by Aqua Allsopp
Lizbeth volunteered to help out in the kitchen, for research she said, but really it was to make Buck wait, and wait he did. “You sure know how to make a man wait Elizabeth, I hope this walk is worth the trouble,” Buck said in a low and deliberate voice.
Lizbeth, stopped in her tracks and turned walk back into the house without saying a word. Lady was close on her heels.
“Woe, woe, woe. don’t get angry, I was just kidding with you,” he said to Lizbeth, while pulling her back gently by the arm until she fell into his embrace where he held her close as he looked down into her upturned face. “It was only a few hours ago that you were holding on to me for life.” Lizbeth blushed but remained silent, holding his gaze. “Oh, so now you’re the strong silent type? You could have fooled me, the way that you talked my ear off yesterday.” With that Lizbeth lost it, she couldn’t hold back her laughter any longer until she and Buck were giggling like teenagers on the Coates’ back porch. “Let’s go walking, he said as he took her hand and they walked out of the manicured garden and onto the wild range. Lady and Buck’s dog, Scout playing chase as they ran ahead.
“Have you ever seen a sky this beautiful before Lizbeth?”
“So you knew that my name is Lizbeth all this time and you continually called me Elizabeth?” She asked.
“Yup,” Buck replied.
“You are a stinker”, Lizbeth said as she kicked dust at Buck.
“Hey, you keep that up and I’ll take you over my knee.” Buck warned.
“I’d like to see you try,” Lizbeth said, hands on hips and brimming with confidence.
“Okay, you asked for it,” Buck said as he charged at Lizbeth trying to catch her. Lizbeth danced around Buck with ease, ducking or jumping every time that he reached to grab for her, screaming and laughing for joy. They played at this game like children until Buck said, “Okay I give up. Your cat-like reflexes are no match for me woman.”
“I’m a triathlete,” Lizbeth said proudly. Then she took Buck’s hand and they walked in silence neither of them knowing what to say. Buck and Lizbeth continued like this for two-weeks. The entire ranch was a buzz with sideways looks, smirks and grins but no one, not even Mavis spoke of it directly and the Coates clan continued with life as usual.
“Thank you P.H. for allowing me to stay here at the ranch. I’m sorry that I didn’t have a chance to meet your son Steven since he’s the official owner of the ranch now, but maybe he’ll agree to a telephone interview. Thank you again for your hospitality and for the interview. Everyone has been so kind to me that I hate to leave.” Lizbeth said with tears in her eyes.
“So stay darling,” P.H. said as he held Lizbeth hands in his. She could feel the roughness of a life spent doing the hard work of cattle ranching and began to cry.
“Woe darlin’ I didn’t mean to make you cry. You know you are welcome to come back anytime. Don’t even call just show up at the door.” Buck said softly.
“Okay,” Lizbeth said through the choke of tears. “I’m sorry that I’m being so silly, it’s just that I really will miss you all.” Mavis came up and gave Lizbeth a hug, followed by a couple dozen other folks that she had come to know and love.
On the way to the airport she and Buck mostly rode in awkward conversation followed by what seemed like unending silence until Buck said, “Lizbeth I need to tell you something and I want you to give me a chance to explain before you get angry.”
“Okay, this can’t be good.” Lizbeth said as she turned in her seat to face Buck.
“Lizbeth, I’m Steven Coates, but let me explain,” Buck said. “I don’t want to sound like I’m anything special, but a lot of women have come to the Coates ranch pretending to be someone or something that their not. It turns out what they really hoped is that they would become Mrs. Steven Coates. I’m not opposed to marriage, in fact I’m ready to settle down, but it’s hard to meet someone who likes me because of the person I am and not what she thinks I can offer her. I wanted a chance to get to know a beautiful woman as just a regular guy and not the owner of a thirty acre successful cattle ranch. Can you forgive me for not telling you?”
“Are you finished pouring your heart out cowboy, because I already knew you were Steven Coates. I’ve known from the first interview with P.H. that he was your father. The two of you have some of the same facial expressions.”
“You mean that you knew I had a big secret all along and you let me burn with guilt that I couldn’t be straight with you about who I was?”
“You’re a good poker player, Ms. Lizbeth,” Buck said as he laughed and shook his head about being outsmarted by Lizbeth. Lizbeth sat in silence, smiling proudly at how clever she had been.
Lizbeth held hands then said goodbye at the airport curb. “I’m going to miss you Harvard.”
“I’ll miss you too cowboy,” Lizbeth said as she walked away and entered the airport to fly back to her lonely life. Even Lady looked sad to be going home.
*****
Over the next month, Lizbeth’s first article was released and as she suspected, Clay invited her out for a congratulatory celebration. When they arrived at the restaurant, Lizbeth began to feel more upbeat than she had been since returning home from Texas.
Most days she was too busy to miss Buck and the other from the ranch, but especially Buck, but always at night, just before drifting off to sleep his face would appear and that lonely sad feeling would engulf Lizbeth like a wave.
“Listen, I have to tell you that you look stunning in that dress Lizbeth. It looks like you’ve put on a little muscle down at the ranch. It looks good on you,” Clay said, lifting his glass of red wine to Lizbeth as if to say cheers to you. Lizbeth raised her glass of Pellegrino and lime in response.
Before going to Texas, Lizbeth would have given her right arm to be at dinner with Clay, but now she was bored out of her mind listening to Clay drone on about nothing and everything, only none of it was what she wanted to hear.
Lizbeth thought to herself, “How could I have been so nuts about this guy? He’s prettier than I am. He’s analyzed, sized-up and calculated the net worth of nearly everyone that’s walked past our table in the last thirty minutes. Is that all that he thinks about? Money, status, looks?” Lizbeth asked herself.
She listened to Clay for another half-hour until finally he became just as bored with her as she was of him and decided to call it an evening. “I’ll walk you to the door”, Clay said as he closed the car door after Lizbeth exited. As Lizbeth put her key in the door, Clay began to rub the small of her back saying, “This doesn’t have to be goodnight, I could come in for a while.”
“No, thanks, I’m really tired Clay but thanks for a nice evening,” Lizbeth said as she closed the door. Leaving Clay on the other side of it. “Did he just try to make a move on me after that horrible dinner, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Lizbeth said to Lady. “My love life sucks Lady.” Lizbeth cried.
*****
Tap, tap, tap, tap on the keyboard was all that could be heard. Lizbeth was in the zone writing about West Texas cowboys, thinking about the Coates Ranch, and Buck.
Buzz, buzz, buzz, the sound of Lizbeth’s mobile vibrating on her desk broke her concentration. “This is Lizbeth,” she answered.
“I sure do miss you, Harvard!” Said the voice on the other end of the line.
“Buck, I mean Steven is that you?”
“Yes it’s me, how are you, Lizbeth? How’s Lady? I sure do miss y’all,” Buck said.
“I miss you too Buck, and I can’t get used to calling you, Steven.”
“Good because I kind of got used to hearing you say Buck,” he replied.
“Listen, Lizbeth, I’ve been thinking, you can work from anywhere can’t you?”
“Yeah, why do you ask?” Lizbeth asked, praying for the answer that she wanted to hear. “Ask me to come back Buck, ask me,” Lizbeth silently begged him.
“Well, I can’t work anywhere, my work is here on the ranch in Texas,” Buck said.
“Don
’t change the subject you dope,” Lizbeth shouted in her head.
“Since I can’t work just any old place I decided to take some time off and come visit you, Lizbeth.”
“Really?” “Woof-woof, woof-woof,” Lady barked. “Quiet Lady,” Lizbeth said impatiently.
“Lady probably smells that little something I just had delivered to your house.”
“To my house, how do you even know where I live?”
“You’re not the only one who knows how to do research Harvard,” Buck said with sarcasm. “Go to your front door and see what I sent you Lizbeth.”
Being careful not to show the excitement in her voice, Lizbeth said, “Okay I’ll check the door now, but what is it, I hate surprises,” she said as she opened the front door.
“I sent you me!” Said, Buck as he swept Lizbeth up in his arms saying, “I think we owe it to ourselves to try to make this work Harvard, what do you say we give it a try?”
“Sounds good to me cowboy!”
THE END
Another bonus story is on the next page.
Bonus Story 5 of 6
Always Faithful
“Sweet home Alabama. Woo-hoo. Where the skies are so blue. Woo-hoo. Sweet home Alabama. Woo-hoo. Lord, I'm coming home to you…” Lynyrd Skynyrd belts out his song that’s favored by Southern and military bar patrons, through the sound system, and over the drone of celebrating Marines who have gathered together to gulp alcohol and celebrate their buddy’s end of military service, amid an average Friday night’s revelry among the civilian residents of this military town.
“Gunny, Gunny! Over here!” Master Sergeant Oberlin yells across the crowded bar as he waves Gunnery Sergeant William “Bill” Jost over to the small table that he and his fellow Marine buddies have commandeered for their base of operation at the bar tonight. From this position, they have a strategic view of the front door, bathrooms, behind the bar, and the hallway that leads to an alternate exit, which lets out into a side alley.
Although they live and work in the relative safety of the City of Twentynine Palms, in the Southern Mojave Desert, of San Bernardino County California, at the Marine Corps Air Ground Combat Center; these battle hardened warriors can’t help being both tactical and strategic, even in their off hours.
Positioning themselves close enough to the “head” for urgent bathroom breaks, and in proximity to observe the building’s ingress and egress points just in case something pops off in the bar tonight. A fight, bombing, robbery, or who knows what dangerous imaginings these women and men who have survived the hell of multiple tours into combat, are capable of conjuring in their minds as plausible occurrences on a Friday night in a local bar.
“Yeah, sorry I’m late, I had to drop Zack off at my in-laws before I came here. My mother-in-law was chatting me up about how Zack and I are doing, and well you know, you can’t just walk away on a conversation like that.”
“You’re right man,” Oberlin says with a hardy slap on Jost’s back that would have knocked a lesser man over. “How are you guys doing after Rebecca’s passing?” By-the-way, I know that I didn’t come around a lot when, well towards the end,” Oberlin said with his head hung in shame.
“You know I love you like a brother, and my godson Zack, but I’ve seen enough death to last two lifetimes. I just couldn’t bear to see the light go out of Becca’s eyes man. She was like a sister to me, and to see cancer…” His voice trailed off as he shook his head from side to side as if shaking an awful memory out of his mind’s eye. This time, Jost placed a strong, firm hand on his massive friend’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
“It’s alright man, I get it, believe me. Now, are we here to mourn the dead or to party?” Jost asks. Oberlin knows these are not the words of an uncaring husband whose wife’s death is still fresh and raw in the hearts and minds of those whom she has left behind.
Instead, they are the words of a man compartmentalizing his feelings so that he can cope with his grief in the way that warriors do—in fits and starts that creep in from time-to-time.
Oberlin hoisted his glass again, smiled broadly, and yelled, “Gunny, I’m glad you didn’t skip out on your ETS party man. You don’t end a term of service everyday Gunny—we need to celebrate my friend.” The rest of the group responded to Oberlin’s proclamation to begin the night’s merrymaking with a bawdy round of cheers and jeers for their comrade—Gunny Jost.
“Hey, darlin’ two more of these on my tab please.” Oberlin interrupts himself from chiding Gunnery Sergeant Jost to bark out an order to a bar server.
“Sure thing big-man,” she says as she squeezes Oberlin’s muscle bound bicep, that’s gripping his nearly empty glass of Makers Mark, Kentucky bourbon, feeling confident that she’s just increased her end of the night tip by $20.00 with this little stroke of Oberlin’s ego.
The talented server managed to keep her dignity and the drinks flowing while serving Oberlin’s raucous group. Earning a $150.00 gratuity from this single table in her station.
*****
Having had a little too much to drink, Jost hops into one of the taxis waiting outside of the bar as a part of their nightly routine of picking up intoxicated patrons at the end of the night. Arriving at his in-laws in a taxi, he decides to crawl into bed with his son Zack rather than waking him up to a taxi-ride in the early morning hours.
Jost kissed his son sweetly on the forehead, and even in his drunken haze, he silently prays; “God please let Zack be alright.”
“Dad, you smell like whiskey.” With closed eyes, a grumpy, sleepy, Zack whines.
“I know son, it was my going away party, forgive me?”
Zack, hearing the sadness in his father’s voice was suddenly more alert. Opening his eyes to stare into his father’s face in the darkened room, illuminated by only the digital time on the cable television device sitting on a small television stand in the guest room of his deceased mother’s parent’s home. “It’s okay Dad, I’m glad you had a good time with your buddies. Was Godfather there?”
“Yeah. Ha, ha, he’s the reason I’m in this state in the first place. He made sure the drinks kept flowing all night, ha, ha, ha. That Oberlin can sure drink me under the table. Get some sleep kid, we have a busy day tomorrow.”
“We do? What are we doing?”
“Yeah, we need to figure out what I’m going to do with myself now that I’ve left the Marine Corp. But don’t worry, we’ll figure it out together, alright buddy?” Jost asked as he gave his boy another kiss, on the cheek, rubbing his little face tenderly with hands as rough as course sandpaper.
“Dad?”
“Yes, son?
“You really reek Dad, don’t kiss me again until you brush your teeth,” Zack said.
“I stink huh? Well, take this, huh, huh, huh.”
“Ha, ha, Dad, stop, your breath is singeing my eyebrows, I’m getting drunk off the fumes, ha, ha, you’re killing me, ha, ha, ha, ha.” Zack laughed as his father exhaled deeply into his face, torturing him with whiskey breath and tickles at 3:00 a.m.
The father and son fell asleep with the pleasant thoughts of their close-knit bond swimming in their heads.
*****
Zack was awoken by a familiar smell that pulled him out of deep sleep and into the world of activity. He sat up in the bed with a start and said out loud. “Pancakes!”
The sound of his son’s excited voice and the jerk of the shared bed, sent a shot of adrenaline through Gunnery Sergeant Jost’s body, making him instantly alert and wild-eyed.
Seeing the curly, mop-headed, blond boy, with marble-sized blue eyes staring at him with a smiling face saying, “Dad, pancakes!” Caused Jost to put the brakes on his fight or flight response and instead, adjusts his speech and behavior to his son’s level of excitement.
His Marine trained, muscle memory told his body to prepare to fight or flee, but it soon became painfully clear to him that his state of alertness was inappropriate for the situation.
This biochemical response, me
ntal adjustment, and rehearsed behavior was for his son’s benefit, and it made Jost feel like he had it all under control, but Zack wasn’t fooled. He noticed his father’s initial, somewhat scary response, but he loves him too much to mention it. He knew that his dad was trying really hard to “get better”.
For a second, he felt that sudden pang in his belly the way that he did every time that he missed his mom and wished she were here.
Jost noticed the flash of pain and fear across his son’s face, but like Zack, he loves his son too much to mention it.
Instead, he said, “I don’t smell pancakes, I smell bacon, and coffee—I swear your Grandma’s a saint for making breakfast this morning.”
“I’m using the bathroom first to get downstairs before you do scamp.” Jost said as he jumped off the bed and ran to the bathroom, allowing Zack to race past him.
“Ha, ha, ha, you’re getting slow Marine, see you downstairs, maybe I’ll save you a pancake Dad.”
“That’s right Gunny, fake it till you make it”, Jost muttered to himself. “Just like the Marine base psychiatrist said,” Jost whispered. Gunny Jost was in the throes of intensive therapy for Post Traumatic Stress (PTS) when his wife Rebecca began the fight for her life. She was the glue that kept their family together, his rock, his love, his best friend, and now she’s gone.
Jost had prided himself on being a loving and involved parent, even through two combat deployments, long separations, and much longer hours when he was at his home base at Twentynine Palms. When after returning home from serving in Iraq, he was diagnosed with PTS, he got help right away.
Jost remembered his father telling him how much his own father had changed after coming home from Vietnam, and how he loved his father but was afraid of his temper, his drinking, and his dark moods.
Jost recalled how his grandfather always wanted to be left alone to tinker in his woodshed, and how his father and grandfather barely said more than hello, goodbye, and a little small talk about sports. Jost wanted a different relationship with his son and immediately sought help for his anxiety, hypervigilance, and depression.