If they went to this much trouble to block a back way, Rave didn’t think a gate would stop them.
“Well,” Tuck said. “Guess we’ll have to have a conversation with them from right here.”
They went back to the truck, and Tuck reached inside. “Close your ears.”
Rave wondered if he was going to fire off a round, but instead, he flattened his hand against the steering wheel, and the horn blared. For a good fifteen seconds, it vibrated over the mountains and echoed back to them. The music stopped.
Tuck yelled over the tree trunk, “You’re on private property. Go home.”
Rave couldn’t imagine anyone going to this much trouble, then packing it up just because an old man yelled and blew a horn at them.
When the music started again, accompanied by laughter, Tuck hit the horn again until the music stopped. “I’m giving you to the count of ten, then I’m taking aim. That pretty little Tacoma with the lift kit—I’m shooting out your windshield first. Now pack it up so I don’t have to destroy your trucks.”
Rave stared at Tuck. His voice didn’t even sound the same. It carried over the pasture, almost as loud as the truck horn had been. Even his posture was different. Standing taller, eyes on alert. Face frozen. The music didn’t return—an admission that they were at least considering if the screaming man was serious or not—but there were also no engines starting. The laughter and voices had melted into muted tones that Rave couldn’t make out from the distance.
“You leave me no choice.” Tuck’s voice echoed over the land. He took the shotgun from the cab of the truck.
Over the felled log, Rave saw a single set of taillights. “Hey, one’s leaving.” And really, he didn’t want to get arrested for shooting at teenagers. He’d thought coming to Barton would be boring. So far, it had been anything but that.
Tuck’s face was hard. “One’s not enough.”
The sound of Tuck pumping the shotgun was intensified by the tension-thick air. Rave watched as Tuck slowly raised the barrel until it was aimed at the sky. “Tuck, are you really going to—”
The crack of the gun stopped Rave’s words. His hands flew to his ears. They were ringing. Not boring. Definitely not boring. Back in Tampa there were lots of guys who talked tough about carrying guns. In all the time he’d lived there—and even in the rough crowd he’d been trying to stay away from—he’d never seen anyone draw a gun. And certainly not fire one.
Across the pasture, car and truck engines started up. Some yelled at him, but there was no conviction in their words. They were leaving. First vehicle in the parade was the lifted Tacoma.
Tuck grinned. The hardness gone. “Look at ʼem. Hightailing it outta here.”
Rave had no words. Had they really just done this? Tuck seemed perfectly calm. Like maybe this was a common occurrence. Rave’s nerve endings were raw and zinging. Silently, he got in the truck. Tuck offered a grin, turned the truck around, and drove back to Trini’s.
Trini was waving at them as they neared her house. Standing on the front porch, with her free hand propped against a broom, she hollered, “That’ll teach ʼem.” Whether she was prepared to sweep the porch or use the broom as a weapon if needed, Rave couldn’t say. It all felt a little unreal to him—like maybe he was being punked, and a camera crew would leap out of the woods at any moment.
Rave started to get out of the truck. Tuck stopped him. “You all right?” Thick, bushy brows rode high on Tuck’s face.
Rave nodded, but he knew there was no color in his cheeks. “Yeah. I’m good.”
They visited with Trini on her porch for a few minutes. Then she disappeared into the house and returned with something that smelled like heaven on Christmas Day. “Blackberry pie. Best in the state.”
Rave’s mouth watered. Tuck took the pie and headed for the truck. “Thanks, Trini. We’ll have it for breakfast.”
Rave followed Tuck and the pie, because, hey, what else was there to do? He leaned his head against the headrest as Tuck shifted the Chevy and drove home. The sudden rush of excitement had finally worked its way out of Rave’s system, leaving him tired and ready for bed. Of all the adrenaline-laced moments he’d had in his life, this was one he’d not soon forget.
Bullet scratched at his bedroom door early the next morning. Rave opened it and let the dog—tail wagging, mouth panting—come in.
“Hey, Furball.” It’d taken Rave a long time to fall asleep after the visit to Trini’s. And the sleep he’d had was restless. He just wasn’t accustomed to old men drawing guns on teenagers. Rave fell back on the bed and curled under the covers. He’d left his window open, and the chill in the air surprised him. Shouldn’t it be warmer out? Back in Florida, late-spring and summer nights were no cooler than the days. If it was eighty-five in the afternoon, it’d feel like eighty-five at midnight. He hadn’t acclimated to mountain weather yet.
Bullet jumped onto the bed and landed, paws first, on Rave’s stomach. A large muzzle found its way to his neck and a cold nose plant had Rave laughing. “Get off me.” He shoved, but the dog’s tail went into spasms, and he barked once and pounced again, this time sending a dripping wet tongue from Rave’s armpit to his jaw.
Rave grabbed the dog’s head and shoved him away. Bullet rebounded, squared his massive shoulders over Rave—his prey—and barked again, daring him to move.
This time, Rave football tackled him and rolled the dog onto his back. Bullet squirmed but finally calmed, content to have Rave holding him down. “You’re all bark,” Rave said before letting him loose. Bullet stayed.
“Big baby.” Rave dug his fingertips into the thick hair at Bullet’s ribs and the dog went still, head lolled to the side, tongue hanging out. It was interesting to Rave that Bullet was careful with Tuck, but with Rave, he could just let go, be the big, hundred-pound bruiser that he was.
“Where’s Tuck this morning?” Rave asked the dog. “Have you been out yet?”
Rave pulled on a T-shirt and his jeans, which were crumpled on the bedroom floor. Bullet watched in awe as if he’d never seen anyone dress before. The dog’s tail was in perpetual motion until Rave said, “Go outside?”
The big dog spun around twice—there was room to do it now, since they’d cleared out all the computer parts—and ran out of the room with Rave following him and telling him to slow down.
A knock sent Rave to the front door. He’d planned on letting Bullet out the back—like Tuck always did—but when he pulled the door open, the dog shot out, scraping past a man in uniform. Rave’s eyes focused in on the sheriff’s car first, then on the man.
“I’m here for Tuck Wayne. Is he home?”
Last night’s adventure played through Rave’s mind. “I’m not sure.”
The man removed his sunglasses and sized up Rave. “You his grandson?”
He nodded.
“I’m Sheriff Cogdill. Need to speak to Tuck.”
Rave played it cool. This wasn’t his first time. Though the sheriff seemed all business, he wasn’t coming off as a jerk, so Rave would try to handle this and save Tuck the embarrassment. “I don’t think he’s feeling well. He’s been in bed for a couple days. Maybe I could help you.”
The sheriff’s eyes narrowed. “Felt good enough to shoot at some kids last night over at the Barton farm.”
Rave shook his head. “That wasn’t him. That was m—”
From behind him Tuck hollered, “Hey, Martin. What brings you out this early?”
Cogdill stepped past Rave and over to Tuck. The two men met in the center of the living room and gave each other a backslap hug. “You look good, Tuck. How you feeling?”
Rave watched.
“Feel like a million bucks.”
Cogdill put his hands on his waist. “And how does a million bucks feel?”
Tuck’s shoulders bounced with the laughter as he said, “Like I could attract a million does.” What were they laughing at? Then Rave got it. Bucks and does. As in deer. A million bucks and a million does. Was there no
end to the redneck humor?
“You want some blackberry pie? Trini sent us home with it last night. It was all I could do to stay out of it and save it for breakfast.”
“Trini. That’s why I’m here, Tuck.” Cogdill followed him into the kitchen, and Rave called for Bullet to come in. The dog ignored him at first, but when he sharpened his tone—the way Tuck did—Bullet stopped his trajectory and turned. He ran full speed into the house.
In the kitchen Tuck put the coffee on and dished up three generous helpings of blackberry pie. Rave’s mouth watered.
They sat at the table and ate half the pie before Cogdill continued. “Tuck, you know you can’t go off shooting at innocent kids.”
“Weren’t no innocent kids. They were trespassers. And a person’s got a right to protect his property when the law doesn’t show up.” He spied Cogdill over a heaping spoonful of pie.
The man dropped his spoon to his plate. “I was out of town, Tuck. I would have taken care of it when I returned. You know I always do.”
“And Trini is supposed to let them wreck her pasture in the meantime? That ain’t the way to handle things, Cogdill. You of all folks should know that.”
Cogdill released a surrendering sigh. “The law is the law.”
“And yet you show up at my door. Who’s the law protecting? The innocent? Or the trespassing criminals?” Tuck stood from the table. “I’m not apologizing for what I did. And if Trini calls, I’ll do it again. Arrest me. Don’t. That’s up to you. But I won’t have teenagers terrorizing my neighbors and sit aside and watch. You know me, Cogdill.”
The man scraped the fork over his plate, back and forth as if considering his options or possibly considering more pie. “Then we’ve got to find another way to protect Trini’s land. This happens again, and one of the parents issues a complaint, I’ll have to take you in.”
Tuck sat back in his chair. “Then take me in.”
It was a challenge. Rave split his glances between the two men. Cogdill didn’t appreciate the defiance. Rave needed to do something. “Tuck, didn’t you say a gate might keep them out?”
“At the main road. They won’t drive past Trini’s house to get to the pasture because she’d be able to get all their license plate numbers. We block that entrance, it might be enough.”
Rave sat up. “If all you need is license plate numbers, I could get those. We know some of the makes of vehicles that were there last night. The small hatchback that left first. Couldn’t tell the color. Then there was the lifted Tacoma. It was white, no doubt about that one.”
The sheriff dropped his fork to his plate. It clanged and splattered blackberry goo over the table. The air in the room changed, and Rave knew he’d said the wrong thing, but he didn’t know what that was. The tension between Tuck and Cogdill thickened.
Cogdill broke the silence. “You know there’s a kid in the next county with the same truck as Glen, Tuck.”
“Yeah,” Tuck agreed and rubbed a hand over his chin. “Seems a far way to come to cause trouble but not impossible.”
“Glen was home watching a movie. He told me.”
Tuck nodded but didn’t look convinced. “No one’s accusing him, Martin.”
Cogdill chewed his cheek. “I’ll talk to the guys at the logging company. See if we can’t get a heavy-duty gate out there for Trini. Don’t know what it’ll cost, but I’ll chip in.”
“Me, too. See what the guys can do, and let me know.”
They stood, and Tuck led Cogdill to the door. “In the meantime, keep your firearms at home, Tuck.”
“You know I got a legal right to carry.”
“A right. Doesn’t mean a license to use them to scare kids. I know you weren’t firing at them. If I thought you were, I’d confiscate the weapons and haul you to jail.” He added, “Thanks for the pie. Might be Trini’s best. Pass the word to her for me, would you?”
Tuck opened the door, letting a mountain breeze fly inside. “Will do.”
When Tuck closed the door and turned around, he said to Rave, “You’ve got that confused look on your face again.”
Rave shook his head. “Just weird. Like Mayberry meets Fargo.”
“What do you know about Mayberry? Isn’t that a little before your time?”
“Yeah. But my girlfriend’s son watches this channel on cable that has all the old black-and-white shows. He’s crazy about them. I Love Lucy, Andy Griffith, especially that one with the talking horse.”
“Mister Ed,” Tuck said.
“Yeah. He used to watch Twilight Zone, but it was giving him nightmares, so his mom made him stop.”
“Kids these days.” Tuck motioned for Rave to follow him out back. They took their coffee and sat on the back porch, where they could watch the fish jump in the lake. A single boat skated across the silvery, smooth water.
Tuck was unusually thoughtful today. Hands together on his lap, one thumb ran over the bumpy skin of the other. Rave watched, splitting his time between Tuck and the small runabout gliding over the water. “We’ve got the memorial this evening. Don’t forget.”
It must be important to Tuck because at the mention, it seemed like a lifetime of memories played across his face. Intense enough to keep Rave from asking too many questions about the thing, though every cell of his body wanted to. “I won’t forget,” Rave answered. “Tuck?”
It took a moment for him to acknowledge. “Yes?”
Not too many questions, but he’d like an idea about what he was in for. “Is the memorial for someone? Grandma Millie, maybe?”
Tuck shrunk a little in his chair. “No. Not for Millie.”
The weight of old sorrow was thick enough to cut. Rave opted for a subject change. He’d know about the memorial soon enough. “What line of work were you in before you retired?”
“After the army I came here and became an electrician. Ended up with my own crews and eventually my own company. When I retired, I sold it to Albert Brine. He’s still here in town.”
Rave’s mind toyed with the new knowledge. He needed a skill. Now that he had a roof over his head, maybe he could consider taking some classes.
It was a moment before he realized Tuck’s full attention had shifted to him. “Why do you ask?”
Rave lifted and dropped one shoulder. “I was just thinking that it’s time I learn a skill. You think I’d be good at electrical work?”
All of Tuck’s face smiled. It was as if each wrinkle had its own intent—and all were thrilled at this new possibility. “Yes, sir, I do.”
Rave chewed his cheek. “If I decide to stick around, is that something you could start teaching me?”
Tuck was nodding before Rave could finish. “I’d love that. And when you’re ready, I’ll give Albert a call and see if we can’t get you on as an apprentice.”
Rave raised a finger. “If I stay.”
Tuck slowly nodded. “If you stay.”
Before them, the lake shimmered with the morning sun. A breeze trickled over the smooth expanse of the water, giving it ripples that stretched from the bank to the far side of the shore.
Several minutes passed before Tuck said, “You never mentioned you have a girl back in Florida.”
Raven leaned his head back. “That’s because I don’t. She dumped me for a guy she thinks could be her son’s father.”
“How old is the boy?” Tuck mimicked him, resting his head on his chair.
“He’s four. Really smart. Man, he’s got a smile as bright as daytime.”
Tuck’s fingers unthreaded on his lap. “Miss him, don’t you?”
Rave looked away. “Yeah.”
“There’s plenty of cash in the cookie jar if you want to go visit.”
If only things were that easy. “I can’t. His mom doesn’t want me around him. Said it’s too confusing, since she’s trying to build a relationship with the dad.”
Tuck sighed. “That’s a tough break. You talk to her lately?”
“No.” It was just too painful. He’d
gone to her house that night. Daniel was already in bed, and she refused to wake him up to let Rave say good-bye. He’d left the items with her and drove away fighting the tears and wishing he could have given Daniel one last hug.
When Tuck stood to go inside, Rave swiped at his cheek. A procession of ducks rose from the water and took flight. Tuck was gone for only a moment, then returned and hovered over Rave’s shoulder. “You know the worst part about growing old?”
Rave shook his head but didn’t look up.
“Living with regret.” He placed a hand on Rave’s shoulder and squeezed. A moment later, he dropped a cordless phone into Rave’s lap. Then he went inside and closed the slider door.
Rave rolled the phone over and over in his hand until the cool plastic had warmed. Ash would likely be home. It was her day off. Saturday, so Daniel would be home, too. It wasn’t too early, so he wouldn’t wake them if he called. All in all, he couldn’t have picked a better time to reach out. He turned on the phone, listened to the buzz, shut it off before dialing.
What was his problem? But that was easy enough to answer. He was in love with Ashley. Even hearing her voice—and the new distance and aggravation in it since Barry showed up—hurt. It hurt so deep in his heart, he almost couldn’t bear it.
But what if she let him talk to Daniel? He could explain why he was gone. Not the part about Ashley making him leave, but that he had a grandpa he needed to visit. Daniel would understand that. The smart four-year-old had asked Rave where his mommy and daddy were and if he had a grandpa like on The Waltons. Daniel had only watched a few episodes of that show before losing interest in the in-depth story lines. It was no Mister Ed.
Rave turned on the phone, dialed Ashley’s cell, and held the receiver tightly against his ear.
She answered with a groggy, “Hello?”
“Ash, it’s Rave.”
In the background, he could hear sheets and blankets moving. Her voice was bedroom soft when she yawned and it made him ache to be there. To hold her. She was probably in the oversize T-shirt she slept in and fuzzy socks. The memory made him smile.
Something Like Family Page 6