by David Horne
An hour later, the plane touched down at the tiny Talkeetna airport. It wasn't difficult for Davis to see why the plane had been so small. He liked Alaska well enough, but he never could figure out why people wanted to live in these little backwater communities. At least, not permanently. A vacation, on the other hand, well that was perfect. The thought got his blood pumping against the cold air, and a self-satisfied smile crossed his face as his taxi arrived to pick him up.
He had no interest in the town and ignored all the beauty that surrounded him. His only interest was in finding Sterling Decker's exact location. He'd sent a handful of letters to the man already, but considering the vastness of the wilderness, he was surprised he'd ever received them. If it hadn't been for the short, dismissive letter he'd received back after his first contact, he might have believed the man hadn't.
He didn't plan to stay long, but he'd still booked a room at the best hotel in Talkeetna for the night. Once he'd settled in, he went out to roam the town. Surely someone had to know how to find Sterling Decker. It was a quaint town, much too small for his tastes, which unfortunately also meant it didn't take very long to walk through it. He knew Sterling's property was further out of town. He'd bought up the land around it but had only ever seen the map schematics. He was going to have to find someone to take him out to it. At the end of town, a short drive led to a set of cabins. There was a grocery store and a restaurant. He was feeling peckish so he thought he might as well go in and grab a bite.
The inside of the restaurant was cozy, just a few patrons for lunch, with walls covered in paintings. He took a cursory glance at them, not much of an art man, but someone must have noticed him looking.
"Sterling Decker fan?" a woman's voice asked from behind him.
Davis was startled by the name and turned around in confusion. When a small, gray-haired woman nodded toward the painting, he looked at it again, and then glanced back at her.
"Great artist, isn't he?" she commented.
"Oh, oh yes," Davis stammered. "Sterling Decker..."
"Yep, I've bought up everything I could find. Of course, most of them are prints, but I have a few originals," she added with a wink.
"I...don't suppose you know where I could find him? I'd like to talk to him about buying a few of my own."
"Sterling?" Wynona repeated in disbelief. "No one's seen Sterling Decker in ten years. I haven't the foggiest notion where he is."
She walked away, chuckling to herself, leaving Davis to growl to himself. His appetite was suddenly gone, and he marched back into the wind outside. As he did so, he saw a man coming out of the post office with a sack full of mail. A smirk crossed Davis' face. This had to be the man who'd delivered his letters.
"Excuse me, sir!" he called out, and quickly crossed the street.
***
Back on the homestead, Sterling had gotten over being upset, and was up and raring to go the next morning. Carter had been cautious with him at first, but when all seemed fine, the two of them had gotten back to the work of running the place. By the second day, though, Sterling was ready to call his mom again.
"Just remember, we don't have any electricity," Carter warned. "When we need to charge this thing, we're going to have to hike it over to Ralph and Martha's."
Sterling frowned for a moment, and then started laughing at the thought. "I knew there was a reason I left all of this behind," he teased. "I'll be quicker this time," he said as if he was asking permission. When Carter simply shrugged, he dialed.
"Oh, it's you again," his mom teased when she answered the phone.
Sterling smiled, and then tilted the phone. "Mom, this is Carter."
Carter's head whipped around, his silver hair bouncing. "Oh, um, hi," he said, and waved, a nervous smile touching the corners of his lips. When Sterling turned the phone back, he glared at him.
"Oh my goodness," Sterling's mom replied. "Don't tell me you've convinced someone else to run off into the woods, and live like mountain men?"
"It was an accident, but yeah, I think so," he answered with a wink.
"Well, at least you won't get so lonely."
Sterling blushed and tried to keep from looking at Carter. "I have to be quick this time, Mom. It's a five mile hike to recharge the phone."
This gave his mom a good laugh too, and then they talked for a few minutes before saying goodbye. Instead of being upset this time, though, the talk seemed to bolster Sterling's mood.
"Thanks for getting this," he murmured, and then leaned over to kiss Carter on the cheek. "Sorry for using up the battery," he added, feeling guilty that his lover may have had someone he wanted to talk to as well.
"That's fine," Carter assured him. "I talked to my mom when I was in town." He started to say something about springing him on Sterling's mom but was cut off by the sound of a plane engine. "Mail?" he asked.
Sterling couldn't imagine what it could be, but then again, he never did. "I guess so," he said as the two of them got up to put on their coats and boots. As he got to the door, there was a knock on it. He backed away, startled, not sure he'd ever heard anyone knock on his door. He glanced back at Carter, who looked equally confused. Then he slowly turned the knob and opened the door.
Davis Jackson stood on the other side, doing his best to look both friendly and imposing. He held out his hand and said, "Davis Jackson. You're a hard man to find, Mister Decker."
Sterling's eyes narrowed, and he ignored the man's offer of a handshake. "I like it that way," he growled.
"Yes, I got that impression. I wasn't sure you were receiving our letters, though, so I thought I'd come out here myself, and discuss the offers we've made you."
"I'm not interested in selling my land."
"So I'd gathered," Davis answered, his friendly demeanor beginning to wane. "Still, if I could come in and discuss—"
"You can say whatever you need to from right there," Carter said, as he stepped up behind Sterling. He put his hand up on top of the door jamb and leaned there, taller by far than both the other men.
"Oh, um, I thought you were out here alone," Davis fumbled, stupidly.
"I'm sure you did," Carter shot back. "What do you want with this land, anyway?"
The question brought a smile to Davis' face, and he quickly recovered his composure. "I've already purchased everything to the east, beyond your borders. A handful of investors and I are looking to put in a kind of eco-resort."
"You mean a luxury spa," Sterling corrected. "I read your letters and proposals. You want to tear down the forest, and put in a huge hotel, with golf courses, and restaurants, and colonic treatments."
Behind him, Carter snorted, and Davis looked up at him in frustration. This wasn't going according to plan at all. "It will be a wonderful wilderness retreat," he insisted.
"Except that only the very wealthy could afford to stay there, and you want to destroy the wilderness to do so," Sterling spat. "No, Mister Jackson, my answer isn't any different than it was the first time. You can't have my land."
Davis was flabbergasted that these two men would refuse to even acknowledge or consider his vision. They were quaint, backwater people just like the quaint backwater town he'd had to come to. His face contorted in rage.
"We'll see about this," he spat. "There are legalities—"
"Goodbye, Mister Davis," Sterling said, and then smiled as Carter slammed the door in the man's face.
"I can't believe the stones on that guy," Carter exclaimed as they went back to the kitchen table. "Who does he think he is?"
"Rich," Sterling answered, simply.
"Well," Carter remarked, a teasing look on his face.
"I'm not that rich," Sterling insisted. When his boyfriend only laughed, he rolled his eyes, and then disappeared into the still room.
Carter sat down at the table, the vague thought in the back of his mind, that he should do more of the cooking. Most of his thoughts were those of worry, though. It seemed like Davis Jackson didn't have a leg to stand on, but h
e knew that men like that could find a way. If he was so determined that he actually showed up at the front door...who knew what he was capable of.
Chapter Ten
The next morning, Carter woke to a strange sensation. It was as if he could sense that something was wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. He lifted his head and looked at the sleeping form of Sterling next to him. Whatever it was hadn't woken him. He strained his ears, but he didn't hear anything. There was a strange smell in the air though, and as he glanced up at the skylight, a waft of black smoke passed by.
"Sterling!" he yelled, and the elbowed his boyfriend awake.
"Ow," he grumbled. "What?"
"There's a fire."
The two of them scrambled out of bed and down the ladder, quickly throwing on pants and coats as they went. At first, they didn't see anything when they rushed out the door, but then Sterling spotted more smoke, and yelled for Carter to follow. As they rounded the house, they could see that the fire was coming from the gardens and greenhouse.
"Grab the garden hose!" Sterling yelled as he went to the shed for shovels. He dragged them out, and ran toward the garden, knowing that dirt would probably do them more good considering the limited amount of water in their holding tank.
The garden sat in a plot next to the greenhouse. It was surrounded by a fence, meant to keep deer and moose out. Most of the plants, themselves, weren't burning, but the wooden fence posts were ablaze, and the flames and smoke were licking close to the produce. Sterling quickly began to shovel the surrounding dirt at the fence, knowing that the smoke could do just as much damage as the flames. The flames were hot, and the wind just unpredictable enough to make it a very dangerous situation. Dirt and mud went flying into the garden, and he hoped the young plants wouldn't be destroyed by his efforts to protect them.
A few moments later, Carter appeared with the garden hose. He grimaced as he ran, his still healing leg screaming from the effort. The hose just reached the edge of the greenhouse, but the plastic was burning away very quickly. He glanced over at Sterling, who was busy shoveling, and wiping sweat from his brow. Then he turned back to the hose and turned on the powerful spray nozzle.
"I don't think we're going to have enough water," he shouted over the crackling flames.
"I know," Sterling yelled back. He glanced at the tall flames overtaking the greenhouse. "We can't let it spread!"
Within minutes, the storage tank went dry, and Carter dropped the hose. He rushed over to Sterling's side. "Now what?" he asked. He could see that Sterling was quickly becoming exhausted, so he took up another shovel and tried to help.
"What about the greenhouse?" Sterling asked.
"It's gone, Sterling. It's no use."
His boyfriend's head whipped in the direction of his greenhouse in horror. The last of the plastic was melting away, and though the flames were dying down, there was still a chance they could spread to the nearby shed and outhouse. The sight caused him to shovel faster, and before long, there was nothing left of the garden fire except smoking fence posts.
Sterling dropped his shovel and said, "Come on, we're going to have to bucket it."
Not too far from his cabin, was a small stream that Sterling used here and there, when his catchment had run dry. It was little more than a trickle from a natural well, but it was going to have to do. He grabbed a couple of buckets from the shed, and waved Carter over.
"Come on," he said, and ran for the stream on the edge of the woods. When he got there, he slipped in the slick mud, and landed next to the stream. Ignoring the mess, he dipped his bucket in, but it seemed to take an agonizing amount of time to fill. When he was done, he ran passed Carter who was carefully making his way to the stream.
Carter doubted this would actually put out the fire, but as he waited, he had an idea. As his bucket filled, he heard Sterling scream in the distance, and he grabbed it up, full or not, and ran back to the homestead.
"Sterling!" he shouted as he came out of the woods. He saw his boyfriend by the greenhouse, his bucket dropped on the ground, clutching his hand. "What is it?" he yelled as he ran up to him. The back of Sterling's hand was red and angry looking.
"I was trying to get the water right to the fire instead of just slinging it," Sterling hissed in reply. "I guess I got too close." When Carter reached for it, he pulled it away. "We can't worry about that now."
"Okay," Carter said, trying to sound calm. "I have an idea. I don't think we can save the greenhouse, but we can keep the fire from spreading by putting all the water on the shed. If we keep the shed wet enough, it should keep it from catching fire."
Sterling looked up at him, thinking it over, and then nodded. "Let's do it." He left Carter to sling his own bucket of water onto the roof of the shed and ran back to the stream. His hand was screaming, but he ignored it as best he could.
Their buckets were taking water much faster than the stream poured it out, though, and before long, they'd begun to use up the small reserve that was around it. They had to move further into the woods to try and trace where the water went.
"Some rain would be nice right now," Carter grumbled as he joined Sterling in the woods again.
Sterling snorted, but it was a sarcastic rather than humorous sound. The pain in his hand had grown so unbearable that he could only carry the bucket in the other. He glanced through the trees at the still smoldering fire.
"I really hope we have it good enough, because I don't think there's any more water here." He sat down on a fallen log to catch his breath. "I hope you aren't too thirsty either."
Carter put an encouraging hand on his shoulder. "I think there's some canned milk in the kitchen."
Sterling shook his head, and then they both began to crack up.
"Come on," Carter sighed. "I guess we'd better keep an eye on it, even if there isn't much we can do about it at this point."
As the remaining embers slowly died away, the two of them shoveled sand here and there to make sure any hot spots didn't try to start up again. It was a couple more hours before they could finally call it quits. When they did, Carter insisted on taking Sterling back out to the stream so he could use the cool, clean water to clean his lover's hand. It was a painful process, and Carter had a vague recollection of having the same thing done to his leg.
The two of them slept like logs that night, other than the occasional nightmare that woke Sterling. Once, he even crept down the ladder, and looked out the window, trying to make sure the fire was really out. The next morning, he sat glumly at his kitchen table, nursing a cup of coffee, and staring absently at a plate full of toast.
"Are you all right?" Carter finally asked, still hungry. "Are you gonna eat that?" he then asked, about to reach over and grab a piece regardless.
"Go ahead," Sterling grumbled. "It was Jackson, you know."
Carter looked up from the toast, half way through taking a bite. "What do you mean?" he asked through a mouthful.
"I mean, it's true that fires aren't unheard of out here, but it hasn't been that dry, and they normally start in the forest," Sterling said. "Why do you think we cleared all that brush? What are the odds of a fire starting, for apparently no reason, in the garden and greenhouse? There's nothing there to start it."
Carter suddenly didn't feel very hungry anymore. He set the toast down on Sterling's plate and frowned. "You think he intentionally set the fire to try and drive you out?"
Sterling nodded, slowly. "If the plants in the garden are damaged, there's not enough time to start over now. I probably have enough money to buy a year's worth of goods, but Jackson didn't know that."
"No, I'm pretty sure he thinks of you as some country bumpkin."
"Yeah. It was him, Carter, I know it was."
Carter's jaw worked angrily, and his eyes narrowed. "That son of a bitch. When we get things cleaned up, I'm going into town."
Sterling's eyes widened, and he shook his head. "What do you mean?"
"I'm going to find him, get the t
ruth out of him."
"You...I...I don't know if that's such a good idea," Sterling admitted.
"You could come with me," his boyfriend encouraged. "You'd have a lot of support in town."
Sterling wasn't sure what he meant, but his heart began to thump wildly, and he shook his head. "No, I don't think I can do that." Then he quickly got up and took the plates to the kitchen.
They spent the rest of the day cleaning up the wasteland that was now the greenhouse. Luckily, most of the damage was done to the plastic covering. The skeleton of the building was still standing and looked to be in good enough shape to rebuild. It made Sterling feel more optimistic, but he could tell that Carter was still angry.
"Maybe the garden will be okay too," he suggested.
"Hopefully," Carter agreed. "Let's take a look."
Despite the smoke, flames and mud being flung on it, most of the plants looked all right too. "They might taste a little funny," Sterling quipped as he tried to straighten a stalk of broccoli. "This one's a lost cause though," he added, and pulled up the whole plant. "I think we'll have enough to eat. We might have to buy a few canned goods or do some trading."
"Do you think you can manage with the rest of it?" Carter asked.
"You're still thinking of going into town, aren't you?" When his boyfriend simply glared off into space as a reply, he added, "Why don't you wait until tomorrow morning? If you still feel the same—"
Carter threw down a piece of ruined fence post and turned on Sterling. "Why aren't you angry? This man is trying to ruin your life."
Sterling's eyes narrowed, but then he simply sighed. "I am angry, but we have no proof of anything. Just because the man would like me to sell doesn't mean he would automatically do something like this."
"So you don't think it's him?" Carter asked in disbelief.
"Of course I do," Sterling answered quietly. "I said so this morning. I just...don't think there's anything we can do about it, and I doubt confronting him will do anything except make things worse."