by Reed, N. C.
“That may be the problem,” Clay was neutral as he spoke. He thought it was personal but wasn’t going to push it. “I’ll be fine with her working for you, so long as she never steps foot on this farm again. And that does mean even to visit. If she’s with you when you come to see us, leave her at the truck stop. I’m not joking even slightly.”
“She won’t be back,” Whitten promised. “And if she does find her way back here, then you do what you have to. Seeing that,” he pointed to the sketch book, “is condemnation enough for me, to be honest. I will talk to the men she had doing it, but if they were following orders there isn’t much I can legally do to them.”
“Wouldn’t ask it of you,” Clay said honestly. “I’ve had to follow some shitty orders myself a time or two. Punishing them for following orders wouldn’t be fair in any way.”
“Thank you,” Whitten said sincerely. “Take care, Mister Sanders,” he extended his hand once more. “It was a pleasure to meet you, and it’s a relief to know that you’re here to help with the local law enforcement, even if you decide not to be on call for Adcock. As I said, we literally need every scrap of help we can get.”
“If we think of other ways we can help, we’ll send word through the Captain, or his representative,” Clay promised. “We’ve already made arrangement to raise extra acreage in gardens next year for your people. That will help some, hopefully.”
“I promise you it will,” Whitten replied. “I’m so sick of pre-thermed crap I could cry, but at the same time, there are people who are starving, and I can’t help them. Seems a little bit hypocritical to complain about eating something I don’t like when others aren’t eating at all.”
“I understand completely,” Clay nodded. “We’ve given away everything we could spare, to the point that if the harvest hadn’t been good, we might have been in trouble. As it is, even with a good yield, we don’t have all we need to be sure of making it until next year’s harvest. We’ll just have to see.”
“Good luck, Mister Sanders,” Whitten said as he made his way to the Hummer where Flores was still sitting in a huff.
“You too, Major,” Clay replied. Adcock waved at Clay and Jose before joining Gleason and Maxwell in his own Hummer. The small convoy eased away from the farm, headed down the road back to the interstate.
“Well,” Jose said when they were out of sight. “I thought for a minute that was going to go badly.”
“So did I,” Clay agreed. “He’s a cagey one, ain’t he,” he grinned. “I have to say, I like him. I think Adcock gave us the straight goods on him.”
“Same here,” Jose nodded.
“Well, I guess we better go tell Greg he’s now Sheriff of Calhoun County, hadn’t we?” Clay’s smile was almost sinister.
“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Sheriff?” Greg looked stunned. “Why in the hell would I want to be Sheriff?”
“We told him you’d been after the job,” Clay faked a puzzled look. “I thought you wanted the office someday.”
“That is the biggest crock of shit I ever heard!” Greg shot back. “Why in the hell would you even suggest something like that?”
“Honestly, we didn’t,” Clay admitted. “You’re the sole surviving deputy, so that makes you Sheriff by default. Even got the endorsement of the regional military commander.”
“Oh, goody,” Greg’s sarcasm was thick enough to cut. “I was especially worried about that part. Now I have to start trying to patrol again!” he put both hands on his head, as if he was suddenly in pain. Great, great pain.
“We’ll help you,” Clay offered. “We’ve got those Hummers and that other MRAP we took from that bunch that had Gray. We can paint the Sheriff’s logo on there or something. Get us some blue lights from the cars we still have back behind the barns?”
“I don’t want to do this,” Greg groaned. “There will be people wanting shit from me that I can’t possibly provide them! Wanting help that I have no way to give them.” He closed his eyes for a minute, shaking his head slowly.
“Don’t cry, man,” Clay sounded more amused than concerned. “I know you Marines are tender creatures, but you can’t just tune up and start-,”
“Kiss… my… entire… ass,” Greg bit the words off. “Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered to himself. “This is what I get for taking those badges from the office,” he said aloud.
“What?” Clay asked.
“When I went to the office, one of the things I did was grab the badges that Pepper had in his office,” Greg explained. “I had it in my head to deputize some of us so that we would at least have a thin claim to legality. Now I guess it’s not so thin,” he sighed. “Damn. I don’t even think I’ve got any uniforms left.”
“I’m sure if you had any at your place then my mom got them when we went to get your stuff,” Clay promised. “Why don’t you go ask her for a nice warm milk and see if she-,”
“I’ll kill you,” Greg almost growled. “I swear I’ll kill you! Beat you so bad it will look like Jake sat on your skinny ass!”
“Well, you recovered awful fast,” Clay laughed. “Seriously, she probably got your uniforms. I’d imagine she even patched them if they needed it. You can skip the warm milk, I guess, but I’m sure it would make you feel be-,” he cut off as he had to duck to avoid being hit by a flying helmet, thrown at him by the new Sheriff of Calhoun County.
“Hey, man! That’s police brutality or something, ain’t it!” he laughed, ducking again as an olive drab bag came flying in his direction.
“Okay, man, I get it!” Clay held up his hand. “You don’t want the warm milk! It was an honest mist-, Greg, that’s a shovel,” he once again cut himself off, voice laced with concern this time. “Seriously man, that’s a shov-, what are you gonna do with that?” He was backpedaling now as Greg stalked him with the shovel.
“Dude, you seriously need to work on your sense of humor!” Clay yelled over his shoulder as he ran. “A man in your position can’t afford to be overcome by his emotions and shit! You gotta think of the voters, man! It’s bad for your image or something, ain’t it?”
Greg’s reply was an unintelligible yell.
-
“That was a crappy thing to do, man,” Jake said fifteen minutes later. “Wonder he didn’t kill you.”
“Well, he looked pretty serious coming at me with that shovel,” Clay was still laughing.
“Ole Greg being Sheriff,” Jake shook his head slowly. “That’s something I for sure didn’t see coming.”
“Well, technically, it is the end of the world,” Clay reminded him. “I wonder if my mom made him some warm milk?”
-
“Here you are, Gregory,” Angela Sanders said as she sat the glass before him on the table. “This always made you feel better when you were a child,” she soothed.
“Thank you, Mrs. Sanders,” Greg sighed, giving in to the inevitable and tasting the warm milk.
“And yes, of course I got your uniforms, but they were in poor shape, so I’ve been working on them as I got the opportunity,” she promised. “They’re in the hallway closet across from your room. So is your hat and your police belt and equipment. Your pistol and magazines aren’t with it. I think Clay had those.”
“He gave them to me,” Greg nodded, taking another drink of the dastardly warm milk.
“Thank you, Mrs. Sanders,” he said again.
“You’re very welcome, of course,” Angela smiled, patting Greg on the head. “Now. Finish your milk while I go and get your uniforms… Sheriff,” she smiled at him as she left the kitchen.
“Oh, you are so dead, Clayton Sanders,” he whispered.
-
Work on the fencing began the next day. With the young women having progressed to the point in their training that they were able to help cover the watches, that freed Gordy and the others to catch up on badly neglected farm work. The new fencing wasn’t a neglected job, but repairs to the old fences was.<
br />
The main thing was to tighten the fences that had grown slack over time. There were several causes for that, including falling limbs and things of that sort or course. But fence posts being left loose in soft ground could also cause the problem, as could broke strands of wire. The simplest fix was to splice new wire into the slack area and then twist it tight to draw out the slack. Much the same way an actual break would be repaired. Another trick was to hammer a stake into the ground beside a loose post to tighten it into place again.
While simple, it was far from easy, and with thousands of acres contained by fencing, it wasn’t a one-day job, regardless of how many people were working on it. Between erecting new fencing and repairing the old, the teens and others who worked the farm stayed busy for the next week, working part of the time under the supervision of Dee Talbot, Samantha Walters and Terri Hartwell as the trio tried to figure the best way to separate the herd and keep it healthy.
The rest of the time they worked under Gordon’s supervision as he helped find weak spots in the outer fence lines and get them repaired. Cliff Laramie and Moses Brown kept the wilderness sawmill running, making the rails that Dee had originally mentioned. While of limited use for cattle, horses were a different matter. Cattle didn’t run around too often and even when they did it wasn’t usually at full tilt direct for the fence line. Horses had been known to do that and wire could injure a horse that tried and couldn’t stop in time. While a big horse would easily bust down a wooden rail fence, the horse would be far more likely to respond to calls for it to return than a cow looking for different grass.
The two older men also made new fence posts for the others to use in replacing posts that were starting to split or rot away. Most people tried to use seasoned cedar for gate and corner posts because they were highly resistant to decay, but you couldn’t always find cedar. In this case, it was fire scorched oak and maple, sawed into four-inch and six-inch square posts. Maybe not as good as cedar, but still able to do the job.
It was during all this work that Samantha Walters was finally able to catch Gordy Sanders alone.
-
“Gordy,” Sam’s voice was quiet. Almost soft.
“Hey,” Gordy turned to see her behind him. “What’s up? You need me somewhere else?”
“No, Gordy,” Sam fought the urge to sigh in exasperation. “I…wanted to talk. About what happened. What’s apparently still happening between us.”
“Okay,” Gordy replied agreeably. “What is it you need to say?” he asked politely.
“Gordy it’s not just what I want to say!” she was starting to lose her temper. “We have to work this out!”
“Work what out?” Gordy asked, not quite shrugging his shoulders. “I didn’t want you to be in danger and that didn’t matter to you. I assume it will be that way the next time as well. Life’s like that. We don’t always get what we want.”
“Are you still mad about that?” she demanded. “Is that what this is all about? I didn’t do what you said? Do what you told me to? Fall in line like a good little woman?”
“Is that seriously what you think?” he asked, his faked nonchalance gone now. “When have I ever given you the impression that I expected you to do whatever I said? To do anything I said, for that matter. It wasn’t about what I said, or what I wanted, or anything else like that. It was about you being in harm’s way when I wasn’t going to be there with you! That’s what I didn’t want! For you to get shot! For you to end up like Ka-,” he stopped himself short of finishing Kade’s name, visibly calming himself before continuing.
“Anyway, if you’ve thought all this time that I was mad because the little woman didn’t listen to me and fall into line then you don’t know me nearly as well as you thought you did,” he finished.
“So, you are mad?” she pressed him.
“You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?” Gordy looked bewildered. “I wasn’t mad then and I’m not now. I was afraid. There’s a difference between the two, though you may not can see that line. I’m out in the woods, hunting murderers, and every time I hear a rifle shot in the distance, I have to try not to worry that you’ve been shot, or killed, by the same rifle that had already killed over a dozen townspeople. You think it’s difficult to sit here and worry? Try being in the bush, at night, hunting killers with that worry hanging over you. Then you can tell me about worry.”
Samantha didn’t answer right away, letting Gordy’s words sink in.
“I have to go through that when you’re out fighting, too, you know,” she finally said.
“That’s true,” he nodded. “Nothing I can do about that, either. I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s really nothing that I actually have any control over or influence on. So now, I’m working on learning to just take things the way they come and work with that. I’m sure Beverly would call it part of the growing process. Well, I’m not sure of it, but it does sound like something she’d say.”
“You talk to Beverly that often?” Sam asked.
“Of course, I do,” Gordy snorted. “I kill people for a living nowadays, instead of farming like I wanted. I’ve lost friends, nearly lost other friends, and came close to being killed at least twice, myself. I talk to Bev all the time, just like the rest of us do. She’s helped us all a great deal.”
“Have you talked to her about this?” she asked.
“No, and I’m not going to,” Gordy replied. “I don’t see the need. I’ve already dealt with it in here,” he tapped his temple, “so I’m good. The next time I won’t be taken by surprise and I’ll deal with it better. You’ll see. It’ll be fine.”
“Gordy, there won’t be a next time!” Sam insisted. “This was only because of Susie Latimer, just like it was for the rest of you!”
“You’ll go the next time it’s someone you know,” Gordy shrugged. “You know it and so do I. What I have to do is reconcile myself to that and put it away. I’ve done that or think I have anyway. I just have to insulate myself from it. I can do that and keep on moving forward.”
“Is this how things will be, then?” Sam asked, her voice strained. “Always distant to me like this.”
“I haven’t been distant,” Gordy frowned. “I’ve been working. I haven’t had a day off since the day all of us went fishing, and we ended up using half of that day to ride the fences. There’s always work to be done here, Sam. You grew up on a place similar this, so you should know that. That’s not being distant, that’s being busy.”
Sam hesitated at that, wondering. Had she been unfair to Gordy? She remembered Xavier’s words on the ride home. The most dangerous of men were those who had something worth dying for. Wasn’t that what he had said? Did Gordy actually think….
“Gordy, I’m sorry I put you in danger,” she said softly. “Maybe it was selfish to want revenge for someone I knew. At the time I thought it was the right thing to do. They needed another spotter, and I know how to do the job. But I did make that decision without thinking of how it would affect you or weigh on you out in the field. Tell me something Gordy, and don’t think about it, just answer it with whatever hits you first.” She took a deep breath as he nodded.
“Would you die for me, Gordy?” she almost whispered. “Would you give your life for mine if you had to?”
“Of course,” he replied at once. Flat and simple.
In the next second, he was almost knocked off his feet as she slammed into him, wrapping her arms around him in a hug that was far tighter than her appearance would give her credit for. Gordy immediately embraced her in return, out of instinct more than anything, and held her. There was silence for a few moments, a stillness settling over them as they stood there together.
Then, she began to shudder slightly. To tremble, almost. Concerned, Gordy tried to see her face, but she kept if firmly buried in his chest. Gordy finally realized that Sam was crying. Sobbing really, but in silence.
“Hey, what is all this?” he asked softly. “You’re mad at me one minute and now you’re hu
gging me and bawling. What have I done now?”
A small fist smashed into his chest, hard enough that he was sure it would leave a bruise, but there was no answer. He continued to hold her, to stroke her hair, trying to comfort her even as he stood there completely confused.
She finally pulled away from him slightly, her eyes red and puffy where she had been crying. She reached up with one hand to softly caress his face, her fingers running from his ear to his chin, crossing over scars that he had gotten in the dog attack that seemed as if it had happened years ago, now. The same dog attack where he had sent her to safety while he stayed behind to prevent the dogs from following her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered softly. “I am so sorry. I didn’t know. Didn’t understand. I thought I did, Gordy, I swear I thought I did. But I was wrong. Please forgive me,” she leaned forward again and placed her forehead on his chest.
“Wait,” Gordy was completely confused now. “You didn’t know what? What am I forgiving you for, exactly? I don’t get it.”
“I thought I knew what love was,” her voice was muffled, but understandable. “I did. I was so sure I knew. But I didn’t. Not really. Oh, God, I am so sorry,” she sobbed again and hiccupped against him, her entire body shaking with the action.
“Uh, I hate to keep sounding ignorant here, but I’m gonna need a little more guidance on this one,” Gordy tried to keep his voice light and calm. “What is this about, Sam? Because I’m getting the feeling it’s not about Lewiston anymore.”
“No,” she shook her head slightly and he could feel her head moving against his chest. “Not just that, anyway. I have thought all this time that you were mad just because I was doing something you didn’t want me to. That is was some kind of ‘me Tarzan, you Jane’ crap. That’s why I made that crack about the little woman not staying home.”
“But I was wrong, and I am so sorry,” she didn’t look up at him. “I see, now. I was so blind.”