by Piper Stone
“Come on, soldier,” the Sergeant encouraged.
Stoker grunted and stepped onto the metal edge.
The plane jerked, hitting a patch of turbulence. “Christ,” the Sergeant hissed.
Stoker was tossed back against the metal wall. Wind whipped from all directions, lightning illuminating the sky in shades of gold and blue. He’d never seen a storm of this magnitude. By all rights they shouldn’t be flying, but there was no turning around and zero second chances. If they didn’t succeed, good men and women would die. “I’m ready.”
“Hold on, both of you,” the Sergeant commanded. “We’ve lost our position. I’m going to check with the Captain.”
His teeth chattering, Stoker nodded and took two tentative steps forward. “Cooper, you heard the Sergeant. Get away from the door.”
“We can do this,” Cooper yelled back.
“No! Get over here.”
Boom!
Stoker slumped to the ground, his body shaking, and tossed the maul. Tears slipped past his lashes as he glared at the late afternoon sky. He’d never be free of the demons. Never. Dropping his head, he clenched his fists. He could have stopped Cooper. He outranked the man. Why? Why hadn’t he stepped up to the plate?
Mac whined and nuzzled against him.
He concentrated on the sound of his dog’s thumping tail, a reminder he’d survived the endless days of torture, coming home mostly intact. Death had been all around, a constant reminder of the bloody war. “I’m here, buddy. I’m here.” Wiping his eyes, he rose to his feet. He no longer had any energy. After a quick glance up at the sky, the images faded into black. He was back on his ranch, safe and very much alone.
Still weak, Stoker gathered up an armful of firewood, then headed for the cabin, making it just inside before the rain began. Mac scampered behind him, waiting just off the porch. Lingering, he turned and gave the ominous sky one last nasty look, refusing to be beaten. Life was too precious.
“Get up here, boy. Silly dog.” He maneuvered the door open, using his elbow and eased the wood beside the stone fireplace. In the two days since his suspension, he’d remained antsy given what he knew was an investigation into the most recent fire. He didn’t need to see a report to know that kind of blaze was purposely set. The victims were even tied to the firefighting community, a closely-knit group. The town was abuzz.
Mac remained outside, whining.
He placed the logs before going to gather his beloved pup. “What is it?” The flashes of lightning were getting closer, darkening the sky even at four in the afternoon. Through the rumbles of thunder, he heard what sounded like a rattling engine. He peered out and could see headlights coming up the driveway. Company he was in no mood for. He wiped his hands on his jeans as the aging Ford truck pulled into the circle. Mac flanked his side, barking as a man eased from the cab, yanking his coat collar up around his neck. “Interesting.”
The man approached, stopping in the rain just before the stairs. “Stoker. How are you?”
“Ralph. What are you doing here?”
“Mind if I come in?” Ralph issued a doubtful look and shivered.
After a slight hesitation, he nodded. “Yeah, get out of the rain. I’ll pop open a couple of beers.” Stoker motioned for Mac and walked inside. He hadn’t seen Ralph in several months. His neighbor lived on the ranch next to his. The older man was considered a hermit, having locked himself away after his wife died of cancer. The visit piqued his curiosity.
“Mighty obliged.”
He strolled into his kitchen, grabbing two Budweisers and popping the tops. “Is there anything wrong?” He walked closer, offering a beer. Tension remained, remnants from a difficult past.
“Wrong?” Ralph took off his hat, placing the Stetson on the arm of the leather chair. He accepted the bottle and immediately looked down. “Well, I need a favor.”
“Shoot.” Stoker leaned against the wooden column. Ralph hadn’t asked for as much as a cup of coffee in years.
“Gotta sell the place.” Ralph swirled the bottle and shook his head.
“What? Why?” Stoker asked quietly.
“Let’s face it, I’m not getting any younger. The ranch is too much for me.” Ralph fiddled with his beer before taking a sip.
Stoker wasn’t certain what to say. “You’re a tough guy. You’ll live forever.” He half laughed.
Ralph shrugged. “Wish that were true.”
“Are you staying in town at least?”
“Nah. My daughter’s been bugging me to come stay with her in Florida. Think some sun will do me some good.” His smile waned. “Not sure how much I’ll get for the place.”
“You have a beautiful spot.”
“Not any longer. Let it run down since Martha died. Just didn’t have the energy. Let the ranch hands go in May. Most of the livestock is gone too. Just couldn’t afford to keep them. Hated losing ‘em. They were my life.”
“Ralph, I’m so sorry.” The pain in the man’s voice was palpable. Stoker shoved a hand into his pocket. He wasn’t good with being comforting. “How can I help?”
“Thought I might employ you while I’m gone. Just for a visit down south right now. When I come back I’ll finish up the details, talk to a realtor.”
“Employ?” He narrowed his eyes. This had to be good.
Ralph shook his head. “If’n you have time I need to have some repairs done on the house. I know you’re good with your hands and all and could maybe tend to the two horses I got left. I couldn’t bear to part with them. They belonged to Martha and all.” He took a sip of his beer and looked down at Mac.
From where he was standing he could see tears in the old man’s eyes. “Of course. I mean, I’m not the best carpenter in the world, but I’ll stop by and see what I can do.”
“You’re modest, boy. You do good work. Besides, anything is gonna help.”
Stoker cleared his throat. “Should I bring the horses here?”
“I’d prefer them to stay right now. I might have a buyer, but I’m just not ready yet. I’m coming back in three or four weeks. Then I’ll decide.”
“Okay. Sure. I can do that. I have some time on my hands.” Maybe swinging a hammer would keep his mind and body occupied.
“I appreciate it, son. You’re a good man. Your pappy would be proud.” Ralph continued to look at the floor.
“Is there something else?” Stoker glanced outside. The sky was almost black, lightning flashes jetting across the once serene landscape.
“Nah, just having a difficult time. I can barely make the house payment. Don’t want to foreclose but I might have to let the bank take it. I can’t pay you much so…”
“I don’t want payment. Okay?” Stoker interrupted. “I’d be happy to help. Need something to do anyway.”
Ralph smiled. “Heard about the suspension. You’re just like your daddy. Hot headed.”
Stoker laughed. “I guess so. I heard all the inflated stories. Just can’t remember any of them.” He bristled and took a pull of his beer. He didn’t want to be reminded of the past.
“Sad thing your parents dying in that fire.”
He remained quiet but motioned for Mac. The dog moved to his side, looking up at his master with loving eyes. Thunder rolled, creating vibrations under his feet. He gripped Mac’s collar, trying to remain calm.
“I remember when you got that little one. Glad he’s here with you.”
The fire, another memory Stoker could do without. “Yep. Me too. When are you leaving?”
“Day after tomorrow. Just gotta settle in the house sitter.”
“House sitter?”
“Yup. My daughter arranged it. Said the girl needs a place to stay and get away from the world for a little while.” He laughed. “From what my daughter said, I’m certain you’ll have stories to tell.”
“Huh. Okay. Why can’t she tend to the horses? I mean, I don’t mind and all.” This should be interesting.
Ralph grinned. “She’s a city girl, wet behi
nd the ears. I want them to survive while I’m gone.”
Stoker burst into laughter. “Well then, I’ll be happy to help you out.”
He took another sip of beer before stepping forward. “Here’s a set of keys for you. She’s staying in the house so you might run into her but I let her know I had someone coming. I left a list of things I hope you can help with, but honestly anything you can do will really get me out of a bind.”
“That’s cool. I’ll take a look and do what I can.” He took the keys, shoving them in his pocket.
Ralph looked down at his beer bottle, finished the liquid and held out his other hand. “Well, I should be going. I wouldn’t ask for charity, but I have little left. I just hate going out this way. Goes against a man’s grain. You know?”
“Don’t worry about it, Ralph, and things happen for a reason. You were always a good friend.”
He opened his eyes wide. “Don’t try to fool an old fool. I was an asshole. Just couldn’t seem to get my head out of my ass.”
“Well, you had good reason.” They shook hands and he could see such pain in Ralph’s eyes. He wanted to give the man a hug, but he seemed frozen on the spot. After his parents had died, any of their old friends he’d pushed away, much like he was doing now. Sighing, he looked away, fearful of what he was becoming.
“You know, you’re the spittin’ image of your dad. That’s a good thing, son.”
“Thanks.” Stoker looked away. Reminiscing was the last thing on his mind.
“Well, I should be going.” He handed Stoker the bottle and reached down, petting Mac. “You take care of your daddy now, MacGyver. He’s gonna need you.”
The statement was curious, but Ralph was a shadow of himself.
Woof!
“Good boy,” Ralph whispered. He took a step back and scanned the perimeter. “Gotta get going, but I really do thank you more than you know.”
“My pleasure. Just let me know what else I can do.” He walked Ralph to the door, waiting as the old man sauntered to his truck as if oblivious to the now raging storm. He closed the door and turned to look at Mac. “Well, MacGyver, we might just have an adventure on our hands.” He glanced at the fireplace, shaking his head. “Guess it’s time for a shower, boy, and sprucing up. You’re going to be on your own tonight.” This wasn’t the kind of adventure he was hoping for.
Jessica stood in the crowded terminal, jumping every time the thunderclaps hit. She could swear the building was swaying back and forth. She was nauseous from the landing and continued to chastise herself for being talked into something so kooky. Missoula, Montana. What in the world was she going to do here?
The airport was small but packed and she grabbed her carry on, tugging the heavy bag as she searched for signs. Someone was supposed to be meeting her, at least according to Maggie. She’d texted her friend after landing and had been assured the local was on the way. Hitching a ride with a stranger to an unknown destination. Yep. She was out of her bloody mind.
She wrestled with the bag as the rollers flopped one way and the other, finally jerking the suitcase up by the handle. She’d been forced to purchase new clothes with what limited money she had left. Thank God, she’d decided to wear jeans, even if they were so damn tight they were cutting off her circulation. Maggie had guided her with a selection of clothes, country bumpkin style if she had to admit. At least she’d snagged a couple dresses. Huffing, she glared down are her heels. This wasn’t going to be easy. No siree.
When she finally figured out where she needed to go, she stood behind the countless scores of people meeting friends and family who’d come to pick them up. They were cheery and laughing, thrilled to see each other. She looked out the window at the ominous sky. This had to be an omen, a nasty storm as she arrived. If she had half a brain she’d turn back. Unfortunately, her ticket was one way, paid for by Maggie as a gift to get her out of town.
She watched the old-fashioned luggage racks, spinning around in an oblong shape as bags came out of the flap. All she knew was that a guy with a big cowboy hat was picking her up and taking her to her destination. From every direction came men of every size and some women, too, wearing big hats. She caught sight of her bag and had to hop over a group of luggage in order to grab the handle before it went on its way back to never never land.
Catching her breath, she dragged both cases away from the turnstile and toward the bank of doors. What if the guy didn’t show up? What if she was left stranded? What if she was robbed and taken hostage? She shivered and stopped short, her nerves getting the better of her. Stay calm. There are no monsters here. None. You’re just coming for a visit. Everything will be okay. Visit? This was about regaining her sanity, if not her life. The pressure was suffocating.
“Ms. Dunn?”
The voice was deep and gruff, as if fueled by too many cigarettes and booze. She turned slowly. The face greeting her appeared kind enough. The older man had lines crisscrossing his face but his blue eyes were shining. “Yes. That’s me.”
“I’m Ralph Waters. I’ve come for ya.”
“Okay.” She half expected he’d reach for her bag. When he didn’t she gathered them up and smiled. This was no joy ride after all, no five-star resort. “Thank you, Mr. Waters. Maggie sent you?”
He smiled. “Yep and Ralph will do just fine, little lady. We ain’t formal here. She said to take good care of you. My truck is just outside. Better put on a coat. It’s mighty chilly out there, especially with the rain and all.”
Her coat was stuffed in her bag under her single purchase from Victoria’s Secret. She refused to open up the case here. “I’m fine. Just eager to get going.”
“Fair enough.” He reached down, taking her largest suitcase and heading for the door.
“So much for conversation,” she muttered under her breath. The wind whipped against her face, creating chills racing up and down the length of her body. Rain pelted against her hair and instantly goose bumps popped up on every inch of naked skin. “Crap.”
“Storm’s almost over. You came at a good time.” He tossed her bag in the bed of the truck. “It can get pretty rough out here.”
She bit back a haughty comment, cringing when her belongings were dumped next to a bale of hay. Everything was going to be soaking wet. Who was this guy, Cowboy Joe? Don’t forget, you’re going to be in God’s country. Things are different in the West. Maggie had made the destination sound like a moment caught in time.
“Come on. I don’t have all night. Got things to do.” He opened the passenger door and headed for the other side of the truck.
She was tall, but given the oversized tires, she struggled to climb up into the cab. By the time she managed, her hair was clinging to her face. She hugged her overnight bag to her chest, thankful she’d shoved her computer into the case. “How far?”
He shut his door and turned over the engine. “Just up the mountainside. Maybe twenty minutes. Got a stop to make but it shouldn’t take us too long.”
A stop? She brushed the hair from her face as she tried to get comfortable, the tin can of an ancient truck rattling on the rough road. She remained quiet as Ralph drove through what appeared to be a quaint town. There were some neon lights, but in comparison to Tallahassee or Orlando, Missoula seemed like a ghost town. “How long have you lived here?”
“My whole life.”
“Wow. Ever been anywhere else?”
Ralph gave her a sideways glance. “Few times. I’m not much into talkin’.”
“O-kay then.” She slunk into her seat. This was going to be a fabulous trip, just incredible. Why couldn’t the dart have landed on San Francisco or even Tucson? Grousing wasn’t going to make this any better. She had to figure out what to do and if she could save her house. Maybe she’d get a job. Here? She laughed to herself. She had no skills to speak of other than singing. Washed up at thirty-five. Perfect.
“You do like horses, don’t you?” The question came out of the blue.
Jessica narrowed her eyes. W
as he taking her to a horse show? “Horses are just fine. Why?”
Ralph shrugged. “Cause taking care of a couple is part of the deal.”
“What? I’m no animal person. I don’t know a thing about animals, especially big Mammoth Monsters.” What in the hell had Maggie signed her up for?
Exhaling, he continued driving. “Ain’t much to do. Feed ‘em. Make sure they got water. Let them out every once in a while to run in the corral. Besides, you’ll have some help. The man fixing up the place knows horses.”
Should she say, ‘thank God’? Fixing up the place. On top of everything she’d have to deal with strangers in her house. Cabin. Place. Whatever houses in Missoula were called. She folded her arms and glared down at her heels. She could be in San Diego, basking in the sun. Yeah. As if she had money to do so. Nope. She was stuck in horse country. “Sure. I can do that.”
There was no radio, the only noise coming from the powerful sound of the engine. There were few pickup trucks in Tampa. Everyone drove sports cars or oversized SUV’s, indicating their wealth in society. She owned a beat-up Camaro, the only thing she’d saved from her first marriage. Now she rolled her eyes. She wasn’t going that far back in her memory banks.
Minutes later Ralph steered the truck into a parking lot. She jerked up, surveying the area. “Where are we?” What in the hell kind of name was Ziggy’s?
“A bar. Well, it’s a bar and grill. Good, hot food and cold beer.”
“You’re going to a bar? Now?”
He cut the engine. “A man’s gotta eat. Besides, they make the best Bison burger this side of Mississippi.”
“Bison? You are kidding me, right?”
“Nope. They chargrill it with hot peppers. Delicious.” Without giving her a single look, he opened the door.
Light flooded the small space. She remained where she was, glancing down at her disheveled state.
“You coming? I don’t have much food at the house. Just the basics. Not sure what you liked.”