the tear ducts stop working. She wouldn't have a gun.
The dream would fast forward to his dragging the dead body of the woman through a labyrinth of tunnels, looking for a place to hide it. At the end of the tunnel network, he would find a plainly furnished bathroom in which would be a mirror. Panting heavily he would look into the mirror and looking back at him would be the sparkling eyes and horrendous grin of Paul Debonet, the face would be elongated like a cat's, the mouth would be full of razor sharp teeth.
The thing would hiss and he would wake up in a panic. The first thing Tuck would notice as he awoke was that he was reaching for something not a gun, he knew where his gun was - he didn't know what he was reaching for, something that was just fading from his sight. The dream became his constant companion, a reminder to him of that all is not right, that somewhere something is lost.

Notice that you switch to a hypothetical would. As if, Tuck had previously had this dream. But that is not outright stated. I would, for sake of clarity, let this be the first time  Tuck has had any such bad dream. Relate it in the same tense you do other actions in the story without any "woulds."

As always he was met with the glazing eyes of a dead woman when he checked the body; he knew the dream well. He had almost become smug as he whisked the body through the dream labyrinth, looking for a place to hide it. His subconscious even prepared to scream as he approached the little bathroom.
This time, when he reached the bathroom and looked quickly into the mirror, instead of the twisted visage of Paul Debonet, he saw the red straining face of his precious little boy, Charlie, choking on his own food.
In the dream, Charlie was choking because his father had slapped him hard in anger - across the back of the head, choking him on a mouthful of crunchy Doritos. In the background Tuck heard a distorted singsong voice Baby Bunting, Baby Sweet, Baby comes and gets a treat!'

Instead of "as always" use "Again," Take out "he knew the dream well" it is redundant. The last part in bold seems a bit too over the top. I'd leave it out, myself.

Whelp, there you go, I hope I helped you out! It  got to me emotionally, and I could relate to Tuck throughout the story.

Great job!

A few notes to help you along:

The smelly black calf lay sprawled in its own muck and the twelve year old boy, arms locked around its neck, lay next to it. Both were covered with muck that had been left by the large herd of cattle that was milling around.

Lacks a POV. I know by the end of this section, we learn the boy's name is Tucker Jackson. Why not say it here? The longer we hold on "the boy" "the man" or "the father" the reader can't quite get behind a character.

He was a big man and was wearing a blue shirt over his broad belly which was criss-crossed by a set of green striped suspenders.

Instances of passive voice. I'd recommend checking the work to omit instances where you use variations of "is" as your verb.

They were heavy veined and they looked like chunks of gnarled wood. His father had molded his hands into thick hard tools. He had worked his hands on cattle and horses, busting them up with latigo leather and hardwood. He had beaten them on dozers and ground moving machines covering them with raw diesel and blood red dirt torn from the skin of the earth. He had split them on the teeth and jaws of fellow ranchers - in countless bar fights - spilling beer, spinning tables into corners and shattering chairs. As he lay in the mire of the cow pasture, the boy wished he had his father’s hands instead of his own small ones.

This is a key component to your story, I can guess. However, since it's enclosed within an action sequence, it interrupts the flow of the story. Why not begin with the description of hands, then go into the black calf's ear tagging?

It was ten years later when Deputy Tuck Jackson drove his cruiser into the gravel driveway of the dark and desolate construction site. Off in the distance he could see the glow of an interior light bulb flicker inside of a small van. His headlights bounced across Paul Debonet, a little man in a grey jacket who was creeping through the darkness carrying a toolbox from a second van that had a shattered back window.

This is a very big, abrupt scene shift to take place within one chapter. It would be fine were this a short story, but within one chapter it's a hard transition. The section preceding it wasn't long enough to close the setting of time/space.

His headlights bounced across Paul Debonet, a little man in a grey jacket who was creeping through the darkness carrying a toolbox from a second van that had a shattered back window.

I felt you had maybe one or two excessive objects in this sentence for me to paint a picture in my imagination easily.

The toolbox looked overly large in Paul's hands; they were small and bony with the thin softness of a woman's. His dirty gray jacket was greasy and ripped and his blue jeans were tattered and grimy. He sported a thick flowing mustache and the cold of the night caused his breath to condense in it giving him the appearance of a walrus. His face was placid and smoothly shaved around the jaw line. He had crow's feet forming in the corners of his eyes, which were set too closely together, and were brown and dominated by large black pupils. At his full height, the little man couldn't have stood over five foot six, and he was thin and stooped as if old age had come to visit too soon.

Some passive voice.

Also, this is a lot of description for a minor character. Although I sense you know precisely what he looks like, it makes it difficult for me to get into the plot. Plus, I don't think it's that important since he gets shot soon after.

His eyes were deep blue set in a hard face beneath a shock of black hair cut short on the sides. His uniform was straight and well tailored, his gun and leather gear were well oiled and maintained meticulously. The hands which dangled quietly from the thickly veined arms were heavy and big boned, the knuckles sat coiled under the skin like ball bearings and were rigid and rough, a testimony of hard work and harsh usage.

Since it's written in 3PL, this is a POV violation. Tucker can't see himself.

They were hands that looked dangerous.

Telly.

"Well Cat got your tongue mister?" Jackson asked, "I'd sure like to know why you are out here. Have you got some I.D?" Paul Debonet started, "Evenin Deputy...?" he said, letting his greeting trail off into an inquiry and sticking his hand out to be shaken.

This reads like a screenplay rather than fiction.

"Jackson! Tuck Jackson." He finally said. "Whatcha doin out here?" "well, I'll tell ya, I just dropped by to check my tools and found my van had a window busted out." The little man nodded towards the van with the smashed window. "I'm doin the plumbin on this house and didn't want any of my tools to get stolen; I was goin to take them home and call you guys when I got there." The deputy's flashlight played across the back of the van, illuminating a shattered window. "You got a license on you?" he asked again.

Needs dialogue tags. Had trouble following who was saying what.

I'm not sure how many people are in the scene-- "Tucker" and "Tuck" and "Jackson" and "deputy" shouldn't be interchanged, if they are.

There was no real surprise when the van did not come back to Paul Debonet; Tuck had figured him for a crook after only a few seconds. The deputy looked into the other man's eyes as the dispatcher confirmed his suspicion; where there should have been two windows to this mans' soul, there were only twin black pools as emotionless as those of a crocodile. The eyes glittered with intelligence and preparation; Then Tuck noticed the hand - the left hand - the hand that held the pipe wrench, the hand was hefting that wrench and testing its weight.

This sounds like screen directions again. It doesn't need to be this specific. I'd rather get behind the character's experience rather than description of actions.

"Yeah!" He said, and then laughed out loud. "I meant to tell you about that, you see, I just bought this thing two days ago and haven't had time to get it put in my name."

It's "throwaway" dialogue that would work fine on screen, but here it just feels like a speed bump.

placed him none too gently

thrust him

Suddenly the fight was on, and Tuck found the little man to be stronger than he expected; he realized that Paul Debonet was pulling something from his waistband.

Feels remote and telly. Show a punch. Get behind the character.

"Back off or I'll shoot myself."

I'm confused as to Debonet's motivation.

Deputy Jackson clutched the hard plastic grips of his pistol tightly, pulling with one hand and pushing with the other to hold the gun steady, he had started squeezing the trigger a long time ago it seemed, he didn't know why it wouldn't go off. Two in the hullone in the skull! Tuck thought to himself, shoot twice in the chest and once in the head twice in the head, once in the hull God help me he's thinking about turning his gun on me! Debonet looked off into the darkness. His revolver was pointed, unwavering, at his own head. He was weighing the odds. Tuck willed himself to pull harder, panic rising in his throat; he wondered why the damn gun wouldn't fire. He realized with growing horror that his finger was not moving, was not pulling the thin sliver of metal as his mind commanded. He leaned forward in anticipation of the recoil; his mind demanding that the finger move. His hands were acting on their own, he could not control them and they began to shake causing the gun to wobble like a carnival toy. Paul Debonet's revolver spit sparks and bucked away from his chin, twirling in slow motion. The force of the recoil sent the gun spinning into the darkness as a large piece of Paul's scalp flapped loose and soft tissues erupted from his shattered skull with a pink mist accentuating a spurt of dark red blood.

The plot device seems funny to me. He wanted to shoot him to stop him from shooting himself?

When Tuck finally got home, it was too late to buy beer so he went out into his garage and drank a six pack of Coors John Wayne Commemorative beer that he had bought to keep as a collector's item. The beer was flat and tasted like the inside of a spare tire, but it did its job.

Narrative voice feels flat.

In the dream, He didn't wait. In the dream He shot right away. In the dream he didn't cower from the sparkling eyes and horrible fixed smile. In the dream he would walk up to the still form and look into the face of the person that he had just killed. It would be the face of a woman staring blankly into space, eyes glazing over with the dry crust that comes when the tear ducts stop working. She wouldn't have a gun. The dream would fast forward to his dragging the dead body of the woman through a labyrinth of tunnels, looking for a place to hide it. At the end of the tunnel network, he would find a plainly furnished bathroom in which would be a mirror. Panting heavily he would look into the mirror and looking back at him would be the sparkling eyes and horrendous grin of Paul Debonet, the face would be elongated like a cat's, the mouth would be full of razor sharp teeth.

In my experience, dreams are really tough to pull off. It just feels weird and telly, because a reader can't imagine him/herself experiencing a dream. The reader can only vaguely understand what the author is trying to convey here. Otherwise they'll just skip it.

Tuck let his hand drift to his wife who lay sleeping next to him. His hand drifted across her back, over her hip, and settled on her hard naked belly, the loose hot flesh of one breast lay like velvet against his forearm. Tuck was reminded of a children's rhyme that his mother used to recite to him when he was a child: Baby Bunting, Baby Sweet, Baby comes and gets a treat!' Tuck stifled a laugh and pressed his hand against her belly for a second, feeling for anything out of the ordinary, and, feeling nothing, let his hand fall away into the darkness, not completely trusting it. Maybe, he thought, it wouldn't be so bad after all. One night shortly after the killing of Paul Debonet, Tuck was working at his desk and Charlie, his four year old son, sat behind him at the kitchen table eating Doritos. For the third time in about a minute, he heard the rustle of the foil bag as little Charlie stuck his hand into it, followed by the loud crunch of Charlie munching his tortilla chip with his mouth open wide.

You've got some giant leaps in time/space here from paragraph to paragraph. I suggest a scene break or chapter break.

Charlie's face twisted and he stuck both tiny hands into his mouth. He was so horrified that he had angered his daddy he swallowed too quickly and was choking on his food. Gagging, little Charlie tried to pull the blockage from his windpipe as tears streamed down his face and he turned bright red with the effort. Tuck Jackson felt like he had been kicked in the bag.

I think this is meant to be a heartrending scene, but it feels remote to me. It would be magnified greatly if the POV were put directly behind Tucker's eyes, when he realizes what he's done to his son.

As always he was met with the glazing eyes of a dead woman when he checked the body; he knew the dream well. He had almost become smug as he whisked the body through the dream labyrinth, looking for a place to hide it. His subconscious even prepared to scream as he approached the little bathroom.

When I arrived at the dream sequence again, I was tempted to skip it.

I think you've got good ideas behind the emotional turmoil of Tucker, but I feel your story execution needs some work. I don't understand the shooting between Debonet and Jackson, and although I understand there's some deep emotion between Jackson and his father, I don't quite get a good feeling of Jackson's character yet to really be intrigued to learn about it. Perhaps show a little more of who Jackson is in a real life setting so we understand his job, his family, his world, and his internal turmoil. The action sequence at the beginning might be a good hook, but I feel it's overlong to really operate that way.

Hope this helps. Good luck.

 The smelly black calf lay sprawled in its own muck and the twelve year old boy, arms locked around its neck, lay next to it. Both were covered with muck that had been left by the large herd of cattle that was milling around.

"Muck" used twice was a bit distracting.  "Both were covered" is past tense, but "herd of cattle that was" is present.  I'm pretty sure you mean past tense, and to cut words, you could simply say, "Herd of cattle milling around."  A bit of simplification.

The boy’s father stood off to one side, preparing a shot and an ear tag, and occasionally slapping at his ear to shoo off the black flies that were trying to bite him.

Again here, there are a lot of unnecessary words. 

 They were heavy veined and they looked like chunks of gnarled wood. 

I love the description you're going for here.  But I recommend sticking with the description of the wood and working off that, ignoring the "heavy veined". 

a large black cow charged out, coming for the boy at full charge.

The word "charge" is repetative in this sentence.  Here is a good example of telling, not showing.  I feel this sentence is unnecessary because in the next sentence, you show us, leaving a greater impact.

Daa…a…a..ad!” He screamed.

(quotations)" Daa.."  And I don't think you need the "he screamed.  I'd even recommend putting "Daa...a...a..ad" On it's own line.  We'll know who's yelling.

The toolbox looked overly large in

The word "overly" is unnecessary here.

The description of Paul is excellent, but could use to be tightened for concision and ease of reading.  Not changed but cranked back.

I like the repeated mention of hands.  Not many people notice hands, but I do and I like the effect this has.

His eyes were deep blue set in a hard face beneath a shock of black hair cut short on the sides. His uniform was straight and well tailored, his gun and leather gear were well oiled and maintained meticulously.

You do well with descriptions, neat little vinettes, but I would like to see the description move more.  Like smoothing his uniform when he got out of the car or stroking his well-oiled gun. Moving description keeps the plot moving as well.

The big deputy didn't

You already told us that he was big.

"Sure here ya go."

"Sure (coma or period) Here ya go."

There was no real surprise when the van did not come back to Paul Debonet; Tuck had figured him for a crook after only a few seconds.

These two sentences basically say the same thing.  One could be eliminated, though I like the first one better.

At the sound of the snap the little man tossed

At the sound of the snap (coma) the little man ( though I'd like it better if you used his name instead of always calling him little man, since you gave us his name.

Tuck thought to himself, shoot twice in the chest and once in the head twice in the head, once in the hull God help me he's thinking about turning his gun on me!

I got a little lost in this sequence, not really sure where it was going or how it was getting there.  I found myself reading twice to see if he'd gotten shot.

 it was too late to buy beer so he went out into his garage and drank a six pack of Coors John Wayne Commemorative beer that he had bought to keep as a collector's item.

This sentence could use some cleaning.  Is it important that the Coors was in the garage.  I like the commemorative beer, as it's telling about the character, but can you just say he drank it?

he would find a plainly furnished bathroom in which would be a mirror.

This bit seems a slight wordy.  "He found a bathroom with a mirror..." or something, perhaps incorporating the next sentence.  I think it's the "in which would be" that seems out of place, or just too much.

Finished reading, I wonder how necessary the beginning is.  Not that it's unnecessary, to say, but it's a bit long and I wonder how much play it will have through the rest of the novel.  The same goes for the dream sequences.  Are their importance worthy of their length. 

You do a good job setting up the basic character, giving us insight into his struggle, but I'm not sure what to expect from the next chapter.  There's no real signs or anything to make me curious about what's coming next. 

Overall, I think some basic structuring of this paragraph would make it a more concise read and better blocks to build the intensity I think this piece needs. It's a great start and I see a lot of potential.

Thanks

--Amber