The Chrysalis cure - 08

A girl wakes to find herself with a one-way bus ticket to a rural farm rehab after she passes out. A reclusive guy lives there - and wants nothing to do with people. Can they help each other heal?

We’re now onto the 8th book in this series. And here is the wrap-up — two young adults with their own scenes to heal.

(All previous stories linked below.)

Click also to see the full version as this may not fit most emails...

I HAD NO MONEY, WAS jobless, and heart-broken.

All those added up to a big fat nothing.

The last thing I remembered was passing out on a curb in New York City.

Now I was on a bus somewhere in Iowa going west.

How did that happen?

I grabbed my backpack and found the contents had been replaced.

The only things left were a large meat-and-cheese sandwich and two bottles of water.

Its front pouch only held my one-way and non-refundable bus ticket, a burner phone with no signal, plus a scrap of paper with a phone number scratched on it.

I'd been kidnapped - but not really. None of the other passengers on that bus seemed bothered at all, not even noticing I was even there.

Going through the pockets of my jeans and jacket, I also found that all my ID and money was gone. And I had no other clothes than what I was wearing.

So the only choice I had left was to take this ride where it was already heading - to some tiny town in the middle of nowhere.

To whoever I was going to meet at the other end.

All pre-arranged by someone...

I

- - - -

I CAME OUT THROUGH the glass and aluminum door of the clinic.

Dour-faced, upset, frustrated.

Earlier that day, I'd lost my job.

I had nothing in the bank. No relatives anywhere nearby – and the ones I had out there didn't particularly want to hear from me.

My last hope was that my doctor here would give me something I could OD on.

But that conversation went something like this:

“I can't prescribe anything for you any more. Because it would probably kill you faster than you already are killing yourself. And as a Doctor, I can't assist your own suicide.”

My look at him was a plaintive as I could make it. “Come on, Doc – can't you give me something for all this?”

I held up my hands, they were both shaking.

He just shook his head no. “Your blacking-out is in addition to your nerves going south. I told you six months ago you only had six months to live. And I've been telling you at least every month since what you needed to do to fix all that.

“But you didn't.

“So I'm going to tell you one more time, for whatever good it will do: Get into rehab, get off those caffeine drinks. Start eating a good diet with lots of protein. Get some rest. Get some sunshine. And get someone to take care of you – because until you get that stuff out of your system and replaced with the proteins and vitamins you need – well, if your heart doesn't just quit on you, you're probably going to black out crossing the street and get hit by a truck or something.”

His face wasn't happy. He was serious. More than I'd ever seen him before.

Then he walked out of that examination room without looking back.

I left the clinic just like he did to me.

And soon wondered if I still had anything left that was worth pawning for some street drugs to end this miserable existence with.

I shrugged my shaking hands into the pockets of my worn leather jacket. I let the strands of my black hair that escaped my ponytail just fly as they wanted.

My head was down. Trying to avoid people on the sidewalk stepping on me.

And considering that maybe I should just go ahead and walk into that traffic.

Except that would hurt. And might not be final. Plus, with my luck, I'd wind up as some sort of homeless cripple.

My thoughts went back to that boyfriend I'd cursed to hell almost every day for the last eight months. He was why I was in this shape. I always thought he was going to propose. Any day now. And I then discovered him talking to some tall boob-laden blond about staying the weekend at her place.

Just like he used to do to me. So he could get his “needs” filled. But he had only strung me along, saying he loved me, saying we were soul-mates, saying whatever he had to – just in order to keep getting laid when he wanted, food while he was with me, even borrowed money before he left me.

I was his little girl-toy. Addicted to him.

No better than a whore.

My feet stopped. I was now standing on the curb of yet another street. One of the tens of thousands of streets that criss-crossed this city that never sleeps.

I was in the middle of the block. And like most New Yorkers, I had a penchant for walking in between the moving cars to get wherever I wanted to go.

I stopped because I was shaking all over now. And it was taking all the concentration I had to figure out how to get my feet to start moving again.

Then the blackness hit.

- - - -

AND I WOKE UP SITTING in one of these antiseptic-and-urine smelling buses that you take between your last nowhere to your next nowhere. A little more comfortable than the city buses that took you within a big nowhere to nowhere particular within it. This bus was a little more comfortable for longer trips, though.

Wait. I felt myself all over. I was still in one piece. I hadn't been violated. I had some new scratches on my face, but they were cleaned. I touched them and my hand now smelled like one of those baby wipes – perfume over chlorine and anti-bacterial something-or-other chemicals.

My jacket was no worse than before, my black jeans and black boots were still the same – scratched, some torn spots, but in the usual places.

Wait – my backpack. It was lighter.

The only things in it now were a big, meaty sandwich, and a couple of bottles of water. All my cans of caffeinated drinks were gone.

In the pocket of that backpack was a clam-type burner phone – not mine. It's charge cord was there. And a scrap of paper with a 10-digit phone number and “For Emergencies Only” scrawled on it. Nothing else. And no signal.

I checked my pockets – all of them. Nothing. No ID, no money. Even inside my sock, down inside that boot – my emergency stash was gone.

The bus ticket was one way, non-transferable, non-refundable. I couldn't pronounce the small-town name printed on it as a destination. Looked German or something.

My heart sank. That was the last straw.

Sure, I could get off at the next stop, but where would that leave me?

Somewhere between nowheres, in 'Jersey. Close to hundreds of miles from what I used to call my apartment. My empty, rent-overdue, three-story walk-up tiny apartment.

Meanwhile, the miles kept rolling beneath this diesel-engined monster. I felt like I was Jonah in its guts. Like all the other nobodies around me. All swallowed for one reason or another, ready to be regurgitated at some predetermined stop somewhere between nowheres.

I just sank back against the aluminum and plastic walls and gave up.

I might as well wait for my chance to get regurgitated.

Because someone had gone through a bit of trouble to arrange this quiet kidnapping.

At least when I got thirsty, I had water. And if I got hungry, there was that big healthy looking sandwich wrapped in plastic, just waiting.

My stomach turned. Different from being hungry. More like – if that's not some sort of Red Bull drink, then leave me alone in my withdrawal pains.

The miles kept rolling toward that unpronounceable nowhere out there.

So I closed my eyes and tried to sleep – despite the smells, the noise, and the rumbles.

- - - -

WHEN THE BUS DRIVER announced something that resembled the destination printed on my ticket, I picked up and shouldered my backpack as I went forward.

The bored driver looked me over, looked at my ticket and only nodded yes to my question. Then he looked out the door and again put his hand on the lever to pull it shut. Meaning: yeah, that's you lady. Don't let the door hit you on your way out.

And I was blinking in the sunlight as the roaring monster pushed a final gust of exhaust-filled wind at my backside. All while my pony tail managed to wave a goodbye.

It was literally a bus stop. The sign said so.

And the town was probably three blocks long, if you didn't mind counting the derelict and tumble-down buildings that were empty of business and half their windows.

The sidewalks were empty of people, and a little cleaner than what I was used to in New York. All empty except for some farmer in a chore coat coming toward me.

As he got closer, he held up a hand-lettered sign that read: Dana.

I just stared at him. This was weird.

His voice was a bit rough. And had a backwoods twang. “You're Dana?”

I looked around. I was the only other person on this side of the street – and the other side only held some sort of brownish hound dog, who had its eyes shut to soak in the sunshine as it reclined there.

“Yeah, I guess that's me.”

“You guess?”

I frowned. “OK, fine! Yes, unless that dog is also named Dana, that's gotta be me.”

He smiled, beneath that day-old grizzle that ran up under his worn ball-cap from some feed and seed company. “I'm Dwayne. I was told you'd be on that bus and I was to pick you up.”

“Pick up and then do what exactly with me?”

“Take you to your new home for the next three months.”

“What home?”

“It's a rental a couple of miles from here. And looks like it was rented for you – probably without you knowing.”

I just nodded. “And what am I supposed to do when I get there?”

The farmer shrugged, which made his whole chore coat move. “Live there, I guess.”

“You guess?”

The smile went off his face. “Do you always make something this hard? Look, all I was asked to do was to come into town and pick you up. If you don't want to go, then you can stay here.”

At that he turned and walked toward an old model pickup just beyond the marked-off parking place for the bus.

No other cars on this side of the highway that ran through this nowhere. Nobody on the street. And the only person who seemed to care for me at all – at least for a little while – was walking away from me. Leaving.

So I hustled up and tried to keep up with him.

He never turned until he got to the driver's side and opened his door up.

I fumbled with the handle on that passenger side door until it opened with a quiet creak.

Not as clean as a taxi, but it didn't reek of some anti-septic solvent.

And was probably the first time I'd really smelt something mostly clean on its own for years.

II

- - - -

WHEN I FIRST SAW MY author-uncle's little Iowa farm, I was again impressed with the quiet peace that reigned over everything here.

Of course, that farm was now mine, but it would be years before I felt honest about saying it was mine.

Because my uncle raised his family here and out-lived his wife here, and it was always a second home to me – probably better than any home I'd ever had. I liked all the Nature it was nestled in. On paper, it was no bigger than 40 acres, and a lot of that was in native trees or regrown ones.

The farm barely paid its own way in good years, and he'd quit trying to keep up with the crop-farming “Joneses” and their “modern” row-cropping ideas. Some years ago, the next-door neighbor named Dwayne agreed to pay him two steers a year as rent for running cattle on the property – and maintaining the perimeter fences to keep them in. And he'd keep some cattle here until the grass got too short, then would move them over to his property or some other farmer's rented pasture.

Uncle thought ahead on a lot of things, and set up a trust with funds enough to pay off the annual taxes. His retirement and book royalties paid for utilities and whatever else he needed. And once my aunt passed, he had even fewer requirements. He hardly left the farm after her passing, and mostly sat in an easy chair, reading books out of his own library. The exception was when he had to get some additional “grub” or supplies from time to time.

And he didn't write anything after that, except for very rare letters in reply to family queries.

Or so I was told by any family of his or mine who bothered to talk to me about it. Most of the details I got from his slightly younger neighbor Dwayne, who would check in on him from time to time. Maybe play some checkers with him. Or sit there and read one of his books, maybe borrow it at the end of the evening.

The home place – as I saw when I got here – really just consisted of the house, a barn with a sad-looking chicken coop behind it, an older, tarp-covered pickup truck inside, plus a travel trailer that sought shelter under that lean-to roof attached to barn eaves.

Everything on the farm had seen better days.

- - - -

I WAS JUST RETURNED from my second tour, on a medical discharge, when a lawyer came to the VA hospital where I was going through what they called rehab. He had some papers for me, saying that my uncle had finally been declared dead after missing for years, so the will they found said that the farm and everything on it was mine, now.

Apparently because I was the only person he knew that loved it as much as he did. Out of all his relatives, no one else cared. Not enough to protest the will in any way.

So Dwayne met me at the bus stop, shook my hand while he wore that ever-present smile of his, and looked around to see if I had anything besides that single duffel bag. I just shrugged.

And we didn't talk much as he drove us over to the farm, as I recall.

But even that drive, in an old pickup with its rattles and occasional clank (after a pothole) was relaxing to me. I hadn't seen that many trees in years. Everything on military bases are so much concrete and asphalt. And the grasses are trimmed to precision and anything not growing or some kind of building was painted pristine. Gray, usually.

All this growing green, towering over our heads was such a welcome relief, a beautiful greeting – and full of hope for new life.

I needed that hope. Because I was drummed out for losing my temper one too many times at the wrong people. So they wrote it up as a medical discharge and let me go with a tidy, small pension. Not enough to do more than keep me alive with my own home cooking. And I could get other funds for renting somewhere. Lots of handouts for the disabled – which never were really enough.

Well, I had this farm now. Which meant I was disqualified for a lot of those handouts. But Dwayne said the chest freezer on the enclosed back porch was filled with beef, and his wife loved to bake, so I'd have almost an endless supply of dessert. One of her delicious fruit pies would last me a week, mostly.

Anyway, those two took care of me like one of their own sons, so I was honored and grateful. And told Dwayne as much. He just shrugged, said something like it was the “Christian” thing to do – and besides he felt he owed my uncle something. But I just let that go.

The farm had a big gate at the front of it, which is where the road dead-ends. Beyond that was a pair of tracks, with intermittent gravel in them, that led to the barn. Probably last used by that tarp-covered thing that looked like a truck out of the 50's or 60's.

Everything needed work. That was OK by me, as I wanted something to do with my hands. And stay away from people for awhile. I didn't like that temper-side of me, and it started up when people were talking.

Well, not Dwayne. He seemed to know when to talk and when to stay quiet and let the land do the talking. Occasionally, I'd see him moving around his cattle on foot, checking on them. I could hear him talk low to them, like they were some sort of friends instead of livestock. But I never heard what he said. For all I know, those cows had taught him some sort of bovine-speak, but it didn't matter. Whatever he said didn't get them upset. Upset animals don't gain weight well, he told me once.

The cattle had the run of the place. Mostly. There was a fence around the house, and the spring-fed pool in front of it. And the barn had gates over every opening. Otherwise, if it was grass, they ate it. If it was trees, they trimmed it as high as they could reach. And if it was anything else, they rubbed and scratched themselves on it. Well, except where it was an electric fence.

You only had to watch out for their comments. They liked to punctuate the grounds with badly-placed divots of manure. If it was Spring, they'd be runny like exclamation points. Summer and fall, they'd look like green pies which would then turn brown – like commas make you pause and take notice. And winter, they'd freeze hard and you'd stumble on them if you weren't looking. Period. Full stop.

More interesting was what I found inside the house.

- - - -

THAT OLD HOUSE NEEDED a lot of work. Walking inside, you could see it was in good shape. Some of the shingles on the roof needed replacing, but nothing major. Mostly it was let go – like bachelors tend to do. Grime in the kitchen, some marks on the walls from chairs being bumped into them. And A light layer of dust everywhere. Dwayne told me that after my uncle was gone for a while, he and his wife would come in and do “spring cleaning” once or twice a year, then shut it up tight again.

Dwayne never mentioned anything about how he went missing. Dwayne only said he was happy I got that place, that my Uncle Ephrem had talked about me.

The lawyer said that he'd left a note saying where his will was, and a cryptic, “See y'all later. Take care.”

When I was walking around inside, I soon concluded that I'd probably need to live in that travel trailer to begin with. I was going to have to do some plaster work to most of the walls, plus paint. The house layout was simple – just a bedroom, living room with a dining area, and a kitchen. Of course, a bathroom at its back that was, well, in need of cleaning.

I had a big mental list of how much this was going to cost to get it into shape, which was way more than my disability would cover. I was about to go back out and get my duffel bag when I noticed the picture over the small shelf above and behind the wood stove, like a mantel. The picture was of me, standing in front of the barn and pointing to the loft – one of my favorite play areas.

I picked it up to look it over. On it's back was written, “Follow your pointer.”

That was a puzzle. And I was puzzling on that picture as I went back out to the trailer, duffel in hand. But I stopped and dropped the duffel when I got to the point where I could hold that picture up so it matched the same barn like it was superimposed.

That finger of mine was pointed right at the old rope swing I used to enjoy.

And lowering that photo to look at it showed the same rope was still there. What was my pointer really pointing at?

From where I stood, I could see that there was what looked like a thick plastic bag tied to that rope. About chest high, and covered with years of dust. That wasn't there when I was a kid. So I walked up to that rope and took the plastic bag off, being careful with that rope as it was very old and probably wouldn't hold anyone's weight anymore.

Inside that bag was another photo. It was me again, standing on a floor in the barn, beneath a set of old neck yoke for oxen. I had my arms akimbo, my chin up and one foot out front like I'd just taken the last step of a flamenco dance.

But the floor in this barn was all dirt. I didn't recall that section of flooring.

Looking up in the dim light, I saw the yoke still hung on that wall. Of course that got my curiosity. So I lined up that picture with the yoke until it matched – then saw where I was standing for the photo when that floor used to be there.

Of course, that meant my next step was to take that position.

Not that anyone could see how foolish I probably looked with my arms and head in that position. From there, I didn't see any other clue. I looked at the picture again. OK, so the only thing I didn't do yet – was stomp.

And that stomp gave me a dull thud, not a soft one like it would have on dirt. That floor was still there.

- - - -

ON MY HANDS AND KNEES, I started brushing the dirt away. I found a ring bolted into the wood floor. And then a crack that went out from there on both sides, then turned around to define a square – and some sort of hinges. A hidden trap door.

Backing up, I braced with bent legs over its top and pulled on that ring.

It moved. A little more grunting and strain, and the creaking hinges gave up their hold under protest. When the dim light slipped into that dark opening, I could make out a ladder nailed into beams below that opening.

A quick trip to bring my duffel over allowed me to get flashlight out and shine it down. There were dark boxes down there and a whitish shape on the topmost one.

When I got down there, I saw that the boxes were metal, and the whitish shape was yet another photo, inside a dust-covered plastic envelope. Opening that envelope up, I saw it was a photo of me and my uncle, both smiling, in front of the house. On the photo's back were written the words: “Jud, take care of the place. Love, Your Uncle Ephrem.”

Of course my eyes got moist at that. Happier days.

When I opened the metal box underneath, I found it heavy – with gold and silver coins. That stack of metal boxes was maybe four foot high, and I figured this was a small fortune here – maybe a big fortune. Like some plot twist in one of the books he used to write.

And then I stopped, cold. “Take care of the place.” That's what my uncle had written on that photo.

If I told anyone of this, I'd just get interference in my life. Reporters, tax people, jealous relatives, shysters, salesmen. Everyone would want part of that fortune. And I felt my anger rise.

No.

Uncle Chaz was clear. “Take care of the place.” Nobody needed to know where I got the money. Sell the coins as I needed supplies to fix up the place. Bit by bit. This wasn't anyone else's business but mine.

Dwayne probably knew where in town or nearby where I could go to sell a few coins now and then out of “my own personal coin collection” with no questions asked.

III

- - - -

“WE GOT HIM. FOUND HIM from that security video. That night in the bar.”

My eyebrow raised, but not my hopes. Something in the tone of his voice. “But...”

The thick-shoulder man shrugged, and held out a video disc in a plastic sleeve. “He didn't make it. Here's all we got out of him.”

I took the disc and tapped it against my knuckle. “Did you kill him? I told you he wasn't to be harmed.”

Another shrug. The big man shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “No, boss. He got slapped up, sure, but no bones broke, no nothin' besides some bruises. Not even bleeding.”

“But he died. Against what I asked...”

“Boss, no – we hardly touched him. Look at the video – it's all there.”

I looked at those massive hands as the big man wrung them in worry.

Then I slipped the disc out of its holder and into the slot of my player.

That video was a little tilted, and lighting was too contrasty – pasty-white face against a near-dark background. A puffy eye, swollen lip. Skinny fellow.

“No, I'm telling you the truth. I can get it back, really. But she doesn't know. She's innocent.”

“Who's she?”

“You wouldn't know her...”

Someone stomps on his foot.

“Dana – her name is Dana – but she doesn't know, she's just where I leave things sometimes...”

Someone off screen: “Hit him again, his memory isn't clear yet.”

Whack. His face was shoved out of the video frame by the slap, only a shoulder showed now.

Someone straightened him up. “So now, where do we find it?”

A cough, spit. Another red mark on his cheek. “Honest. I can get it. She's got it on her...”

At that the eyes on the blanched face goes wide – then squint in pain. He goes rigid with his chin up. Then slumps.

Someone's hands come into the frame and feels his pulse. “He's gone – what did you do?!?”

The video goes into static and freezes on that last static-filled frame.

I turned to my big-shouldered visitor. “And?”

“We had him checked out – it was a heart attack. But that didn't make sense. He wasn't even 30. Doc said he had some heart condition.”

I muttered to no one in particular. “Damned vaccines.”

Then I got my thoughts together. “Get over to her apartment. It's something she's wears. Find her. FIND IT!”

After the big man left, I replayed the bar video in my mind. One of our boys had left his big phone on the table. And the guy he was with looked around nervously, then pocketed the phone. He looked around again and then scooted out of that booth.

We'd already gotten the phone back from a pawn shop nearby.

But the SIM card was missing. And on that card were numbers that didn't need to get out. And photos. And videos.

And the only guy who knew exactly where he hid that card was now dead.

IV

- - - -

DWAYNE STOPPED HIS pickup in front of the closed steel gate that allowed access onto the property.

Every thing between the house and that gate was short-cropped grass, except what was inside the fence around the house and the fence around the small pool in front of it.

“Mind the cow paddies when you walk out there. Stick to the cow paths might be your best option. But even those can hold surprises.” Dwayne was trying to be helpful.

But my nose turned up at the mention of cow manure.

Here I was, facing the house that was already rented for me for three months, by someone I didn't know and never met.

Dwayne said it was his idea for the owner – someone named Jud – to get some extra income enough to do the rest of the repairs on the barn and supplement his government pension.

That was Jud over there by the truck in the corner of that barn, wiping his hands on a rag. The hood to an old pickup truck was up and the tarp still over the cab and the rest of it. Next to that side of the barn, under an open-sided lean-to roof, was a travel trailer that looked to be recently cleaned up and in good shape. Evidently, Jud lived in that trailer.

Jud just stood there. And seemed to be staring at us over that unkempt beard of his. Just kept wiping his hands as he stared.

Dwayne waved. I didn't. Neither did Jud. He only nodded at his neighbor.

“OK, then. We're just up the road if you need anything.”

Then Dwayne got back in his truck and backed up the road to the first “T” where he could turn and then started over to his place. Dust followed him as he picked up speed on that gravel road.

When I turned back to look at the barn, Jud was nowhere in sight.

I shrugged, shouldered into my backpack, and figured out how to unchain the gate to get in. Dwayne had cautioned me to re-close any gate I opened to keep the cows where they needed to be. So I obeyed. And got it mostly back the way I found it. At least no cow could get out that way.

So then, I carefully made my way through the one meandering path that went closest to the house. It went by a small person-sized wooden gate in the wooden fence around the house. That fence and house had a new coat of paint applied to them recently. While the vegetable and flower garden out front was overgrown, waist high, the porch with its steps seemed in good shape.

The front door to the house opened noiselessly into an immaculate living room. To the left, there was a free-standing wood stove with a mantle on the wall behind it. From there, filled bookshelves lined the walls and pushed behind a mission-style couch, with two matching easy chairs on each end, facing that wood stove. The dining area with it's wood table and six sturdy chairs filled the right side of that front room. A doorway that opened into a hall was opposite the front door.

Down that hallway I found a small bedroom on the left, kitchen on the right. At the end of the hallway on the right was a bathroom, with a narrow pantry in between it and the kitchen. A door at the far end of the hall seemed to open out to a back porch. Neat. Efficient.

Everything was immaculate. Simple, but clean. And anything visible was placed in a precise position in relation to the edge of a counter or something else.

The kitchen cabinets held stacks of real china inside them. Simple, plain, utilitarian. Most of the cupboards were empty, beyond the needed glasses and pitchers to serve a sitting of six people around that dining table. Drawers held stainless-ware cutlery and cooking utensils.

The pots were more numerous sizes, but the largest looked to be big enough to cook stew for an army. And that was stretching what I knew about cooking – which mostly went back to watching my own mother and her sisters or other adult relatives while they cooked in the various houses I'd grown up in. Before moving out on my own some years ago. Ancient history, it seemed at times.

A closet in the bedroom was built in, with a small dressing table to one side of it. They were all bare. That table was built into the wall, and had an antique mirror above it, big enough to see your body down to your waist unless you stood way back. An odd mix of home-built rustic and antique craftsmanship.

Wow, sitting on the bed found it comfy. It had a clean throw over a thick comforter. Clean sheets below that.

About then, exhaustion caught up with me. Sleep had been fitful on that rocking, jerking bus. And I could now feel exactly what the doctor had said would happen. I needed to catch up – badly. Months worth.

Once my removed boots hit the floor, I laid down and was asleep before I knew just how soft that pillow was.

- - - -

THE SKY WAS DARK WHEN I woke. Through the bedroom window, I saw it was due to the gathering clouds. Probably an oncoming storm.

I found it interesting to see all those clouds above the trees. Like living in Central Park or something. Except without the traffic noises, sirens, and quiet muggers waiting for unwary victims.

Here, the biggest danger seemed to be fresh cow-pies.

The quiet was un-nerving. Made my ears ring for lack of anything in them like I was used to. Since the day was warmish, I slid up a couple of windows and propped open the front door to let air through the outer screen door there. At least that gave me the sounds of calling birds, chirping squirrels, and the occasional bawling calf.

My stomach rumbled. So I recovered my backpack from where I'd dropped it, and pulled out the rest of that sandwich from it. And munched as I kept inspecting the house.

This building was huge compared to my old apartment. I could almost get lost in it, probably.

I refilled the water bottles with tap water – after running it a bit to let the rust clear. This house had set awhile, and what I knew about old houses started to come back to me. Not since I was a kid...

And now my hand tremors were come-and-go, instead of regular. So maybe that doctor was right. He told me once that they'd be like that, and eventually would go away – if I stayed off the caffeine drinks and sugar.

Sure, I was looking around for some secretly hidden cache of these, as I still craved them. But had to settle for more of that thick meat and cheese sandwich to get those cravings to shut up. And lots of water.

I did check out that deep freeze on the porch – and yes it was stocked with every cut of beef I could think of. Not that I was expert. And without any Internet here, I was soon back in the living room and pulling what cookbooks there were off those tall shelves and reading up on cooking instructions.

That mission-style furniture was a bit stiff in the cushions, but the wide arm rests gave me room for that sandwich and a water bottle while I read. The easy chair was wide and deep enough for me to pull my legs up underneath me.

The lack of a schedule made me feel more comfy, too. Soon I was on the couch. I only got up once, to get a throw and a pillow from the bed. Those pictures of food made my mouth water, and left me planning how to cook those meals. Which in turn had me building a mental list of ingredients and spices that I'd somehow have to get.

My eyes soon got heavy again. Scootching down below that throw on the couch with the soft pillow under my head didn't help.

- - - -

THE STORM WOKE ME. The wind had come up and I could feel it through the front door as the wind would burst through the house in large waves.

I got up to push that big door shut again and went back to close those windows I'd opened earlier.

But the shakes had returned. My empty water bottle and sandwich plastic wrap had fallen to the floor. And nothing but more water to drink when I craved the familiar taste of a tall Red Bull or something like it.

I couldn't tell if the shakes were from being cold or withdrawals. I knew it was warm, but I got my leather jacket on anyway. Nothing seemed to help.

It wasn't just my hands this time. It was my arms, and my shoulders – everything was shuddering.

Through the blowing rain outside, I thought I saw things moving. The old paned windows in the front door distorted seeing things clearly out there.

My arms wrapped around me, but the shaking never quit.

To see better if someone or something was out there, I opened the door – and nearly cracked my knuckles on it as it pushed hard against my hand from the wind.

I stepped out and remembered to pull it shut behind me – with more than a little effort.

The rain was blowing up onto the porch. Warm rain. Driven by wind.

About then, I felt it like a warm shower. Somehow it was salve to my nerves. My jacket and jeans kept the sting of it off most my skin. And those dull needles on my face, feet, and hands were welcome stimulation.

So I walked out, barefoot through the yard, through the open yard gate and stood just beyond it in the grassy ground just there. I tilted my face up to the sky and it felt refreshing. Soon, I took the tight rubber band off my hair and let it all fall, long and black, across my shoulders – rinsing it out with the rain.

Just the wind, rain, and me. Beyond the lights of the house, beyond any fence.

I was feeling something new. I think they call it freedom. And the shakes came back at that thought, into whole body spasms.

Unable to keep my balance, I simply sat. Huddled with my knees up against my chest. Siting there in the now-muddy grass.

Feeling somehow reborn – turning my shut eyes up into the rain with relief. The shivering became softer, distant.

And even time drifted away...

V

- - - -

MY PHONE RANG.

“OK, boss. We tore apart her apartment and found nothing there or in any of her clothes or jewelry. But that tip you got proved right. We found a bus that left the same day for a town with that name. Overhead video showed that goth chick was being hustled onto the bus. By some guy in a work coat and ball cap. While all that get-up hid his face.

“And we talked nice to the driver. He said some guy told him about the girl. Said she was asleep, had been partying too hard. Showed the driver her ticket, said that he was going to put her on the bus and slipped him a Benjamin to look out for her. Driver said he was wearing a brown rancher's work coat, and dark blue ball cap.

“The guy also told that driver she was going home, to people who would care for her.”

I nodded, but he couldn't see that over the phone. “OK, then. Why haven't you left already?”

The voice continued. “We have. Just passed the New York City limits.”

I sighed. “Then keep me posted.”

VI

- - - -

I DON'T LIKE STORMS. Nowadays, anyway. Storms meant lightning and thunder, which sometimes sounded like artillery and mortar fire. Which meant running for cover, and wondering who I'd have to patch up. And it meant pain from being blown up and anger at everything that brought these memories back to me. Fire, pain, hurt, bleeding, friends calling, screaming. All lightning and thunder.

At least I had this trailer with a barn roof over it. The barn roof took the rain noise off the trailer roof, and the thin insulation of the trailer walls took the edge off the sound.

But still, I learned to put everything away, everything in cabinets. Anything that could be picked up and thrown at non-existent ghost-enemies. Roll myself in blankets, especially around my head and arms so I couldn't lash out at anything.

Put myself in the center of that big bed, pull the pillows over my eyes and ears and wait it out. Tense.

Tonight, at least, it was only just rain.

But something got my attention. Lights were shining in from outside the trailer windows. House lights.

She had turned them all on and left them that way.

What time was it? My divers watch said nearly midnight.

Why was she up at this hour?

The side trailer windows, especially the one above that big bed in the trailer were leaking her light into my one safe place. Like the house, the curtains in this trailer were rotted, so I'd taken them all down. Dust catchers, anyway. Louvered windows didn't seal tight, much. But at least I always had air, anyway.

Light, though, was something else.

With darkness, I could get back to sleep after my nightmares left. Or get up and cook an early breakfast.

But this light...

I had to get up and look.

The windblown rain was pelting against the trailer window and door on that side. The barn roof only covered so much, anyway.

Through them, I could see something was out there, in front of that house.

Something small, like maybe a calf.

Those cows should be under the trees in weather like this. So its momma might be calling for that calf, wondering. Or – it was hurt.

I can't let something hurt stay out in this.

As I shrugged into my chore coat and stomped into my boots, I was considering my options. I do have some straw bales out there in the barn that I could bring it back to. And my medic bag had gauze and wraps in it. Maybe I could warm up some milk-replacer...

First was getting that calf out of the rain.

I tugged on my ball cap, pulled up that collar, and went out into it.

- - - -

THAT FORM WASN'T A calf, it was that fool girl.

She was crouched there, holding on to her knees, eyes shut and looking up past me into the rain.

Damned fool. She'd catch her death out here.

Nothing I said, and no amount of shaking woke her out of whatever that was.

So I picked her up, set her over my shoulders in a fireman's carry. That left one hand free to get the front door open. At least those lights let me see my soggy path back inside.

Once I got her in there, I dropped her onto the couch.

Nothing seemed broken. But she was a bit bluish.

So I did what I had to do.

The throw wasn't going to be enough. Extra blankets in the bedroom closet came out.

Her clothes were sopping wet. But she had to get warmed up right now, gradually. I was the nearest heat source that she had to keep her from going worse. That wasn't going to happen on my watch. Keep her safe. Bring everyone back in one piece.

So I stripped her down to her wet underwear, and threw the blankets over the back of the couch. Then stripped down to my own briefs and climbed right next to her. Only body-to-body warmth was going to keep her from getting pneumonia.

Pulling the blankets down over us, and pulling her into a spoon against my front, I kept as much of my body touching hers as I could.

It wasn't caring what opinion she had of all this, or would think of when she woke up.

We don't leave anyone behind. Everyone gets out safe.

I could start feeling her warm up in front of me. I rubbed that arm on top with my free one, and then held her ice-cold fingers from both hands in my own big mitts.

Once we both warmed up a bit, I cat-napped with the lights on.

The rain and wind just kept up outside.

VII

- - - -

I FELT LIKE HEAVEN. Daylight was streaming in through the bedroom windows, which were on the west. So it had been morning for a while now.

But my head was covered in soft sheets and thick comforters, on top of dreamy-soft pillows underneath. So I refused to do anything but doze.

A jolt of memory forced my eyes open.

It wasn't raining anymore.

And I was out in it last night.

So how did I...”

I moved my arm and it brushed up against my chest. Soft cotton there. Wait. Below that was some soft kind of underwear that wasn't my typical panties. Wide elastic, and loose, thick cotton. I raise up and peeked.

Shockers.

That was a big man's t-shirt and mens briefs.

I got my head free of the sheets and looked around. None of my clothes were in sight. The rest of the room was its typical bare-clean-or-else.

Yes, a double-check said that I had somehow been stripped down and re-dressed in a man's underthings, then put to bed here.

Wait – that smell. Soap. I'd been given a sponge bath, too.

What!?!

As much as I didn't want to, I pulled back the covers and swung my feet down. And looked down. Yup, all that extra space between my skin and these man-type clothes was because I didn't have as much to fill them.

I pulled off the throw that was on top of that bed to wrap around me and found it was the one I'd been using last night on that couch.

Oh – Jud must have done that.

What kind of psycho does those weird things? But no, I checked. I'd only been cleaned up, not anything else. Like I was some medical case study.

But why dress me up, why not just cover me and leave me on the bed?

Still, I hadn't been that comfortable in years. Lots of years. And never waking up by myself in the middle of a big bed. No one I had to care for, nowhere I had to be.

And wearing someone else's comfortable underwear was, well, comfortable.

Yes, that was it.

Someone had cared for me.

I padded into the kitchen and discovered he'd also put some white socks on my feet.

He. Meaning Jud, probably. Weird. Fetish? No. Everything was white or gray and very clean.

Out in that rain, I'd blacked out. I only remembered sitting down and wanting the tremors to quit, welcoming the warm rain washing over my face, over everything.

Now I was here. Dry, clean, safe.

And hungry again.

I started opening kitchen cabinets with my one free hand that wasn't holding that comforter.

Yes, I thought I'd seen it – coffee.

And there's an old-fashioned pot. The type you put on a stove burner. Basket gets the grounds, markings on the side said how much water to add. Pilot light lit the burner. Not as easy as popping a top, and maybe caffeine was against the doctor's orders, but hey – it didn't have sugar and additives...

Soon, the smell and sound of old-fashioned percolated coffee started filling the room.

What else?

Oh – “someone” had brought me a dozen eggs and left them in the fridge.

Right. Frying pan, vegetable oil would have to do. Salt, pepper.

Ooh I was really hungry. For some good food. Three eggs would make a dent in that.

It needed two hands to cook. There was a tiny table in the kitchen over to the side, with two chairs, so one of those two got the throw draped over it.

Once I got the eggs cooked, I slid them onto a plate, then I sat down in the other chair to enjoy myself. Found some honey for the coffee, and a bottle of cow's milk in a quart Mason jar on that refrigerator's top shelf, towards its back. Even a thin line of cream on top.

Wow. Real food. Made me smile.

No toast and jam, but that was just dessert. Anyway, I was full. Probably the first time I'd had breakfast or that much breakfast in years.

Then my smile widened to a grin. This was a really funny scene.

Other than being a dress-up doll for a medical – guy – student, I was feeling something like, well – cared for.

That was a long lost feeling.

And the shakes were gone.

I brushed a strand of long black hair out of my face and tucked it behind an ear.

Oh – I must look a fright. Hope I could find a brush or comb in that bathroom...

Coffee done, I stood up, put my dish and fork into the sink and turned off the burner to that coffee pot.

The bathroom door was a few steps further on, opposite the doorway into the kitchen. Wide open, I saw all of my clothes I'd worn last night hung up or draped over the shower rod. All still soaking wet.

Jacket, jeans, undies – everything I arrived with (except my boots) were all dripping, all accounted for.

Most of the rainwater off them wound up in the tub, but some was on the floor tile and soaked up by the bath mat outside it. Mostly.

All still way too wet to wear.

Knotting up that t-shirt helped. But I couldn't stand around the house all day wearing just this. Plus, I was never one of those sleep-all-day-models.

Jud.

It was time to talk to my mysterious landlord.

My image nodded with me in the mirror over the sink.

And I turned that way.

That hair had to be handled first, though.

- - - -

AT LEAST THERE WAS no one to see me but the cows – and they wisely held their comments and kept their eyes on the grass.

My boots were a bit tight over those cotton socks, and the throw across my shoulders and held across my front seemed to protect my modesty – what was left of it.

I found Jud working on that truck again, leaning across its front grill, adjusting something deep inside.

I got up close enough for him to hear me, but still kept room enough to get away if he was weird. Like homeless people on New York sidewalks.

Standing there, he eventually felt me studying him, and turned his head. That scraggly beard reminded me more than a little of why I was standing this far back.

“Hey. How are you feeling today?” Once he started talking, his body stood up and twisted around to where his face was heading already. Not that his bum wasn't worth looking at, but his t-shirt fit much better across his broad, muscle-bound shoulders than my narrow ones.

What was I thinking?!? “Uh, better.”

He was wiping his hands off on a nearby rag, which made the cords on his forearms move and biceps flex. “Fever at all?”

“Oh, uh. Not that I know of.” At least he quit moving his arms. So I could focus on his face. Something resembling a quiet smile crossed that mouth above his hairy chin for a second. And I blushed.

He took a step forward.

I took a step back.

He looked puzzled. “Hey – I don't bite. I just wanted to feel your forehead – you look flushed.”

I stood there and let him come just that close. Besides the engine oil and dust, he smelled of something, well, different.

Then he stood back. “No, you're fine. Got breakfast, I hope.”

I nodded. “Yup. Thanks for the eggs and milk. And coffee.”

He just nodded back.

And we stood there for awhile.

“But why did you undress me?”

“Avoiding hypothermia. Why were you sitting out in the rain?”

“Blacked out.”

He raised an eyebrow.

I looked away. “Just something that's been happening more and more. Why my doctor recommended something like this.”

“This farm?”

“No, better diet, fresh air, sunshine. And no, I don't know how I got to your place. Other than your neighbor meeting me at the bus.”

“Your rent is paid up three months in advance, plus security deposit.”

“I wouldn't know about that.”

“Someone wants you to improve your health.”

“Looks like.” I looked up at his eyes again. Blue, direct, and soft – like he cared somehow. But his mouth was a thin line – like he was holding back some secret.

- - - -

WE STOOD THERE FOR awhile. I was clutching that throw around me. He had his own arms across his broad chest.

Looking me up and down. “Oh – wait.”

I was startled as he quick-walked around and into his trailer, and wondered what he was doing. So I eyed my exit. This guy was in shape. Out-running him wasn't an option.

Just as quick he returned with a pair of dungarees. Clean, a bit frayed in places. “You're going to need these until your own pants dry. I'll rig up that drying line for when you get back from town.”

The jeans were inviting me to take them, just within my reach. So I did.

And started to put them on, but that would take two hands. While he was watching.

I just stood there, that throw held together in one hand and jeans in the other - then raised one of my eyebrows.

After a stand-off for a few seconds, his eyebrows went up and a surprised look came over him. Maybe even a blush under that scraggly beard. “Oh.”

He turned around and I dropped the throw to get my boots and legs through the pant legs. They were big enough in the legs that my boots slipped right through, so I didn't have to hop any.

Once I zipped up and buttoned them, and rolled up the cuffs, I cleared my throat.

He turned back around. “Oh, that's probably more comfortable.”

I shrugged, holding onto them with one hand. While our waist sizes were similar, I didn't want those jeans dragging down the mens briefs I was wearing on their way down, too.

He noticed my stance, then started unbuckling his own belt. I was about to step back and but he had the whole belt off before I could move.

“Now, I'm just going to see what notches I should poke in this for you – so just stand there.”

He quickly stepped forward and cinched it around my waist. And pinched the spot where they crossed. His finger briefly touching my bare stomach at my waist. I didn't flinch.

Stepping back, he leaned up against the truck front end and pulled out a Swiss army knife. Extracting a pointed blade at it's middle, he twisted it back and forth through the leather, just in front of his thumb-hold. When it looked big enough, he closed that blade and returned it to his pocket.

Testing the belt buckle in that new notch, he then unbuckled it and handed it back to me.

I took it, threaded it through the belt loops. Now those pants cinched up snug, with the rest of the belt threaded back through the belt loops and almost to my back again.

Patting the belt, I deadpanned, “Well, that's a good fit. So – thanks.”

Then he tugged his own pants up, which I smiled at – briefly.

He just nodded. Any smile was under that scruffy mustache, if their was one.

He glanced and then looked over my head, focusing behind me. “That would be your ride.”

At that, an old pickup rattled to a stop in front of the gate, that one which brought me here yesterday. A small dust cloud came behind it. It was Dwayne. And what looked like a smaller female version sitting next to him.

“My ride?”

“Into town. Shopping.”

I only raised an eyebrow. Waiting for the other shoe.

“He was by earlier this morning. Said something about you needing some supplies. Seems someone sent him some money, figuring you got here with only what you wore. Plus there aren't any spices or whatnot in that house.”

“Well, thanks to your 'generosity', I guess I'd better get in to town and find something that fits me better than 'your size'.”

He looked me over again. “Oh – right. Wait a sec.”

Another fast-walk to the trailer, in and back.

He held out a flannel shirt.

I took it, put it on, tied up the tails in front, and fastened a couple of buttons in between that knot and the collar, then rolled up the sleeves and tucked it in what was leftover in back.

The sight was almost comical. Pulling my long hair out from under the collar made me look a little more like a girl than a guy. A little.

I almost swore I could see a smile that time. His eyes grew crow's feet, at least.

He looked over my shoulder. “Well, I shouldn't keep them waiting...”

I just nodded. “You know, you're a wonder. And if you'd trim that hair on your face once in awhile, maybe I'd wonder less.”

At that I turned.

After a few steps, I stopped. And turned my head slightly. “Oh – and for last night – I owe you one.”

He just stood there. So I started up the front yard toward the truck.

This morning couldn't have started much weirder.

VIII

- - - -

WHEN SHE FIRST SHOWED up, in all that Goth outfit and makeup, I thought we were in for trouble.

Of course, all the rain washed that off. And probably ruined anything she wore, so maybe she'd come back from town wearing something more friendly-looking.

I scratched my chin. You know, maybe...

Right then, I didn't give it more thought. I got some clean thin rope that would have to do until I could get proper clothes lines. A couple lengths between the old posts would have to do for now. Her arrival was a surprise. I still had some punch-list items left on the to-do list for that house. Clothes line wasn't anywhere near the top.

But now it was done – sorta. I don't like sorta's. Like one of the old Master Chiefs explained it to me. “You want to work to be lazy. Fix something so you never have to come back to it again – or at least any time soon.”

And clean, ship-shape – that helped me stay on an even keel.

Once I got the house done, I was going to start on the barn next. Almost as much work. Just not all the fine detail that a house took.

I still remembered what it looked like when I was a kid. And so I fixed it up all clean and neat just to honor their memory.

That travel trailer had come to the farm long after I had last visited it as a child. And after cleaning out the dust, I couldn't find any sign that the mice or wasps had been anywhere near the inside of it. Some wiring was chewed slightly, but everything worked with a simple battery hookup. Scrubbing it top to bottom restored it pretty well. The propane tanks were nearly full, so I just added a solar panel on the trailer's south-facing front to keep the battery charged, this gave me a little off-grid house of my own. All set to go – nowhere.

I didn't intend on going anywhere. I was done with orders and schedules and all those now-you're-spoze-to's. Had enough. More than enough.

And the more I worked here on the house, the more I relaxed.

One day Dwayne came by to check on me again – something he'd promised my Uncle, he said. And he suggested now that the house was close to being finished, maybe I should rent it out to make some more spending income. He said he'd run the ad for me. And get me a nice tenant.

All I had to do is to wrap up getting it ready and keep working on the rest of the place.

She just arrived a bit before I was anywhere near done.

I wasn't really ready. And thought I'd have time to get that truck running before then so I wouldn't have to depend on Dwayne to get me to town.

But the girl stepped out of his truck one day, about a week after Dwayne handed me a check for four-month's worth of rent in advance.

Knowing she was coming, Dwayne already topped up the chest freezer out back with meat cuts, and I meanwhile cleaned my stuff out of its kitchen to start using the trailer's setup.

When he told me to expect my first paying customer soon, I tried to give him some of that rent money to pay for other food stuffs, but he politely refused with that smile of his – and just told me to just get as much done on that punch list of mine as I could. So I used the money for other supplies and tools. Like fencing supplies, replacing the house's water heater, and needed truck parts.

Then she showed up just a few days later, ready or not.

- - - -

I COULD TELL BY THE way she walked and the color of her skin that she wasn't healthy. Too pale, too scrawny. Nervous.

That night, she was sitting out in the rain. Trying to catch pneumonia or something.

My corpsman training kicked in and I prevented that. “Everyone out, as safe and as whole as possible.”

I wasn't worried about what she thought of getting warmed up that way. I didn't have an option. It didn't matter that I hardly slept that night myself. No one is going to get sick and die under my watch.

So I got her warm, then got her clean and dressed warmly. She wound up in the middle of that bed so she wouldn't roll out by accident. A pillow on each side as well as under her head. Logical use of resources. In the hospitals, that was what the bed rails were for. Me, I just tucked her in carefully. Turned her on her right side, so she breathed easier when she slept.

Then I got back to my trailer and fell to sleep myself. First real good sleep I'd had here. And dreamed of that young face of hers, without all that makeup. An angel, maybe. But that was my dreams.

She and I – we both have our issues. She'll be here for three months, get her deposit back, which would get her back to New York or wherever. And then I'd tell Dwayne to not get any more renters.

Trim my beard, she said. Huh.

- - - -

I WAS SCRATCHING IT absent-mindedly when she rolled up in Dwayne's pickup.

So I got up to the gate to help with the many boxes and packages she had. Between the groceries and the duds she had to get, that must have been quite a plus in the town's accounts.

She did a second-look at me when she got out. Since the t-shirt and jeans were the same (I found another belt, of course) she had to be looking at that trim I'd given myself. Just regulation, is all. She did give me a wry smile, though.

Of course, I gave her a look-over myself. In jeans and t-shirt that fit, she cleaned up pretty good. Now I could see that figure of hers. Which reminded me of what was under there – not very corpsman-like.

Soon, I was too busy making trips back and forth, getting those supplies unloaded and into the house, to think of anything else.

Dwayne and his wife both had their little smiles between each other and at me while I was working that way. But they weren't going to say anything in relation to how much I looked like my uncle or anything like that, because they were polite and considerate. And knew a smile said more than words – especially when some otherwise innocent words set me off.

Anyway, I got everything inside. Food went onto the small table in the kitchen. Clothes and whatnot went into the hallway outside the bedroom. Canned goods went onto the back porch and I stacked them orderly on the floor by type, with labels facing out, next to the stack of cases of green beens I'd laid in when I first got there.

She was busy putting them away.

And I learned her name was Dana. Dwayne's wife told me. And also said she'd send a pie over with Dwayne real soon – to not keep it to myself. The wink meant something else – that I didn't register at the time.

After I got everything loaded in, I went back to my other jobs.

The stock tanks were nearly full now – that was one project I was waiting for the rain to check for settling. The concrete underneath them would keep the cows from digging the ground out again – which makes them lean away from the barn, unable to catch and keep the water inside.

So that was checked off my long barn repair to-do list.

The truck was in worse shape than I thought. And I really just wanted to get it started so I could get it into town and checked out by a mechanic. Inspected and licensed. Maybe replace the tires, as they'd sat since at least seven years once my uncle went missing. So might be too dry to trust on any long trip.

The mice had been at work on the wiring. So I had some work to do. Long work of tracing down and replacing one wire at a time. Not like buying a wiring harness pre-made. This was old-style. Simpler. But time consuming. And it still wouldn't start. That was the most frustrating. I could always short out the starter to test it, but I needed to be in the cab and out here at the same time. Or run back and forth. Tedious.

That rain had showed where the barn roof leaked, and from its door, I could see some roof repairs I needed to do on the house as soon as I possibly could. I got a piece of the old asphalt roof tile and asked Dwayne if he could get a square of these to match, the next time he was in – as close as possible color anyway. And that was one of the things I'd unloaded from the back of his truck once we'd gotten all the food and her new wardrobe into the house.

Plus he also brought some paint and hooks for that front porch swinging bench. And a new clothes line.

All so I could keep getting my to-do lists done.

That would tend to keep my mind off things. And my renter.

IX

- - - -

“BOSS?”

The voice on the phone was one I expected. “You got progress?”

“Some – we spotted her in town. Wasn't sure, but the hair and weird boots pretty much matched. So we put a tag on the old truck they came in.”

“And...?”

“We tailed them out into the farms nearby. Had to stay way back because it's all open out there. Signal was clear, though.”

“So...?”

A pause and a swallow on the other end. “Until someone took that tag off and made it quit somehow. Like maybe stomped on it.”

I drummed the desktop with my fingers. “Tell me your new plan.”

“We've got it down to a couple of square miles now. And we're working a grid on it.”

I leaned forward. “You know your time is running out. Your time. Yours.”

“Right, boss.”

“You better get her found Right Now.”

“Yes, boss. Right now.”

I hung up the phone. This wasn't like finding something in the Big City. It should be simpler to find that girl and get whatever is on her with that little SIM card in it. She'd just better not be in on this. Plenty of places out there where a missing body won't be found for months.

X

- - - -

WITH THAT NEW ROPE for a clothes line, I did a load of laundry and hung it all out to dry.

That included everything except that leather jacket that were hung or draped in the bathroom. And all the man-things Jud had “loaned” me.

I didn't care much what it looked like outside. His undies and mine mixed. Everyone out here that saw it wasn't going to think twice. And the cows didn't care, and seemed to keep their distance from all those flapping clothing.

Of course, my jacket was shot to hell. I found where it had been glued instead of stitched. Plus it was all stiff now. It was obvious where the die faded. Figures. The tag said “dry clean only”, nothing about wearing it in a downpour.

But Dwayne's wife insisted on my getting a chore coat. She helped outfit me especially so I'd be comfortable while I was here. I didn't want any dresses, so she didn't push. But the farm and ranch store had a big enough selection that I could find most things in my size. Their bras weren't any thing more than practical, for the most part. And I was more of a sports bra type of gal anyway.

At least I found some women's panties my size. (No, there weren't any dinky thongs or sillinesses.) Hell, you had to even ask to see their bras – all still in their packaging. Modest, these country folks.

The best thing was that now I could try out some of those cookbook recipes. Dwayne's wife just had me push the small cart in their small grocery store while she loaded it up with everything for a small kitchen that I needed. Once I told her all I had was a pound of coffee in the cupboards, she just smiled and motioned for me to follow her.

It was several boxes of things. And a few boxes of lettuce, onions, peppers, cans of tomatoes, and a few other things. Rice, Pancake mix, biscuit mix, butter, coconut oil, rolls of paper towels, garbage bags...

We looked like we were outfitting an army. But Jud had to carry them all in. And he never complained, nor made a look at me at all. (Well, I did catch him once...)

Still, it was surprising to see how he'd trimmed that thing on his jaws into something that was a closer approximation of a beard. I tried not to stare at him. Or the holes in that thin t-shirt he was wearing. Because I could almost count the muscles through them.

Anyway, it took awhile to get everything put away.

I noticed how he liked to organize everything. We were going to need some shelves for canned goods storage – that for now he so precisely set out on that porch. It looked like there used to be some on the walls, according to how the paint was faded. But somehow, I guessed that my arrival had interrupted things. And the porch was the only screen door on that house that wasn't pristine. That back porch looked like it was scraped, but still needed to be repainted. So shelving was probably another item Jud had on some list.

It wasn't like him to leave anything other than completely ship-shape.

I did get the idea that these renovations were helping him somehow.

Now Dwayne had told me he used to be a Navy corpsman, which explained the way he helped me after he found me outside. And the mopped floor and wet couch cushions turned up to dry in the living room. How did Dwayne describe it, “Everyone got back safe and (mostly) in one piece.”

That was his job. Two tours overseas. And then he was let go early on a medical discharge. After something happened.

Dwayne never asked him what that was. But told me how good it was to have someone take care of that place. And how much Jud reminded him of his uncle.

But Dwayne just paused at that point and looked out. Like he had to clear his eyes or something.

Anyway, at the time he was telling me this, he was also helping me find some good chore boots in that farm and ranch store, so we got back to that.

- - - -

THAT EVENING, ALL DRESSED in my new jeans and a plaid flannel shirt over a gray cotton pocket t-shirt, I was settled into one of the easy chairs and reading. A throw lay over my lap. I'd opened another of the many illustrated books about gardening from those tall shelves in the living room – when the lights went out.

That's when I first noticed the lightning.

It was a warm night, again. But no rain yet. So I went out on the porch to just watch the natural fireworks. One after another after another. Thunder in between, but not all that loud – at first. I'd never seen anything like it in the cities. Because all that was way up there, above the towering buildings.

This was right next to us. Sure a lot of those buildings were shorter than these trees. But trees are – like, porous. They aren't thick and solid like a building. They bend and move in the wind. Leaves get torn off. Limbs sometimes crack.

Soon this lightning was so close, you could almost feel the tiny hairs stand on your neck.

It was captivating, enthralling. And probably quite dangerous to be out there. I was safe under this porch. The nearby trees and barn were higher than the house. So I stayed on the porch with that throw over my shoulders. No lights anywhere besides those in the sky.

Then I heard something. Someone was out there, shouting.

“Out of ammo here. You got any? Dan – is that you Dan? Got any ammo?

“Me neither. You just stay down Dan. I'm coming your way.

“Dan? You keep talking to me Dan! You keep talking – talk me in, Dan.”

I recognized that voice. It was Jud. And when the flashes hit, he'd duck down. Sometimes crawl over the ground. He was holding something. It was a long stick or maybe a sledge hammer handle.

He'd crawl, and yell, and then get up and move until the next lighting flash or thunder, and then he'd drop down again.

It looked like something out of a war movie.

And that Dan guy wasn't answering. Because it was only Jud out there.

Then I remembered the stories my grandmother told me. About how she helped her husband, my granddad, after he came back from Vietnam.

The next instant, I was running through that fence outside that house, past the weed-ridden garden. I crouched down by that gate, and left it swung open.

I listened for Jud to talk again.

“Dan? Dan!?! DAN!!”

I called back, “Jud – Jay-DEE – it's me, Dan. Over here!”

“Dan – you OK?”

“Jud, I can't move. You gotta come help me...”

“Dan – stay put I'm coming.”

And we kept yelling back and forth until he suddenly saw me – as I saw him – in a lightning flash.

Then he was right next to me. He felt my arms and legs to check that nothing was broken.

And he jumped at every lighting flash.

“We're pinned down, Dan. We're going to have to wait this one out.”

“Jud, back behind us through that opening, I've got some better cover back there.”

“Can you make it?”

“If you help me Jud. If you help me I think I can stand to make it.”

“Lean on me, Dan.” Jud got up into a crouch and stuck an arm for me to hold on.

I put that arm around my shoulders and grabbed onto his belt.

Jud stood and I rose with him, then we staggered through that gate and onto the porch – seeing only by lightning flash.

At last, we were able to crawl onto the porch and face out toward the garden and out through the front yard. The pool out there reflected that lightning.

Dan laid behind me, with his arm over me and that sledge handle in his hand like the rifle he thought it was.

- - - -

MORNING FOUND US THERE, Jud spooned behind me and sleeping calmly. His arm, that wood handle, and the throw were over both of us. And the storm was long over.

I just lay there for him, waiting for him to awaken.

XI

- - - -

WHEN I WOKE UP, I WAS sore – but warm and cozy on my front side. A now-familiar warmth. Because I somehow wound up spooning, fully-clothed, behind Dana on the front porch. Only a throw over us. And somehow I was holding a sledge-hammer handle in my hand, connected to that arm over the top of her.

As I stirred, so did Dana.

She rolled over onto her back, still nestled against me. “'Morning, Mr. Beard.”

I looked at her face, which was trying to be serious, but her twinkling eyes gave her away. So she broke out in a sweet smile. The first I'd seen on her face. Funny, it was the first time I noticed she had freckles. Cute.

So I gave her a smile back. But then sat up. “I don't know how this happened...” The wood handle clattered onto the porch and rolled a bit.

Dana pulled the throw down to keep that warmth from escaping. “You had an episode last night with all that lightning and thunder. I just helped you get over it. It was your idea to spoon. Not that I minded – but, if you're wondering, nothing happened.”

I nodded. “Of course not. My 'episodes' are usually only a lot of yelling.”

She stretched her outside arm back behind her head and looked at me with her dark hazel eyes. “Yeah, there was that. And you were running around out there until I called you in.”

“Called me in? Wait. No.” I stood up and stepped over her reclined form on that porch. “I've – uh – got to get to my chores.” But then just stood there, looking down at her feminine form that the thin throw only accented.

She held up her arm, the one that had been next to me moments before. “Help a lady up?”

So I took it as gently as I could and pulled her up – but not close enough to wind up next to me.

Her smile vanished. “Well, OK then. I guess that makes us even.”

I frowned a bit. “Yeah, well, OK then.” And turned to leave.

When I got through the open garden gate, I had to turn to shut it. And looked up, back to the porch.

She was still standing there. But her serious look had softened.

And then she pulled the throw closer around before she turned and went inside. The door didn't slam, at least.

I thought that she almost smiled as she turned.

That's one curious girl, I thought. But I needed to get to work. Maybe it would come back to me what I did last night, later. Those scenes usually did – with all the regret of knowing I was dreaming out loud and had no real control over what I did or said.

I could still feel her warmth on my front.

But fortunately, that was fading. I had things to do. I know I did. Probably have to remind myself with that written list.

Somehow, the scent of her hair seemed to come back on the wind, and pushed all thoughts out of my mind again.

I shook my head to clear it. Well, that truck still needs work, I remember that much. Probably because I had my hand on its cold fender now.

- - - -

WHEN I CAME OUT FOR a break, after my lunch, I looked over the house roof and saw that those two nights of storms had taken any loose shingles somewhere else.

So I got out my hammer and nail pouch, plus the long ladder. I took up a good number of the roof shingles out of that square over my shoulder and started up. A pail of roof cement was hanging from the hammer in my hammer loop of my dungarees.

XII

- - - -

ANOTHER LUXURIOUS NIGHT in that big double bed all to myself. No alarm clock. Plenty of dozing off before I got bored enough to get up.

And that first trip to the bathroom across the hall made me realize we'd forgotten something in town. Of course, I was wearing one of my new my-sized t-shirts, but other than undies, I was bare. And I could see right into Jud's travel trailer over by the barn.

That thought made me cross my arms in front of my chest to cover my evident excitement. Something about the cooler air in that bathroom, I think.

But when I looked around for something to cover that window with, I only found a large bath towel – and nothing to hang it on. At least that towel covered my situation as I clutched it to me.

However, the window was high and short, so I saw that he could not even see my waist, even if he was looking. Meaning showers would be tricky, but who was I kidding. He'd already seen me naked.

But maybe that was different. That was Jud the corpsman. Any Jud who peeped out those windows of his would be Jud the voyeur.

I checked all the windows on that side of his trailer – none of them had curtains. And he was tall, so...

I shut my eyes tight and turned my head. Now who was being the voyeur?

I sat down and did my duty, wrapped that towel over my shoulder to then brush my teeth – all without looking out through that clear window. And then made my way back to get fully-dressed and then to the kitchen.

Of course, the view was no better here. Yes, the window above the stove was also shorter than, say, the living room window on that side.

Jud was outside doing something with some big open-topped tanks that were almost full of water on the west side of that barn. Pushing some wood triangles underneath a greenish board he was using to raise the front side of one of them.

And I was taken by how well his arm and back muscles moved under the work he was doing. And almost counted the holes in his t-shirt.

My stomach rumbled at that point, and I was reminded about my breakfast.

By the time I got out the fixings for fried eggs, Jud had moved to another job. And my entertainment for the rest of the morning was going to have to be something less – less educational.

- - - -

AFTER A SIMPLE FRIED egg breakfast, I got adventurous and prepared some meatballs for dinner, setting them into the new slow-cooker we brought back to the farm. Apparently never had one before, according to Dwayne and his wife.

I also got a big gallon glass jug out and set some solar tea out to cook on the front porch, which faced the south. The day was sunny, so that would be ready soon. Dwayne's wife and I had a discussion about how I needed to eat super-healthy while all that gunk worked its way out of my system, so she picked out what she called “hippie” tea for me – and it had a lot of vitamin C, plus it smelled great.

Thinking that through, I filled up the new ice trays with water and got them into the freezer compartment of that refrigerator. (Yes, I forget to tell you that I had to wash out all these new cooking things before I used them. So my elbows were sore after all that washing and drying. We also remembered to get some flour sacking for hand towels. And some regular towels for the bathroom, since they were conspicuously absent.)

My lunch was a proper pan-fried cheese burger. Real grass-fed beef from a single cow is so much tastier than the “mystery meat” I'd been eating so long. And it had real cheese that I cut thin and melted with the lid on, just after I turned down the flame under that big cast-iron skillet. Two burgers worth.

Real leaf lettuce and some home-grown tomatoes from a local farmer who the grocer knew by name. On whole wheat flat-bread instead of those fake white buns. Doc told me to eat as least-processed and whole food as possible.

Whole cow's milk washed it all down.

Of course, after that first burger, I had to put the other into the refrigerator as left-overs. My tummy just couldn't hold any more.

All that done, I went out on my porch to check on the tea, which was a dark orange now.

But I heard some hammering on the roof and walked out of the garden to see what was up – literally.

Jud was up there, nailing on new shingles. No shirt on and sweat soaking the waistband of his jeans.

So I stayed to watch for awhile.

He was just patching, it seemed. He'd pull off any partial shingle and worry up the any nails just above that strip, slide in the new piece, and then re-nail, pulling the nails from his left side to nail down with his strong right arm. He also had a low bucket sitting nearby of some sort of black goop to spread over the top of his new nails.

There was a grace to his movement. And I was reminded of the sculptures I'd studied in art classes. Only this was in 3-D, sweaty, and glistening. I'd never seen real art like this. My old “boyfriend” was thin and wiry and pasty white, like I used to be (although I'd got a swim suit so I could work on that one. The Doc did say “sunshine” in his prescription. If I could just work up the patience to “lay out”...)

But Jud was giving me an idea that maybe I could do something with that weed-driven old garden out front...

The idea of the garden, plus the heat from standing in the sun there, made me realize how thirsty I was getting. And looking at how the sweat was running off Jud's back gave me another idea. One that made me smile.

- - - -

SOON, I WAS BACK WITH a tall plastic tumbler, saved back from our trip to town and washed up. Now it was filled with iced tea with real ice cubes. Only about three-quarters filled.

And since Jud was busy, I just climbed right up his ladder and whistled to get his attention.

He looked around and was surprised. And didn't move. I just held up the tumbler for him. And saw the hint of a smile show up as his face relaxed.

The trouble began when he took it out of my hand.

Because I turned slightly around and looked down. Then froze.

I clutched the top of that ladder and pulled my chest close to it. My face was so close to the roof I could feel the heat off it, smelled the asphalt and tar. My hands were hot, almost burning on the aluminum ladder I was holding too tightly. My rear end was sticking out, and that made the ladder sway slightly if I moved at all.

My eyes were shut and I was frozen in place.

XIII

- - - -

WHEN I FINISHED DOWNING half of that tea, I looked back to thank Dana for the glass.

And found her clutching to the top of that ladder like she was going to fall off. She was trembling again – but not from drugs in her system. This was fear, maybe close to terror. Her knuckles were white, as was her face, while her eyes were tight and watering.

So I tossed the tumbler with the rest of its contents toward the soft grass below.

“Dana.”

Some muffled response.

I loosened my nail pouch and laid it on the roof flat, so it wouldn't skid down. And carefully pulled my hammer out of it's loop, hooking it's claw-end on a nearby vent pipe.

“Dana – don't move.”

She shook her head slightly, And that little motion on the ladder made her grip tighter to it.

“Dana – I'm going to explain what you need to do next. I can help you get back down, but you're going to have to help me help you. OK?”

A slight nod. Very slight.

“OK – now, I'm coming to you, so you'll feel that through the roof. But you're still safe right where you are if you don't react to that feeling.”

She gave another slight nod. Eyes tight shut.

I was close enough to her now, but the pitch of this roof meant my reaching down could make me lose my own balance. So I sat down with my legs straddling her white-knuckled hands on each side. “Give me your right hand and when you feel my hand take yours, just hold on – don't pull on it. Just hold my hand.”

She slowly loosened her white fingers and then gradually started extending it out toward my own left. When I took it, I simply held it. “Now I'm going to pull that arm toward me, OK?”

Another nod.

I pulled it up straight, which brought her fingers under edge of my thigh.

“This one is safe with me. Now lean forward more and extend that left one toward me.”

She did, and again her hand was palm-down under my thigh on the other side. This also pulled her front down against the ladder, which also pulled the rest of her right next to that ladder as well.

“Next, you're going to lay flat on the roof with your head away from the sun – just for a few minutes. But go ahead and keep your eyes shut”

She did as I asked. I knew it wasn't pleasant, but was more reassuring to feel something solid.

“OK, now start breathing deeply. This will help you relax. Take several deep breaths.”

I slid her hands right under my thighs and moved my grip to her wrists.

She had relaxed with her breathing and concentrating on that. Her eyes were still clenched shut.

“Better?”

Another nod.

“OK, now just keep breathing deeply. If you don't move at all, I can help you finish getting back down that ladder. You're almost half-way there.

“I'm going to cross over your back and climb down behind you. This sounds trickier than it is. I'm going to do the hard work. You just have to keep your hands, arms, and head right where they are – and keep focused on your deep breathing, regardless of anything else. OK?”

A nod.

“Promise you'll only pay attention to that? Because if you don't, I'll be the one that's in danger, not you.”

Another nod. And her furrowed forehead topped a concerned look on her face around her closed eyes..

“OK, here we go. Keep your hands flat on the roof, I'm going to turn around and get behind you...”

She was pretty brave, that one, other than her fear of heights.

Soon I was right behind her and a step or two lower. My face was now close to her back where she could feel me – and her long pony-tailed black hair replaced the smell of that roof I'd had in my nose most of the morning. I could feel the warmth of her body through mine, my bare chest was against her lower back, which was moist from her own nervous sweat, as well as my own work sweat.

“You're doing good, Dana. Now, keep your face on that roof until your hands are each back on the ladder sides at their top.

“OK, good girl. Now, lift up and turn your head back just enough so you are clear of the ladder again.”

She did so. And was a lot more relaxed. Calmer.

“OK. That's my girl. I'm going to be right behind you and we are going to start moving down. I'm going to slide down your back and take a step. Then you slide down between me and this ladder and move a step down on your own. I'll be right here all the time.”

“Good girl. Now it's your turn.”

“Then mine.”

“Good, Dana. Now it's your's...”

And once I was on the ground I held onto her belted waist, with fingers inside that waistband until she was on the ground.

I pulled her one step back with me, where she finally let go of that ladder to quickly turn and put her arms around my neck, shuddering with relief.

I held her and stroked her back with long movements, from her neck to her waist, to help her let that tension release.

At last the tremors stopped. But she didn't move away.

After a few minutes, I did.

And looked down into her teary eyes. Above a quiet smile.

'Thanks, Jud.”

“You're very welcome.”

She just stood there and looked at me with her arms around my neck.

But I pushed her back a bit. “OK, now you can get you over that fear, but we probably should start back with step stools, OK?

She nodded, and dropped her hands to her side. One of them came back up to wipe her eyes clear again.

Then I noticed the plastic tumbler on the grass. So I picked it up and gave it to her. “Great tea. Hit the spot. Thanks.”

Her face was still white from the experience. “Jud – would you mind just sitting on the porch steps with me for while? I've got a whole jug of sun tea there and more ice cubes inside...”

I nodded. And she took my hand. I held onto it to reassure her. At least that was my thought at the time – no, really.

XIV

- - - -

OUR DUSTY BLACK FOUR-door sedan was barely crawling down the road. Again.

This time we turned into that dead-end road to get a closer look-see.

For all anyone knew, we were just some lost tourists.

We even put some maps out on the dash as a sort of “just in case” camouflage to back up our story.

Two people over there. Both youngish. One was a girl with long black hair. The other was a tall guy with shoulders talking to her.

So we got some photos.

And carefully backed up that narrow dead-end road back to the “T” so we could turn around.

It was one of those days where we wished we had an old pickup like everyone else out here in this nowheres-ville.

That girl had to be her. Not very many young women with long black hair out here.

Just lucky for us we took the hunch to go down this road all the way this time. And there they were.

Our own lives depended on having a hunch that panned out.

We couldn't run that cross-check way out here. But we'd know soon enough...

XV

- - - -

I GOT RESTLESS AFTER that. With all this good food, I had a lot more energy. And this house got small.

Watching Jud work on things was fine, and drawing him and the landscapes around here helped (although I limited myself to drawing him from memory and what I could see through the house windows.) He did see me outside with my pad getting the textures of the wooden fence posts, and how the front gate hung, as well as the reflections of clouds on the spring-fed pool in front. Even a sketch of the watering tank below the fence around it, which I thought was a marvel of engineering.

Of course, I also tried to sketch the young calves – as long as their momma's would let me close. So cute when they were just laying there, trying to hide in the tall grasses.

After that ladder scene, Jud got to work on the swinging bench that used to hang on that long front porch. When I first came, it was sitting in a corner, out of the way. Now he brought up a pair of sawhorses that got it off the ground. And he proceeded to scrape the peeling paint, then sand them smooth. Finally, he pulled out some exterior stain and gave it a new coat of brown. After it dried for a couple of days, he hung it up again. First, he replaced the old ceiling hooks with longer ones that screwed in deeper.

When he was done, it looked nice, inviting.

And since we had finished off that “ladder day” by sitting on the porch steps to drink our tea while I settled my nerves down again, this was a good idea. I could almost see my enjoying a summer breeze there. And maybe – well, it was long enough to stretch out in...

But while he was doing that, I got the itch to do something myself. I didn't want to bother him, but I felt like getting outside. The sun was shining and I wanted to help fix up the place.

That tall mass of weeds out front caught my eye. All that sunshine glinted off the tallest dead stalks – that was my second clue.

I stalked into the bedroom and soon had stripped down to the buff. Pulling open a small drawer of that antique chest of drawers, I now had that new swim suit in my hand. But that looked a bit skimpy. I was holding them in front of me while I looked in that half-height mirror above the rustic vanity in the bedroom. With the lights and what sun came in the side window, I could see myself as still mostly pasty white. The thin strings that were supposed to hold those bigger pieces of material in place didn't cover much.

But I slipped into them anyway. And found I'd filled out some with all this high-protein diet. The top fit more snugly around my little girls than before. Maybe my hips were a bit more curvy...

But I put a pair of shorts on over the bottom, because – well, I'd get scratched from the weeds. Yes, and just the tennis shoes instead of chore boots. Maybe I'd have to put down a hand towel to protect my knees...

A colorful scrunchy around my pony tail, a bit lower and not so tight, and I was set.

Jud was working away, standing on that short step ladder to get the height of that bench just right. I walked past him and started on pulling the dead stalks out.

Then I'd decide what to do with all that grass later.

“Wait. Stop.” Jud was standing almost beside me. A frown on his face. “You are going to wreck it if you keep going like that.”

He took my hand and pulled me up the steps, across the porch, through that front door and then stood me in front of the table. Both hands on my shoulders. “Just stand there.”

Then he turned and went directly to a tall shelf in the far corner, reached toward its top, to a certain place on those long shelves.

Returning, he set a much book-marked and dog-eared illustrated book onto the table and lay it open.

“Here.” It was a picture of a gorgeous flower garden, with butterflies floating around the blooms.

“That right half of the garden is for butterflies. It's planted in perennials that bloom all through the year, but particularly when the butterflies need them.”

He closed the book, keeping his finger in that spot, so I could read the title: “Butterfly Gardens for Your Home”.

Opening it back up, I started tracing my fingers over the flowers.

He just stood back and watched me. I was amazed at that book.

Jud told me, “My aunt loved to see the butterflies grow and mature, so she studied up on them and the plants they needed. She used to sit on that swinging bench with my uncle and they'd just watch.”

I looked up at him, and thought I saw a little more moisture in his eyes than usual.

He noticed me looking at him and frowned. Then he walked right out the front door like something was on fire outside.

Nothing was, so maybe he was just remembering something. I returned my attention to the book, as it was fascinating. So I kept turning the pages over and finding more plants and started seeing the seasons, the planning, and all that went into caring for a butterfly garden.

Jud came back in with a new straw hat in his hands. He laid it upside down on top of that book. Inside it were a pair of small goatskin gloves. “Dwayne thought you'd need these later, even though you didn't get them yourself.”

The gloves fit nicely, and the hat was about my size – snug with my thick hair to hold it, plus a drawstring that came under my chin. That thin loop came down in front, and nearly touched my chest. Jud was appraising this new look and gave it a little wry smile on one side of his face – which I could see between his trimmed beard and mustache now.

“Oh – wait.” Jud then pulled out a plastic container of sun-tan lotion. “Turn around.”

I did as he asked, Then he pushed my pony tail off my back, then squirted some of that lotion into his hand and started slathering it across my shoulders and down my back. “If you're going to be out in that sun at this time of the day, you're going to burn yourself good and get laid up with – well, you could hurt for weeks.”

The touch of his hand was brusque, his work more like he was spreading liniment on a horse than a girl's body. I gasped at one particularly rough pass that almost pushed me off balance. “Hey!”

He stopped. “Oh, sorry. I guess I'm not used to... I mean, I just wanted...“

I turned around and pushed my straw hat up to look at him, right into his blue eyes. “No, I'm OK now. Thanks.”

And I held out my hand for the bottle. “I think I can get the rest myself.”

He looked down at my front, and paused a second, then looked at his hand and brought the bottle up to place into mine. And then turned quickly away.

But not before I saw that blush under his beard.

Before he got out the door, I spoke up. “Jud. Thanks. Really. I like it when you look after me.”

He stopped, but didn't turn back. And his neck now looked redder. “OK”.

As he went through the door, I called after him, “Hey that beard looks better...”

I had to smile. I remembered boys who got embarrassed like that from grade school. There was a real person in there, who was showing up more and more these days.

- - - -

THE NEXT FEW DAYS WERE hot. Hot.

Jud kept fiddling with the truck in the early morning while it was cool, but the southern exposure heated up that metal quickly so that by lunch-time anything on the truck was too hot to touch.

I took his example and only worked on the garden in the mornings. And sketched or read books in the hottest part of the day.

Jud's advice was working. I never burned, but I was getting some color. Mirrors don't lie.

I also had another problem in the kitchen, beyond the fact that I couldn't always see him from that kitchen window while I was cooking.

Somehow, he was making me forget about my ex-boyfriend until that pain was now just a distant memory.

Jud was working on and off to level those stock-watering tanks again. Somehow trying to get them just right. Being filled full with water wasn't making it any easier.

I now noticed he had more than a few scars on his back. The worn t-shirts he wore mostly covered them, except sometimes when the holes lined up.

To me, they weren't a disfigurement, they were more a art form. His flaws made him more – well, perfect. More than once, I wanted interrupt my cooking to bring out a sketch pad and start drawing him again.

No, other than being distracted, my problem in my kitchen was that my recipes made too much. My refrigerator was filling up with leftovers.

And I could see him while he ate inside his trailer.

Always the same place. Always the same setting. And usually hamburger or steak. With green beans. Just green beans. Must be boring.

At least that explained the stack of cases of those cans by deep freezer.

But then I got an idea. My cookbooks gave me the instructions I needed.

Perfect. All that cream I had from the whole milk – some bacon bits, a little seasoning, and voilà! I tasted and ate a few bites. Delicious creamed beans “leftovers” now.

Pouring them into a ceramic bowl, I topped it with aluminum foil. Then got out that second cheeseburger, and a hamburger steak. Those two also covered with foil. And, my two hands full, I managed to bum-push the doors open, and since the front door was already open, I just had to walk backward through the front screen door then turn to go down the front steps and out through the garden area.

- - - -

IT DIDN'T TAKE MUCH more to get over to his travel trailer door. Jud wasn't around anywhere I could tell, so I got it open while I this time managed to balance all that in one hand against my front.

Once in, I was again amazed at how clean and precise everything was. I thought about leaving it on his table, but the green beans were still warm, so I left them on his unlit stove burners. Like trivets, I guess.

Funny how those cooking terms come back to you once you get started...

A noise behind me made me turn.

And I almost bumped into Jud, who was standing in the doorway. Frowning.

“Oh, hi, Mr. Beard! Thought you wouldn't mind some of my home-cooked leftovers.”

I tried to get out of his way, and decided going deeper into trailer and standing there was better than sitting on his big bed.

Jud looked at me and then looked at my foil-covered pans. “You didn't need to – you shouldn't have...”

I smiled, and pulled up the wrap over the green beans. The smell filled the trailer. And melted his frown into a quiet smile of delight.

“Oh. Wow. Smells so good.”

“You got a fork? It tastes even better.”

He reached into a narrow drawer between the sink and the stove – one I didn't see – and pulled out a fork that looked tiny in his big hands.

That look on his mostly-closed eyes when he got a taste was worth everything.

“Ooh – you just cooked this.” He turned to me and looked me over. “I underestimated you. You draw good and cook better.”

“You saw my – drawings?” My face reddened.

He smiled, like he enjoyed making me blush. “They were on the table when I got you that garden book. I haven't seen anatomy like that since the medical books I had to study.”

I got over myself somewhat, and realized he had just complimented me – three times. Then I blushed again. Partly because I couldn't move with out going through him. And his broad front was only inches from my own.

As my gaze went down his pecs toward his abs, he looked down as well, and then took a couple of steps back.

I spoke first. “That's OK, Jud. My refrigerator is filling up with more like this if you'd like some more, later.”

His mouth was open, eyes wide. This whole scene had caught him off-guard.

But this time, he didn't just go back into being gruff again. Just stood there.

I reached up slowly and touched his beard. Then looked at his hair on each side. “And I also can help you trim all that if you want. I do pretty good with scissors, too.”

At that, he backed up again. Until his calves pushed against the double-bed behind him. And that combination of sensations got a real blush on him that I was certain of.

“OK, Jud. Hope you like all this. I gotta get back to my, uh, drawing or cooking or something. See ya.”

And I was out the door before I also started blushing again. That trailer was so tiny, that there was only room to do two things in it – sleeping and eating.

Maybe one other thing, but I don't think either of us were ready for that...

XVI

- - - -

THE OTHER REASON I got those stock tanks leveled out beside the barn was to enjoy what I wasn't able to do since Dana moved in.

Funny, now I was thinking of her by name now.

Anyway, I used to wash up in that spring-fed pool out front. It tended to rinse off the sweat and everything. And when I was doing the house's water line repairs, it was my substitute for a bath or shower. It also felt good just lay there and soak.

Now that she was here, I'd had to do without, mostly. Sponge baths, mostly. I had a shower in the back of this trailer, but it was meant to be used with an RV hookup. Maybe I could run a hose from the house, but then I'd still be using propane to heat it.

Come winter, I'd want to figure something else by then.

About the time her rent was up...

That thought gave me a kinda cloudy feeling. Weird.

I mean, she cleaned up good. And without all that goth makeup – or any makeup – she was, well, attractive all on her own.

That thought brought other responses, so I again focused on the stock tanks. My beard itched. So did some other parts.

So I changed into some shorts, grabbed a towel and went over the few steps to test that water. It had been in the sun all afternoon, and we were just before sunset now. The water was warmish, but not really hot.

A nail sticking out accepted the towel and I eased myself in.

Heaven.

Sinking to my neck, and leaving my arms out, I was so relaxed now. The world seemed to slip away.

My thoughts were on whether I should put my feet up on one side – when I heard a noise.

I opened one eye toward it, and sat right up.

Dana was standing there in her bikini top and a pair of short shorts.

“What are you...?” I started to ask.

“Oh, I'm sorry to startle you. I saw you from the kitchen and thought you had a really good idea – it being so hot these last few days.”

I could only nod at her.

“Mind if I join you? Maybe we could talk a bit.”

I looked pointedly at the second stock tank. “No, I mean, yes. Plenty of room in these two tanks.”

So she started forward and slipped right into the one I was sitting in.

Not exactly what I expected. I made as much room as I could for her, having to sit back up.

The water was clear. And my legs were to each side with hers in between.

Then she started to sink down like I was before, so the water covered everything up to her chin. Her knees came up like mine were before. Her feet nearly touched my thighs. With two people in here now, the water level had risen almost to the rim.

And her bare feet were soon grazing the bottom of my thighs just beneath the lower edge of my shorts – as she moved those small feet around down there.

I practically didn't know what to do next.

She smiled, her eyes all but shut. Looking at me through those thin slits between her eyelashes. “Ooh, this is so good. So good.”

I just sat there. She'd taken up all the spare space in that tank.

She opened one eye. “You know, maybe I should have brought those scissors. But that would leave hair all through this water, so – no.”

I just sat there and started looking around for other options.

“Jud, do those scars hurt?”

“What?”

“I took some courses in massage and they said that scars sometimes hurt for years after they heal.”

“Yeah, they do, sometimes. Like an itch I can't scratch. Soaking in a hot bath helps.”

“Oh – that makes sense then. I like a good soaking, too.”

Then she sat up, both eyes open wide above a grin. “Hey, would you like me to massage your back? Not the scars, just the long muscles in between. It might help. We don't have a scrub brush here, but maybe my fingers could get some of those itches.”

Then she sat up, which brought the water level down to the middle of her bikini top.

I forced my eyes up to hers. “So – uh, what did you want me to do?”

“Just turn around.” She pulled up her own knees to make room for me. That gave me another view to avoid looking at.

I pulled up my own knees and turned in what was now a much smaller stock tank. Roomy for one, but two...

She pulled my waist to get me to push back toward her. I could feel her thighs on each side of my hips. And tried to relax from all this skin contact.

Soon, she was quietly rubbing spots she knew I couldn't reach. And I just closed my eyes and then did relax. It had been years since I'd had someone working on those muscles like the nurses back at the rehab hospital.

And then, I found myself almost losing track of time and space itself.

About, then, she pulled herself forward against my back to rub the areas near the scars on my front. Pecs, then abs...

My shorts were suddenly too tight.

Which condition made my eyes open wide. “Uh, excuse me.”

I pulled myself forward and got out of that tank as quickly as I could without touching her.

Then I pulled that towel off its nail to wrap around my waist.

She was shocked at first, then frowned, then glowered.

“You. You... YOU – Jerk! Just like Jason! All you men only have one thing in mind. Get what you want and leave! Well, I have something for you.”

And she held up her middle finger of one hand at me, and then both of them.

Splashing, she climbed quickly out of the tank herself and stomped her way to the house. Dripping and shaking water everywhere along the way.

I just stood there, both hands holding that towel across my front, everything dripping onto the grass below.

Whatever I had done to deserve that – I really had no clue.

- - - -

I DON'T KNOW IF DWAYNE'S wife was telepathic or prescient or what.

I already dried off and changed into some clean jeans and t-shirt, and then trimmed my face and hair some more – as best I could with what I had. All while I was still caught up in what Dana had said, and how she reacted – to my getting out of that watering tank.

Somehow, I had to go and apologize for whatever I did that upset her. Some how, some way.

And I heard Dwayne's truck creak and rumble to a stop in front of that farm gate.

Stomping into my boots, slinging on a ball cap, I went up to see what he needed.

By the time I got there, he was already next to the front gate and holding some tempered glass dish in his hands. Aluminum foil covered its top, and a foil-covered pie pan on top of that. A thick dish cloth wrapped around the bottom of the glass dish to the small glass handles extending from each side. He rested that stack of hot food dishes on one of the gate rungs.

“She baked this for you. The wife figured you could use a hot meal about now. Ham, cheese, bacon, and I don't know what else in there. But she's got another one for us – and I'm kinda wanting to get back to mine since I had to smell this all the way over. So here.”

He picked it up and shoved it through the gate at me. Smiling.

I relieved him of the weight. “Wow, it does smell good. And there's so much of it. Tell her thanks for me.”

Dwayne nodded. “Sure thing. Oh – she said maybe you wanted to share it while it was still hot.” He winked at me – not that he had to, I already got his point. And grinned in return.

He turned smoothly and fired that truck up, then backed down the narrow road again to where he could turn around at the junction.

I turned and walked directly to the house. Apology in hand.

XVII

- - - -

I HEARD A BUMP AT THE front door, like someone softly kicked its screen. And when I swung open the hallway door into the living room, I saw through the front door panes that Jud was holding something in both his hands.

I got over the remaining distance as fast as I could, and swung it open.

“Hi-ya, Dana. I brought you a present, courtesy of Dwayne's wife.”

The smells gave me a clue. My nose and stomach prompted my response. “Come in, come in! Just set it on the table.”

Once he set the dish down on it's cloth, he waved his fingers to cool them off. “It's still hot,” he explained, looking at my reaction.

I had to smile. He was so cute. And felt a bit more sorry about flipping him off that way. “Let me get some plates and another cloth for that warm pie pan. Oh, come on in to the kitchen and you can bring the tea back with you.”

He managed the tea pitcher and two tumblers while I also grabbed plates, some napkins, and cutlery. Plus snagging another dish towel to put the hot pie pan on.

Once we were at the table, I nodded for him to sit while I pulled a chair around so we could both use that corner.

Soon we had that meaty lasagna piled on our plates and had no time for anything but eating.

I finished first, and got some heavy cream for that pie. Returning, I saw he was watching me with his deep blue eyes again, taking in every detail. “Sorry I don't have ice cream, but the Doc said to lay off sugar.”

Jud flashed a smile. “And following his advice has been real good for you.”

I grinned in return, as I sat, repressing a blush.

Then I noticed. And leaned over to touch his chin. He'd gotten it down to a mere stubble.

“Wow, Jud. That makes you look – good.”

He grinned back. “My scissor skills aren't what they should be, so maybe I should take you up on that offer – if it's still open.”

I chuckled. “Jud – I'm sorry about that water tank scene earlier. I shouldn't have barged in on you.”

He shook his head no. “Dana, it was OK. It's just that your touch felt, well, a little too good.”

I waited for what else he wanted to say.

“Besides, you've put up with a lot from me and so – I mean – well, it's good to have this meal with you.”

I chuckled again. And put my hand out to touch his. “Jud, I've given you a lot to deal with from me, and all you've done is care for me the entire time I've been here. So if anyone needs to apologize, it's probably me.”

He shrugged. “Well, I care for a lot of things around this place. Especially because you're the only other person on this place besides me – and I think you deserve to be cared for. Better than I've shown you.”

I just smiled and shook my head. Apologies and complements had run their course. So I dished out the pie for each of us before it cooled any more.

- - - -

AT LAST, WE WERE BOTH sitting back in our wood chairs at that corner of the long table. Hardly a full helping was left on that lasagna, and only a couple of slices of pie. The tea pitcher was almost drained.

Neither of us wanted to move.

“Dana?”

“Yes?”

“Who's Jason?”

“A jerk. A big jerk.”

“Would you tell me your story with him?”

“Only if you will tell me the story of those scars when I'm done.”

“Deal.”

So I told him about that skinny, pasty-white goth who would come by when it suited him and took my body and food for granted, leaving whenever he got enough of both. And would sneak in and out ever since, when I wasn't there.

I told Jud how Jason promised me the world, but never delivered. How I was expecting a marriage proposal at every visit, but then found him in the mall one day, all cozy with a buxom blond. And I mean buxom.

They didn't even see me get close enough to overhear what they were talking about – in between his kissing and her giggles - that he had her agreeing to let him sleep over that weekend. Again.

Which explained why I hadn't seen him for a month at that point, but expecting his call every day.

“So that jerk was two-timing me. And for what? A little more padding up topside? I mean, my girls are no small potatoes...”

Jud listened carefully, and then grinned at the last comment. “No, you're right. You are more than adequate in that department.”

I laughed. “What a gal has to do for a compliment around here! No, I mean, thanks. I didn't mean to walk you into a corner.”

Jud chuckled himself. “I think that between rainstorms and ladders and stock tanks, that was the nicest corner I've been in with you so far.”

And the blush I felt started somewhere around my chin and with up to my hair line and down deep below the t-shirt I was wearing.

Jud just chuckled again.

“OK, Jud. Cornered my self that time. I'm going to refill this pitcher. Help me clean these dishes and plates off the table and we'll get to your story next.”

XVIII

- - - -

WE WOUND UP ON THE couch after that. Each of us on one end of it, where we could put our tumbler of tea on each of its arms. And that kept a respectable distance between us.

I told Dana my own story of that second tour of duty.

I was “borrowed” from my own unit to go with some Marines on a rescue mission. Some high mucky-muck was being held hostage and was in bad medical shape. They were supposed to sneak in and get him back. I was to keep him and them alive meanwhile.

But the whole thing went south. We never got there. It was an ambush.

Lots of guys got hit that day. We got a lot of cover fire laid down so we could get everyone out again. After we carried the last guy into the copter, I noticed we had left my medical bag off his stretcher – but it had more dressings we'd need. So I went back out to get it.

On my way back to the copter, someone set off an IED or maybe it was a fragging mortar that hit near me on my way back to the copter.

All I knew is that I was on the deck of that copter and they were using my own dressings on me.

- - - -

WE SAT QUIET FOR A bit. That was a lot to take in, even for me. I could see that whole scene unroll in front of me, again.

Dana spoke after a bit, which was a welcome interruption. “Can I ask who was this 'Dan” fellow?”

I shrugged. “The guy I saved, who then saved my own life. He was hit pretty bad, but I splinted up his leg on top of the gauze and he was able to hobble out. I had a tourniquet on that one, but he said he could make it without having to be carried. Tough bastard. Really.

“And when I found myself in that copter, looking up at him, he was right by me. Telling me to keep talking to him, because he needed me to help him save that leg of his.

“Which just gave me a reason to stay focused on something other than how bad I hurt.

“So they put us in beds side by side at the field hospital. At his insistence.

“And over months of surgeries and rehab, we grew close. Like brothers.

“But I was shipped back while he was shipped out, again.

“I was assigned some light duty somewhere.

“But then I heard he didn't come back from his third tour.

“And some dam somewhere in my mind broke. Anything would set me off after that. At anyone.

“A few too many pissed-off high and mucky-mucks later, and I was discharged.

“Some civilian lawyer came by before I left and told me of my inheritance, and so I wound up here.”

I looked up at her attentive face. “Helluva way to meet you, I guess.”

Dana just sat there, for a bit more. Taking all this in. “But you haven't ever gone off at me.”

I smiled. “No, you were in my care. You might have seen a wrench fly out from where I was working on that pickup. Probably after a loud yell. But I then have to go find it in that grass every time, which makes its own discipline.

“So, yes, it's been good to have you here. Quite good.”

She smiled and scooted forward across that couch to pat my hand. She was close now.

“Likewise.”

She held that position for awhile. Until the room was too quiet. And her lips looked too inviting.

I pulled back and stood, finally. “Well, I guess I'd better get going. I can take that dish back...”

She jumped up and smiled. “No, you can't. I'm going to wash and dry all these dishes and then that casserole dish can go back to Dwayne's wife once they're all clean.”

“Well at least let me dry for you.”

Her smile turned into a wide grin. “OK, deal. I wash, you dry. Maybe I'll even let you put away, since you know where everything goes...”

And I did leave, later that night. Once the dishes were done.

I was tempted to keep talking with her, but thought that I'd be tempted to stay overnight if I did. But I wasn't any “Jason”, so I just stayed quiet.

When I went to leave, Dana also made me take some more leftovers, which helped both of us.

XIX

- - - -

“BOSS, YEAH, IT'S ME – hey, we got a photo of her. She's with some other guy out there. Just her and him on a dead-end road. You should have it now.”

I looked on my phone, and zoomed in on her. Black hair, long. “You sure?”

“Yeah boss, we matched it up with other photos from her work.”

I scrolled the photo sideways. “Who's that guy?”

“Some vet. A medic. Medical discharge. He inherited the farm.”

“Not Infantry or Special Forces?”

“No, just regular Navy.”

“Any connection to her?”

“Not that we can find. She's just staying there.”

“Got any more photo's”

“No, boss. There's no cover there.”

“How are you going to get the package back, then?”

“Tomorrow night. We'll go there after dark, when we won't be noticed.”

I hung up. So he knew I wasn't pleased. That data was way too sketchy, but it was all we'd found in a couple of weeks.

I almost called my own boss with the news. And decided against it. If things went south, I'd need deniability.

XX

- - - -

I CAME OUT TO SEE JUD the next morning. And brought a gift.

I found a pair of small glass vases in one of the high cupboards. Some of the butterfly blossoms were out now, so I picked some and put a selection of them into that vase, and placed it in his trailer on that dinette table. In the exact center of that table.

A shadow covered the door.

“Oh, hi-ya Jud. I didn't see you around. Look – I brought you something to pretty up the place.”

Jud just looked at where I pointed. Then smiled. “Here, let me show you where that goes.” He picked it up gently and pushed it into a clip on the wall above where the table top joined it. “That's so you can take this trailer down the road and keep that vase safe when you hit a bump.”

He was close to me. In fact, he had his nearest arm around my waist, like that clip around the vase. And I was looking into his blue eyes not too far from my own face.

At that, he blushed slightly and straightened up, but moved the arm slowly back. And I started missing that warmth almost immediately.

“Oh, Dana?”

“Yes?”

“If you're not busy, I could use your help.”

“Doing what?”

“Helping me start this truck. What I need now is someone to push the floor starter switch and give it some gas. While I stay under the hood and tweak things.”

I smiled. “Sure thing. Anything. Just tell me what you want me to do.”

- - - -

I WAS IN THAT PICKUP cab, and just enough dust was brushed off of it so I could see through the windows. All while the hood was up, so I couldn't really see much of Jud.

Jud would yell “OK, Now.” and I'd push down on that floor starter.

Finally, we got it to turn over and catch – then he yelled “Give it some gas.”

And then it roared to life.

I let off the gas almost at once, and it died again.

He had me hit it again, and I could see through that small crack left between the hood and the frame – where he took a small screw driver in under there to adjust something. The engine sped up and slowed down, but I didn't have to push the gas pedal, as he was adjusting something in there.

Finally he stood back. “OK, now give it just a little gas.”

And it was purring like a kitten now. Revving up when I pushed it and humming along with my foot was off.

Jud was grinning now. And motioned me to come out of the cab – like he wanted to show me something.

When I got around that hood, he jumped out and grabbed me into a big hug. Then kissed me on the side of the face.

Of course, I did him one better. The next time he went in that close, I moved my face onto something softer under that kiss – my lips.

Surprised at first, he moved back. But I hugged him closer and pressed my body against him, so he came back in for another round.

Happy days.

- - - -

I CLEANED UP THE HOUSE that afternoon, putting things away where Jud liked them. But I set out a pair of plates with cutlery and napkins on that corner.

And put that other vase in the exact center of that dinning table with some butterfly blossoms in it.

It looked a bit frail there. Not secure like the one in his trailer.

Then an idea hit me. That leather bracelet I wore I first came out here was just about the right size. So I went into the bedroom closet and pulled it out of the pocked of my old jacket and then came back out to find it was a perfect fit. No bump on that table would knock it over now.

That all got me thinking about my old life. For some reason, I'd hung up that wrecked jacket and jeans in my closet. So I went back to get them out and look them over. The jacket was trashed by that storm, and irreparable. The jeans were now way too tight, either from its shrinking or my natural curvaceousness returning. And the boots – they were just weird now. Impractical. And uncomfortable for walking in pastures.

So I got a liner bag from the kitchen and stuffed all those clothes in it in it. Then left it in the end of that hallway by the door going out to the back porch. I'd ask Jud where those things should go, later. It wasn't like we had regular trash runs out here. The only things we didn't burn or compost was in a big drum for metal recycling.

I didn't know what to do with all that treated leather and synthetic-mix cloth. Jud would, though.

- - - -

THAT NIGHT, I COOKED us some steaks with green bean casserole. And a chef's salad. Lots of protein, vegetables and greens. Whole milk to wash it all down. Plus, I warmed up the last of that pie and made some real whipped cream for it.

After that, we talked for awhile. It was our favorite pastime these days – right after stuffing ourselves on really good home cooking. At least Jud says it is.

And we finally were quiet for awhile. Just cuddling together on that long couch.

The windows were open and the night birds were making their soft sounds. Very little breeze.

Jud suddenly froze.

Then he quickly rose, motioning me with a hand wave to stay seated. He was by the front door in a couple of steps, and turned out both the porch and living room lights at the same wall switch. He was standing back, crouching to not be seen through the glass panes in that front door – and then moved to peek through the front window by the left of that door, only one eye looking out, the rest of his face hidden.

“Jud...?”

“Shh.” He crossed back to me, and pulled me up by my arm, then took us down the hall, turning off all the lights in every room as we went. We slipped across that back porch and out that back door, holding that door so that it made no noise, but also pulling it quietly closed – so it didn't tell them that we left that way.

Then Jud took us down into a draw behind some trees and tall brush well away from that house. There we laid down there, with our heads just high enough to peek up and maybe see what was going on.

There weren't any lights on in his trailer or the barn, so everything was now really dark.

Even the moon was a new one, so we were needing to almost see with our peripheral vision to make anything out.

But we could hear.

And a few someones dressed in all black were creeping up the front yard toward our house. Cussing about stepping in manure, and the various barbed-wire fences they were ripping their clothes on, as well as poking into their bare hands.

Jud motioned me to be quiet. Perfectly quiet. And almost put his hand over my mouth to get the point across.

Pushing me out of sight, he pushed his head up a bit, then pointed toward our front gate. I peeked up to see some dark car was in front of that gate, its lights off.

I felt Jud go rigid, staring. And he reached to his hip for what seemed to be a missing handgun.

I took his arm and pulled myself close so I could whisper into his ear, “Jud, it's me, Dana. Stay with me. Keep me safe.”

Then I felt him relax. He turned to look at me, then kissed me on my forehead.

Our eyes locked. He whispered, “Always.”

His arm went around me as he went back to looking and listening for what those goons were doing inside.

But Jud had beaten his demons back once again – I could feel it through his arm and its warmth.

We could see tiny flashlight beams inside the house now, waving around. I could hear their crashing and moving things inside our formerly neat and tidy little home.

I saw Jud glance toward the barn, then study the path from here to there.

He had an idea.

“Come on – stay close,” he whispered. I just nodded.

XXI

- - - -

IT DIDN'T TAKE LONG to go through anything and everything that could hold something that small in this tiny house of theirs. We didn't know where those two had gone but it didn't matter much. If it was on the girl, it had to be in this house somewhere. We could always find her later. They couldn't have gone far.

I looked over the living room. All the seat cushions were up, their covers unzipped, and foam pads pulled out. All the books were on the floor. That wood-stove door was hanging open. It was as pristine inside as out, otherwise the ashes would be everywhere.

The kitchen was the same – all the pots were off the shelves and on the floor. Every pan of food had been opened up. That now-empty refrigerator's door was still open, and my boys had even pulled it away from the wall to check behind it and under it.

The plumbing had been torn away under the sink, since hiding something in a p-trap was an old method – probably ever since they invented the thing and someone lost the first ring down it.

The bedroom had been trashed as well. Mattress uprooted, closet emptied, all the drawers pulled out and left, as we had to check every bottom to see if it was taped there.

The boys were on the back porch now, pulling every beef cut out of that freezer. Already every can in the place was littering that floor.

But as I came back to see what was left to open, turn over, or get out of the way, I saw something untouched. Looking down, there in the hallway, was a plastic trash bag we'd all passed by at least once.

The top of a black boot with metal accents was sticking out the bag's open top. So I picked up that bag. What better place to hide something than in the trash?

Bingo. Here was that black jacket, the boots, those jeans. Even some weird Goth underwear. If she had it on her, then this is where it had to be.

At that thought, cows started mooing outside. Someone was whistling and banging buckets together. Then an engine roared to life – with lights shining right on our car.

We had to get out of there. Now. So I picked up that bag, and got my guys to leave off everything so we could get gone.

I sent one of those two flunkies of mine to get that truck shut off. The other came with me.

But we stopped halfway across that yard.

Our car was surrounded. By cows. Who were rocking it around as they jostled each other.

My other guy raised his gun to shoot them. I pulled it down. “No, stupid. We don't have enough bullets to kill them all. And then how do we get the car out – run over their dead bodies? C'mon.”

And we edged closer to that car, despite those big cows. Maybe, if we could get inside, we could just back out and they'd get out of our way...

I tightened my grip on that plastic bag as we edged closer.

At least those cows didn't have horns. But any one of these animals that big could knock down and stomp something much smaller – like me. Maybe even faster than I could get out of the way...

XXII

- - - -

THE PLAN WAS SIMPLE. Get them out of the house with a distraction.

We needed a small army.

And we had one – cows.

Dana was to start up the pickup when I whistled. So she got into the truck quietly and managed to shut its door without a sound.

Once she revved it up, then she needed to roll up the driver's side window (the passenger side had never been opened) and lock both the doors. Duck down if anyone came in.

It's hood was still up, so anyone coming into the barn would have to come around it to see her – but that thin crack at the bottom where the hood left the body would give Dana a lookout to use.

I took a couple of buckets of feed corn out in that black night, right to their car, opened the steel gate to the cattle's pasture quietly, then spread all that feed on the ground around that car.

To start with, I mooed like a cow. No, humans can never sound exactly like a cow, and that was the point. Those cows would already know I was out there. Their advanced warning system.

Then I whistled and called the cows while I clattered those buckets and the chain on that gate.

Food was calling. And the real mooing began at that point. None of them wanted to miss out on the only thing I'd wake them for at this hour – food.

At that instant, Dana got the truck roaring to life, its headlights on high beam and shining right at that car.

Or where the car should be. Because the cows had found the open gate and were surrounding that dark sedan on all sides. Happily munching away at the corn on the ground around it. Pushing each other to get their share before it was gone.

I was already headed back to the barn – hidden behind the cow herd heading for that car. I left the buckets on the inside of the gate, and a few calves and cows were investigating them as well.

I just hoped my timing was right...

- - - -

ONE OF THE GUYS HEADED into the barn toward the roaring truck.

As soon as Dana spied him, she dropped down into the floorboard. And the truck quieted to a steady murmur.

From where I could see, that slowed down the guy. And he was trying to see who was in that truck, but between the glare of the lights and the upraised hood, all he could do was to move around the front to the driver's side.

Or tried to.

Clunk. A solid oak two-by-four dropped him.

Letting go of that wood piece and grabbing some baling twine, I tied him up tight. Searching his pockets found only a handgun with an extra clip, and some zip-ties.

The handgun went into my waistband, the clip into a back pocket, and the ties shoved into the other back pocket. I signaled for Dana, and she sat up. Leaving the motor running and the lights on, we made our escape – ending up right behind the other two goons, who had their attention on the cows and their car – which itself was rocking from the buffeting the cows were giving it with their feeding nearby.

The lead goon had a trash bag in his hand. Dana pointed at it, but didn't say anything.

We kept low and I had her move over to the corner of the spring-pool fence.

Once I caught up with the last of the two thugs, I pulled the gun. A couple of steps and I cold-cocked him with the pistol butt.

Dropping down onto his back with a knee positioned to keep him down, I pointed the gun at the other and whistled.

He turned and reached for his gun, but I yelled, “I can empty this clip into you before you can pull that piece out – so think it over. And yes, I have another clip after that one's spent.”

Wisely, he did think it through. The bag dropped out of his hands as well as his gun while he reached into the air.

- - - -

WE WERE BOTH STANDING by the now re-closed front gate when Dwayne's lights shown down the road while his pickup bumped toward us down that graveled surface.

The cows were already back inside the fence. Their noise had probably alerted Dwayne.

What greeted him was the sight of three men each zip-tied and belt-buckled, each to his own car door. Their trousers were down around their ankles and both zip-tied together such that they were essentially hobbled. Gags also covered their mouths.

I saw Dwayne got out his phone and called someone before he came over to talk to Dana and me.

We were cozied up to each other, she hugging my waist and I had an arm around her shoulders.

Dwayne spoke first, “Well I see you two seem to have this well in hand. Very well in hand.”

We both smiled at his turn of phrase, but I spoke up. “And your timing was perfect, as usual. Yeah, Dana and I work as a pretty good team these days.”

“Yes,” he said dryly, “I can see from here that it's a pretty close team. One prettier than the other.”

I had to chuckle.

About then, the sheriff rolled up with his lights flashing, pulled over to the side of the road by the pickup. Dwayne went to talk with him.

Dana sniffed loudly, and in the headlights saw where I had gotten some of our “army's” manure on my pant legs and arms. “Oh. I think its about time you came in for a real shower now with hot water and soap – but I'll respect your privacy and let you take your turn first. While I do some laundry.”

I smiled down and replied. “Oh, maybe I should run a bath instead and you can pick up on that incomplete back rub you started. Saves water. The laundry can wait. It won't be dry until tomorrow morning sometime.”

She grinned. “Plenty of time to dry. We've got a lot to catch up on, anyway.”

I smiled. “Like our beauty rest.”

“Sure. Beauty rest.”

And we kissed – a few times. Some were longer than others.

The sheriff and Dwayne had big smiles on their faces. Leaning on the hood of the sheriff's car, they were watching us as they waited for another squad car to transport our trespassers.

And we were in their headlights, after all.

So we took that as a hint to go to the house and get cleaned up.

XXIII

- - - -

THE CALL I DREADED came to me too soon. “Sir.”

“Yes, sir. No, sir. Right. At once. 15 minutes. OK – 5, then.”

I stood, straightened my tie. Then called my lawyer.

“Pete? Yeah, it's me. Listen, I've got to go make a report.

“Yeah, that kind of report. Right.

“So if you don't hear from me in about an hour, then put it into motion.

“Right, Pete. Oh, one other thing – it's been good working with you.”

I ended the call. Then picked up my jacket from its hanger by the door. And dusted off some lint after I buttoned it.

Might be buried in this suit if things didn't work out. That's this business, after all.

I opened the door and put on my brave face as I left.

Epilogue

- - - -

IT TOOK AWHILE TO GET everything in our home back together.

We started that night getting the fridge and the freezer back in place, then all the food back inside. Next we got the bathroom back in order – Jud started by getting the sink's drain pipes back together, while I soon left him alone in there so I could start sorting out our bedroom.

The mattress and bed back in place, with the clothes at least in piles closer to the closet and chest of drawers. I made the bed as best I could, and was interrupted as Jud announced that he'd run a hot bath for us.

Once we cleaned ourselves up, which took awhile, we got ourselves into bed and then had a bit of a time getting to sleep – due to all our excitement and whatnot.

The rest of the house cleaning had to wait until morning – and more light.

It some time well after sunrise when we finally decided to quit canoodling and get out of that cozy bed. Maybe it was closer to noon – like we cared.

- - - -

I FOUND THAT OLD BURNER phone, and called that scrap-paper number some time after that. Better late than never.

The only response I got was cryptically to “give the bracelet, the bag of old clothes, and that phone you're calling from to Dwayne, he'll know what to do with them.” Then whoever it was hung up. Just that simple. Nothing else.

So I did. That bracelet around the vase was probably the only thing in that house that wasn't turned upside down. Hidden in plain sight like it was.

- - - -

NOT TOO LONG AFTER that, Jud drove the old pickup into town under it's own power, as we followed Dwayne and his wife in theirs. They kept an eye on us to make sure the truck was fine.

We left that truck at the local garage for a set of new tires and an inspection.

Then Dwayne took Jud to the barber for both a trim and a shave, then to the farm-and-ranch store for a western-style dress shirt and slacks.

Dwayne's wife took me to a local seamstress, who was known for outfitting the area's daughters for proms and special occasions. There I got a white tube dress fitted to my new curves, some hose, and a pair of white flats.

We met Dwayne and Jud at the courthouse. He needed to get a license plate for that truck, and another license as well.

Dwayne was Jud's best man and Dwayne's wife my maid of honor.

- - - -

OH, THOSE THREE GOONS had no ID on them or in the car. But their prints each matched up with long rap sheets for every one of them. So the circuit judge didn't even bother coming to town and upsetting his schedule. He denied them bail and they sat there in jail as guests of the county until trial could be held. Despite their fancy lawyer's demands.

- - - -

JUD AND I SET UP NICELY in our little home on our little farm after that.

We framed that picture of Jud's author-uncle and him standing together. And later discovered one of his aunt as well. She was beaming in that photo – standing in her flower garden with a pair of butterflies perched on her outstretched finger. So we framed that, too. They made a nice couple up on the mantle above that wood stove.

According to Dwayne, we might get a guest visitor one of these days, but that was just too cryptic for us to figure out. He does that some times.

Oh, yeah, We're expecting now. A little one of our own.

And the butterfly garden is getting its own visitors.

---

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Earlier in this Series

Death by Marketing - 07

Last Chance (Death by Advertising 06)

Triangle: A Memoir – Part II

Death by Sales Pitch - 04

Triangle: A Memoir – Part I

The Caretaker - Death by Advertising Series 02

Death By Advertising 01

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