Journey Into Uncertainty

Part 2

Roy watched the ground race up to meet them, as the plane glided closer to the runway.  It had been over a week since they’d received the call from Oregon, and in all that time, he’d never allowed himself to believe that Johnny might not be found.  Now, as he returned to LA with Chet, he let the thought in for the first time.  Maybe Johnny wouldn’t ever be found.  Maybe his friend was gone.  Dead.

His weak cough was a poor cover for his strangled, in-drawn breath.  He had to hold it together.  Joanne and the kids would be waiting for him at the gate, and he couldn’t bear to show them how low he really felt. 

And then there was Chet.  The guy was losing it.  That was plain enough for even a stranger to see.  Jittery was the best word he could come up with.  Chet was just jittery.  Lack of sleep, barely eating, and running on pure adrenalin, they were a pair to draw to.  Roy hoped against hope, that he didn’t look as bad as his traveling companion.

As the seatbelt light went off, and the plane rolled to a stop, Roy stood up and pulled his carry-on out of the overhead compartment.

“You ready, Chet?”

“Yeah.  Guess so.”

They’d barely spoken to each other since the detective dropped them off at the airport in Oregon a few hours earlier.  Neither man could admit that they were coming home not only empty handed, but out of options.  They didn’t know of any other way to search, or where else they could look.

Saunders had assured them that he’d keep in touch, but his sad expression did little to encourage Roy or Chet.  Instinct told them not to give up.   Practicality told them that they’d done all they could at this point.  Finally realizing that there wasn’t much they could do in Oregon other than beat the brush, which they’d already been doing for days, they agreed that they’d go home.  If nothing else, Roy figured that they needed to regroup.  Talk to Cap and the Department, get some ideas . . .decide where to go from here.

The sound of relief in Joanne’s voice when he called home, reassured Roy that he was doing the right thing.  If only Chet had seemed a little more positive.  Instead of giving Roy the support and encouragement he longed for, Chet was sullen and belligerent, almost as if he were blaming Roy for their lack of success.

Now, as they stepped into the waiting area, and looked around, Roy was relieved to see that he could let go of at least one responsibility.  Someone else was here to deal with Chet.

Hank Stanley stepped forward, and took hold of Roy’s bag as the paramedic moved into his wife’s embrace.  Chris and Jennifer pushed closer to grasp their father, the small family happy to be reunited.

“Chet.  How was the flight?”  Hank asked, as he shook the firefighter’s hand.

“Long.  Let’s go home, Cap.”

Roy nodded in silent agreement, and the small group slowly walked toward the exit.  None of them wanted to say what they all longed to acknowledge.  There was someone missing from the small band.  Someone they couldn’t imagine living without.

**********************

Rick tossed the shovel in the back of the old jeep, then pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket, and mopped his brow.  The sun was warm enough, but it was the hard work that had him overheated.  He didn’t feel like complaining, though, it felt good.

Looking up, he watched a hawk as it circled above.  The afternoon shadows were beginning to lengthen, and he knew he should be getting back to the barn, and his evening chores.  But he lingered, enjoying the solitude . . .the peacefulness.

He was growing to love this place.  The horses, the meadow with the fresh water stream gurgling through, and his favorite spot, the high bluff to the north with its craggy edges, and magnificent view.  But mostly, it was the people that held him here.  Bess.  And Harold.  He smiled just thinking about the pair. 

Though Harold only stopped in once, sometimes twice a week, his visits were the highlight of the day.  Those two got into some of the most interesting discussions, usually with one or the other of them stomping off at some point, but they always agreed to disagree by the time they sat down at the supper table.  It was a great friendship, and Rick was happy to be included.

Still, there was that haunting feeling, especially late at night.  That feeling that he belonged somewhere.  He just didn’t know where.

Tucking the bandana back into his pocket, Rick climbed into the jeep and started up the engine.  The fence in this section was finally finished, and Bess would be pleased.  For the first time in several years, her brood mares would be able to graze in this lush pasture.

The engine sputtered once, then died.  Several attempts later, Rick climbed back out of the jeep and pulled up the hood. 

“Darn plugs.” 

He mumbled something else under his breath then smiled when he realized that Beth wasn’t here, so he didn’t have to be polite.  Nevertheless, he blushed slightly, as he made the repairs then slammed the hood.  Wiping his hands on his blue jeans, he was glad he’d bought extra work clothes when they went to town. 

Several weeks had passed since Harold had stopped by and picked them up.  It was over a hundred mile round-trip drive, to the little town of about 1500 inhabitants, but once there, they’d made a day of it.  With the advance that Bess had generously provided, Rick purchased the clothing he needed from the dry goods store on Main Street, while Bess did some shopping.  Then the three of them had stopped at the only diner in town, for a special lunch out.  After that, Bess had insisted that they visit the doctor’s office. 

Although the cut had healed, Rick still suffered from an occasional headache, not to mention his loss of memory, and Bess was adamant that he be checked out.    Dr. Timmons had spent quite some time looking him over, and even more time talking with the young man, but in the end, he could find nothing wrong, a fact that Rick didn’t mind reiterating to his employer. 

The day after their trip, he’d gone straight to work cleaning out the streambed.  Debris that had collected after the spring rains, blocked the water’s flow and if left untended, would affect her pasture.  It was a strenuous job, but Rick was proud of his work.   Bess didn’t really seem to be too upset about his increased labors, though he knew she kept a watchful eye on him.  That didn’t bother him, either.  In fact, her concern made him feel good. 

Rousing himself from his daydreaming, Rick reached down and turned the ignition.  This time, the engine roared to life, and stayed there.   Pushing in the clutch, Rick put the jeep in gear, and headed home.

Several hours later, he was relaxing on the hammock in Bess’s back yard.  Dinner had been delicious, as always.   After helping Bess clean up, he’d made his way to this quiet spot, relaxing as he waited for his friend to join him.  She’d gone to retrieve her basket of darning, but the ringing phone changed her course. 

Now, he could hear half of the conversation through the open window, as Bess squeezed in an occasional word.  The caller was evidently Mrs. Watts again, a woman who lived about five miles down the road.  The woman loved to gossip, or so Bess had told him several times.  He’d yet to meet this particular neighbor, but from the sound of things, he was in no hurry to, either.   Stretching out to his full length, he cocked one arm across his forehead and closed his eyes. 

It was a nice evening, and he enjoyed the tranquil setting.   Bees hummed in the rose bushes, getting their last bit of work done before sundown.  Overhead, birds chirped, and across the yard, a mare nickered.  Rick felt himself relaxing . . .

“Rick.  Rick, wake up, boy!   You’re all right, now.“

Sitting up quickly, Rick grabbed for the edge of the webbing as the hammock swayed with his movements.  He was breathing hard, and his heart was pounding, but worse, he couldn’t figure out where he was.  He looked around frantically, trying to figure out why the air seemed so clear.  It had been full of smoke, only minutes before.  And where was his turnout coat, and helmet?

“Rick?  Speak to me.  Are you okay?”

Bess’s worried tone cut through his confusion, and Rick finally looked up into her troubled gaze.

“There, that’s better.  Now, you just sit here and calm yourself, while I get a glass of water.”

The screen door slammed behind her, as Bess hurried into the kitchen.  In a matter of seconds, she was back at his side, urging him to take a sip of the cool liquid.  He obliged, using that simple distraction as a way to get himself under control.  Handing her the empty glass, he dropped his head down, and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Sorry about that.  Must’ve been dreaming.”

“I’d say so.   And it must’ve been some dream.  You near scared me out of a year, when I heard you holler.’”   Bess faltered, and grew silent.  But Rick could tell there was something else.

“What is it?  Did I do something else?  I didn’t hurt-”

“Land sakes, no.  No.  It was just something you were saying.   Someone’s name, actually.  You were calling out.”

“What did I say, Bess?  Tell me, please.”

Rick’s heart was thumping in his chest.  He was anxious to hear what Bess had to say, yet he was fearful, too.   She didn’t give him time to worry, though.

“You said something about a little girl, and you sounded real upset.  But the man you were calling for was Roy.   Do you remember?   Do you know someone named Roy?”

“No.  I don’t think so, Bess.” 

Rick was silent now, rubbing his temples as he struggled to remember the dream.  It was already a fading memory, a series of sights and noises that seemed lost in a distant place.  

“I don’t remember anyone named Roy.”

“Well, it was probably just a dream then.  Here, let me help you up.  I have some berry pie warming in the oven.  How about a piece for desert?”

“Sure.”  Pausing for just a moment, he stared at the grass below his feet before continuing.  “You go on, I’ll be right in.”

Bess looked hesitant, but picked up the glass and went back inside.  He sat on the hammock for several minutes, straining to remember what the man’s face looked like . . . the one in his dream.  There was something friendly, and comforting about the memory, but nothing clear.  It was just a hazy specter, one that was already vanishing.

“Rick, your pie is ready.”

“Coming, Bess.”

Struggling up off the hammock, Rick walked towards the house in the gathering dusk.   He looked with pleasure at the twilight view around him, then wondered again, ‘Who is Roy?”

**********************

Hank hung up the phone, and ran a hand through his already mussed hair.  This was becoming a habit, one that he didn’t particularly enjoy.

The past weeks had been filled with as much paperwork off the job, as it had for his regular on-the-job duties.  Numerous calls to and from the Oregon State Police had garnered no further information, and it was obvious that they were tiring of the persistent calls.  Everyone was at a loss for ideas on how to pursue the search, though A-shift at Station 51 agreed that they wouldn’t give up.   Still, after this last conversation with the Detective Saunders, it didn’t look like there was much hope.

Roy was obviously taking it the hardest, though Chet was a close second.  The two men came back on shift the day after they returned from Oregon, but it would be ludicrous to suggest that things had returned to normal.  Nothing was normal around the station anymore.  This latest news was going to make things even worse. 

Hank had tried to talk Saunders out of his decision, but it didn’t take long to realize that the man was only doing what he’d been told to do.  Their caseload, and lack of leads on Johnny’s case, had left them with little choice.  The file would remain open, but the department would no longer actively search for the missing paramedic from Los Angeles, California.

Rising from his desk, the captain made his way towards the kitchen.  There was no use putting this off.  His men would have to be told.

**********************

The gelding was blowing hard, when Rick stepped down from the saddle.  It had been a good ride, and a good learning experience for the young horse.  Not for the first time, he wondered at his own ability.  How did he know so much about horses?  What to do with them, how to do it?  Bess had suggested that maybe he was just naturally talented, when it came to working with animals.  Harold insisted that Rick had some experience under his belt.  As for Rick, he tried not to think about it.    Sometimes, thinking too much just gave him a headache.

He finished unsaddling the horse, then began to lead Cody around the main corral.  As he walked, he continued to talk to the animal in a low, reassuring voice.  It wasn’t long before the gelding was cooled down, and Rick began to groom him.  It was a quiet time, filled with peace and contentment.  He loved it.

It wasn’t going to be this quiet for long.  There was a visitor expected in early tomorrow, a horse trader from Idaho.  Wes Benson was new on the circuit, according to Bess, but a decent trader.  He’d called earlier to say that he was looking for something special for one of his clients, and wanted to take a look at Bess’s mares. 

Rick wasn’t overly excited about the prospect.  He’d grown attached to each and every animal on the place.  But this was a working ranch, and Bess made money by selling horses.  So, Rick added the trader’s visit into his list of chores for the morning.  He’d be up extra early, making sure to have the three best mares cleaned, groomed and ready to be shown. 

 

If this Benson wanted a good horse, then Rick was happy to prove to him that Bess Hilton had the best horses in the state.

**********************

Water ran up over the edge of the sink, catching the woman by surprise.  With a muffled cry, she turned off the faucet and grabbed a towel.

“Dawdlin’ old woman, should be ashamed of yourself, daydreamin’ like that.” 

Bess finished mopping up her mess, then turned to look out the window again.  It was a pleasure to watch this young man.  Rick was turning into quite a hand, but more importantly, a good friend.   She’d watched carefully, as he took on added chores.  But he seemed healthy enough, and eager to do whatever needed doing. 

For days, he’d worked to clean the streambed, and after that, he’d been on top of the barn, repairing the roof.  Now, he was busy grubbing out some new growth along the fence line, making the pasture cleaner and safer for the young stock.   Not only was she thrilled by the new life he was giving to her place; she was excited to see the contented smile on Rick’s face.   He was happy here, she could tell.   And she was happy to have him. 

Bess found herself humming after breakfast in the morning, and anxious to see him come to the table at noon.    Every day found her looking for a favorite recipe, or something special to fix for him.  And she loved the time they spent in the corrals, working with the horses.   But her favorite time was the twilight hours they shared at the end of the day.  That was when he’d tell her everything he’d worked on, his ideas for improving the ranch, or what he might be planning to do the next day. 

Ant then, there were those special treats, when he’d show up on the porch, and urge her to go along with him.  Bess would stutter and stammer, claiming to have chores that couldn’t wait.  But in the end, she’d climb into the jeep, like she knew she would, and embark on some adventure.  She’d even been up to the bluffs, somewhere she hadn’t been able to go since before Robert had died.   Sometimes, she had to shake herself, as if worried that she were dreaming.  Mostly, she just felt young again.

More than anything, Bess Hilton wanted this young man to stay.  She wasn’t sure if it was the Good Samaritan in her, or just the maternal instinct, but she liked Rick, and his company.  She’d even given a fleeting thought to cutting him in on shares, making him a partner of sorts, but decided to put that aside until later.  Instinctively, she knew that Rick would be hesitant, and Harold would have a fit.

Although, Harold was more relaxed about Rick’s presence now, something she was grateful for.  Maybe it was the fact that they’d visited Dr. Timmons.  That had been something of a relief, to be told that this type of memory loss was possible after a head injury.  Of course, they’d also learned that it was possible Rick would never regain his memory.  That part had been hard, but the young man seemed to take it fairly well.  Maybe he was even a bit relieved.  She wondered at that. 

Rick had turned now, and saw her watching from the window.  With a wave, he headed towards the house.  It was mid-morning, and time for a break.  Whenever he was working close enough, he’d stop his work and join her in the kitchen, where she’d treat him to something warm from the oven.  Today, it was banana bread.

Hurrying over to the stove, Bess sliced off several pieces of the sweet-smelling loaf, and poured a large cup of coffee.   That was one thing she was having trouble keeping on hand, coffee.  Rick drank it like it was going out of style.  She smiled, all the same, as she watched him enter the room.   He could drink all the coffee he wanted, just as long as he stayed.

**********************

Although the men continued to work well together as a team, life wasn’t the same for the ‘A’ shift at Station 51.   Hank dropped the pencil he’d been holding, and leaned back in his chair.  The mood of his men was strained, but who could expect anything different?  Johnny’s disappearance had left a hole in his command, a hole that Captain Stanley didn’t want to fill.

However, it was only a matter of time before the department forced him to make some choices that would result in another permanent change for his crew.  The strain of constantly rotating a new man through their shift was causing problems, not only with the fire department, but also with the crew of Station 51 itself.  Still, there was always the possibility . . .

There had been one time, almost a month after Roy and Chet had returned . . .   Marco had finally gotten up the nerve to suggest they hold some kind of service, a way to remember Johnny.  His proposal was met with stunned silence, and the tension had been palpable.  Roy simply glared at the man, as if shocked that Marco would suggest such a thing.  But it was Chet who’d really surprised them.  Jumping up, he literally flung his chair back from the table as he shouted:  ‘Gage is not dead!’

Since then, no one had brought up the subject.  The men continued to do their jobs, effective and in control while on a call, brooding and morose while at the station.  Johnny’s name was rarely mentioned, yet he was always the center of attention.  And whoever was unlucky enough to be filling in as Roy’s temporary partner, was left to deal with the tension-filled crew.  Cap knew that they couldn’t go on like this for much longer, yet he couldn’t find it within himself to write Johnny off.  Not now.   Not yet.

Flipping over several papers on his desk, Hank stared at the official looking document in front of him.  With a sigh, he tucked it back into the pile, somewhere safely near the bottom.

**********************

“Now, this is the life.”

Rick leaned back against the tree trunk, and stretched his long legs out before him.  His grin was contagious, and Harold couldn’t resist laughing at the young man.

“You sound like you’ve found your best friend.”

The frown that followed was not the response Harold had intended.

“I’m sorry, son.  Didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No.  It’s okay.”

Rick pulled on a long piece of grass, then stuck it between his lips, chewing thoughtfully on the tender shoot.  Silence settled comfortably between the two men, their fishing poles extended out over the slow current of the river.   Harold casually watched him for a while, before trying again.

“Didn’t think you could be so quiet.  You sure had a lot to say when those fish weren’t bitin’ earlier.  And then you talked a blue streak when we did pull a couple of those beauties in.  So, what’s wrong now?  Cat got your tongue?”

Rick smiled, in spite of himself.

“Nahh.  Just figured it was time for me to shut up for awhile.”

“Oh.” 

There was more silence, but this time, the younger man fidgeted around some, as if he wanted to say something, but didn’t know how to get started.  Harold simply waited patiently, letting the warmth of the sun, the sounds of the river, and the beautiful landscape work their magic.   And he was right.  Rick was soon settled back against the tree, his hands motionless around his fishing pole.

Harold pushed his straw hat forward, shading his face from the afternoon sun.  The two men languished there for another hour, before the conversation resumed.

“I was just wondering . . . “

“What’s that?”  Harold asked, after several minutes of silence.

“Was wondering if I liked to fish.”

“Well, if you don’t, you’re sure doing a darn good impersonation of it.”  Harold exclaimed.

Rick laughed, then grew serious again.

“I mean, before.  I wonder if this was something I liked to do . . . before.”

“Oh.” 

Harold was suddenly aware of what his young friend had been contemplating all afternoon.  The sadness of the situation was not lost on him, yet he knew that Rick couldn’t let the what-if’s or could-have-been’s get hold of him.  Sitting up, he repositioned his hat, and studied his own pole.

“Does it matter?”

“What?”

“Does it matter?  Whether you liked it before or not.  You like it now, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well then, that’s what’s important.”

“I suppose . . . “   Rick’s voice trailed off, as if he wasn’t convinced, but didn’t want to argue.

“Do you like it at Bess’s place?”   Harold pursued, gently.

“Sure.   Bess is great!”

“Then relax, boy.  Maybe you’ll remember things someday, maybe you won’t.  But there’s no sense in making yourself crazy trying to second-guess everything you do.  Life’s too short.”

Rick didn’t agree, but neither did he disagree.  Instead, he simply stared out over the river, drinking in the view.

“Sure is beautiful here.”

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it?  One of my favorite places.  And one of the best darn fishin’ holes in the county.  Now come on, we have to get at least a couple more, or Bess’s fryin’ pan will be half empty.”

The two men refocused their attention on the job at hand, competing for bait and placement of their hooks in the water.  It was several hours later that Rick held up a long string of fish.  Harold nodded at their bounty. 

“Looks like a good catch, and I guess we’d better mosey on towards home.  Sun’s starting to go down on us, and if we don’t get movin’ soon, Bess’ll have a posse out lookin’ for us.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Besides, there’s plenty of chores to do when I get back.”  Rick smiled amiably.  “Harold, I want to thank you for bringing me out here.  I really enjoyed this.”

“You’re welcome, son.  I’m glad I thought of it.” 

The two men stooped to gather up their gear, and Rick pulled the string of trout from the river where they’d been kept cool and wet.  He snickered softly.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, I was just wondering.  You suppose Bess will clean these for us?” 

The men broke into laughter, each imagining in their own way, what kind of response the cantankerous woman would give them.

“Reckon not.”

“Nope.”

“Oh well.  Guess we could do that much for our supper.”  Harold added, as they walked back up to his pickup. 

Rick laid the fish in the back, then slammed the tailgate shut.

“Yeah, guess so.  Besides, it’ll be good to get home.”

Harold winked at him as they got in the cab, and he started the engine.

“Bess would be glad to hear you say that.”

There was no answer from the passenger side, but Rick smiled a little and then began to whistle.

**********************

Bob Jenkins signed the hotel registration and handed the young lady his credit card.  As she processed his paperwork, Bob glanced around the empty lobby, recognizing the clean yet similar surroundings.  He’d been in hundreds of these motels over the years, and they all seemed to look the same.  But it was comforting in a way, almost like being at home. 

That was the life of a salesman, always on the move, never getting a chance to make friends or develop relationships, not to mention settling down in one place.  But he had a good life; a good job that was paying off fairly well.  And he enjoyed the travel, meeting new people, and seeing new places.  With no wife or children to accommodate, Bob decided that this was definitely the life for him.  Even though there were times, like tonight, when he was so tired, he’d gladly give it all up.

Turning back to the desk, he was relieved to see that the woman had completed all the necessary transactions, and had placed his key on the counter. 

“You can go directly up those stairs, sir, and down the hallway to your left.  It’s the 3^rd door on the right, number 115.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.  Enjoy your stay.”

Bob was already turning toward the stairway when he caught sight of a brightly colored flyer, tacked to a bulletin board near the desk.  In large, bold letters, the word ‘Missing’ headed the page, but he couldn’t see the picture underneath.  It was hidden by some other newsworthy bulletin, pinned over the top.  Shrugging with weariness, he hurried to the stairs. 

‘Sure will feel good to lay down and rest.’

***********************

The afternoon sky was bright blue, the sun warm on his back, and Chet Kelly was happily hauling hose back to the engine.  It had been a dramatic three-alarm fire, and the companies had been successful in fighting back the beast.  Now that it was over, the firemen were experiencing the exhilaration that follows a job well done. 

While the men were busy cleaning up, anxious to get back to their respective stations and maybe get a cold drink and something to eat before the next run, there was the normal camaraderie that firemen are famous for.  The liberal dose of banter, and even a few pranks amongst the different engine companies, made for a familiar routine.  Chet worked alone, but enjoyed listening to the others.  It was a sudden shout from 26’s crew that made him look up and really take notice.

Billy Samuels had been hauling hose to their engine, when Nathan Watts came up behind him and poured a jug of ice-cold water over his head.  Billy’s shout of surprise was quickly covered by the raucous laughter of his crewmates.  Chet couldn’t help but join in.  The look on Billy’s face was priceless, especially after he tried to reach out and grab Nathan, only to slip and fall on his butt in the mud.  

As quickly as he’d joined in the merriment, however, Chet felt his spirits plummet.  The scene was so similar, and he couldn’t help but compare it to one of the many times he’d doused his own pigeon with a surprise water bomb.  Even Billy’s hair, dripping water as he shook his head, reminded Chet of Gage’s shaggy locks.

With a feeling of sadness, Chet turned to his own engine, and hoisted a coil of hose up over the back rail.  He didn’t move on with his job, but stood at the back bumper, caught in a web of memories. 

“It’ll be all right, Chet.”

Marco’s hand on his shoulder was a comforting reminder that he wasn’t alone.  He nodded silently, without looking at his friend. 

Neither one of them noticed their captain watching them, as they went back to work.

***********************

Bess moved quietly towards the corral, intent on watching the young man leaning against the wooden rails.  In the dusky shadows of nightfall, she could see Rick. His elbows rested on the top rail, with his body slumped forward, while his gaze focused on the sky above him.   Bess wasn’t sure if he was lost in thought, enjoying the evening, or simply exhausted from the rigors of his work.

“Nice night.”  She greeted him softly

“Yeah.  It is.”

Rick didn’t encourage the conversation, neither did he seem to disapprove of her presence, so Bess merely stepped up beside him, and leaned comfortably against the fencing.

Although he turned slightly, as if to include her, Rick continued to stare up at the stars.  The scent of tobacco wafted past her on the night air, and Bess suddenly recognized the offensive item held between Rick’s fingers.  With apparent nonchalance, he raised the lit cigarette to his mouth, and slowly drew in its intoxicating aroma.

“When did this start?”

“Huh?”

“The cigarettes.  Didn’t expect this was a habit of yours.”

Rick held the glowing item between two fingers, while studying it carefully.

“Don’t know if it is, or if it isn’t.”

“How’s that?”

Bess watched him closely, as he flicked ash off the end, then tucked the cigarette back between his lips.  After several seconds, he pulled his hand away again, slowly expelling a faint ring of gray smoke into the night air.

“Don’t know if it’s one of my habits, or not. Found these in the bunkhouse, and since I don’t know what kinda habits I might have . . .”   Rick’s voice trailed off.

Suddenly, Bess knew exactly what was on her new friend’s mind.  She just wasn’t sure how to counsel the young man.  She didn’t need to.  Her basic instincts took over.

“Well, I don’t think this is one of them.”

With an abruptness that caught Rick off guard, she snatched the cigarette from his fingers, and dropped it to the ground.  Then, without hesitation, she ground the glowing embers into the sand with her small booted foot.

“There, that’s better.  Chewin’ is bad enough, and I’ve been tryin’ for years to get Rocky to give up that nasty habit.  But I didn’t know he kept these things around, too.  Guess maybe I’ll have to talk to that man, when he gets back!”

Without realizing her affect, Bess had brought a smile to Rick’s solemn face.  He wasn’t offended by her actions; rather, he seemed to feel relieved.  If nothing else, it was obvious that she cared.  But that was only a small comfort tonight.  Leaning back against the corral, he turned his gaze back towards the heavens.

“How do you know it isn’t one of my habits, Bess?  You don’t know anything about me.  Hell, I don’t know anything about myself!”

His tone of voice, and the fact that he seemed totally unaware of the language he just let slip in her presence, told Bess how upset and confused Rick really was.   She moved closer, and laid her wrinkled hand on his sun-bronzed arm.

“I just know, son.  Just like I know you’re a good man.  You don’t have anything to be worrying about, in that area.  You know that, don’t you?”

Rick was silent, though his breathing seemed to quicken.  The night sounds continued around them, the crickets in the grass, an occasional hoot owl calling from the barn.  But the world seemed to move around them, in ever-smaller circles, as Bess waited for his answer.  He seemed to be weighing everything, her comments, his fears, what he knew and didn’t know.  When he finally answered, his voice was low and husky, filled with pain and suffering.

“I don’t know anything, Bess.  I’m grateful for what you’ve given me here.  I like your ranch, and the work I’m doing.  But what was I?  Who was I?  Do I have a wife or a family?  Is there someone . . .anyone out there missing me?  Looking for me?”

With a loud sigh, he dropped his arms, then straightened to face her.

“What if I did something wrong?  What if I’m a . . . a thief, a convict, or even a . . . Maybe I even killed somebody!  Bess, you don’t know anything about me.   I don’t know anything about me!  And I can’t stand this . . .this not knowing.  I shouldn’t stay here.  Maybe I’m putting you in danger.  I don’t know . . .   But where should I go?  What should I do, Bess?”

This time when he turned back to the fence, Rick dropped his head in his hands, and stifled a low moan.   Silence filled the space between them, and even the night sounds faded away while the two people contemplated Bess’s answer.  She didn’t know how to say what she had to say.  He was right, of course.  They didn’t know what his history was, but Bess did know this young man’s heart.  She just didn’t know how to make him understand.  How could she convince him of what she knew to be true?

Before she managed to gather her thoughts and put them into words, Rick pushed himself from the corral, and started to walk away.  Bess had an uncanny feeling that he was walking away from her forever, and that was something she wasn’t going to let happen.  With a swiftness she didn’t know she still possessed, the old woman closed the distance between them and grabbed hold of his arm.  Her grip, and the strength with which she turned him towards her, surprised them both.

“Bess-”

“Now you listen here, young man.  I have something to say, and you’re going to listen to me!  I don’t know your real name, and I don’t care.  To me, you’re Rick . . a nice young man, that I’m proud to have workin’ on my place.   You’re polite, good natured, and honest, and I don’t think there’s any way on God’s green earth that you could’ve done any of those things you’re scared you might’ve.”

Bess paused only long enough to gulp enough breath to continue.

“I know you’re confused.  And I know you want to remember.  And Lord knows I want you to.  But for now, I think you’re going to have to accept that you can’t.   I trust you, son, and I believe in you.  And when God sees fit to give you your memory back, He will.  Until then, you’re going to have to trust Him . . . and me.”

With a sigh, Bess softened her tone.

“You’ve got a home here, son, for as long as you want it.  You might not be my flesh and blood, but I love ya just like you were.  Stay with me, here, boy.  Let go of the things that scare ya.  Make a home with me on the ranch.  And someday, if you remember the past, then I’ll help you deal with it.”

Bess only waited a moment before adding her final plea.

“You will stay, won’t you?”

Rick no longer stared at his feet, as he’d done when Bess had stopped his flight.  Now he stared at the woman, in shock and amazement.  Even in the dark, he could see that her cheeks were red from exertion, while her clutched hands trembled slightly. But what surprised him most was the shine in her eyes that appeared to be the result of tears, rather than from sheer cussedness he would’ve expected.  This woman was something else, and he knew without a doubt, he had no desire to cross her.  He had no desire to leave her, either.  A bond was forming between them, one he welcomed.

Suddenly, the humor of the situation struck him, and he was filled with a feeling of relief.  He could stay here.  No matter what had happened in his other life, here he was loved and accepted.  With a glint of playfulness in his eyes, Rick splayed his fingers across his chest as he raised one eyebrow in question.

“Who me?  Well of course I’m going to stay.  I’d be a fool to leave such a cushy set up.  Good food, soft bed, all the bruises and sore muscles a man can handle.”

His hearty laugh filled Bess’s heart with such happiness, she actually reached up to wipe her eyes.  Then she playfully pushed him away from her, as she hurried past him towards the house.

“Good Lord, the food.   I plumb forgot about the apple pie I left bakin’ in the oven!  Rick, you come on up when you finish checking on the animals.  I’ll have a piece coolin’ on the plate for you . . . if it isn’t all burnt to ashes.”

The woman scurried up the walkway, and through the back door, letting it bang closed behind her.  She wasn’t there to watch as the dark haired man she’d come to love, turned back to rest against the corral fence, his eyes focused on a distant star, while his heart searched for even one elusive memory.  What if there was someone out there looking for him . . . 

**********************

 Roy leaned his head against Johnny’s locker door, willing himself to make the next move.  He’d known this was inevitable.  Yet, when Cap called him into the office a few minutes earlier, it had come as a shock.  After more than two months, the department had decided that a permanent replacement would be assigned for John Gage. 

It was obvious that Cap had been putting this off, and Roy suspected that the department had been pressuring him for some time.   But in the end, though Hank had bought them a little time, it hadn’t made any difference.   There would be someone new in Johnny’s seat, and Roy was going to have to make his peace with that.  If he could . . .

Still unable to start the process, Roy placed his palm on the door, as if holding it closed would keep him from having to move on.  He knew he wasn’t being rational, but didn’t care.  The new man would be arriving on the next shift, and Cap had reluctantly asked Roy to clean out Johnny’s locker.  But that simple act meant so much more to the grieving paramedic. 

Letting his mind drift, Roy remembered countless conversations held in this very room, his friend’s laughter, or groans when slammed with yet another one of Chet’s many pranks.  It just couldn’t be possible that he’d never hear his friend’s voice again.  If only Johnny would just walk through that door right now. 

The sudden squeak of oil-hungry hinges caused Roy to look up in surprise, but the face at the door wasn’t the one he’d been hoping for.

“Need some help, Roy?”

Chet’s voice was strained at best, but Roy wasn’t really focused on the fireman.  He needed to do this alone, take this next step towards saying goodbye to a man he wasn’t totally convinced was gone.

“No, I’ve got it.”

Seconds stretched into minutes, and still Chet stood near the doorway.  Roy didn’t want to face anyone right now, but in the end, he was forced to recognize the other man’s need.   Apparent in his stance, and even more noticeable in his expression, Chet was hurting.  Looking away, Roy waited for him to leave, but when the door finally did open, he spoke instead.

“Wait a minute, could you hand me that box?”

In silence, the stocky fireman walked over to the bench, and placed a large cardboard box on its surface, then stood silently waiting.  Forced into action, Roy opened Johnny’s locker and slowly began to remove various items ranging from extra shoes, to uniform shirts, to a shaving kit.  As Chet placed each item carefully in the box, he seemed to handle them almost reverently, and Roy realized again, that he and his family weren’t the only ones who were hurting.

The atmosphere in the DeSoto household had been strained for weeks now, ever since Roy had received the last call from Detective Saunders.   There had been no response to the hundreds of posters distributed throughout the state of Oregon, and since there was no witness to any kind of criminal activity, Johnny’s disappearance had been relegated to that of a simple ‘missing person.’   Dale had been very apologetic, but in the end, he’d explained that there were numerous other active cases that needed his attention, and since there was nothing to go on in the case of John Gage, he had to go by his supervisor’s recommendation.  And that meant that no more man-hours would be spent on looking for Roy DeSoto’s best friend.

Roy knew that he wasn’t dealing with all this very well, but in all honesty, he didn’t know how to react any differently.  Quiet and morose wasn’t healthy, but neither was loud and belligerent.  Joanne had been understanding and patient, while the kids simply gave him a wide berth.  They missed their Uncle Johnny, but as the weeks went by, it was clear that they were beginning to miss their daddy too.   He’d tried his best to act normal with his children, but he was finding it hard to remember what normal was anymore.  No longer able to muster up the interest or energy to play with his kids, Roy knew that he was less than patient with their childish antics.  He wasn’t sure how his family acted while he was on shift, but he knew that they were unnaturally quiet and withdrawn whenever he was home.  

The atmosphere at the station wasn’t much better.   Roy knew that Marco had only the best of intentions, when he’d made his suggestion several weeks earlier, but the finality of the whole thing was simply unacceptable.  Between the police washing their hands of the case, and the guys giving up on Johnny, Roy felt like he was the only one left who held out any hope. 

And now, even Roy had to admit that his hope was starting to dwindle.  It had been so long.  Even knowing that Johnny had made it out of the wreck, didn’t seem to matter anymore.  There’d been no signs of his survival after that.  He could’ve ended up in a ditch, God knew where, and no one would ever know.  On top of everything else, Roy knew that if Johnny had made it out alive, he would’ve found someway to contact his friends.  But there’d been no sign.  No word.  There was simply no explanation for the months of silence since the Rover had been found.  No explanation whatsoever.   

Roy’s eyes widened, the hurt unmistakable, as he watched Chet place the last item in the cardboard box.  Smokey the Bear wasn’t visible, his round face curled inside the poster, but Roy could imagine the eyes staring at him.  He clenched his fist tightly, fighting back a strong urge to reach out and tap the paper, in Johnny’s familiar custom.  With his throat suddenly so tight he couldn’t breathe, Roy closed his friend’s locker, and leaned over the box.  With one final glance at the contents, he folded the flaps over, and picked the box up.  Then Roy hurried past a silent Chet, and out to the parking lot.  He prayed that no one would follow him.

***********************

Rick sauntered across the yard, hands in his pockets, eyes on the house in front of him.  Bess had promised him fried chicken for dinner, and he could feel his mouth watering already.

Stopping at the porch steps, he turned back to survey the layout.  From the old farmhouse to the rambling barn and newer outbuildings, the ranch was a testament to hours of hard work and lots of love.  This place was built to last, proof that a family had lived and worked here, and left a piece of themselves on the land they loved.  Without realizing it, Rick had come to feel part of that.

He’d lost track of how many weeks he’d been on the ranch, but Rick decided that it really didn’t matter.  There was no place he needed to go, no one he had to see.  And every day that he stayed here, was another day he became more comfortable in his new home.   It was also another day that he didn’t have to face the doubts and fears that surfaced at times, when the night was quiet, and the hours stretched out before him.  The busy days and hard work were pushing the questions of who he was, where he’d come from, or even what had he done, into the background. 

One more glance around the place, noting the yearlings grazing in the pasture, and hearing the brood mares in the barn convinced him that Bess and Harold were both right.  This was home.  His home.  The nightmares that had plagued him came less often now, and only an occasional feeling of loss caused him to falter.  His days were busy with work, and fun.  He loved his life here, and as far as Rick was concerned, he was here to stay.

***********************

“Okay, guys, that looks like the last of it.”

Mike’s voice seemed to echo through the empty space, and no one answered.   The group remained silent, much as they had throughout the whole process.

Roy looked around the apartment, surprised at how quickly they’d moved Johnny’s furniture out.  Now that the living room was bare, it seemed even more desolate than it had before.  It was hard for him, this process of dissolving a man’s life, but having the guys around helped.  A little.

Hank was the only member of A-shift that hadn’t been able to join them.  One of his daughters was home from college, and the family had already made plans.  But the rest of the crew had chipped in, bringing several pickup trucks, and numerous boxes.  Most of the smaller things had been packed first, and moved to storage, then they’d returned for the larger items.  Now that the whole process was almost complete, Roy finally let himself think about what he was doing. 

Standing in the middle of the room, Roy remembered how excited Johnny had been when he moved into this apartment.  Not only had he been happy with the location, but he’d quickly made new friends, and enjoyed his outgoing neighbors.

After several moves, he’d finally found what he called, a perfect fit. 

And now . . . now the apartment was once again an empty shell.  The Lazy-boy recliner was gone, along with the worn but comfortable couch.   Johnny’s vibrant prints no longer adorned the living room walls, and the small dinette was missing from in front of the patio doors.   

“Roy?  Are you ready?”  Chet urged.

“Huh?  Yeah, sure.”

Yet he made no move to leave, continuing to stare at the empty room.  Marco was the one who finally stepped closer, and put a hand on his shoulder.  Roy turned slightly, to look at his friend.

“What’s he going to say, Marco, when he comes back and finds that he doesn’t even have a home?”

“He does have a home, Roy.  With you, or any of us.  And when the time comes, we’ll help him find a new place.  Maybe something he’ll like even better.”

“Yeah, Roy.”  Chet chimed in hesitantly.  “Gage will understand.  A storage unit is a lot cheaper than paying for rent and utilities every month.  He won’t blame you for letting this place go.  It’s the right thing to do.”

“You’re doing the best you can, Roy.  We all know that.”  Mike agreed, as he gently set down the last box.

The men stood silently, caught in the emotional grip of a job they didn’t want to do.  In the end, it was Roy who made the move to leave.  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the apartment keys, and laid them on the counter.

“All right, then.  I guess that’s it.”

Mike picked up the box, and Marco opened the front door.  Chet hurried out in front of the group, but it was Roy who lingered at the door for one last look.  Then finally, he too stepped across the threshold, and closed the door.

******************

“Rick.  Could you come on over here?”

Bess’s tone was kind, but firm.  She wasn’t any happier about the visitors than Rick was, but she knew it was part of the business.  Now it was time to make sure Rick understood it too.

Morris Simms was a wealthy man, and his children were spoiled rotten.  But he had a good eye for horseflesh, and he like to indulge in his favorite hobby.   Somewhere in northern California, the man had a sizeable place of his own, stocked with some of the best horses, and most expensive trainers.  Yet, at least once a year, he’d take a weekend and travel up to Bess’s place, insisting that he be shown the best horse on her ranch.  He’d haggle with her over the cost, and argue about the horse in question, but in the end he’d pay a fair price, and they’d both be happy.  The one thing that Bess truly disliked about the whole arrangement was that the man brought his children along. 

Now, it wasn’t children in general that Bess had a problem with, but rather these children in particular.  Obnoxious and rude, they seemed to think that the world was their oyster, and they had every right to crack it open however they saw fit.  And while they were at Bess’s ranch, their world included everything she owned.   For the better part of a day, they would make themselves at home, running through the paddocks, jumping from the loft, climbing on the broodmares, or sliding off the haystacks.  It didn’t matter that they upset every person, and animal, on the place.   The only way Bess could handle it was to turn a blind eye and a deaf ear.  In other words, pretend they weren’t there.

Early on, she’d learned to keep her opinions to herself, where this man’s children were concerned.   That, in itself, was enough to set the woman on edge for at least a week after their visit.  Keeping quiet was something that Bess didn’t take to.  But Morris Simms thought his children could do no wrong, and Bess decided long ago that she couldn’t change that, and she wasn’t going to try.  Simms paid a good price for her horses, plus he sent a lot of business her way.  So, if she had to bite her tongue once or twice a year, so be it.  The oldest boy was almost twelve now, which meant that she’d been dealing with this annual act for almost nine years.   One more year wouldn’t hurt.

“Rick?  Did you hear me, son?”

“Sure, Bess, be right there.”

Bess turned to find Morris scrutinizing her.  Her wide smile seemed to put him at ease, but she attempted an explanation anyway.

“Oh, he’s not really my son, but the way he’s taken to this place, he might as well be.  I swear, if my Robert was still alive, he’d be a happy man for sure.  Rick is the answer to all our prayers.”

“He sure seems to be busy.”

“Yes, doesn’t he though?”

Bess followed the man’s line of vision, to the paddock where Rick had just finished lounging a two year old.  However, where the man beside her was smiling, she frowned instead.  Having spent most of the previous evening explaining all the in’s and out’s of the business arrangement between her and Mr. Simms, she’d hoped that Rick would be ready to step in and give her a hand.  Sure, he laughed at some of the stories she’d shared, but by the end of the night, he seemed more distant than usual.  Bess couldn’t put her finger on it.  He seemed to understand her desire for him to be more involved in the business dealings, yet when she asked him to be on hand to meet Morris and his kids, Rick had argued that he had too much to do.

Now, it seemed that he was looking for any excuse in the book, to stay out of the way.  Was it Morris Simms, or was it his children?  Bess wasn’t sure what the problem was, and it gave her an uneasy feeling, but the three brats who’d just run into the barn made her feel even worse.

‘I’m getting too damn old for this.’  She muttered, under her breath.

“Did you say something, Bess?”

“Huh?  Oh, no . . . just wondering why Rick was holding us up for this.  Let’s walk on over, it looks like he’s about done.”

Rick was hanging the halter over the fence, as they walked up.  His crooked grin, along with his outstretched hand, was congenial and welcoming.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Simms.  I kinda had to finish what I started with that one.”

“Nice looking gelding, Mr. . . .”

“Rick.  This is Rick, my hired hand.”  Bess interjected.

“Rick.  Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Simms.”

“Well, Morris, shall we show you what we have this year?”  Bess motioned toward the other paddock, clearly pleased to have Rick’s assistance.  She smiled broadly at her young friend, and nodded her pleasure, as they all walked towards her selected offering. 

Her pleasure increased as Bess watched Rick become more at ease around their customer.  With practiced ease, he caught up the yearling, and showed Morris what the little fellow was like.  It was obvious that Simms liked what he saw, but Bess instinctively knew that he wasn’t going to make things easy.  Maybe it was his way of showing her new hand what a good businessman he was, or maybe he was simply in one of his moods.  Bess didn’t really mind.  She enjoyed a little haggling, and maybe Rick would learn a thing or two. 

It only took Bess a few minutes to realize that her boy wasn’t easily intimidated.  Rick stepped right up to the fence, and joined in the negotiations, quick to point out the horse’s attributes and value.  The three of them were deeply immersed in their discussion when they heard a screech from the barn, followed by a large bang, and someone crying.

Rick was the first one off the fence and through the barn door, skidding to a stop in front of the three children.  At that point, he froze, and Bess was startled by the look on his face.  It was something akin to fear.  His arms were pulled in close to his side, and he was breathing fast, but his eyes were focused solely on the young blond-haired girl curled up on the floor. 

With a quick pat to his arm, Bess pushed past him, but Morris was already on his knees, checking on his young daughter.  Her cries had already subsided to whimpers, and it only took a minute to discover that a bloody knee was her only injury. 

 

“Rick, could you grab that first aid kit in the tack room?”

“Yeah.”

Bess turned to look after him, startled by the terse tone of his voice.  He quickly returned with the desired box, but after handing it off, Rick hurried out of the barn.  Fighting down the desire to follow him, and get to the bottom of his unusual behavior, she worked on the young girl instead.  There was no reason to comfort her, like a woman would to any other six-year-old girl.  This little blond-haired monster was already snarling at her father, while accusing her older brothers of pushing her off a ladder.   It was an unpleasant, but familiar scene.  Bess had witnessed similar situations in the past, and knew that within minutes, the girl would be up and running, right behind the boys.

True to form, the girl was soon on her feet, and the children back to their antics.  Bess walked out to the corral with Morris, but when they resumed their negotiations, things weren’t quite the same.  Although Rick rejoined them, he didn’t seem to have the same enthusiasm for the discussion.  Several times, she caught him looking off towards the children, his eyes clouded with uncertainty. 

It proved to be a long ordeal, one that Bess was glad to see the end of.  When she and Morris finally shook hands on the deal, Rick simply took the yearling back into the barn, and returned to his chores.

“Stay for dinner, Morris?”

“Wouldn’t miss it, Bess.”

“I suspected as much.  I’ve got a chicken baking in the oven, so if you’ll gather up your little ones, I’ll get dinner on the table.  I know we’re running a little late, but it’d be better for your family to eat, before you get back on the road.”

Morris nodded in agreement, as Bess hurried off towards her kitchen.  She was secretly anxious to get the meal ready, so their company would have no reason to tarry.    Catching brief glimpses of Rick, as he moved in and out of the barn doing his chores, she could see that he wasn’t his usual, relaxed self. 

When the screen door banged open a half hour later, she wasn’t surprised to see that Rick wasn’t with the others.  Morris managed to get his children settled around the table, while Bess set steaming bowls of mashed potatoes, gravy, freshly baked bread, and green beans on the table.  It wasn’t until she placed the large platter of golden-brown chicken in the middle of the spread, that Rick quietly entered the house.  Stepping to the sink, he quickly washed and dried his hands, then took his customary place at the table.

The meal was relatively calm.  Morris seemed to be in a good mood, evidently pleased over his new purchase.  The children were quiet at first, probably hungry after a busy day of running about the ranch.  It wasn’t until the last half of dinner that they become a bit more boisterous, but by that time, their father was ready to finish up and get back on the road. 

Bess wasn’t sorry to hear the chair legs scoot across the floor, as the group pushed away from the table.    Normally, she was inclined to encourage her guests to stay, offering them another cup of coffee, or a second piece of pie.  But today, she was anxious to see the Simms’ family on their way.  Rick had barely said two words throughout the entire meal, and that was unusual, to say the least.  She couldn’t help but wonder, and worry, about what was bothering him.

Pulling out another piece of foil, she deftly covered the last of the berry pie, and carried it to the door.

“Here you go, Morris.  Now you make sure and share that with Jenny, and tell her that I said hello.”

”I’ll do that, and thanks for the meal.  Your cooking is wonderful, as always.”

“Oh, go on with ya.”  Bess laughed appreciatively.

“Kids.  Kids!  Get in the truck now, it’s time to go.”

Morris pushed open the screen door, and hurried out after his rambunctious children.  Looking over his shoulder, he called back to Bess.

“Thanks again, Bess.  We’ll see you in a couple of months, when we come to pick up the yearling.”

“Sure thing.  Just give me a call, and let me know when you’ll be here.”

“Will do.  Bye.”

“Bye.”

Bess waved at the group, more than a little surprised when the blond-haired girl stopped and came running back.

“Thank you for the bandage, ma’am.”  She muttered, as if coached by her father.

“You’re welcome sweetie.  Bye, now.”

The girl ran back, and climbed into the pickup, squealing as one of her brothers pinched her.  Starting up the engine, Morris put the truck into gear, and backed out of the yard.  He raised his hand in a quick farewell, and then they were gone.

When she turned back towards the kitchen, Bess could see Rick watching from the window.  His expression was guarded, his mouth turned downward in a frown.  Determined to get to the bottom of things, she hurried back inside, and started to clear the table.

“Need some help?”  Rick offered quietly.

“Sure, dear.  You wanna take these dishes to the counter, while I run the water?”

He grunted once, in reply, as he began to carry the empty plates and bowls to stack on the counter beside her.  Bess kept a watchful eye on him, but his expression never changed, and she didn’t push.   It was Rick, himself, who finally started the conversation.

“That Simms is a pretty good judge of horses.”

“Yes, he is.  I’ve always been impressed with his instinct and knowledge.”

“He got a good horse, but you made a good deal.”

“I thought so.”  Bess paused, as she dipped the first dish into the suds, smiling as Rick pulled out a dishtowel in order to dry the dishes.  “You did a good job showing the little fella, too.”

“Thanks.   I kinda enjoyed the dickering.  You’re good at it.”

This time, Bess laughed in response. 

“That’s what my husband always used to tell me.  He liked working with the horses, and I liked making the deals.  We were a good pair, when it came to making a sale.”

Rick finally relaxed, and laughed along with her.  He piled the dried plates together, then lifted them into the cupboard.  Bess continued to watch him, still wondering at his earlier sullenness.

“Everything okay, dear?  You feeling all right?”

“Huh?  Who, me?  Sure, Bess, I’m feeling fine.”   He closed the cupboard, and opened another to put the glasses away.   “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, just wondering.   You seemed a little quiet today.”

“Nope.  Just working.”

Bess rinsed one of the kettles, and placed it on the drain pad before turning to face him.  Slowly wiping her hands on a yellow flowered towel, she scowled slightly.

“I don’t think you were just working.   Something was bothering you.  Was it that we’re selling that yearling?  Was it Morris?  The kids . . . “

The strange look that came over Rick’s face was enough to take the words right out of Bess’s mouth.

“It was those kids, wasn’t it?  You don’t like children, is that it?”

“No.  No!  I like kids, all right.   It’s  . . .it’s just . . . I don’t know, Bess.  Sh . . they just made me uncomfortable, I guess.”

His stuttered answer was confusing, in comparison to the look on his face.  And Bess was almost certain that Rick had started to say “she” instead of they.  Was it the little girl that had him all riled up?  Or just the children in general?   While she studied on the problem, Rick must’ve decided that he’d had enough.

“Sorry I can’t help you finish, Bess.  I need to get back and check on that foal.”

Rick flipped the damp cloth over the back of a kitchen chair, and darted for the door.  He was down the walk and across the yard, before Bess even made it to the screen door.  Her eyes were filled with worry, as she turned back and picked up the dishtowel.  It was the children.  But why did they upset him so?  He’d been nothing but agreeable and good-natured to anyone and everyone they’d come in contact with.  But Bess suddenly realized that these were the first children he’d been around, since arriving at the ranch.

Did he really dislike the younger generation?  Or had something happened to him?  Bess idly twisted the cloth in her hands, wondering if there were some little ones in Rick’s life . . . a boy, or a girl . . . a wife who was missing him.  For the first time since Rick had come into her life, Bess wondered if she’d done right to give him a home so freely.   Then again, maybe she was protecting him from something so sad that he couldn’t bear to remember.  Maybe he’d lost a child.

Wringing out the wet cloth, she slid it over the drying bar, then wiped the counter with the dish rag before draping it across the faucet.  Pulling off her apron and draping it over a chair, she headed out to the barn.  The least she could do was to help Rick with the evening chores.

**********************                                      

Bob Jenkins was on his way south.  This was his second trip in less than four months, but it was a good route, one of his best.  That, and the fact that he didn’t mind an excuse to stop by his sister’s place, made it an enjoyable tour.

Having spent the better part of his first week making daily stops, he liked the fact that he had a good stretch of driving ahead.  This part of the state was thinly populated, and that was reflected in the number of diners or motels that was available.  Bob didn’t have to check his map to know that he needed to stop for a bite to eat now, or it would be another three hours before the next opportunity.   He didn’t mind driving until after dark, but he sure didn’t like to drive on an empty stomach.

Pulling into the parking lot, he surveyed the familiar diner.  He hoped that Mattie still had some of her pot roast left.  It was one of his favorites.  And as he stepped into the diner, the familiar scents made him smile.  Of all the places he could’ve ended up tonight, it was providence that brought him here.  Mattie made a good roast.

“Bob.  Good to see ya!”

“Hi, Mattie.  How’re you doing?”

“Good.  Good.  Business has been picking up.”

“That’s great.  Hey, you got any of that pot roast left?”

“Course, I do.  Pick a table, and I’ll get your coffee.”

It didn’t take long for Bob to get settled in the corner booth.  He looked around the diner, recognizing a few regulars still finishing their meals, but it was the brightly colored flyer on the table that finally caught and held his gaze.  For some reason, he had the strangest feeling he’d seen this paper somewhere before.  He just couldn’t remember where.  Still, his eyes focused on the picture copied there, the dark eyes hauntingly familiar.

“Bob?  Bob!”

“Huh?”

“Are you all right?  I’ve been asking you if you wanted salad or coleslaw, but you look like you’re a thousand miles away.”

“Oh, I am.  I mean, I should . . . uhhh . . . salad will be fine.”

“Are you okay?  You’re not sick or anything, are you?”

“No, no.  I’m fine.”  He smiled up at her reassuringly.  “Really, I’m fine.  I just noticed these flyers on the table.”

“Yeah, they’ve been there for awhile.  Suppose I should throw them out, but every time I start to do that, I get a feeling I should leave ‘em there.”

“I suppose.”

“Sad thing, isn’t it?   To have someone go missing like that?   The guy that dropped ‘em off seemed real nice.  Said he was a fireman, or something.  I got the feeling he was real close to this young man.  But it’s been a long time.  I doubt he’ll ever find his friend now.   Oh, Bob, I’m sorry.  Chattering away when you’re probably starving.  I’ll get your salad.  French dressing, right?”

“Right.”  Bob answered absently.

As she turned to walk away, he reached out a hand to stop her.

“Mattie, where’s your phone?”

“My phone?  Why it’s right over there.”

“Mind if I make a long distance call?  I’ll be glad to pay whatever the cost.”

“Why no, of course I don’t mind.   Is something wrong?”

Holding the flyer in front of him, Bob merely shook his head as he pushed himself from the seat.

“No.  I just think there’s some information I need to pass along.”

Her strange look wasn’t enough to stop Bob.  He knew what he was seeing, and knew what he had to do.  Mattie’s words had just given him the final push.  Within minutes, he’d dialed a long distance number to California, and was waiting for the phone to ring.

“Hello, DeSoto residence.”

“Is this Roy DeSoto?”

“It is.”

“My name’s Bob Jenkins.  I run a sales route here in Oregon.  I have some information you might be interested in.”

There was a brief pause, before the man uttered a quiet: “Yes?”

“Well, I stopped to eat at a diner this evening, little place up here in Oregon.  Anyway, I came across a flyer, with your name on it.  Something about a missing man named John Gage. . . ”

A slightly longer pause ensued before the other man answered.

“Yes, go on.”

“Just thought I should tell someone.  Could’ve called the authorities, I guess, but it is kind of old news now.  Anyway, I gave this guy a ride.  It’s been more than three months ago, now, but I’m sure it’s him.”

“You . . . are you positive?   It’s been a long time.”

“Yes, I’m positive.  It was the same man.”

There was an audible sigh from the other end of the line, but DeSoto’s voice conveyed a hint of nervous energy when he continued.

“Was he all right?”

It was Jenkins turn to pause, and when he finally responded, he was almost hesitant.

“Well, come to think of it, he was kinda out of it.   Looked like he’d been roughed up or something, but he didn’t offer any explanation, and I didn’t ask for any.”

“You didn’t ask?  Didn’t it occur to you that he might’ve been hurt?”  DeSoto barked.

“Hey, it wasn’t any of my business.”  Jenkins answered indignantly.  “The guy was thumbing for a ride in the dark, and I gave it to him.  Figured if he needed my help, he’d ask.  But he just went to sleep, and when I came to my turn-off, he wanted to stay on the main road, so I let him out.  That’s all there was to it.”

“Okay. All right.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to overreact, Mr . . . .”

“Jenkins.  Bob Jenkins.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Jenkins. You’re the first person who’s even reported seeing Johnny after the wreck.  And Johnny has a lot of friends who are really worried, friends who have been looking for him for months now.”

“Well, maybe he doesn’t want to be found.  Maybe I shouldn’t have called in.  I don’t know.  My motto has always been to ‘live and let live,’ you know?  But when I saw his picture on this paper . . . well, I just thought I should let someone know.”

“I’m really grateful, Mr. Jenkins.”

“All right, then.  Okay . . . well . . good luck with-”

“Wait, sir.  Just a moment, please.   Could you tell me where you saw Johnny . . . what road you were on?”

“Sure.  Sure, I can do that.  Do you have a pen?”

“Yeah, just a minute.”  

There was a rustling sound from the other end, and several seconds passed, during which Bob argued with himself about whether he’d done the right thing, and if he should hang up now and forget he’d ever seen the flyer.  In the end, he waited it out.  When DeSoto returned to the line, it only took a moment for Bob to give him the general area of where he’d picked the man up, and where he’d been dropped off.

“That’s all I can tell you, Mr. DeSoto.  Hope it helps.”

“Yes, I do too.  Thanks.  Thanks a lot for calling in.”

“You’re welcome.”

He hung up, abruptly, still unsure if he’d done the right thing.  Tucking the flyer in his pocket, Bob returned to his table, still wondering.

**********************

The sign labeled Mac’s was still worn and faded.  Roy wondered at the odd quirks in a man’s brain that produced such strange thoughts.  What difference did an old wooden sign make?  Shouldn’t his mind be filled with tactics and plans?  At least some concrete strategy on what he should do next to find his friend?  Instead, the first thing he noticed as he climbed out of Detective Saunder’s state-issued car was the battered old sign over the equally battered body shop.

With one arm bent to hold a lightweight jacket flipped across his shoulder, Roy used the other to reach behind him and grab his duffle bag off the seat.   With deliberate care, he pushed the car door closed with his knee, and turned to stare at the deserted building. 

Unlike the last time he’d been here, there were no rescue teams or volunteers to fill the narrow parking lot.   A rusty drop-box stood in one corner of the lot, while an older model tow truck monopolized the area directly in front of the building.   From his viewpoint, Roy couldn’t see the white Rover that belonged to his best friend, but he knew that it was there.  Saunders was already walking back from the open bay of the shop, a key chain dangling from his left hand.

“Is that it?”

“Yeah.  I took care of the paperwork last month.  All that was left to do was pick up the keys.”

“I should pay him for the time he’s kept it stored.”

”Not necessary.  That’s already been covered through the department, although you’ll probably see a charge on the insurance papers, when they come through.”

“Fine.  Fine.”  Roy nodded absently, not really interested in any more red-tape.

“Guess you’d like to get your gear stowed.”

“Yeah.”

Stepping forward, Roy walked alongside the detective, their destination now clearly apparent.  To one side of the aging building, a fenced area contained several vehicles in various stages of repair.  But in front of the battered ones, sat the newly restored Land Rover.  Roy didn’t speak as he stepped up to his friend’s car.  Opening the driver’s door, he carefully studied the interior, as if half-expecting the bloodstains to remain.   He was relieved to see they were gone. 

“Well, Roy, have you made a decision?”

Straightening up, Roy nodded once as he tossed his bag inside.

“Yes.  I’m going to drive north, see if I can find anyone else who’s seen him.”

“You know, I’ve checked and rechecked every lead.  Especially since you called about that tip you received.”

“I know you have, Dale, and I appreciate it.  We all appreciate everything you’ve done to look for Johnny.”

“But you’re going to do a little more looking anyway.”

”Yeah, I guess I am.  Johnny would do the same for me.”

“Well, if there’s anything more that I can do, you have my number.”

Roy reached out to shake the other man’s hand, truly grateful, but unsure of how to express the feeling.  He didn’t need to.  It was clear that the seasoned detective understood.

“I really hope you find something, Roy.  And I’m sorry we couldn’t do more.”

“Thanks.  Thanks for everything.”

Turning back to the Rover, Roy climbed in, before Saunders pushed the door closed for him.

“Have a safe trip.”

With that, the detective stepped away from the car, watching silently.

Roy had the oddest feeling, as he buckled the seatbelt across his chest.  It was something akin to deja-vu, yet it was different.  An eerie premonition maybe, or perhaps it was simply remembering the man who’d last sat in this seat, and the fear over what had become of him.  Shaking off the peculiar sensation, Roy slipped the key into the ignition, and fired up the engine.  With practiced ease, he put the vehicle into gear and slowly pulled out of the parking lot.

As he turned north onto the highway, Roy glanced into the rearview mirror.   Behind him, Detective Saunders held his hand up for a brief moment, before turning towards his car.  Eyes back on the road, Roy quickly dismissed the scene from his thoughts, as the small town faded from view.  He wasn’t ready to quit just yet, even if he had to go-it alone.  If there was even the slightest chance that Jenkins was telling the truth, then he had to check it out.  Besides, he’d always felt that Johnny was out there . . . somewhere. 

Part 3