Chapter 15

April 2007

The aftermath of the incident in the biology lab was short-lived. Principal Reynolds put an end to the wild rumors going around during a special school assembly Wednesday morning. Nobody had been killed or maimed, but one student had been expelled. The biology lab had been cleaned up and was ready for classes to resume. The student body had to sit through several speeches about personal responsibility and the 'proper' ways to express disagreements.

Leaving the assembly Scott was deep in thought when Ed nudged him. He looked up and was surprised to see Larry and his parents walking down the hallway. Larry pointed and walked over with his folks.

"Mom, Dad, these are the guys I was telling you about."

"I'm surprised you're back in school already," Ed said.

"I'm not really. We came to get my books. They're letting me study at home for a few days. You wouldn't believe the headache I have. The doctor says I should be fine once all the swelling goes down."

Scott looked at the bandage on Larry's face and the impressive black eye he could see developing, "I'm really glad to see you up and around."

Larry's mom spoke up, "Thank you for taking care of our son. He said you kept him calm until the ambulance arrived."

"Larry was pretty brave. I don't think I would have been in his position."

They watched Larry and his folks walk away through the crowd of students. They seemed like a nice family and Scott was glad Larry's injuries hadn't been worse.

Lunch was a little rowdier than normal right up until the point when Lacey sat down at the lunch table. Scott looked closely and saw a tiny stitch in the cut by her hairline.

"How are you feeling today?" he asked.

"I'm good. How are you?" she said as she poked at one of the scabbed over scratches on his face.

He brushed her hand away, "You know everybody right? Girls you know Lacey?"

Rene and Molly exchanged cautious greetings with Lacey.

"So, are we getting together Friday?" Lacey asked.

"It would have to be early. I've got to get up for work before five Saturday morning. Is your mother okay with this?"

Molly and Rene were staring at him as if he'd grown an extra ear.

"Don't worry about my mother," Lacey said.

Bo interrupted, "How about a get together at my house Friday after school? We could watch movies and order pizza?"

The rest of the gang was up for it and plans were quickly made. Scott looked at Lacey who added her agreement, "Sure, sounds like fun to me." That settled it.

Lacey left the lunch period with a very large smile on her face.

Mr. Piotrowski picked Scott up after school and they drove to an estate sale in the county. The midweek auction was a bust, but watching Mr. Piotrowski was fascinating. People were continually stopping to say hello, or ask his opinion. A man from the auction company came by to see if Mr. Piotrowski needed anything.

"Thank you, but no. I'm good. I think we're just looking today," Mr. Piotrowski said.

"If I can be of any assistance," the man offered his card.

"Of course," Mr. Piotrowski replied taking the man's business card.

They continued to walk around the old farmhouse looking at the various items for sale as the auction went on. There was a somber couple on the porch watching the proceedings.

"Who are those people?" Scott asked.

"Family members. This is somebody's life for sale here, and we're modern day vultures picking over the carcass."

"I guess I never thought about it that way," Scott said.

"It's not so bad. These auctions do help. There's a tax burden after death, and the auction will raise money for the family. It helps them clear out the property. It's the way of things. What can get ugly are foreclosure sales or even an estate sale if the family is arguing. In that case you buy quick and get the heck out of Dodge."

They continued to walk around. Scott recognized the brothers with the moving business. They waved at Mr. Piotrowski who politely waved back.

"Now there are a couple of smart young men. Their business is recession proof. In good times and bad, people will always need to move things."

Scott finally got to watch The Blues Brothers movie during Friday afternoon's party. Lacey turned out to be a social butterfly of the first order and succeeded in charming the entire group. They had pizza and played different games. All in all, it was an excellent party.

Lacey walked Scott out to his motorcycle, "I wish I could go for a ride."

"I've got an extra helmet I could bring, if it was okay with your folks."

"It's just my mom, and she'll never be okay with it. Are you going to kiss me?" she asked.

Scott leaned in and gave her a kiss, and slowly pulled his head back in surprise at his own boldness.

"That was nice," she said.

"Yeah." He nervously licked his lip and tasted ... strawberries? "So does this mean that we're dating?"

She giggled and said, "Not exactly."

"What do you mean by—"

Lacey stood up on her toes and gave Scott a kiss. For a brief second her tongue probed his.

Wow! It felt like his brain had just short circuited.

"I'm not allowed to date until I turn sixteen," she said.

Scott tried to get his heartbeat back under control, "When do you turn sixteen?"

"Not till next May."

Next May?

"But I can go to parties and group activities," she blurted out. "Please say you're not mad."

"I'm not mad, but won't your mom be when she finds out the truth?"

"She's not going to find out. I wanted to go out with the cutest boy in ninth grade and now I have. We can be each other's dates for parties and at the movies. Things like that. What do you think?"

"I think you're crazy is what I think," Scott told her. Her refrain had sounded terribly familiar. "So your plan is that we'll just happen to be at a lot of the same parties? You know I don't really go to parties, right? I guess we can figure something out, but don't blame me when your mom finds out and grounds you."

"Why do you keep saying that? She's not going to find out."

"Right. I'll bet you a dollar that within ... two weeks your mom will have either met, or spoken on the phone with at least half of the moms from the group in the house."

"I don't think so," Lacey said as she as she grabbed his arm. "Will I see you Monday?"

"Of course, sit with us at lunch."

"It's a date," she said and kissed his cheek.

Scott put in his ear buds and pulled on the motorcycle helmet. He started the bike and let it warm up. Lacey stood there and watched. He goosed the throttle. Lacey turned around and started sauntering back to the house. She had a very nice walk. He pulled away from Bo's house while Jerry Reed sang, 'She got the goldmine. I got the shaft... ' Scott hoped it wasn't prophetic.

At Mr. Piotrowski's house Scott busied himself doing chores. He tackled the upstairs with the vacuum cleaner and a dust rag and worked his way downstairs. When he was finished he hit the kitchen and both bathrooms. He was sweeping the front porch off when Mr. Piotrowski interrupted him.

"What's gotten into you?"

"I met a girl."

"Really? Better tell me about it," Mr. Piotrowski said as he sat on the porch bench.

Jobe sat down and cocked his head, observing the interchange.

"Her name is Lacey, Lacey Gregory."

"Can't say I that I know the family name," Mr. Piotrowski replied.

"I kissed her."

"Whoa ho! That explains the goofy look."

"Hey!"

"I'm joking. So this girl, you really like her?"

"I could get to."

"Then what's the problem?"Mr. Piotrowski asked.

"She's not allowed to date until she turns sixteen, which isn't until next May," he said.

"Breaking her parents' rules isn't going to do you any favors."

Scott continued, "She can do group activities, things like that. You're right though, and I told her she was going to be grounded when her mother finds out."

"Sounds like T-r-o-u-b-l-e to me," Mr. Piotrowski said with a grin. "Is this girl the Travis Tritt version or the Elvis version?"

Scott smiled at the song reference, "This girl is definitely the Tritt version, very up-tempo."

"I hate to admit it, but Tritt's version is better," Mr. Piotrowski said.

"I didn't know that you were an Elvis fan."

"Verna was the big Elvis fan. She loved his movies. She loved everything he did no matter how cheesy. I liked his older stuff before the sequined jumpsuits."

It was quiet on the front porch. Jobe walked over and inspected the broom as a late afternoon breeze rustled the leaf debris Scott had piled up.

"Changing the subject," Mr. Piotrowski said as he stood up. "Are you ready for tomorrow?"

Scott swept the trash into a dustpan before he answered, "As ready as I can be. I have no idea what I'm actually going to be doing. Do you want me to stop by in the morning?"

"Finish up here and be sure to get a good night's sleep. I don't think there's any need to come by in the morning. I'm sure you could use the extra time."

Back at the ranch there was a note on his desk. He looked around the room, but nothing seemed out of place. The note was from Mrs. Delgado and read, 'Mijo, I'm starting to forget what you look like. Breakfast tacos are in the fridge for you.' He made a promise to spend some time with her the next chance that he got. He sat against the headboard of his bed and let his thoughts slip away.

He jerked awake. It was dark as he blinked the sleep from his eyes. He knew without looking at the luminescence of his watch that it was four a.m. The stiffness in his neck went away under the hot spray of the shower. He shut the bunkhouse door and made his way to the kitchen to retrieve his breakfast. He didn't need to think about the routine as he wrapped the gate chain around the post and pulled out onto the highway. He rode past the empty rental house, and Mr. Piotrowski's house was dark when he passed it minutes later. At Meritt's Corner an empty cattle truck idled in the parking lot. The big rig's parking lights and the bright neon flickering above the diner were the only signs of life. He rode on. The ranch occupied his thoughts as he drove toward his new job.

Scott slowed to turn onto the private road leading to the Lewis place. Stone columns had recently been built at the entrance to bracket a fancy ranch sign. It was softly lit by hidden light fixtures, but there was no name displayed. The private road had brand new blacktop and neatly groomed shoulders. He rode slowly on the smooth surface enjoying the road as it followed the terrain.

The lodge at the end of the road was an impressive post and beam structure dressed in natural stone. He parked at the back of the building as he'd been instructed. He'd worn his low quarter riding boots, jeans, and a fairly new t-shirt under his motorcycle jacket. The sheet he'd been given by Mrs. Lewis hadn't mentioned any dress code, but he suddenly felt underdressed.

"Nice bike," a voice from the doorway said.

Scott turned to find a younger version of Smokey Lewis coming toward him.

"I'm Bern. If you're our new employee, my brother says you come highly recommended."

"Scott MacIntyre, Mr. Lewis. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"And you're early. That's a good way to start. Come on in. I'll give you the nickel tour and introduce you to the others. I'm Bernard, or 'Bern', Lewis. Smokey is my older brother. Did you meet Buck?"

"Yes, sir, at the store," Scott replied.

"Oh none of that 'yes sir, no sir, ' nonsense, at least not between the lodge staff. Call me 'Bern'."

"Yes ... Bern."

"See, that wasn't so hard," Bern said as he opened the lodge door. "What do you think of the place?"

Scott looked around. The lodge interior was mostly wood, with stone details. There were trophy heads hung from the walls. A large fireplace dominated one end of the structure. There was an airy vaulted ceiling, and oversized stuffed chairs clustered around. It was both fancy, and casual. He couldn't quite get a handle on how to describe the style.

"It's fantastic," he said.

Bern led him over to the kitchen area, "You wouldn't believe what it cost. Coffee?"

"No, thank you."

"Caffeine is the lifeblood that keeps this place going in the early morning hours. If you ever see the coffee pot empty, head for the hills," Bern said as he poured himself a mug. "This ranch has been in the family for three generations. It's where Lewis Outfitting got started. Our dad, Buck, was the one who really expanded the business back in the 1970s. He's retired, mostly, and these days Smokey and I run things."

There was a commotion as a small group of people entered the lodge.

"Junior, meet our newest employee," Bern said.

Junior turned out to be Bern's twenty-three year old son. He mumbled hello and flopped into one of the chairs. He immediately started flipping through television channels on one of the big flat screens scattered throughout the building. The other two people were introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Pope, caretakers of the property. They were an older couple.

"He needs a shirt," Mrs. Pope said.

"I'm still giving him the orientation speech. I'll turn him over to you later," Bern told her.

"Let me show you something," Bern said.

Scott followed him over to a large, framed map hanging on a wall.

"We're turning the ranch into a sportsman's retreat. We've got the main lodge, obviously. Over here we're finishing our shotgun ranges," Bern pointed to an area with his finger. "We've got a really terrific sporting clay course, and facilities for skeet, trap, and five stand. We're also building rifle and pistol ranges. We're creating the ultimate get-a-way for the shooting sportsman."

It sounded impressive.

"Do you shoot?" Bern asked.

"I do. I've taken all of the basic NRA pistol and rifle classes. I've not had any shotgun experience though. I've got a nice Ruger .22 Sporter of my own."

"Those Rugers are great. Don't worry about the shotgun stuff, we'll teach you all you'd ever want to know. Where have you been shooting?"

"On private property, and over at the sheriff's range."

"That's a nice facility," Bern acknowledged. "I know what you're thinking. Why build a fancy place here in West Texas? The answer is because there's a market for it, and it's one that we've been building for thirty years. The types of customers we're after want to get away from the big cities and the crowded suburbs. They want an adventure. Sportsmen like variety. What we offer is something straight out of a John Ford movie. They can do the mountains, or the leafy green water adventures in other places. West Texas is our selling point."

Junior snorted from his chair, but Bern ignored him. "You don't know who John Ford was, do you?" he asked.

"No, sir," Scott replied.

Bern sighed, "He made really great movies about the west. It doesn't matter. Come with me and I'll show you some of what I've been talking about."

Scott made a mental note to look up John Ford.

Outside they went to a covered parking area for utility vehicles. They were sort of a cross between a four-wheel, all-terrain vehicle and a golf cart on off-road steroids. They had proper seats with a roll cage, and a short cargo deck at the back. The vehicles had impressive power for their size. The UTVs were painted in different woodland camouflage schemes. Scott knew they were expensive because the farm supply store had a couple on display. They were priced at close to ten thousand dollars a vehicle.

Bern explained as he drove along neatly groomed paths, "We're selling a lifestyle here. Come for a weekend or a week. We'll offer personalized instruction in any aspect of hunting or shooting that the customer wants; corporate events, vacations, you name it. We won't officially open this part of the business until next year. We've got a few things lined up with some of our loyal customers to help do some test runs after we finish construction. Think you'd like helping out here until summer when we switch you over to the other property?"

"Yes, sir."

"Even with school in the fall, we always appreciate good help, so keep that in mind. We'll get you outfitted with the correct clothing too. That's another benefit, a clothing allowance and a sweet employee discount. It's all part of the lifestyle," Bern tugged at his pants for emphasis. "There's big money in hunting and sporting clothes. We've got a deal with a brand name manufacturer to promote their lines. All our people wear this gear. I know you'd prefer jeans, but these rugged hiker style pants are pretty great. They've got cargo pockets, and they're durable. You wouldn't believe the amount of thought that's gone into color schemes for the staff. Mrs. Pope will see that you get fitted. Stick with us and you'll end up with an entirely new wardrobe."

They continued the grand tour. Some of the facilities were still under construction, and Bern was careful to explain it all. He was an enthusiastic tour guide.

"Questions?" Bern asked as they were headed back toward the lodge.

"What are you going to call it?"

Bern laughed, "That is the million dollar question. I'm for something simple like 'The Lewis Ranch, ' but my brother ... well really it's his wife who wants something much fancier. Hopefully we'll have a decision by the end of the summer."

"Can you tell me more about what I'll be doing at the other property?" Scott asked.

"Much different. That's pure hunting over there, the roots of Lewis Outfitting. It's a considerably larger parcel of land. We bought it three years ago when we started phasing out guided hunts here on this property. It's a big expansion for our business. I think Smokey explained how we want a close look at the entire thing? We've got aerial photos and we've covered a fair bit ourselves. What we need is an up close, methodical survey. There are old hunting blinds we need to find and remove, abandoned feeders, that sort of thing. You'll be looking for what doesn't belong. It could be anything from trash to old fencing. We pulled down a barn and a couple of shacks last year."

"Sounds pretty cool," Scott said.

"Let's be truthful. It's going to be long and boring, but I like your attitude."

Bern parked the vehicle and turned him over to Mrs. Pope. She took him back to an office.

"Turn around," she said.

Scott complied as she tugged at his waistband and measured him. She jotted the numbers down.

"Five foot, eight inches," she said. "You're a growing boy so I'm going to leave some room in these measurements. We should have the pants and shirts for you by next week. Take this voucher to the farm supply store and get fitted for two sets of boots. You'll want high ankle cover for snake bite protection. You're from Broken Creek aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Then you know Mrs. Delgado?" she asked.

"Very well."

"Please tell her I said hello."

Mr. Pope took charge after that. He was a no-nonsense, taciturn man, and Scott couldn't help but like him. He drove Junior and Scott out to the shotgun ranges. They were to do some landscaping around a centrally located club house and snack bar. The building appeared to be complete, but was unfurnished. Scott spent the afternoon rolling out a fabric weed barrier and pinning it down around the building. Later, they wheeled in barrow-loads of white gravel and spread it around. This was low maintenance landscaping in the desert.

Junior never said much, and was less than enthusiastic about their assigned task. It didn't bother Scott. He'd worked with all types growing up at Broken Creek.

Mr. Pope returned and told them that was it for the day.

"Should we start here tomorrow?" Scott asked.

"Tomorrow?" Mr. Pope replied. "Son, we don't work Sundays. Be at the lodge next Saturday and we'll have work for you. There's always plenty to do."

Scott left the ranch and headed back to Mr. Piotrowski's. It had been a day of experiences. The new job was going to be pretty cool.

Jobe and Mr. Piotrowski were out in the storage building when Scott pulled up on the bike.

"How was it?" Mr. Piotrowski asked as Scott took off his helmet.

Scott knelt down and patted Jobe, "Working weekends at Lewis Outfitting does not mean 'working weekends.' They're closed on Sundays."

"Ah."

"They're doing a lot of interesting things there. I think I'm going to like it."

"So what did you end up doing today?" Mr. Piotrowski asked.

"Shoveled gravel."

"Sounds very interesting," Mr. Piotrowski said.

"It was nice gravel."

"Alright funny guy, why don't you take the rest of the day off? Take Sunday off too."

"Are you sure?" Scott asked.

"I am."

"I think I might go for a hike tomorrow if that's alright?"

"It's fine with me. Come on out. If you want you can go to town with me in the afternoon."

"I would like to, very much. Can we stop by the farm supply?"

"Sure," Mr. Piotrowski replied.

When Scott got back to the ranch he found the gate hanging open. He closed the gate and made sure that the chain was secured around the post. He rode down to the barn and went looking for the foreman.

"Son of bitch," the foreman said. "It's that new idiot I've got working for me. I'll take care of it, and thanks for telling me instead of you-know-who."

"Hey us worker-bee's have to stick together," Scott said. "Need any help? I've got nothing but time this afternoon."

"Move some feedbags for me?"

"You got it," Scott said.

Thirty minutes later he waved to the foreman and headed toward the kitchen. He slipped quietly through the door. Mrs. Delgado was at the counter supervising the younger ranchers. He watched for a minute remembering his early years at the ranch. Without Mrs. Delgado's kindness he didn't know how he would have survived. He surprised her with a hug.

"Mijo!"

"I've missed you, Abuela."

She flicked her ever present hand towel at him, "You know where to find me. What have you been doing today?"

Scott grabbed a brush and started scrubbing potatoes, helping out the younger boys. "I started work at Lewis Outfitting today."

"A new job?"

"A Mrs. Pope works for them. She told me to pass on her greetings to you."

"Judith Pope?"

"I never heard her first name. Her husband works there too. They're caretakers of the hunting lodge and property."

"That's her. I know of these people, the Lewis family," Mrs. Delgado made a quick motion, rubbing her fingers together.

"I think so," he replied.

"Good," she whispered and patted his shoulder on her way to the pantry.

Scott turned his attention back to the potatoes. The boys around the table all looked at him with wide eyes. "What?" he asked.

"Nothing," was the mumbled answer.

"Be nice to Mrs. Delgado and she'll be nice to you. In this place she's all that stands between you and..." He pointed a finger upstairs. "Let's finish up here and go play catch. Sound good?"

The boys attacked their kitchen chores, and Scott supervised the cleanup. When Mrs. Delgado returned he told the boys to go and grab their gloves, he'd join them shortly.

"They're a good group," he said as the boys ran out of the kitchen.

"They are now, but then they grow up," she teased. "I talked to Judith. She told me about the clothing. That's a great deal. From what she tells me this could be a very good job for you."

"I think so too. She also gave me a voucher for some boots. I'm going to pick them up tomorrow when I go into town with Mr. Piotrowski."

Mrs. Delgado pursed her lips, "You're not taking on too much are you? The jobs, the college classes? You should take time for yourself."

"Abuela, I'm as happy as I've ever been. I have friends, a good job, and I'm going to be a college student this summer. Did you ever think the six year old that you met that Christmas all those years ago would be able to say that?"

"I hoped, Mijo, I hoped. Now go outside and play," she said.

He grinned and went outside.

The next morning found him at Mr. Piotrowski's. He had the bike up on a stand outside the storage building. He went over every part of the bike, checking cables and bolts carefully. Satisfied that the bike was in good shape he topped off the automatic oiler. He carefully washed the bike and dried it with some rags.

"Problems?" asked Mr. Piotrowski. He'd come out in his pajamas and a bathrobe while sipping a cup of coffee.

"Preventative maintenance," he explained.

"Good thinking."

"I'm going to put a lot of miles on it this summer. I want to stay on top of things," Scott said.

"Take it by the engine center and have Noah look at it. I'm sure he'd be happy to give it a once over."

"I don't know. I feel kind of bad about leaving there."

"When you check your mail this week run by and say hello. You'll see there are no hard feelings," Mr. Piotrowski told him.

Scott promised he would stop and see Noah.

"When you get back from your hike what do you say about lunch at the taqueria?"

"Count me in."

Scott whistled for Jobe and grabbed his walking stick. He wanted to look at the changes to the land after the flash flood. They walked along the bottom of the new cut in the desert floor made by the flood waters. The channel was completely dry now. It would probably a lot more interesting to a geologist. He looked, but couldn't find any sign of human artifacts.

He took a break and sat down. The water here had cut a deep, wide curve around some harder rock formations. He glanced at his watch. He should start heading back. Scott stood up and looked for Jobe. The dog had a leg hiked up and was marking a bush.

When he glanced back across the dry channel something caught his eye. He'd sat there all that time without noticing anything unusual. He called for Jobe and scrambled down into the wash. At the apex of the curve the water had exposed a large, flat expanse of rock.

Scott knelt down and brushed away some loose sand with his hand. Jobe had caught up and was looking at him curiously.

"Stay here, I'll be right back."

He looked around until he found a bit of brush. He broke off a limb and used the plant as a broom, sweeping sand and small rocks away from the hard surface. He stood back and looked at what the flash flood had uncovered. He tried to get some pictures of it with his phone, but it was difficult to see.

He climbed up on some rocks and got his bearings. "The road is that way, and the house is that way," he pointed for Jobe. The dog cocked his head at him. "Do you think we can get the truck out here?"

Jobe made a quizzical noise.

"Yeah, I don't know either."

Scott headed for the road noting the route carefully as he walked. When he reached the blacktop he started jogging back toward the house.

"Where did you two come from?" asked Mr. Piotrowski as Scott and Jobe walked up the driveway.

"I'll tell you all about it. I'm going to wash up real quick." Scott ran inside and returned a few minutes later.

Mr. Piotrowski looked at him, "Okay, you've got my attention."

"I'll tell you on the way," Scott said as he held the door open for Jobe and then climbed into the truck.

They pulled out onto the highway.

"This is not the way to town," Mr. Piotrowski observed.

"No, it isn't," Scott replied.

He spotted where he wanted to turn in. He stopped the truck, and put it into four wheel drive. He pulled slowly off the road.

"It might be a little bumpy."

Mr. Piotrowski tightened his seatbelt and braced himself with a hand on the dashboard and a firm grip on a hand hold that was bolted to the B pillar.

"Jobe and I found something. I walked the path back out to the road. We shouldn't have too much trouble getting to it."

"Is it animal, vegetable, or mineral?" asked Mr. Piotrowski.

"I don't want to prejudice your first look."

'Hmmph, ' was Mr. Piotrowski's reply.

It was bumpy and slow going, but they made their way to the site as the big truck handled it with ease. Scott parked and held the door open for Jobe. The dog ran around to a shallow draw and trotted out toward the area that Scott had cleared off. He sat down and waited.

"The flash flood exposed all of this."

"You've got my undivided attention," Mr. Piotrowski said. "What's Jobe doing?"

"That dog is too smart for his own good. That's where we're going," Scott said as he looked for the easiest route down into the wash.

Scott helped Mr. Piotrowski down the same path Jobe had used. He stood silently as Mr. Piotrowski walked slowly around the area he had cleared off. The elderly man knelt down gingerly and traced one of the depressions with his hand.

"Dinosaur tracks? This is ... incredible is what this is. What do you figure, twenty-five, thirty feet worth? You haven't told anyone have you?" he asked.