Ransom Canyon

To Yancy’s shock they all agreed, and now the rush was on to collect firewood.

In general, Yancy hated people. He thought of some of them as evil, like Freddie and Cowboy who’d threatened to murder him for no reason, and others he feared were simply fools. The rest were stupid, destined to be played by the evil walking the earth. That pretty much summed up the population he’d been living with for five years, and those he’d grown up with were no better.

Only, these folks were different. They treated him as if he were a kid who needed praise and direction. Each had stories to tell, and each, in their way, appeared to have lived rich, full lives. None suspected the crimes he’d committed or regrets he had in life. To them he was a hero, not an ex-con.

Yancy swore he felt like Snow White stumbling into the elderly dwarves’ camp. All of them were at least a head shorter than him, and most offered him a cup of coffee or something to eat. One little round woman dressed in pink from her shoes to her hair even brought him out a slice of pie. Mrs. Butterfield was her name, and she claimed her husband always ate pie for breakfast.

She also giggled and told Yancy that he reminded her of her first husband when he was young. “Black hair and strange eyes,” she whispered. “Just like you, young man.”

“Yancy,” he said. “My name’s Yancy Grey.” He didn’t want her thinking he was the ghost of husband number one returning.

All agreed that was a strong, good name, except Mrs. Butterfield who’d gone inside to look for a picture of her first husband.

An hour passed, and the café still wasn’t open, but Yancy felt stuffed. By now the trees were trimmed and the eight geezers pulled their chairs around a crumbling swimming pool full of tumbleweeds and dead leaves. The pool deck was one of the few places that was out of the wind and offered sunshine.

Yancy used the tree-trimming chair to join them and was welcomed with smiles. Thank goodness Mrs. Butterfield had forgotten what she’d gone to look for and returned with another slice of pie for him.

The short senior citizen who’d fallen through the chair earlier introduced himself as he offered Yancy a wrinkled hand. “Leo is my name and farming was my game until I settled here. I used to grow pumpkins so big we could have hollowed them out and used them for carriages.”

A few rusty red hairs waved at the top of Leo’s head as he laughed. “Let me fill you in on the protocol here. Every Sunday we get up early and sit out here, if the weather permits, until ten-thirty when two vans drive up. Until then we eat Mrs. Ollie’s deliciously sinful banana bread and Mrs. Butterfield’s pie if she remembers it’s Sunday. Of course, we do this so the Catholics will have something to confess and the Baptists will have something to sing about. Those feeling the calling load the vans for church and the rest of us finish off the bread before our kin drop by to take us to their low-fat, no sugar, high-fiber Sunday dinners.”

“Which van you climbing into, Mr. Leo?” Yancy smiled as he took another piece of the best banana bread he’d ever eaten.

“Neither,” Leo snapped. “I was married twice. Once to a Baptist. Once to a Catholic. After spending twenty years in each church I gave up religion for superstition.” Mr. Leo leaned forward. “Like, I’ve been noticing something about you, Yancy. You may be a good-looking fellow, but you got one gray-colored eye and one blue. Like Mrs. Butterfield said, that’s strange. Some folks might think you to be the son of a witch, or maybe a witch yourself. I’ve heard tell a man with two colored eyes can see death coming for any one he stares at. Gypsy blood in you, I’m guessing, with that black hair. They say every Gypsy is born with a gift, and yours just might be death’s sight. Am I right, Yancy?”

“That’s me,” Yancy lied. He had no idea where his people came from, but seeing death hanging around these folks wouldn’t be too hard. He was surprised the Grim Reaper didn’t make regular minivan stops by this place.

Miss Ollie passed by to offer him the last slice of bread. “Don’t believe a word Leo says,” she whispered. “He ain’t never farmed in his life. He taught drama at the high school for forty years, and if he had two wives he must have kept them in a box, because no one in town ever saw them.” She laughed. “We don’t know if his brain is addled, or if he’s just trying to make life more interesting. Either way, he’s always fun to listen to.”

It took Yancy a moment to wrap his mind around what he heard. He’d known many liars but not one who did so for fun, and nobody in the group seemed to care.

“Don’t rat me out, Ollie,” Leo grumbled, “or I’ll tell him about when you came to town as a lazy streetwalker and settled here just so you’d only have to walk a few blocks to cover the whole town.”

The very proper baker hit him with her empty banana-bread pan. Crumbs showered over him, but Leo didn’t seem to notice. He just grinned and winked at her because he knew he’d flustered her. “She’s Baptist,” he whispered. “Never confesses to a thing she’s done all her life. Taught home economics down the hall from me, and I can tell you there were some wild parties in that food lab.”

She raised the pan as if planning to hit him again, but decided to laugh.

Yancy studied the circle of people. “How many of you taught school?”

To his surprise all but one raised his hand. A tall, frail man in a black suit, wearing hearing aids in both ears, finally lifted his hand to join the others. “I think I qualify, even though I was the principal. I’m Mr. Halls. Many a student made a joke about my name.” His announcement was a bit loud. “A man’s name sets his course at birth.”

They all nodded as if he were the bravest among the brave. Battle-scarred veterans of decades of fighting their grand war against ignorance might have honed them, but age now left them crippled and alone. One to a house. No husbands or wives surviving, apparently. But they had each other. Somehow in the middle of nowhere, they’d found their place, like a flock of birds huddled together on a tiny lake.

When the two church vans arrived, most of the group climbed on. Only Leo, Cap and the principal remained in the circle with Yancy. When the principal went inside to get his cap, Yancy had to ask, “Isn’t he going to church? He’s all dressed up.”

Cap shook his head. “He dresses like that every day. Old habits are hard to break. He’s almost deaf, so whoever sits on his right tends to yell.”

When Mr. Halls returned wearing his very proper hat, he didn’t seem to notice they were still talking about him.

Yancy leaned back in his metal chair and relaxed. This is it, he thought, my river of peace that prison preacher used to talk about. They might not know it, but these old folks were offering him the bridge to cross from one life to another. He listened as they told him of Crossroads and their lives growing up, of growing old in the Panhandle of Texas, where canyons cut across the flat land and sunsets spread out over miles rich in history wild and deep.

Finally when one of the old men got around to asking what he was doing here in Crossroads, Yancy pointed to the post office and explained that he was looking for a job.

“I’m traveling light. Just a pack.” As he said the words, he stared at the steps and noticed his pack wasn’t where he’d left it.

“My pack!” he yelled as he stood and ran toward the post office.

By the time the three old men caught up to him, Yancy had been around the little building twice. The pack was nowhere to be found. No one was around. He’d been in sight of the post office all morning, and he hadn’t seen a soul walk past. The only person he’d observed stop had been the guy in the pickup, and he’d been long gone before Yancy walked across the street.

“I’ve been robbed,” he said, more surprised that a crime had been committed against him before he’d had time to commit one himself than he was worried about his few possessions.

“Everything I had was in that pack.” He didn’t mention that most of it was stuff the prison had given him. A toothbrush. All his socks and underwear. The bloody shirt he’d worn when he was arrested and a deck of cards he’d spent hours marking.

“This is serious,” Cap said, passing like an elderly, short General Patton before his troops. “This is a crime right in the middle of town. This is outrageous.”

Leo didn’t seem near as upset. “What’d you have, sonny?”

Yancy didn’t move. He couldn’t tell them how little he had. They’d probably figure out he’d come from prison. All he’d walked out with were his goals. “I had a good winter coat made of wool,” he lied. “And a great pair of boots. A shaving kit in a leather carrier and three hundred dollars.”

All three old men patted him on the shoulder. They all agreed that that was a great deal to lose.

Cap spoke first. “Come on home with me, son. We’ll call the sheriff, then you can join the few of us who are lucky enough not to have family dragging us to Sunday dinner. Mrs. Ollie always cooks for us.”

Yancy was getting into his lie now. “I don’t have the money to make it to Arizona. A friend of mine said if I could make it to Flagstaff I might have a job waiting.”

They patted him again. “Don’t you worry,” Mr. Halls said. “We’ll take up a collection if we don’t find who did this. And do you know, my daughter gave me a winter coat that’s too big for me. You can have it. I got half a dozen in the closet. She sends either that or two sweaters every Christmas.”

“Is your coat wool?” Yancy asked. After all, it had to match his dream.

“It is,” Mr. Halls said, “and if I remember right, it’s got one of them heavy zip-out linings.”

Yancy tried not to sound too excited. “I think it’ll do, thanks.”

“Don’t thank me. It’s the least I can do for a man who was robbed right under our noses.”

“I can cover the shaving kit,” Leo added. “I have four I’ve never used. If you need gloves, I got half a dozen you can try on. Can’t seem to convince my daughter-in-law that I don’t like gloves. Why waste time on gloves when you got pockets, I always say, but I swear that woman never listens. Since my birthday is in November, she mails gloves every year. Lucky I wasn’t born in July or I’d be getting a swimsuit.”

Yancy choked down a laugh. This was better than stealing. These folks were giving him more than he could carry off. “One thing, Mr. Leo, I’d rather not call the sheriff. You see, it’s my religion to forgive any wrong done me.”

Leo swore. “Hell, I knew you was one of them van riders all along. Well, if you won’t consider converting to my religion of superstition, I’ll have to be tolerant of yours. But I got to tell you, son, that forgive-and-forget kind of thinking will lead you down a penniless path.”

Yancy did his best to look thoughtful. “I’m set on my faith, Mr. Leo. For all I know, whoever stole my pack thought he needed it more than I did.” Yancy didn’t add that was usually his philosophy when he robbed someone.

Leo saw the light. “You’re a good man, Yancy Grey, and we’d all be lucky to call you a friend. It’ll be our pleasure to help you out with anything you need. We might even offer you some handyman work around this place to help you get back on your feet.”

“Thanks,” Yancy managed as he started a list of things that he’d forgotten were in his pack. A watch. A new wallet. “I’d be thankful for any work. I’ve been laid off for a while.”

Everyone jumped as Mr. Halls shouted, “A man on a mission is a man who can’t be bested.”

Leo and Cap nodded, but Yancy had a feeling the old principal was walking the halls in his mind reading quotes he’d seen along the walls of the high school.

CHAPTER FIVE

Lauren

THE COUNTY HOSPITAL had its own kind of sounds. Like echoes in Ransom Canyon and the lone clank of a windmill turning on the prairie or the rustle of paper in empty school hallways, hospital noise was unique.

The place rumbled like a train station. Phones rang, pagers beeped, and machines hummed and ticked like the final clock measuring someone’s life away.

There was a rush about the people in white one moment and a stillness the next. Lauren had no idea what time it was. She’d seen a clock not long after she’d been wheeled in that said 2:00 a.m., but that had been hours ago.

In a hospital, only the smell of antiseptic seemed to remain the same. In her windowless space, she could have been waiting a few hours or a day.

Lauren sat alone in the third curtained-off emergency room cubicle, drifting off now and then, only to wake to the same nightmare.

She knew Tim was in the first bed. Everyone had rushed toward him when the emergency room doors opened, which told her he was in danger. Funny Tim O’Grady, whom she’d known all her life, might die! No one she’d ever been close to had ever died. Thinking about it wasn’t funny at all, she realized.

A nurse had helped her onto the examination table when she’d first arrived and checked her leg. At least she thought she was a nurse. Without her glasses she couldn’t read any of the name tags. For all she knew, she was the janitor. For a while she worried that Pop would be mad that she’d lost another pair of glasses, but decided that was so far down the lecture list it didn’t matter.

The nurse was back.

“You’re going to need a few stitches and a few shots,” no-name in white said. “You’re lucky. That first boy looks like he took a Humpty Dumpty fall.”

“Can they put him back together again?” Lauren smiled at their nursery-rhyme code.

The nurse frowned as if she’d crossed some line in protocol. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s getting the best care here.”

Lauren nodded, but she didn’t feel very lucky, and she wasn’t at all sure Tim would be fine. If she were lucky, she wouldn’t have gone into that haunted house. Following Reid Collins was the dumbest thing she’d ever done. He might have twice her muscles, but he only had about half her brain cells. If his dad wasn’t rich, Reid would be lost. As it was, he’d probably run for Crossroads mayor in another twenty years. First he thought he was a football star because he had the jacket, and now he considered himself a hero.

No-name carefully pulled the curtain closed as she vanished. Lauren waited, fighting the need to slip under one of the fabric walls and escape. In her mind she kept backtracking all the way to the church, thinking of every wrong turn she must have taken to end up here. If she could get do-overs, she’d have stayed with Mrs. Patterson to talk about all the things the old lady thought were on Lauren’s mind.

As time dragged by, her father dropped in twice to glare at her. She was in major trouble. During his first one-minute visit, he said he had to call Tim’s and Reid’s parents and get them out of bed. The second visit, an hour later, was to inform her that Tim was going into surgery. After that, Lauren just acted as if she was asleep when he made his hourly rounds.

He said the word surgery as if it was something terrible she’d done to Tim, but Lauren couldn’t bear to think about it. Somewhere in this very building someone was cutting into Tim.

She wanted to ask about Lucas Reyes. Her father seemed to have forgotten about him. Or maybe he was still angry, thinking that somehow this was all Lucas’s fault.

When the nurse finally came back, she was with a doctor who looked as though he wasn’t old enough to be out of college. The nurse did all the talking, and the young doc just nodded and signed the chart. As Lauren had suspected, her injury wasn’t worth much attention. A few stitches, just like the no-name nurse had said. Within minutes both the nurse and the doctor were finished. They had that why-are-you-wasting-our-time look about them. The emergency room had been busy for hours, and she’d been shoved to the back of the line several times.

About the time Lauren wondered whatever happened to bedside manner, the nurse poked her with an injection and announced, “Tetanus shot going in.”

“Do I get a sucker?” Lauren asked, and to her surprise the nurse smiled.

Encouraged, Lauren continued, “How are the others?”

The nurse patted her hand. “They’ll all be fine. Two will be released this morning, but the boy they took upstairs to surgery will have to stay a few days.”

“You mean Tim’s not going to die?”

The nurse shook her head. “Not from a broken leg. They’re doing X-rays to make sure he didn’t break a rib.”

Lauren was so relieved that Tim wasn’t headed for the afterlife she didn’t feel the second needle. He might be dumb as a rock, but if his brain ever caught up to his imagination, who knows, he could make something of himself, other than being Reid’s sidekick.

“What about Lucas?”

“Lucas Reyes?”

Lauren nodded.

“He’s fine. Lost some blood, but we stitched him up. I think he’s already been released. I saw him sitting in the lobby about half an hour ago.”

“And Reid Collins?” Lauren was so mad at him she really didn’t care. First, he’d gotten them into this mess, and then, when help showed up, he took all the credit for saving everyone.

“The Collins boy sprained his ankle. He was really complaining about the pain until the doc told him he’d have to use crutches for a few weeks. He seemed to cheer up after that.” The nurse grinned. “He might have been cured if they’d offered him a wheelchair.”

Lauren smiled, knowing that Reid would make the most of his injury. She thanked the nurse then closed her eyes, deciding that now that she knew all the guys were all right, she might as well sleep awhile. Her dad wouldn’t be by to take her home until Reid and Lucas were released and Tim was settled into a real hospital room.

She almost drifted into a dream when she felt someone take her hand. The touch was gentle, comforting, and for a moment she smiled, thinking that her Pop was finally showing her how much he cared.

But when she opened her eyes, Lucas was standing beside the examining table.

“How you feeling?” he said quietly, so low no one on the other side of the curtain could have heard.

She rose to her elbows. “I’ll survive.”

“I gotta go. Half my family came to pick me up, and I think the hospital is worried about the mob scene. I just wanted to say goodbye. Despite all that happened, I liked being with you tonight.”

“Me, too,” she said, wishing that she could think of something clever to add. But fighting down nervous giggling seemed to be the limit of her communication skills. Lucas was at least a year older than her, good-looking, and he was holding her hand.

“You ever been kissed?” He flashed a smile.

“No,” she answered. He could have probably already figured that out. Glasses, sheriff’s daughter, homely, brainy type. How many more strikes against her did she need? Oh, yeah, and flat chested.

Without a word, he leaned in and touched his lips to hers. As he pulled away he winked. “How about we keep this to ourselves?”

She nodded, deciding one kiss and her brain cells must be dying. Now she couldn’t even talk.

“See you around.” He backed away.

As he vanished through the curtain door, she whispered, “See you around.”

CHAPTER SIX

Staten

STATEN DROPPED BY his grandmother’s house, but she didn’t have any chores for him. It seemed the cluster of retirees at Evening Shadows had hired a handyman to run the place. In truth, he’d never seen the community looking so good. The swimming pool had been cleaned out, the fence fixed and the porches painted, every house a different color.

“Yancy says,” Granny shouted over the news blaring from her TV, “if each door is a different color, some of the folks won’t get confused and keep going in the wrong house.” She shook her head. “I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life than when I saw Leo naked.”

Staten stood, his fists clenched. He didn’t care how old the little man was, he wasn’t putting up...

Granny continued, “It was my fault. I must have miscounted. I thought I turned into my house, but it was his. But I blame him, of course, for not locking his door.”

Staten calmed. “Granny, you live in number three, he lives in four. How hard could it be to count to three?”

She shook her finger at him. “Now, don’t get smart with me. After about eighty years, things like numbers started falling out of the back of my head. I can’t even remember my phone number, much less anyone else’s.”

“Don’t worry about it. Everyone you know is programmed into your phone. All you have to do is flip it open, punch a button and say their name.”

She raised an eyebrow as if she suspected a trick. “So, what is going to happen if one day I’m somewhere lost and lose my phone? Even if I can borrow someone else’s phone, I won’t know a number to call, and the stranger I asked to help probably doesn’t have Aunt Doodles’s number in his phone anyway.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “With my luck, the stranger will be one of them serial killers, just looking for his next victim, and there I’ll be, up a creek without a phone.”

Staten patted her shoulder. Every week she had a new worry. He should keep a list. Eventually she was bound to get around to repeating one. “First of all, you can’t drive. So if you’re lost, you’re still in the county. Anyone you stop will probably know you and be happy to bring you back here. Second, if you do see a serial killer, he probably does know Aunt Doodles. She went to jail several times, remember.”

Granny’s finger started wagging again. “She did not. Not many anyway. And every single time was that dumb husband of hers’ fault, not hers.”

Staten leaned down and whispered, “How do you know? You can’t count to three.”

She slapped his cheek too hard to be a pat. “Stop it, Staten. You remind me of numbers I couldn’t remember, and that reminds me of Mr. Leo and his wrinkled...body. Now, that’s a sight I’d like to unsee.”

All at once laughter erupted from her. Staten enjoyed the sound from the dear old woman who’d loved him every day of his life.

As always, her sweet chuckle was music to Staten’s ears. When he was growing up, his parents were either traveling or fighting. By the time he was in middle school, his father had divorced his mother and found wife number two. Neither of them had seemed to want custody of him in the split. His mother had remarried and moved to England within six months, without leaving a forwarding address.

Staten had spent most of his time with his grandparents on the ranch. He’d loved working the land with his granddad and living in their little place where his granny’s laughter always seemed to fill every nook and cranny. The visits from his father and wife number whatever had grown further apart. Senator Samuel Kirkland showed no interest in the ranch. No one was surprised when Granddad died and left it to Staten, his only grandson.

“Sorry you had to see Old Leo, Granny.” He smiled at his grandmother. “Maybe the new handyman was right about the doors. It must have been a shock for you and Leo when you walked into his house.”

Granny was busy cleaning up the coffee cups. “Not so much. I’ve seen him naked before.” She turned and headed to the tiny kitchen.

Staten had no intention of asking more. He didn’t want to know.

Since it was too early to go to Quinn’s for supper, he dropped by the volunteer fire department’s weekly meeting.

This time of year grass fires were rare, and guys were drinking coffee and talking about how the chamber of commerce was planning something big. The men got their information from their wives, who’d passed it around some. So, no telling how accurate it might be. The leaders in Crossroads were looking for ideas to help the town grow and that meant raising money.

“A fund-raiser to beat all fund-raisers,” Hollis shouted. “We plan to raise enough money to improve both the fire station and the clinic. Ellie could use the space at the clinic, and when she graduates, most folks would like to see her stay in town and run it full-time.”