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Gathering Fallen Rocks Ch. 01

By: 2Xwidderwoman



I apologize, in advance, for taking your reading time, but felt some explanation may help you enjoy this story. It is longer than my usual tale so I've broken it into manageable chapters. The work is finished and edited which assures you of a complete story. Although some historical details are accurate, this is a work of fiction. The sex is minimal but essential to understand the evolving story. Additional chapters will appear about every second or third day.

Please comment or send feedback to let me know if you find this an interesting story. A special Thank you to Erik Thread for a magnificent and patient job of editing.

In a few instances Spanish phrases appear to add drama to the story. Rather than use colloquialisms, the correct Spanish phrases are from an online translation program because some readers may not understand the "lingo" of everyday usage. Incorporated into the story, as part of the dialog, are simple translations to help the reader understand.

* * * *

"What are you supposed to do, when the whole world is against you? Do you tell the world to go away?" 

 "No, you take yourself away from the world." 

"But you're supposed to change things, so they go your way, shouldn't you?"

 "It doesn't seem to be working that way."

"I know."

"So, what are you gonna do about it?" 

"I'm going to make a splash, something big, enormous, outstanding, and so stupendously noticeable that the world takes notice. I want them to see what they've done to me, so they won't keep doing it to others."

"And just how do you plan to do that?" 

"That's what I'm trying to decide."

As Gail Fisher drove along the scenic highway, she was not giving much attention to the few remaining wildflowers blooming in wide green spaces between the lanes of traffic. Instead, she was having a conversation with herself. Actually, she was arguing, tilting her head from one side to the other as if she were two people, working on a very serious concern, looking for a solution. She'd had some angry thoughts recently, but was just today, finally able to speak about them, and she was saying them out loud, very loud, occasionally almost a scream.

There was no one else in the car to hear her, so she could say anything she liked and no one would care. She could curse, complain, and in general be rather nasty about the things she had been thinking.

 "Gail, you're a goddamn coward." 

"Yes I am, and it's all her fault."

 "Who are we talking about here?" 

"Her. You know. Her. The bitch. The all powerful Melissa Fisher is who. She likes to think she is the best thing since sliced bread to the independently owned real estate brokerages in the whole city. I am so sick of hearing that. Independently Owned Real Estate Brokerage, like it's a title granted by the Queen, a Duchess of Something, or General Somebody."

"Ah, so you mean your mother, huh?"

"Of course, I mean my mother. She was never there for me. She had her fancy, schmancy career to take up her time."

"Hey! You benefited from that career. You had good clothes, you had piano lessons, you went to some very, very expensive summer camps and you had lots of vacations, to lots of fun places."

"Good clothes? Well, ex-cu-u-use me. A closet full of the latest styles doesn't substitute for a warm body to listen when a little girl gets home from school and walks into an empty house. Piano lessons, great, yeah. That's really great. She didn't even come to the recitals. Summer camp was just an excuse to get rid of me. Vacations? Don't make me laugh about those vacations. They were sales meetings and Becky went with us to babysit me, so the nymphomaniac would have an excuse to use two hotel rooms."

"Now, wait a minute. Maybe some of what you say is true. Even though Becky is your cousin, and a few years older than you are, you did have fun with her. It was better than staying home, while your mother was out of town. And the house wasn't empty when you got home. Tincha was there."

"Yeah, right, Tincha was there, but goddammit Hortense Ramos wasn't my mother. And why the hell was this woman not my mother? Because MY MOTHER WAS GONE to some after--work something with all those men she thought were more important than me. Or maybe she stopped for a drink with someone from the office. Yeah right, and how many of those men were actually customers, anyway? Or maybe she was going to dinner with some out--of--town client, getting a contract written faster than her competition could. At least that's the excuse she used. Or maybe she was just going shopping for a few minutes before coming home."

"So, what's wrong with that, huh? You're just pissed because you didn't get to go with her. Children do not go to business meetings."

"Yeah right, they were business meetings." The sarcastic tone of voice was unmistakable inside the closed quiet of vehicle. "Give me a break. I'm not stupid. If they were really business meetings why couldn't she do those things in the day time and come home after work, instead of not getting there until I was already in bed, for God's sake?"

Gail Fisher was in her early twenties. She was very unhappy with her life, and had made plans to do something about it. She'd spent hours putting her complaints on paper, very special paper, neon yellow paper, paper so glaringly bright it almost hurt your eyes to look at it. She bought a whole ream and wrote letters, crossed out parts she didn't like, and then rewrote them. Putting each letter into a plain white envelope, she wrote the person's name and address clearly on the front. However, only her name with no other information showed in the space for the return address. She had written letters to every important person in her life, her father, mother, best friend -- well, make that her former best friend -- a stupid man she was once married to, and the man who had asked her to marry him at least four times in the last few months. She also had letters, on her special yellow paper, to her boss and her lecherous landlord. However, she hadn't mailed any of the letters.

To look at, Gail was somewhat pretty, in a plain, wholesome way. She was not overweight, but she wasn't one of those skinny girls who could still wear the same size clothes they did when they were fourteen years old and didn't even have hips yet. Truthfully, some men liked her shape, and they would certainly have liked it better if she stood up straight, but she didn't always do that. She slouched as if she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. 

Her hair was light brown, which she thought was mousy but she only looked at her hair from the front in a mirror, Gail did not see the natural gloss of healthy hair and the golden highlights others saw. She kept it cut short in front, framing her face, because if she wore it any longer, it fell into her eyes when she worked. At one time, in her mid--teens, she tried to be a blonde, but let it grow out when she got tired of having to retouch the roots. Her hair was so fine and straight a permanent wave usually turned to frizz so she didn't bother to try artificial curls anymore. 

About the only thing Gail really liked about herself, were her eyes. They were a soft brown, wide set, with long dark lashes and she was really pissed that she was beginning to need reading glasses, which hid her best feature. When she looked at herself, she did not see her full wide mouth and generous lips, although she often had half her lower lip caught between her teeth. She seldom smiled, so the faint dimple in her right cheek didn't show very often. 

Given all the details of Gail's physical appearance, she was not happy. In her opinion, the most unattractive thing about her was her blushes. A twenty--something year old woman, who had been married before, should not blush. It was about as ridiculous as anything she could think of, but she did not know how to prevent the blood from rushing to her face when someone told an off color joke or said something complimentary to her. The first was so common in today's modern office that it was almost ignored by the majority of her co--workers. The latter, was becoming less frequent, because her attitude toward compliments was to turn them into an insult or to depreciate a favorable remark so quickly that few people gave her a second compliment.

Paying less attention than she should to the road in front of her, Gail saw a man walking along the side of the highway. Without thinking through her actions, she slowed her car and came to a full stop on the shoulder of the highway, a short distance ahead of him. She watched him trot the fifteen to twenty yards, and when he was beside her passenger door she already had the car door unlocked and the window down.

"Do you need a ride?"

"Yeah, I do, if you don't mind, if you're sure. You know, it's not safe for women alone to pick up hitchhikers these days, particularly in this area, but I appreciate it."

When he was inside the car, Gail offered her right hand, "I'm Gail Fisher. Where are you going?"

Giving her hand a decent but quick shake, the man said, "Nice to meet you, Gail Fisher. I'm Howard Pleas, like 'please and thank you' with no 'e' on the end. This is a nice car, or do you call it a truck?"

"Actually, it's a gas hog, like most sport utility vehicles, but to me it's a truck," Gail explained as she pulled back onto the highway. 

Other than the furniture in her one--bedroom apartment, which was hers to begin with, the truck was the only thing she walked away from the marriage with, and then only because it wasn't paid for and Ricky said he'd let the truck go back if she didn't take it. He had already damaged her credit and she wasn't going to let him completely ruin it. She had made every one of the last thirty--some odd payments and only had three to go before the monster would be paid for. 

"I had car trouble," Howard explained. "I'm going to town to get my brother to come bail me out."

"I don't remember seeing a break down on the road. How far have you walked?"

"Oh, I was off the highway, a little more than three miles back and another couple of miles down inside the brush."

"Goodness, that's five miles."

"Yeah, and my feet know it, too. Boots are not good running shoes."

Gail, herself prepared for some time alone and accustomed to fending for herself, told Howard, "Reach over in that cooler behind you. Get a bottle of water."

Doing as she offered, he turned around and pulled a bottle of water out of the cooler and twisted the cap off, taking a long drink of about a fourth of the bottle before saying, "Whew that hits the spot. I guess I didn't have my head with me when I started walking. I was at least a mile from the truck before I realized I didn't bring anything with me, not even my hat."

Gail nodded, understanding, "That sounds like something I would do. I'm well known for not thinking ahead."

Twisting around to take a good look behind the front seat, Howard observed, "It doesn't look that way to me. Looks like you're pretty well prepared. Are you going camping, or something? You have a box of food, sleeping bag, and ice chest. I think that's one of those small camping stoves and that's a tent back there, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Gail looked at him for just a moment. "It's a dome tent. How'd you know?"

Howard smiled, "I use one just like it, on those few occasions when I can go to the bay for a little fishing. Plus, I noticed your ice chest doesn't have ice in it, so it's one of those 12 volt coolers. Are you meeting someone, Gail? Or are you just out on your own?"

"It's just me." Gail shrugged her shoulders, "When my world starts crumbling around me, I take off."

Howard grinned and jokingly asked, "Now how can a pretty woman like you have a crumbling world?"

"Ha, little you know, Howard." As her tears began forming she stopped talking, clamping her teeth together to prevent herself from saying something stupid.

Howard saw the faint dimple in Gail's cheek and watched her face as the corners of her mouth turned down. He wondered if the same things that got to him, bothered her. Howard Pleas was not particularly happy with his world right now either. 

Howard was an ordinary looking man, until you saw his eyes. There was pain there, and it had been there for a long time. Maybe Gail noticed, or maybe she was so wrapped up in her own world she didn't notice the look of pain. Despite his ordinariness, Howard was a dark man. He wore his hair unfashionably short, but longer than a buzz. He had dark thick brows, and despite a morning shave, his dark beard could easily be seen beneath the surface of his tan skin. Only in very good light could you tell his eyes were dark brown; usually they appeared black. His skin tone was dark, not fair. It was not the dark skin of a man who was tanned from working outdoors, nor was it the darker skin of a Latino man, and he did not have Latino features. He was just darker than most. If someone were to become familiar with his lineage, they would have considered him Mediterranean. 

However, despite the pain in his eyes, they were his most arresting feature. His eyes were gentle. He could look at a woman or a child and say, without words, "Give me your hand. As long as your hand is in mine, you are safe. I will protect you."

Trapped in a job he disliked, working for a likable person but a poor businessman, Howard was thirty--two years old and felt he had done absolutely nothing with his whole life. He drove an old truck that sat outside the garage at least as much time as it did getting him around town. He lived in an almost bare room above his brother's garage because it was cheaper than renting an apartment, even if he could have found one in the booming town. He gave his sister--in--law money to help pay for the groceries because they, too, were barely making it. Every dollar he could scrape together he put toward his bank loan or bought another cow to add to those he already had -- and promised himself, just one more year.

Not tall and gangly like his brother, Howard was compact and muscular. Many people would be surprised to learn how much he weighed, and they would also be surprised to see the weight he could lift, or how fast he could run. His mother used to say that Frank was a giraffe, but Howard was a bear. She said Frank ran away from trouble and Howard looked for it. That just about summed up Howard's current problem: he had stood up on his hind legs, raised his paws, and swatted at someone who was annoying him, and now he was about to pay the price for his loss of self--control.

"Okay," Howard said. "We have at least half an hour before we get to town. You tell me about your world crumbling and I'll tell you about mine."

Gail laughed a not particularly happy sound and said, "Yeah, right. You're a man. You don't want some broad crying on your shoulder about her lousy job, despicable ex--husband, stupid boyfriend, and lecherous landlord, and that's not all the people I'm pissed at. It's just the beginning of the list."

"Hey, I wouldn't ask if I wasn't willing to listen, but I'll go first, if you want. Hell, I ain't proud. But for your information, I don't call women 'broads' either. They are girls, ladies or women. Anything else is disrespectful."

Gail looked at him for a moment, then returned her attention to the road ahead, "You can't be serious?"

"Yes ma'am, I am. My mother was a good woman and if she was to hear me say such a thing, I'd be standing at the kitchen sink having my mouth washed out with soap and I'd be lucky to walk away still able to sit down."

"Good, that means she loved you."

"Yes, she certainly did."

"Wish mine had been interested enough to do that. I'd probably be a lot better off. You know what I was doing before I stopped to give you a ride? I was yelling at my mother. I was telling her about all the times she'd failed to be a mother. It wasn't very nice and I was using some not very nice words, too."

"My, my, Miss Gail, you don't mean to tell me you took the Lord's name in vain?" Howard asked the question. But Gail could hear the trace of laughter in his voice.

"Yeah, and it was probably a lot worse than that," Gail said with vehemence. "It wasn't very lady--like and it certainly wasn't very Christian. That's what I meant about having a list of people I'm pissed at."

"Ah, excuse me," Howard asked, "but I think most of the people on that list sounded like men. You wouldn't happen to be a man--hater would you? You know, like one of those women libbers?"

With a genuine laugh that time, Gail admitted, "No, it's probably because I like men too much. Maybe I'm just looking for a substitute father. Mine didn't stick around very long."

"Do you mean he died -- or left, like moved away or something?"

"No, he's not dead. He and my mother's sister left town together, how about that one?"

"Ouch, lots of angry women in your family, huh?"

"I don't know that my mother was particularly angry after he left. All I remember about them is that she used to yell at him all the time. And ... she certainly hasn't lacked for male companionship since he left, either. She can find them everywhere, and on pretty short notice too."

"Gail," Howard's voice was serious, more serious than it had been. "That's not a very nice thing to say about your mother."

"It's the truth. My bedroom window was on the front of the house and I watched them drive off in the mornings. Most of them got away before daylight, but a few stayed around for breakfast, or so they thought, which usually just turned out to be a cup of coffee. She didn't stop bringing them home with her, until they started to notice me. I guess she didn't want the competition."

"Good Lord."

"Yep," Gail nodded. "That's about the way I feel about it, too. I finally wrote her a letter. I haven't found the courage to mail it yet, but I'm working on it. You should read it, be good entertainment."

Gail sorted through half a dozen envelopes in the utility tray between the seats, pulled out one envelope, and handed it to Howard, "Here, read it to me, maybe I'll be willing to change a little of it after I hear it. It's been at least a month since I worked on it. Maybe I'm not as angry as I was then."

Howard lifted the unsealed flap on the envelope and pulled out several handwritten pages of the bright yellow paper and began to read aloud.

****

Dear Mother,

Maybe instead of Mother, I should address this letter, Dear Melissa. After all, that's what you said I should call you, about the time I started getting tits. You didn't want any of your "men friends" to know you had a teenage daughter. What did you want them to think, that I was your sister?

I don't know what kind of problem you and Dad had with each other. All I know is that it deprived me of a father. It sure didn't help when every time I asked about him, you said I was better off without the asshole, or another of a number of similar ugly words to describe him.

Maybe when he left with Aunt Theresa and Becky went to live with Grandma and Grandpa, you should have done the same for me. Becky seems to have turned out pretty good, while my life is a mess. In fact, my life is so bad I don't even want to live it anymore.

You must have thought I was a really dumb kid. I may not have fully understood when I was six or seven years old. But it didn't take long to figure out what was happening in your bedroom on those nights when you brought men home with you. Maybe I was just a light sleeper, but I heard the voices walking down the hall. Maybe I should have had a bedroom on the other side of the hall. When they turned the headlights on, after starting their cars at four or five o'clock in the morning, it woke me up. I guess you figured out it wasn't a good plan to bring them home with you when they tried to get into my bedroom after you went to sleep. I will forever thank whoever is responsible for putting a lock on my bedroom door.


Gathering Fallen Rocks Ch. 01



I wish I could find that old five--year diary you gave me for Christmas. I had special marks beside the dates when you brought a man home with you. I even wrote their names down, if I ever heard them. I can't remember many of the names any more. I've tried to forget as much as I can. I guess you found it after I moved out. Maybe you can pull it out some day and read a little of it. No, maybe you better not, you would just tell me that I complain too much.

I guess motel rooms are a better idea when you have a teenage daughter at home. I hope you had the men pay for the room, because I can't recall that we were exactly rolling in dough when I was young. I know I had good food, but Tincha was a good cook. I know I had decent clothes to wear, but nowhere near the fashionable clothes you wore. Maybe your shopping expeditions should have included me once in a while. You might have delayed a manicure, or an appointment to get your hair done, and taken me for an occasional ice cream cone instead. I would have appreciated it; you will just never know how much. 

That's probably why I married Ricky Hennessey, just to get away from home. It didn't take long to discover I didn't love him and it took even less time for me to discover he couldn't keep a job, was verbally and physically abusive, and wouldn't pay the bills. He ruined my credit so badly every apartment complex in town turned down my application when I wanted to move away from him, and to add insult to injury, I discovered he had entertained other women on my salary. However, that's a subject I will discuss with him if I can ever stand to look at him again.

I'm sure it must be painful, to you, that you are getting older and beginning to develop a few wrinkles, but do you really think plastic surgery is the answer? Maybe one drink, instead of six, some good food, and a little exercise would work just as well. However, as you have often told me, I don't have the right to interfere in the way you live your life. So I will honor your instructions. I just hope you will understand that I cannot honor you as my mother.

Your daughter, 

Gail Fisher—and yes, in the divorce, I requested my maiden name back, not because it is your name, it really isn't, it's my father's. I wanted it back because I could not stand to hear the name Hennessey, ever again.

****

Howard folded the pages and returned them to the envelope before asking, "Well, do you want to change any of it?"

Gail brushed a couple of tears off her cheek and answered, "Nope, I guess I'll just let it stand. If I started messing with it, I'd probably want to add a lot more and it would just hurt her. I will have done enough of that, by the time she reads it." After a moment of silence, Gail said, "Before you read any of the others, it's your turn."

Howard jerked his head toward Gail, "What do you mean, my turn?"

"I told you my world is crumbling and you said yours was too and you were willing to share if I was. It's your turn. Maybe if I can listen to someone else's problems, mine won't feel quite so bad."

Howard chuckled and said, "You don't have enough time."

Gail smiled, and that time Howard could really see the dimple, "That, my new friend, is where you are wrong. I have the rest of my life. I am on the third day of the rest of my life."

"You weren't serious about that part about not wanting to live?"

Gail nodded, "Maybe you might want to read that part again. I wrote that I don't want to live my life any more. In the past three days, I have quit my job, told my friends I was leaving town, and moved out of my apartment. I hired one of those cheap moving companies and everything I own, except for what's in this truck, is in a storage unit. That means kitchen, most of my clothes, and all of my furniture. I paid six months in advance and I'm going to change my life. If I can't do that, I'll just end it."

Howard looked at the road ahead and said, "Hey, you see that sign? There's a rest stop ahead. I drank that whole bottle of water and I need a pit stop, how about you?"

"Yeah, me too, but I was thinking it was a little farther along."

"Oh, you know this road?"

"Not very well, I've been this way a few times, you know, just going south to a good campground, state park, or somewhere to get away. I do it a few times a year, or as often as I can get away."

"And what do you do on these get--away times, commune with nature?"

"Either that, or sit and feel sorry for myself. My real problem is I can't figure out a way to kill myself and make sure the letters get mailed instead of becoming part of some stupid police investigation or crime scene. I guess I've watched too many crime shows on television. The police would read those letters and start trying to figure out which one of them killed me."

Howard walked into the men's side of the rest stop and stood for a moment. He believed he knew what was wrong; he just didn't know if he could fix it. However, maybe, just maybe, he could find it inside himself to help this person ... and in doing so, maybe he could get a little help, too. He needed to know there were people in the world who still cared. After washing his hands, he was back outside, walking up and down the sidewalk, waiting for Gail.

When she came out of the women's side, he walked up to her and said, "I'll make a deal with you."

She looked at him and figured this guy is going to make a suggestion she wasn't particularly interested in and asked, skeptically, "Yeah, what's the deal?"

"You take me back to my truck. It's only a little over ten, maybe fifteen, miles to the turn off and down a county road about two miles. I've got jumper cables in the back of the truck. You can give me a boost to get my battery charged enough to drive into town. In exchange, I'll read all of your letters and mail them, as soon as I know you've done it."

"You are not serious," Gail scoffed, and then changed her tone to question him, "Are you?"

"Sure, why not?" Howard asked, shrugged his shoulders, and then explained, "All I have to do is read the obits in the papers and I'll know when to mail them. Easy."

She held out her hand, to seal the bargain, "You got a deal. Show me how to get back the way we came."

"Just drive to the other side of this rest stop, where the highway goes in the opposite direction, and I'll direct you from there."

******** Gail wasn't expecting much. After all, Howard said it was just an old adobe building. However, it looked like a very neat old building. It probably had a lot of history, and it might even be interesting to learn some of its history. The ceiling had to be at least twenty feet high.

Although he tried several times, Howard could not start his truck and finally decided the problem must be mechanical, rather than a dead battery. It was so late in the day, he invited Gail to come inside and relax a while and stay to supper, if she liked, and even spend the night, assuring her she could trust him. It was too late for her to try to find and set up her own camp. She would find it easier to do if she waited until the next morning. When Howard got back inside, he asked, "Hey, you want to plug that cooler in to regular electricity, I don't want you to run your battery down, then we'd both be stuck."

"Yeah, that's a good idea. Do you mind if I pop my tent out there?"

"Aw, really, you don't need to do that. Just grab your sleeping bag. There's some old metal cots in the corner ... be better than sleeping on the ground. This is snake country."

"Ugh, snakes," Gail shuddered, "I know most of them are not dangerous, or poisonous, or have teeth, but they are still snakes. I'll take the offer of a bed indoors. What are we doing for supper?"

"Ah, what would you like? What do you usually eat for supper? How do you feel about eating wild animals?" Howard watched her to see what her reaction was to his question.

She raised her eyebrows, curious. "Wild animals, you did say wild animals? I don't know ... you mean like, what? I'm probably okay, as long as it's not snake. I don't care if they do taste like chicken. I'm not interested in eating rattlesnake."

Howard chuckled, "No, not rattlesnake, but I do have venison steaks."

"I can do a steak. Is there a special way to cook it, I mean, does it need to be well done, or something? I'm a city girl. I don't know things like that."

"I can do it, or I can teach you," Howard offered.

"Show me, and tell me what I can do to help. I'm a pretty good cook, despite having a mother who does not know how to boil water."

"Then, who taught you to cook?"

"I don't know, I guess I taught myself. I had a little help from Tincha. She was the housekeeper/maid/babysitter, depending on what Melissa needed her to do. The rest of the time, I just followed the directions, made the mistakes, burned things, forgot to add the salt, and all that stuff. But I usually got it right the second time."

Howard was in the simple corner kitchen. He gave Gail two packages wrapped in freezer paper and told her to open them then showed her how to wrap strips of bacon around each one, securing the ends with a wooden toothpick. "So, you left your job, packed everything, and left town. Is this your try at having a second life?"

"I didn't really think about it like that, maybe I should. But considering my past, I'm not very good at learning lessons."

"How do you figure that? Haven't you left all of that behind?"

"Well yes, I guess I left it behind. I'm not sure I learned any lessons. When my marriage failed, I didn't make a very good choice the second time. If I had learned something, wouldn't I have done better? You need to read the letter about that failure, too."

"Okay, while I put the steaks on, go get the letter."

"Okay," Gail turned to leave the kitchen area and as she walked across the old adobe tile floor, she told Howard, "And the same rule applies, you have to read it out loud to see if there's anything I want to change."



Gathering Fallen Rocks Ch. 02



"When my marriage failed, I didn't make a very good choice the second time. If I had learned something, wouldn't I have done better? You need to read the letter about that failure, too."

"Okay, while I put the steaks on, go get the letter."

"Okay," Gail turned to leave the kitchen area and as she walked across the old adobe tile floor, she told Howard, "And the same rule applies, you have to read it out loud to see if there's anything I want to change."

****

Ricky,

You will notice I did not begin this letter with "Dear" Ricky. You are not dear anything, to me. In fact, I should have begun it by addressing you as Mr. Hennessey, because I feel like I really don't know you.

I don't know if I was running away from home, looking for a friend, or just wanted a man in my life when I met you. I'm not sure what you thought you had, but it wasn't what you got. I wasn't interested in sitting in a bar all night. I didn't want to trade partners with strangers, and I certainly didn't want to move out of an apartment in the middle of the night, just to avoid paying the next month's rent.

I worked every day. I couldn't understand why you thought you didn't need to. It surprised me when I discovered the money I was giving you to pay our bills, went down the throats of a succeeding string of other women. Whatever else you did with them, you gave me an STD, which was really the last straw. And then you had the gall to accuse me of giving to you. It wasn't a very convincing argument when you "accidentally" allowed me to find another woman's underwear in the truck. Yes, the doctor gave me some medication which worked. Although you never asked, I thought you would like to know. Silly me, I thought marriage vows meant something.

I appreciate you buying the truck without saying anything about it to me. It was very nice that you let me have it in the divorce settlement. You will be happy to know I've almost finished paying it off. How long did you think you could keep hiding all the credit card statements? Five different VISA cards, charged to the max was not very good money management. Oh, I forgot, you didn't care, did you? You thought I could pay for them along with everything else. 

I won't bother to thank you for leaving me with the furniture. It was a wedding gift from my mother. She had it delivered to the apartment before we married, so it's really mine. She wanted us to have a nice "love nest." Of course, it's no longer as nice looking. Using your knife to scratch an "X" on the table tops and every other flat surface you could find when you were angry with me does make it look a little "used." I suppose I should feel lucky you didn't use the knife on me, as you threatened to do so many times. 

Seriously, I doubt this letter will cause you more than a moment of guilt. That's not my reason for writing. What I really wanted to tell you is, "Thanks." You taught me something, even if it took a black eye and a few broken ribs to learn it. Next time, don't tell your wife that her mother is a better lay than she is. She might not be as nice about it as I was. After all, weren't you supposed to be my teacher? I thought that's what being a virgin when you married was all about.

Someday, when your extraordinary good looks begin to fade, you better have something to sustain you because you are going to run out of women to support you. When your sexual prowess fails, or your promiscuity results in an illness that can't be treated by a few shots, you better have something to live for, because that mirror will tell you how far you have fallen. It is a fate I consider myself lucky to have escaped.

Gail 

****

When Howard finished reading the letter, he looked at Gail where she sat, mesmerized by the flames in the big fireplace as if she were in some kind of trance. 

"You don't want to change any of this one, either, do you?" 

"No, not really, I'd probably make it a lot worse and it wouldn't faze him. He'd just laugh and consider himself lucky to have me out of his life." Her tone of voice changed when she said, "You know, a month or two after the divorce was final he called and asked me for a loan."

Howard walked over to the old rawhide covered couch and sat beside Gail. Like her, he was staring into the flames that were licking the bacon strips wrapped around their venison steaks.

"Gail, about this Ricky guy, why did you marry him?"

"I don't know Howard. Truly, I do not know. I've asked myself that same question at least once a day for the last couple of years and a lot more often than that the two years before that."

"But didn't you know, or suspect, what kind of a person he was?"

"No, and that's the absolute truth," she answered. "I was just barely eighteen years old. I could not stand to live in my mother's house for one more second. All I saw, were those other girls, getting married, wearing fabulous white dresses, opening piles of presents, moving away from home and into their own apartments. If I'd had any idea how easy it was, I could have done it all by myself and saved myself an awful lot of misery."

"Yeah," Howard admitted, "we aren't very smart when we think we know it all, are we?"

As Gail sat, staring at the flames in the fireplace, snatches of a conversation returned as if they were being spoken for the first time.

A gruff voice demanded to know, "What do you mean, you're quitting?"

"I'm resigning from my job and I am not giving two weeks notice," Gail answered.

Her boss was surprised. "Gail you've been here for five years. Have you accepted employment elsewhere?"

"No, Mister Abrams." Gail shook her head. "Although I've had offers in the past, I'm not going to work for your competition."

"Then why are you quitting?" Mister Abrams still sounded surprised, but he was beginning to accept that Gail was serious.

"Mister Abrams, in the last two years, two people in my department, with less time on the job than I have, have been promoted."

"Yes," the man answered, proud that he had people from his department advancing in the company. "Both of them had good experience before they came to work here. We like to promote from the inside. The company feels it retains more loyal and better trained employees when it does so."

"You are right." Gail's voice turned cynical. "Joan had six months at her previous job, less than a year here, and she was promoted. Alice had two years secretarial experience and was promoted in six months."

"Yes, they may have had less time with the company, than you have," he agreed, but he reminded her, "but both of them are fully licensed."

"Mister Abrams, I am also licensed, at my own expense and outside of office hours. Joan and Alice went to school at company expense during office hours. Not only that, all of my performance reviews, copies of which I have, show quote "this employee is considered an excellent candidate for promotion" unquote. I also applied for both of the jobs Joan and Alice were promoted to."

Dismissively, Mister Abrams said, "Now, Gail ..."

"Mister Abrams, I have enough proof to file a lawsuit for discrimination against this company. I would win and you know it. I think I'll just ask to be paid my two weeks severance pay and two weeks vacation pay, which I'm entitled to, and I'll just leave. It will be less trouble for you."

"Well, if that's what you want to do, I'll see if I can get a check for you, at least by the end of the week. I'm not sure I can pay you for the vacation time, though."

"Mister Abrams, I'd like to have my check, for the vacation time too, today, maybe within the next hour, or so. I think you would like to see me leave about as bad as I want to be gone. You can do that, can't you?"

****

Dear Mr. Abrams, 

I really am sorry I had to leave my job. From the first day I worked for the company, I felt I was doing something I truly enjoyed. I had dreams of being more than just a person in the back room, handling stacks of papers, making copies, and typing forms for the examiners. 

After the first year or so, I thought I was a valued employee. At least I was led to believe I was, because every person who was hired into my department spent their first few weeks learning from me. When you introduced them to me, you said, "This is Gail Fisher. She will show you what your job is, and if you have any questions, just ask her. She knows this department backwards and forwards."

Twice, other companies tried to hire me, offering me more money to go to work for them. Stupid me, I did not accept either of the offers because I had loyalty and a confidence I would be promoted to fill the next opening as an officer. 

I enjoyed my profession so much. On my own time, and paying for the courses myself, I passed the exam and received my license. I did not wait for the company to send me to school. Maybe I should have waited. Two of my co–workers were given that opportunity, and they were advanced with much less experience than I had, and they were trained by me. Was I doing your job, too?

As I told you, Joan Evans had six months at her previous job, less than a year with the company, and she was promoted. Then within a year, she left to start a family. I cannot see that you or the company gained much for the expense of training and promoting someone who never intended to make her job into a career. She was looking for a wealthy man to marry and found one, a good client of the company. 

Alice Bennett had two years secretarial experience and was promoted in six months. She found a different way to gain a promotion, did she not? I suspect Mrs. Abrams would be interested in learning the number of times you took three hour lunches on the same days Alice chose to take an afternoon off.

No, I have not shared any of my information with anyone else, nor will I do so because, I hope that if I ever seek another job, I will have a good reference from you. I will not ask a prospective employer to refrain from contacting my previous employer, but I may say that I had a "personal problem" with my supervisor. I'm sure anyone hearing that will understand they might get better information about my work habits, from someone else in the company.

Gail Fisher

****

It wasn't that Gail didn't like her job, she did. She liked it so much she planned to make it her career. It was the history of the city and the state, told in documents of who owned land, how long they owned it, and to whom they sold it, or a portion of it. From the date when thousands of acres were given to a long–ago Spanish or Mexican soldier, settler, or nobleman, until Johnny and Susie bought their little house on a very tiny portion of that land, documents detailed all the conveyances between those two dates.

Howard was saying something, and Gail was not listening until he tapped her on the shoulder.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I think the steaks are done. Let's eat."

Gail cut a piece of steak, put it in her mouth, and smiled, "Oh, this is venison? I didn't know it would be this good. I thought it might taste, I guess I've heard the word, 'wild,' used so many times." She laughed a little and added, "I'm not even sure what wild tastes like, but this is good."

"It's all in the way the meat is treated before it's butchered. You've heard of aged beef, right?" Gail nodded and he continued, "It's the same with game. It needs to be aged to develop a good flavor."

"Is that what you do with all the cows around here? Sell them to be butchered for steaks?"

"Yeah, eventually, that is, if I ever get enough of them."

"And now it's your turn to tell me about your world crumbling," Gail reminded Howard. "You've already learned about two of my big mistakes. What's your biggest rock look like?"

"Rock?"

"Yeah, my life is a rock wall," she explained. "I'm sitting on top and all the rocks breaking loose and falling are going to cause me to fall off. So I figure that's what I mean by my world crumbling."

"Hey, that's pretty good. I might even use that analogy myself."

"Ah, Howard, what does your biggest rock look like?"

"Oh," he grinned. "It didn't work did it?"

Gail liked his grin. It changed his face into the look of a little boy caught doing something naughty. "Nope, I'm persistent, I'll keep asking until you answer."

"Okay," his face, once again turning serious. "See, I work at a hardware store. I guess it's a good job. I get paid for it. But I can't stand my boss, and since he's the owner, I don't have much choice."

Pepper's Hardware was a small town hardware store, which meant they sold plumbing supplies, appliances, hammers, nails, or an electric drill – if that's what you needed. They also stocked batteries, tires, oil, and antifreeze for your car. But it didn't end there. The store sold bicycles, blue jeans, western shirts, and in the back you could get a one–hundred pound sack of deer corn, sacks of special feed for chickens, cows, pigs, and even dog food. Just about every thing you couldn't find at the local grocery store, you would find at Pepper's and a hook to hang it on.

Every year, Pepper hired, as part–time employees, at least two players of the local high school football team. Thursdays were spent with local football fans going in and out the store, talking about the upcoming football game. Fridays, the students even wore their game jersey to work. Local football fans filled the store, taking up aisle space, pre–playing the game. Saturday was even worse, more fans crowded the store congratulating or commiserating with the players over the previous evening's game, describing how the different plays appeared from their perspective in the bleachers. As soon as football season was over, the next sport, with usually the same players, went through the same process of pre–play and post–analysis. 

However the conglomeration of people was not customers who came to purchase Pepper's merchandise. The genuine customers had problems finding what they wanted with so many people standing around, and they often left without buying anything, remarking they were going to drive to the next town where they could shop in a less congested store. 

Pepper could not see any problem. He just complained that Howard wasn't helping people find what they wanted, without realizing he, himself, was the cause. Pepper grumbled that sales were falling because of Howard's poor job performance. 

"Good grief," Gail exclaimed, "Can't the man see what he's doing to his business?"

Howard shook his head, "Evidently not. He was the star quarterback on that football team about twenty–five years ago. He's just trying to live it all over again. I guess the right word is vicariously. It's a shame, too. He'd have a good store if he could understand he's not seventeen years old anymore."

Gail asked, "So why do you stay?"

"Well, Pepper's really a good guy, just not a good businessman. He doesn't like that I work so much overtime, but he needs someone like me in the store all the time. I can take a day or a couple of hours, almost anytime I want, if we aren't really busy. 

"And it's the best job I can find. If I can stick it out at least two more years, I'll have all the back taxes on this place paid off. Then I can start working on building this ranch into something that will make a living for me, instead of just eating everything I earn."

"Ah, so you do have a plan?"

"Yeah," Howard acknowledged glumly. "If I can stay out of jail long enough to do it."

"Jail? What do you mean, stay out of jail?"

"Dumb, temper, too much to drink, and stupidity, oh, and a woman who didn't know enough to keep her mouth shut. I guess that about spells it out."

"What'd you do," Gail asked, trying not to laugh. "Break up the bar like a western movie hero?"

"Almost. My brother and I went out one night, and an old girlfriend of his grabbed him by the arm to walk him out the door of the bar, saying she was going to show him how much she'd learned since high school. Her boyfriend threw a punch at Frank, knocked him down and I ended the fight."

"Uh oh, I guess that's disturbing the peace, drunk and disorderly, damage to the bar, and about twenty other charges, if they can make them stick, huh?"

Howard looked up from cutting his next bite of venison steak, and asked, skeptically, "How do you know so much about things like that?"

"Remember the absentee father? He's a cop. When I was fifteen, Mother decided I wasn't manageable, so she sent me to live with him. I mean she threw my clothes in suitcases, drove me to his house, threw the suitcases in his yard, and said, "Here, it's your turn." Then she drove off."

"Nice," Howard said.

"Not," Gail countered.

"Whew, so did you write him a letter, too?"

"Yeah, but I haven't finished it. I don't know what to say to someone that I can only remember living with for a little more than a year. He'd already divorced Theresa and was looking for number three, so he wasn't home very much."

********

Much later in the evening, Gail was in her sleeping bag, on one of the old metal cots which was not even as wide as a single bed. She heard Howard shifting his weight across the room and knew he was not asleep either. It was the third or fourth time he'd rolled over in the last few minutes.

Gail asked, not talking too loud because if he was asleep, maybe he wouldn't hear her, "Howard, are you awake?"

"Yeah, can't seem to go to sleep."

"Can I ask a question?" When he didn't answer for a moment, she continued, "Do you think what people become is because of the way they are raised or because of their genes?"

"Well," Howard answered, and then thought for a moment before continuing. "Genes are probably just hair and eye color, you know, physical stuff, height, and weight. What people become, personality and opinions, are the values they're taught by the people who care about them."

"Okay, thanks." Gail thought about what he said. Maybe the values she had, ones she was trying to believe were good, strong, and moral, came from her mother and father. But maybe lots of them came from Tincha, too. It might have been better if they came from genes. Grandma and Grandpa were really good people. She didn't remember much about her father's parents. They were never part of her life after she was six or seven years old, when her parents divorced. Gail fell asleep, working on that letter to her father.

Similarly, Howard was having the same kind of thoughts. He wondered why he and his brother were so different. Frank worked, but never did more than he must. He would rather spend the evening with his friends, drinking far too many beers, than go home and do anything around the house. Frank's wife, Melanie, wasn't much better. She didn't seem to care about taking care of the house or fixing very healthy meals. Yet she could describe every character and most of each day's happenings of several soap operas. They both drove good vehicles while Howard was trying to keep an antique running well enough to get him to the ranch, plus to and from work.

Two more years, two more years, it was his goal, almost a mantra, just two more years. The bank loan would be paid. It will be tough to make the ranch start paying, but he knew he could do it. His father did it and raised a family, too. His grandfather did it and the generations before them did, too. 

Although Gail would prefer to cry about it, that was not the solution. Tears will just make her eyes red and not answer any questions, nor give her any solutions. Maybe her dad was right. He told her she was tough and could do anything she set her mind to. Tonight, however, it did not seem that things were turning out as she had planned. 

********



Dear Dad,

I guess I can call you Dad. I don't recall that I said Daddy, and Father just seems too formal a word. Maybe it's because I don't know you very well. I'm not sure who you are.




Gathering Fallen Rocks Ch. 02



I used to wonder how a man and a woman could have a child and not care anything about the child. Then after I married Ricky, I learned it wasn't too difficult for a woman to get pregnant. Whew, how I escaped that one I'll never know. There was one close call, but by then there wasn't much left of the marriage and the miscarriage didn't seem like such a tragedy. I didn't think enough about it at the time, but since then I don't think I could bear to have a child with Ricky Hennessey as the father. When he got drunk and hit me or threatened me, I wondered what you would do if you knew. I was too afraid to tell you, not because you would hurt him, but because it would cause problems with your job. Wasn't that silly of me? Why should I care so much about someone I didn't even know?

It was probably hard for you to have me living with you that year, but I liked it. You talked to me as if I was an adult, even if I did have a bad attitude and I know I was disrespectful. The talks we had, taught me to think for myself. That was a lot better than just reacting to whatever was agitating me at the time. As Mother said, I was certainly headed down a path of self–destruction. Your experience and knowledge as a police officer sent me down a different path, which saved me from a lot of grief. That year of being away from some pretty horrible friends showed me there was a lot more to life than the next thrill.

I guess this letter is to thank you, and not just for the lessons—I did enjoy learning to shoot all those different guns. Although you encouraged me to go to the police academy, and I know you could have gotten me on the force, I did not have the same interest enforcement as you do. Perhaps your new son will decide to follow in his father's footsteps. I know he has a good man for a father. 

Maybe you won't think so badly of me after you find out what I've done. I just can't think of what else to do. My life is a mess and I don't want to mess up the life of another person, too.

Your daughter,

Gail

********

After a quick breakfast, Howard said, "I think I found the problem with my truck. Come help me a minute, while I try my battery again. I need to get to town. I have to work today."

"Okay," Gail responded. "Let me roll up my sleeping bag and I'll just follow you out."

"You can stay, if you like. You can camp here as well as anywhere else. There's electricity and a decent bathroom. I haven't read all the letters, yet."

"Oh, wow ... well ... okay. Yeah, I'd like to do that. What time do you get home?" 

"Yesterday was early, so today is late. I'll be back, about dark, sometime after eight."

"Do you eat supper in town or do you want me to fix something? That's the least I can do. Tell me what you want, it might be the only thing I do all day."

"I'll wait until I get home, just surprise me. I'll eat anything that doesn't eat me first." 

As soon as Howard drove off, Gail unloaded her truck. Instead of setting up the tent, she took some of her gear inside the old adobe house, put her perishable foods in Howard's refrigerator, and looked for meat to thaw for supper. A package of venison burger and her non–perishable things gave her an idea.

In the meantime, she found a broom to sweep out the dirt she tracked into the house and one thing turned into another until she had swept the whole house and cleaned the furniture of the dust she stirred up. By the time she was looking for her sandwich meat, the venison meat had been cooking for an hour, and she was adding a jar of sauce, then turning the heat down to the lowest setting on the stove's burner. 

Several times she listened to her cell phone ring, but couldn't bring herself to answer it. Maybe later she would listen to the messages and then again, maybe she wouldn't. The noon call was probably from Gary because he always called at noon, but she could not think of anything to say to him. He would try to apologize, but she was not interested in accepting an apology. Maybe she should work on his letter, too. It was more than he deserved, but if she tried to see him, she would tell him what she thought of him and he would try to say it is as much her fault as his and she would probably cry and they would make up and it would start all over again. At least in a letter, he couldn't talk back.

********



Dear Gary,

Why am I being so nice to you? You are not dear to me. It took me a while to realize that. 

The first time you asked me to go to dinner with you I was flattered. I seldom dated and did not spend time at typical single's scenes. When you took me home, got out of the car to walk me to my door and waited while I unlocked the door, I knew I had made a mistake. I was not accustomed to being pawed while fishing my keys out of my purse. I think I made some excuse, like the wrong time of the month or I was too tired, anyway, you left.

I was surprised you called for a second date. I figured you had gotten the message. Instead, I agreed to meet you and we had a nice dinner. I thought you understood I was not going to bed with you. I guess you thought you could wear me down, because we went out a few more times and to a couple of movies.

I never have considered myself a "totally irresistible woman" although that's what you said the first time you proposed marriage. I didn't think I was "the most intriguing woman you had ever met," although those are the words you used when you proposed marriage the second time.

You almost won me over when you asked the third time, while you kissed me and tried to back me into my bedroom. I think that's when I knew what you wanted. You just wanted to win, it was a contest, and you were determined to get into my bed and show me what a fabulous lover you are, because that's what you said after the third proposal. Why did I let you? Was I so starved for affection I was willing to ignore that I didn't even like you?

Even after that night, when you said we should be married, or I think you meant that you felt you had no choice, I was not interested. Don't you ever listen to what people are telling you?

What I did not know was that you were doing almost the same thing, but with a great deal more success, with my best friend Carol Ann. What did you plan to do? Were you going to compare notes with her other male friends? She isn't interested in the man, just good sex. You can ask her, she freely admits it. She keeps score and gives each of her conquests a number. You would not like to know where you are, on her list of The Best 100 Men I've Fucked. In hindsight, I can recall all the times you asked, seemingly innocent questions, about her. Maybe I should have gotten the message, but I did not, much to my regret.

Something I read, probably in a silly email, was about how to select a mate. After the passion and sex is over, you better have something to talk about or you have nothing. Well, Gary, you have nothing. I tried to find something you and I could discuss, but all I heard from you was about your job, or the television show you saw last night. I don't think that's going to last for the years a marriage lasts. I've already had one of those short lousy ones and I don't want another.

Thanks anyway,

Gail 

********

Knowing it wasn't the letter she really wanted to send to Gary, Gail put it in his envelope and went for a walk instead. Maybe some physical exercise would chase the cobwebs out of her head. 

The trail she followed was clear and well worn, with very little grass, just a plain dirt path. At first she thought it was an animal trail. Then she began to notice empty one–gallon plastic jugs tossed into the brush. Several times a torn shirt or a pair of women's underwear were tossed aside, trampled and dusty. Beneath a small stand of low growing trees, she saw several men sitting in the shade. Instead of following the trail to the trees, she veered off the trail and made a slow gradual turn, going back to Howard's house, where she locked herself inside.



Gathering Fallen Rocks Ch. 03



In a few instances Spanish phrases appear to add drama to the story. Incorporated into the story, as part of the dialog, are simple translations to help the reader understand.

********

"What time do you get home?" 

"Yesterday was early, so today is late. I'll be back, about dark, sometime after eight."

"Do you eat supper in town or do you want me to fix something? That's the least I can do. Tell me what you want, it might be the only thing I do all day."

"I'll wait until I get home, just surprise me. I'll eat anything that doesn't eat me first." 

********

As the sun was setting, Gail mixed crushed, dried garlic with some butter and spread it on the inside of the tops and bottoms of her hamburger buns then filled a pot with water, putting it on a burner to boil. When she heard Howard's truck rattling down the road she put the spaghetti in the boiling water and was still trying to get the gas burner to light so she could use the broiler to toast the bread when Howard walked in the door. 

"Show me the trick to this broiler."

"Yum, I smell spaghetti." Howard walked over to the stove and lifted the lid on the meat and sauce. "That ol' thing doesn't work half the time. That's why I cook the steaks in the fireplace. If that's garlic bread, just turn it butter–side down in the skillet."

"Oh, I didn't think about that. I love pan toast, at least that's what Tincha called it."

Howard looked around, "Gail, not that I don't appreciate it, but my goodness, you've been busy today."

She laughed, half–heartedly and said, "Well, I pulled my food box inside. I usually just put it in the truck before I start filling it. It was too heavy to carry. I pulled leaves and dirt inside and, well, one thing led to another. I didn't have anything else to do, and I wasn't going to sit around all day and feel sorry for myself. So I swept the floor."

"Yeah, I see. And you dusted everything. And you polished the tops of the tables. Hey, you even washed the kitchen window."

"Yeah, I told you, one thing led to another. Go wash your hands. Supper's almost ready."

During supper, Gail asked about the trail she followed and was not surprised to learn the trail was made by people illegally entering the country, coming across the Mexico border and going farther inland. Most were looking for jobs.

"Gail, I don't want to frighten you, but don't go anywhere near those trees again. I'm not the Border Patrol or Homeland Security, but not all of the people who cross the river are looking for jobs."

"Yes, okay, I know. I just wasn't thinking. I won't go that way again. Maybe I should just leave tomorrow."

"I think you need to stay. I have a lot of venison in the freezer. I'm ready to see what else you can make out of it. No, I'll be serious. You're fine here, unless you don't like my company."

It was one of those blushes she could not stop. She felt it rising, going all the way up to her hairline. Trying to hide her pink cheeks, she looked down at her lap, "I like your company. I just don't want to intrude. I enjoyed myself today. I felt good about everything I did and I guess like everyone else, I appreciate that you noticed."

Howard looked at her, knowing he might make her embarrassment worse, but he had to say what he felt, "You aren't used to that, are you?" Instead of answering, she just shook her head, so he added, "That's a shame. When someone does something nice for me, I want them to know I appreciate it. I'm sorry I embarrassed you."

"Oh, well, a grown woman shouldn't blush like that. You'd think I'd get old enough, eventually, so it wouldn't happen any more."

"I don't know. It's attractive, in a cute kind of way. Your cheeks get pink and that dimple shows. Any man who sees it would probably be encouraged to try whatever he has to, to make it happen again."

"Oh, please don't. Men do it to me all the time."

"You can't blame me. I'm a man, too. Come on, let's clean up the kitchen. I'm taking you to meet my brother."

"Your brother? I don't ... I'm not here to ... why?"

"In case you didn't notice, it's Saturday night. Frank and Melanie are going to meet us in about half an hour and we're going to drink a couple of beers, dance a few dances, and I'm going to get down on my knees and apologize for making a stupid fool of myself for hitting a loudmouth bully."

"But I'm not dressed ... I didn't bring ... Howard, I don't know how to dance."

"Great, I'm not very good at it myself, so we can just have fun. And if you were dressed any better, I'd have to wear my gun to keep the other guys away from you."

"So, you think if you apologize to the bully, he won't press charges."

"Yeah, I talked to the Sheriff today. He thinks it might work. I didn't really tear up anything at the beer joint, so maybe I can get off with no charges. It's worth a try."

"Okay, I'll help." 

* * *

When they walked out of his house, Gail gave Howard her keys, saying since he knew where they were going, he could drive instead of trying to tell her how to get there. 

Frank and Melanie had a table staked out, and after the introductions Frank and Howard started telling stories about the tricks they played on each other when they were younger. Melanie kept telling Gail not to listen to their stories–they would tell them again next week. The two couples drank a beer while the musicians warmed up and played a few songs. They started encouraging the patrons to fill the floor or they would go sit with their wives and let the jukebox take over.

Howard took Gail's hand and pulled her out to dance. He put his arm around her, pulled her close and whispered in her ear, "Put your head on my shoulder and just hold on. The first step you take is your left foot backward. After that, the rest is easy."

He kept her on the dance floor through the first three songs before he would let her go sit down. By that time she was tired from the unaccustomed exercise. The next one was a waltz and Howard said, he would teach her to waltz after she had at least two more beers. By that time she would be relaxed enough to follow a wooden stick.

Halfway through her third beer, a big man walked up to the table and said, "Josie," pointing toward their waitress, "said you wanted to talk to me if I came in tonight."

Howard stood up to talk to the man, "Yeah, Billy, I'm sorry about punching you the other night. I just wanted to apologize. I guess I had too much to drink and I didn't like you trying to beat up my brother."

"Yeah dammit, that Sue Ann, she shouldn't have said that to Frank. She was just trying to make me jealous. Tell ya what, you let me dance with that pretty little thing you brought tonight and I'll accept your apology."

Howard turned to Gail and grinned, "Hey man, that's up to the lady. Gail, do you want to dance with this man?"

Billy turned to Gail, gave her a gallant bow and asked, "Gail, may I have this dance?"

Shaking, as she had never shaken before, she took Billy's hand and followed him, telling him she was just learning and he responded, "Then you have come to the right place. I'm the best dancer in this joint."

When Billy took her back to the table, he leaned over and said to Howard, "Man, you better marry this 'un, or I'll have to ask her myself."

Howard stood and held the back of Gail's seat until she was comfortably seated then put a hand on her shoulder, "That sounds like a good plan to me."

Billy looked at Gail and asked, "You wouldn't think of marryin' an old lunk like Howard when you have a good lookin' man like me waiting for you, now would you?"

In the spirit of the joke, Gail answered, "I might Billy. He's a lot easier to dance with."

Howard sat back down in his chair and held her hand until she could stop shaking, and then leaned over to say, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that to you. If I had known you were so nervous, I would have tried to make some excuse."

Gail looked at him and blushed, "It's okay. I think I was just uncomfortable, you know, afraid I couldn't dance with anyone but you. Does that mean he won't press charges against you?"

"I hope so. Would you like to go outside for some fresh air? You look a little pale." 

"Yes, please."

As they walked across the room, one of the men sitting at Billy's table hollered, "Kiss her for me too, Howard."

Howard turned and yelled back, "Not 'til I finish kissing her for myself."

After the door closed, he told Gail, "Hey, you can't pay too much attention to a bunch of guys having fun on a Saturday night." They walked a few steps away from the building to feel some of the fresh breeze blowing, and Howard asked, "Can you stand some more of that, or do you want to go back to the ranch?"

"I think I need at least one more dance lesson with my teacher, so I can forget the showoff."

"Then let's go do it. For a change, I'm having fun, too. I don't do this very often."

As soon as Howard opened the door and Gail walked inside, she heard one of the men from Billy's table holler, "Damn, Howard, she don't look kissed. You better let me do it for you."

Howard put his hand on Gail's shoulder and turned her around, held her face with both hands and kissed her, and continued to kiss her as he put his arms around her and pulled her close.

When he finally let her go, they stood and stared at each other, while the guy at Billy's table hollered, "Never mind, Howard. I don't think she wants anyone else to kiss her."

After Gail's fourth beer and that waltz he promised, Howard told Frank and Melanie that he and Gail were headed back to the ranch. He'd had his two beers and was calling it a night. 

Halfway back to the ranch, Howard looked at Gail. Her elbow was on the armrest, and her forehead was resting in the palm of her hand. He stopped her truck, walked around to her side and opened the door.

"Come on, Gail. Come on, get rid of it." Howard stood behind her, holding her forehead with one hand, with his other hand on her stomach. Leaning over, Gail vomited, straightened up, then leaned over, and did it again, until the rest of the spaghetti and beer was out of her stomach. When she could stand up straight, he said, "I'm sorry. I didn't know. Damn, why didn't you tell me? You should have said something. Oh boy, what a dunce I am. Come on, let me get you home."

********

"Oh–h-h, I am never going to drink again," Gail moaned the next morning, as she sat at the small kitchen table.

"It's not just the beer though, it is?" Howard asked.

"What do you mean? I don't drink, or at least I've never had four beers before."

"Gail, don't lie to me. It's not just the beer, is it? You're pregnant, aren't you?"

"What makes you think...?"

Howard was suddenly in her face talking so loudly it hurt her head, which wasn't feeling very well to begin with. "Tell me. You're pregnant, aren't you? I could feel you when I was holding you last night."

Gail raised her head and looked him straight in the eye, "Yes, I'm pregnant and it's none of your business."

"What are you, three months, four months? It can't be much more than that? What were you thinking last night? You can't do that. It's not good for the baby."

She stood and glared at him, "It's not a baby, yet. Besides, it's not your problem."

Thinking to give her something to hold onto, he put his arms around her. "Oh you poor thing, what asshole has done this to you and then let you get away from him?"

"Howard..."

"Sh-h-h-h, it's okay. We'll figure something out."

"Howard..."

"What?"

"Howard, it's not ... something is ... it's not right ... something is wrong ... it ... he isn't ... I can't feel ... he didn't move, all day yesterday, he barely moved at all."

He let go of her, pushing her toward the bathroom, "Okay, go wash your face. We're going to the hospital."

She didn't move, "Howard ... I ... I don't want ... I'm afraid, I don't want to know."

"Yes, you do. You're just afraid to be alone when you find out. I'm right here, and I'm staying. Go wash your face."

As she turned to walk toward the bathroom, she doubled over and groaned. Before she could straighten up, Howard had her in his arms, carrying her to her truck, and putting her into the back seat. Then he was driving down the road, trying to figure out how to turn the blinkers to flash. As soon as he was on the highway he started leaning on the horn, speeding through the light traffic.

At the hospital, all Howard could do was wait. Pacing, not caring about a single thing in the world except the woman on a gurney. The curtains were pulled around her and no one would let him anywhere near her. After what seemed like an eternity, an older man in the shirt and pants of green hospital scrubs walked up to him.

"Howard, I'm sorry, I couldn't save the baby. Your wife said she didn't feel any movements of the fetus for most of yesterday."

"Is she ... did you tell her ... does she know."

"Yes. She's not having an easy time of it. Very few women do at a time like this. I think she needs you."

As the man walked away, Howard asked, "Doctor Jackson, does she need to stay? I mean, here in the hospital, or can I take her home."

"Well, let's give her a couple of hours. If the bleeding isn't significant and you aren't too far away, we can let her go home in a few hours. She's not going to feel like doing anything but bed rest, and she can do that at home. She needs to be off her feet for a few days. I'll talk to you later. Go see her and then we'll let her rest a little before I decide. How's that?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

The doctor started to walk away, and then he turned. "Howard, you tell that woman you love her. Don't you dare let her believe this is her fault. Sometimes these things happen. She's healthy. You can try again in a few months. Right now, she just needs to know that you love her."

When Howard walked around the green curtain to the gurney where Gail was lying on her side with her eyes closed, he had no idea what to say to her. 

She was the first one to speak. He had to bend down to hear her say, "I think a major rock just fell off my wall."

Not caring what anyone at the whole damn hospital had to say about it, he sat on the gurney and pulled her into his arms. "Gail, I don't know anything about this and it's none of my business, but I'm not going to leave you to deal with this on your own."  

He held her, often rocking back and forth as she cried and clung to him. After the initial anguish was out of her system, he left her to rest. He walked outside the hospital and wondered who needed to know about her. If he had her letters, he might call her mother, but Gail probably wouldn't like that. In fact, he was certain she would not like it. He might call ... no, but he did call his boss.

"Hi Pepper. Look, something's come up. I need a couple of days off."

"Are you okay, Howard?"

"Yes, I ... ah, I have a ... she's in the hospital, and ... well, I need to stay with her a couple of days."

"Sure, yeah, okay. You let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

"Thanks, Pepper. She's going to be okay. She just needs to spend a couple of days in bed and then I'm taking her to the ranch."

"Well, you take care of her. That's the girl you were with at Scooter's last night? Me and Liz got there just a little while after you left. Hey, we heard you apologized to Billy and he danced with your girl. That's good, Howard. You take care of your sweetheart. You call me in a day or so to let me know how she's doing." 

********

"Howard, I cannot stay with you."

"Alright and just tell me where you're going to go, Gail. Huh?"

"I can go back to my ... oh, hell."

"Yeah, and based on the letter I read, I'm not letting you go to your mother, either. So, you're stuck with me as a nursemaid."

"You should have left me in the hospital."

"Hey, you don't have to insult my cooking like that. It's not that bad, is it?"

Swinging her legs off the bed, Gail started to stand as she said, "No, but I can at least ..."

"Oh no, you don't. I gave my solemn promise that I would make sure you stayed in bed at least three days, bathroom privileges excepted, and that does not mean a bath, either. Then I take you to the doctor and he will tell us what to do after that."

They had somewhat the same argument yesterday, when he finally got her home and into his big bed. She had other words to say about taking over his bed and him sleeping on the cot, but he wasn't listening to her. She even tried to convince him that she could at least sit at the table and eat–he didn't need to bring her meals to the bed, but he pretended not to hear. 

"Did you get your truck running when you tried to start it this morning?"

"No, it's so old, I need some parts. And I'll probably have to special order them, which might take a week for them to get here, dammit."

"Can I please take a shower?"

"Not unless you let me in the shower with you. You tell me what you want washed and I'll wash it."

"Howard..."

"No, Gail, be reasonable. Your body needs to heal, the doctor said three days on your back, let everything get back into proper position. He actually said at least three days, and ten would be even better."

"Ten! I can't stay here ten days."

"You can't leave, I have your keys." He said as he carried her dinner plate back to the kitchen.

Gail raised her voice because he was walking away, but probably didn't need to. The old house wasn't much larger than many living rooms in a modern house; it just seemed like sound didn't carry as well because the ceiling was so high. "Howard, I appreciate you, but can we have a serious conversation?"

"Sure," he said, as he walked back to stand beside the bed. "As long as you lie down, flat on your back, as you were told. Okay, what do you want to discuss."

"I slept at the hospital yesterday afternoon. When you brought me back here, I had another nap. I wasn't sleeping very well last night."

Before she could finish, he was nodding his head, "Yeah, I heard them too."

"Do they always walk this close, to the house, I mean?"

"No, they don't, but I'm not here all the time either. I usually spend three or four nights a week at Frank's. I have an apartment over the garage. It's not much more than a bed and a couple of chairs. I eat with them and help Melanie with some grocery money and pay some of the electric bill."

"I was ... I'm a city girl. I was ... I guess what I'm trying to say ..."

"You were scared?"

"Yeah, I guess if I could speak Spanish and knew what they were saying it might not be so ... well I can't. So yes, I was scared. What would you do, if ...?"

"They won't, they don't. They just want to get away from the border and blend in with the rest of the population. There isn't much work for them south of the border. Lots of them come over here, work for a while, and then take their money back home; then do it again in a few months."

"But you're always hearing something on the news about someone being attacked or a house being broken into. You need to go to work. You can't take too many days off."

"And you don't want to stay here by yourself."

"No, I guess I need to go home and move back into my apartment. My lease is still good until the end of the month. I'll be okay by then. I can unpack some boxes."

"Gail, I don't mean to interfere in your life, but do you really want to go back to all of that?"

She started to sit up, until he gave her a stern look. She was flat on her back when she said, "No, but I can't stay here. I'm not ... I don't ... you have your own life ..."

"Ah yes, I have this wonderful life. I work six days a week. Three days until dark, three days I get off while there is still some daylight left and one or two of them, I come out here. That's a wonderful life. I'm working like a dog to pay the back taxes on this land, the only thing my father ever had. It's not much, but it will probably be the only thing I have for the rest of my life. I live with my brother, who is barely making it. The money I give Melanie means they can at least eat and pay their electric bill. Both of them work. Neither of them makes much more than minimum wage, which means each of them makes less than a thousand dollars a month, and that's before taxes. And one of those men who walked by here last night would probably do their jobs for less. That's not a great life, I promise you." He sat down on the bed beside her and finished his speech. "So, what am I going to do with you?"




Gathering Fallen Rocks Ch. 03



"So, your rocks are falling, too, huh?"

"Yeah, my rocks are falling, too. But you know what?" He paused for a moment, smiled, and then continued, "A few days ago, on one of the days when I thought I was going to fall completely off that wall, this beautiful woman stepped into my life. So instead of letting go, I've got a grip on the top of that wall and I'm still hanging on. If she starts to slip off her wall, I'm going to offer her a hand and I'll just move over a little and make room for her on top of my wall."

Gail turned her head to the side and released the huge sob she'd been holding. Howard slid his arms under her shoulders and pulled her up, holding her as if she were the precious part of his rock wall he had been looking for but never could seem to find.

"Come on, Sweetheart, don't cry any more. I know it hurts. Just lie there and heal. I'm only taking two or three days off and then I can take you to town with me and let you ... damn, no I can't, that would mean climbing stairs. You can't stay with Frank. He's a day sleeper. I'll figure something out."

During the night, they heard several men and at least one female voice, walking very near the house. At first Howard thought with all the lights inside the house turned off, they must think it was deserted. However, two vehicles were parked near the front door, so that meant those people must be meeting a driver on the road very near his house. Either that or they were so bold they didn't care–which was worse. If they were that bold, they might also be dangerous. 

Howard knew Gail was frightened. Quietly, he walked across the room and got into bed with her. She was shaking when he pulled her over to sleep on his shoulder. About an hour later, he was awake again when a second group passed by, but Gail, snuggled into the curve of his body, didn't stir. He was up just before dawn, standing in the open doorway, waiting for the eastern sky to show some light of the morning sun. 

"Howard?" Her breasts were still tingling. She watched him walk across the room and wished he was still holding her.

"Hum-m-m?"

"Thank you. But it's not going to work, is it?"

"No, it isn't. I can't do that every night. I can't keep my hands to myself."

"I know. I woke up. I didn't want you to stop. I'm not a ... but I didn't want you to stop."

"I guess I'll take you to my Aunt Jean's tomorrow evening or day after tomorrow." 

Instead of saying anything, Gail rolled over. She tried to keep the sobs under control, but she just couldn't seem to stop crying. She didn't hear Howard cross the room, but she did feel him sit down beside her.

"Gail, you can't keep doing this. You'll just make yourself sick."

Between sobs and tears she tried to explain, "It's not just this ... this time ... there was another ... but I didn't ... didn't want that one. I thought ... I wanted this one. I was going to be happy. I would have someone ... even if I didn't want the father. My mother did it. I thought I could too. But it ... that part of me doesn't work right, either. That was why ... why I did it, left everything. I was going to get me ... myself together. I thought about ... my dad ... I could ask him to help." 

Before either of them could say another word, they were startled by a man's voice yelling at the door, "Usted comida?" The man walked inside, brandishing a knife, yelling, "Eat? Comida? comida."

Howard was instantly on his feet, holding up his hands, and rattling off some Spanish which Gail could not understand. The man pointed his knife at Gail, Howard told the man something about "mi esposa," as he slowly moved to the kitchen and then she understood the word, "bebé" and knew Howard was explaining when he said, "muerto". He placed a can of beans near the man, pointing to the photo of beans on the label, and repeated what he had said, telling this mad man that Gail was his wife, and their baby was dead.

The man bowed his head for a moment, as if he was saying a prayer and mumbled "Madre de Dios." He completed his quick prayer, made the sign of the cross, and grabbed the can of beans then turned and ran out the door.

As fast as Howard could move, he was across the room, reaching Gail as she screamed. Her sudden fright and pointed finger caused Howard to jerk around to look behind him. Another man stood in the doorway with three armed men behind him. Howard's shoulders relaxed, he knew that man.

"Usted tiene a mi señora de la simpatía."

Gail looked up at Howard, "I'm sorry, I don't understand Spanish."

Howard bent down and said quietly, "He is offering you his sympathy."

"Good morning, Howard," the man said in heavily accented English. "Su esposa, she have the tragedy, no? The death of your child?"

"Hello, Santos." Howard replied, as he stood beside Gail. "So these folks belong to you, do they?"

"Si, in a manner to speak of, si." Santos boldly walked into the house and pulled a chair away from the table, leaning on the back of it. "When you are single, you do not come here, so much. Marriage gives man many changes. Introdúzcame a su esposa."

Howard turned to Gail and stared at her a moment, passing a message she could not mistake, be quiet and play along. "Sweetheart, this is Santos Aguirre, our neighbor. Santos, this is Gail."

The neatly dressed man, around fifty years of age, was wearing pressed jeans with a stiffly starched crease, white western shirt, and a narrow black scarf tied in a small knot at his throat. He walked across the room, as if he owned everything in sight, and held out his hand, "To meet you, Gail Pleas, is much my pleasure. For your loss, I am sorry." He stepped just a little closer and placed the palm of his right hand against Gail's cheek.

Gail's voice trembled when she said, "Mister Aguirre. Thank you. I'm sorry I cannot be more hospitable. I am confined to the bed for another week."

Santos smiled, flashing his white teeth at Gail, and waved his hand, as if her apology wasn't needed, and then he turned to Howard. "Is most unfortunate, no? The plans I make to use the house. I am not expecting you, and so beautiful a woman."

Howard looked from Santos to the three other men, standing outside the door. Each of them, heavily armed, was wearing at least one side arm each, a large knife in a scabbard on their belt, and carrying a rifle, although it was not hunting season. It was not uncommon to see a rancher with a gun in a holster, when he was working somewhere on his ranch. Almost every pickup in every small town in that part of the state had at least one hunting rifle, maybe a shotgun, hanging on a rack in the rear window. However, it was not common to see an M16 rifle, which one of Santos's men was carrying. 

"What do you mean you plan to use MY house?" Howard's voice was not challenging, but it was certainly less than friendly.

"Ah, I am to meet my associates. I like the use of this house. I would let you think, perhaps, some people my coyotes bring, come into the house. Of this, you would not know. It has been done here before, yes?" 

Gail could see the muscle in Howard's lower jaw clenching, between words, as he said, "Santos, my wife is recovering from a miscarriage. Have your meeting somewhere else."



Gathering Fallen Rocks Ch. 04



In a few instances Spanish phrases appear to add drama to the story. Incorporated into the story, as part of the dialog, are simple translations to help the reader understand.

********

"What do you mean you plan to use MY house?" Howard's voice challenged Santos.

"Ah, I am to meet my associates. I like the use of this house. I would let you think, perhaps, some people my coyotes bring, come into the house. Of this, you would not know. It has been done here before, yes?" 

Gail could see the muscle in Howard's lower jaw clenching, between words, as he said, "Santos, my wife is recovering from a miscarriage. Have your meeting somewhere else."

"No, I think I use the house. It is special house to me, no? You would not enjoy for me to give these men the fun of target practice. Blood makes much mess. I would enjoy a time in the bed with this one," he said, pointing to Gail. "But I think I wait for her to be well, is that not so? I like you. You can take the wife to town. You come another day, eh."

From the back, Gail saw Howard's shoulders stiffen, much as they had done when Billy approached. Then he relaxed and said, nonchalantly, "Okay, we'll go."

Howard turned and offered a hand to Gail, helped her stand up, his arm around her to make sure she wasn't wobbling, and walked her through the house, grabbing his clothes off the back of the kitchen chair. As quickly as she dared, without looking to either side, Gail walked out the door and with Howard's help stepped up into the front passenger seat of her truck. 

After closing the car door, Howard walked around the front of the truck and stopped by the driver's front fender. Gail saw him grin and heard his muffled call to the man standing in the doorway of his house, "Hey Santos," he paused a moment until Santos walked out the door. "Don't mess up my house, okay?"

"Howard, is smart of you, attention you give to your business. My attention I give to my business. I know where you live." Santos laughed, blew a kiss to Gail, and turned his back, going back inside Howard's house. 

As soon as they are driving away,Howard took his eyes off the dirt road for a moment to look at Gail. Her face was so white he was worried she might faint. Neither of them spoke until they reached the main highway.

Gail, her voice trembling with fright, asked, "What are you going to do?"

Howard looked at her for just a moment, a little color was returning to her face. "I'm taking you to my Aunt Jean." 

"I mean about ... that man ... that man back there ... Howard, he's going to ..."

"Gail, there is nothing I can do. I told you, I'm not the Border Patrol and I'm not Homeland Security. As much as I want to call Frank and about twenty other men I know, all that would do is put all of us in prison."

"But that man back there ..."

Howard stopped her. He hated it, but he could do nothing. He tried to explain about the problem of illegal immigration. There weren't enough Border Patrol agents. They might apprehend a few, deport them, but they came back again, and again, and again. 

Railroad cars, coming from Central America were covered with those men, riding on top of the cars, hanging onto the sides, all traveling north, seeking something better for themselves and their families, or looking for their associates involved in illegal activities. Similar to the opposite way a funnel works, those people, for the most part men, went to Los Angeles, where they joined gangs. They crossed into Arizona, simply by walking across a field of brush then stepping over a simple barbed wire fence. They would walk, wade, swim, or use motorboats to cross the Rio Grande River and could fan out across the entire United States, blending in with others like them, some legal residents, some not. 

Although he may not have appeared so, Santos Aguirre was an American citizen. What good would it do to report Santos's meeting? Santos did not break into the house. He walked to the door, greeted Howard, and walked inside, as if he were a well--known friend and neighbor. Howard left Santos inside the house, so he could take Gail to town. His remarks were not much more blatant than those Billy used at Scooters, Saturday night, just more suggestive--and although insulting, they were not an actual threat. Later today, if a few friends, driving down the road to see Santos, discovered he was visiting a friend and stopped for a chat, it would be nothing uncommon. Even if a local Deputy Sheriff drove by, he could do nothing to stop a conversation between friends.

When Gail raised the question of the armed men, Howard explained. Did she really think any of those men would allow themselves to be seen by anyone enforcement? And if they did, the Deputy Sheriff or Border Patrol agent would likely not be alive by sundown. The problem with weapons in the hands of those men was far overshadowed by all the other illegal immigrants in small towns. They carried a weapon, ready for use against a law enforcement officer, either because they feared a policeman would treat them as they were treated in their own country, or because they were simply a criminal, like many citizens, who would rob, kill, rape, get drunk, and then kill people with their cars. 

Could Howard do anything? Not much. Although some tried, they were often harassed, some were killed, and they, along with all Americans, suffered from the expense of illegal entrants coming to the promised land. 

"Gail, I know people who don't live near the border don't understand. But I live with it every day. I may not say much, but it angers me--and a lot of people like me. We wish something could be done. But until then, we will live with it and fight the battles we have a chance of winning."

"What battles can you win?"

"Sorry, I don't talk about that, and neither does anyone involved. All you need to know is that you are safe. I will take care of you."

********

Howard's aunt was a woman, Howard described, so much like his mother he was often tempted to call her Mom instead of Aunt Jean. She had many features similar to Howard's brother, Frank. She was slender, tall, long limbed, and had a long wide forehead above her twinkling blue eyes.

"You sure timed your visit well," Aunt Jean said as she opened her front door to Howard's knock. "Frank was here yesterday to cut up that fallen limb in the back yard."

"Hi Aunt Jean" Howard grinned as he kissed her on the cheek. "I'm the smart nephew, remember. This is Gail Fisher. I need you to take care of her a few days for me."

"Well come in, both of you." She stepped back and smiled at Gail, then turned to Howard. "Ah ha, so this is the pretty little thing Frank said you were dancing with at Scooter's the other night. You two created quite a stir."

"How did you hear about it?" Howard grinned at Gail as he followed his aunt into her living room.

"Oh, I have my ways, and a few friends who gossip like nothing you would believe. No, Billy's grandmother came by, said you apologized for trying to kill her grandson and he forgave you, just so he could dance with Gail." 

"Aunt Jean, Gail needs to be in bed, she spent yesterday afternoon in the hospital."

"Well goodness gracious, why didn't you say so, instead of letting me talk like I don't have a lick o' sense. Come on, she can stay in the front room." The older woman led them into the hall to a bedroom where she threw back a beautiful hand--crocheted bedspread and turned down the thin blanket and top sheet. "You get on that bed, honey, and rest. I'll have Howard tell me what to do to help you."

For a few minutes, Gail heard their mumbled voices coming from somewhere in the house, and then she was asleep. 

********

In her half--asleep, half--awake dozing state of a late morning nap, Gail re--heard the conversation she'd had with the manager of the apartment complex where she lived. 

"What do you mean, you're moving out?" 

"Mister Collins, my lease is up and I'm not going to sign another one year lease."

"My goodness Gail, you've been here for five years. If one of the other apartment complexes is giving you a good discount, I might be able to cut you a little slack. I know you've had a tough time in the past. I'll help you all I can."

"No, I don't think so. I'd just like to have my security deposit back."

"Oh, now, I don't know about that. Security deposits are only given back after the apartment is inspected."

Gail leaned over the desk and said, quietly, "Mister Collins, I've never reported to the management company that you have entered my apartment three times while I was there, without knocking or notifying me in advance. I think you just need to write a check for the security deposit and I'll leave. Huh, don't you think that would be better?" 

"Well, I guess I can get a check for you, at least by the end of the month. Or, give me a forwarding address and I'll mail it."

"Mister Collins, I'd like that check today, like right now. I think you can do that, don't you? It would certainly be easier than if I called the management company and told them you offered to excuse my late fees if I would let you watch me take a shower."

********

When she was awake again, she realized she had been dreaming about her final conversation with the apartment manager. She still hadn't written the letter to the management company and wasn't sure she even wanted to. It was late in the afternoon, well past the heat of the day, and a quietly rumbling window fan was blowing toward the floor.

After a visit to the bathroom, Gail walked into the living room and found the older woman quietly rocking in a chair with pieces of colored fabric spread across her lap. She said she was sorting squares for a new quilt top.

After her explanation of her sewing project, Aunt Jean looked at Gail, "I thought Howard said you were supposed to be in bed."

"Yes, that's what the doctor said," Gail answered. "I wanted to thank you for taking me in."

"You're welcome. Now go back to bed and I'll bring us a glass of iced tea and we can get ourselves acquainted. Howard didn't say you can't talk, just that you're supposed to lie on your back as much as you can."

For the next hour, the two women talked quietly. Gail learned Jean was the older sister of Howard's mother. Never blessed with children of her own, she was frequently around Howard, Frank, and their younger sister, Marie.

"Oh I haven't heard about Marie. Where does she live?"

"Honey, Marie lives in Heaven. She decided she didn't want to live with us poor mortals anymore."

"You mean she killed herself?"

"Yes, she did. It must have been at least ten or twelve years ago or maybe a little more. See, she was raped, not a lot of people knew about it. One of them illegals got to her when she was out at the ranch, working her horse. She didn't say a thing about it for a few weeks. When she found out she was pregnant, she just couldn't live with it. We sure would have helped if we'd known, but she didn't say anything."

Gail felt the tears form in her eyes, much as they did in Aunt Jean's eyes. "How horrible. How can Howard even stand to look at that house?"

"Well, Howard's the one that found her, you see," Jean explained. "Their folks was out at the ranch and Frank was off with his friends, I guess. She went home after school, filled the bathtub, and then slit her wrists. It really tore him up."

"I can imagine." Gail nodded, thinking about the things he had said about taking care of her.

"Oh, Howard's mom always said he's a bear, but he's really a teddy bear. He just works hard at not letting anybody see it. Well, my goodness, here I am talking your leg off and I need to quit. He's coming for supper. I got stew cooking, guess I'll go make the cornbread. It's a little hot to heat up the kitchen, but he sure does like my cornbread."

When Howard walked in late in the evening, he kissed his aunt on the cheek and asked, "How's my two best girls?"

Jean answered, "This old bag of bones is just fine, and that pretty one is too. She's been in bed since you left. Go see her. It's lonesome when there's no one to talk to and you aren't sick enough to sleep."

Howard stood in the doorway to Aunt Jean's front bedroom and braced his arm on the facing. "That is a very inviting pose, Miss Gail. It's a shame we aren't alone, I might join you."

"You look tired, Howard. I'll move over and share the top of my wall with you, if you're in danger of falling. What have you been doing all day?"

"Well, let's see, I worked a few 'ours," Howard said, sounding like an uneducated country hick. "I rousted Frank outta bed, sleeps too much anyhow. Billy 'uz out to his dad's place, he ken go ahead an' put tha tractor tire back on tomorrey. Took us couple o' hours to locate most o' his buddies. Then we had us a ride up and down a country road 'er two, whooping, hollering, shooting our pistols, throwing empty beer cans we found 'round Scooters. Couple of them guys did some target practice and we just had ourselves a high ol' time, we sure did."

"Howard, I know you're not a hick, so just tell me in plain English, huh?"

Howard walked over and sat on the side of the bed, picked up Gail's hand, and turned it palm up to trace up and down her fingers. "We were just delivering a message. If the men who come to visit Santos know there are some wild young men in town, they might take their business elsewhere. Then Santos would need to go meet them. We're not always successful, but sometimes we are. Gail, I told you I would take care of you."

"Howard," she grabbed his hand and held on. "Please don't put yourself and Frank in danger because of me. Please."

Howard leaned over and kissed her cheek, and then straightened up, placed the palm of his hand against her cheek. "Sweetheart, every one of us is in some kind of danger simply because we live this close to the border. But this is our country and we will not give them free rein to take it away from us."

********

After two more days in bed, and another two days of spending at least half the time in bed, Gail was sitting on the front porch with Aunt Jean, who would not allow Gail to call her by any other name. They were sewing the small fabric squares onto the growing quilt top. Gail looked up as a sleek black sport utility vehicle drove down the street. The vehicle went to the end of the block, turned around in the intersection, and then came back to stop on the wrong side of the street, at Aunt Jean's front sidewalk.

The driver's door opened and Santos Aguirre stepped out, walked up to the porch, and nodded at both women, "Buenas tardes, Mrs. Adkins. Good afternoon, Mrs. Pleas. I come to see you are well, Gail. I beg my intrusion into the grief of you and Howard is not disturbing. I do not disturb your private time again." He tipped his hat, walked back to his truck, climbed inside, slammed the door, and drove away.

Aunt Jean turned to Gail and saw her hands shaking. "Don't let that man frighten you, Honey. He won't dare touch you as long as he believes you're Howard's wife. He knows Howard would kill him."

"I can't let Howard ... oh my God. I've got to get away from here, Aunt Jean. There is going to be trouble and it will all be my fault."

"Honey, any trouble that man gets into, he causes himself. He's just plain mean. He wants that old house of Howard's and he's tried everything he can to get it."

"Why ... what is so important ...? Oh, I know, it's part of one of the original land grants. That's what the writing on the ceiling beams is about, isn't it."

"You're smart. Yes, Santos claims a grandfather six, seven, or eight times, built that old house. And since Howard can make the same claim, Santos is trying to frighten Howard into giving up."

"Aunt Jean, that's what I do, or did. That's my profession. I search land titles."

"You have to excuse me, honey, I don't know much about that kind of thing. Alls I know is, the bank's holding the abstract, and the last page said the land that house is on belongs to Howard. Frank got the other land. Santos wants it too, but not as bad as he wants that old house. He wants every bit of that land from the river to the highway." 

Puzzled, Gail asked, "Why is the bank holding the abstract?"

"'Cuz Howard gave it to 'um as security for a loan to pay some old taxes the county said was owed. Howard thinks Santos is behind them old taxes showing as unpaid, but Howard can't find proof. The county was gonna take the land, so Howard got that loan. Now, that's all I know. You need to ask Howard, if you want to know more."

By asking Aunt Jean a few carefully worded questions, in a conversational tone, Gail learned the name of the county and those that surrounded it, and as much of the county's old history as the woman knew, glossing over some things, and carefully probing a few others.

Aunt Jean told Gail about an old election, more than thirty years ago, where Santos, a young man barely eighteen, worked on the political campaign of a lawyer friend to get him elected as the County Judge. "That election didn't hold no candle to the Duval County thing that got Lyndon Johnson elected, but Santos still thinks he's another political boss like George Parr. It's harder to stuff a ballot box on electric machines, but he won't stop trying to make things go his way."

Aunt Jean picked up another square and began stitching it in place, along one side, "Oh, I forgot to tell you. Howard called, while you was laying down. He's coming to get you after work. Today's a early day and he took tomorrow off, said he aims to spend the weekend at the ranch."

"Is it really safe to do that? I mean, I appreciate how much you've done for me and I need to get out of your hair. But is it safe to go back out there?"

"Oh sure, Honey. Don't let that Santos scare you. He's not going to do anything. He's too big a coward. He's looking for a way to get legal papers on that land. That lawyer of his makes sure he stays legal."

********

"I'm taking you to the doctor, before we go out to the ranch."

Gail looked at Howard in surprise. "Why?"

"He said for you to come in after a few days," Howard explained. "He wanted to make sure you're alright."

"But, I don't need to go to the doctor, do I?"

"Gail, it's just a precaution, just part of the follow--up doctors do. It won't take long. I called this morning."

When Howard and Gail walked into the doctor's office, there were no other patients waiting to see the Doctor. Howard told her to sit down, then walked to the window and said, "I'm Howard Pleas. I called Doctor Jackson about seeing Gail. He treated her at the emergency room Sunday."

A nurse behind the receptionist heard him and said, "Oh yes, just bring her on back. Doctor Jackson said he'd see her when you'll got here. He's not seeing patients today. He's trying to catch up on some paperwork, so you don't have to wait."

Howard and Gail walked down the hall as the nurse showed them to a small examination room. "You two just wait in here a minute. Doctor Jackson will be right with you."

Less than five minutes later, Doctor Jackson walked into the room, "How you two doing today?" 

He smiled at Gail and told her, "You look a lot better than you did Sunday. Any cramps or have you passed any blood clots?" When Gail shook her head, he said, "No? Good, then sit up here for a minute, let me feel around a little." After the exam, the doctor gave both of them some instructions, not hard and fast rules, more like recommendations. He said they need to wait at least a week to ten days to resume relations, and two weeks would be better. They might consider some form of birth control for a few months to allow her body to fully repair itself before they try to get pregnant again. Then he told Gail she should come back in about a month or right after her next menstrual cycle. 




Gathering Fallen Rocks Ch. 04



As they were walking out of the doctor's office, Gail said, "That is absolutely the fastest I have ever been in and out of a doctor's office in my whole life."

"Yeah, and I like him. He's been my doctor ever since I was born. I guess I like him because he's a little old fashioned. Some of these younger ones want to take over your whole life. He's a little more understanding about real people."

"Howard," he said, "Take your wife home, and get on with your lives." 

"Did you tell him we were married?"

"No, I think that happened at the hospital. I was giving them information. They asked me my name and then your first name and I guess they just assumed we were married. I had to get a little creative with some answers they asked, and some I just said I didn't know. Then when he was telling me that he couldn't save ... well, he was being kind, I guess ... I didn't want to correct him, I was afraid they wouldn't let me see you."

"I was just wondering, because Santos came by today and called me Mrs. Pleas. I understand about that, but I can't take over your life like that."

Howard laughed, "You don't see anyone else standing in line, do you?"

"No ... I didn't mean it like ..."

"It's alright," Howard interrupted. "I was just teasing you." Then he tried to change the subject, "And Doctor Jackson's right. You do look a lot better than you did Sunday. Hey, we need to stop at the grocery store and get a few things. Can you do that much walking, if I push the basket?"

"Doctor Jackson seems to think so, as long as I take it easy for another week or so."

After they were back in her truck, Gail said, "Oh yes, I was going to tell you something." She turned slightly sideways in her seat, or at least as much as the seat belt would allow, "Aunt Jean said something about Santos trying to legally steal your land."

"Yeah, he's tried, but he won't be able to do it. He won't get Frank's land either."

Gail started asking Howard questions about his ranch. He answered easily then asked why she was so curious, so she began to explain about the job she had for the last five years and even more about Texas land laws. Even while they carried a few groceries into the house, Howard kept asking her questions. 

"Howard, now you tell me why you are so interested, in all this?"

"I'm Basque, you know from the mountains between Spain and France. At least that's what my dad said. Mom's family came from the same region, a long time ago. Lots of them left the Basque region and went to Argentina, Mexico, and Cuba, but some of them came over here. There are a lot of Basque families in Boise, Idaho, but there's a lot of families here in Starr, Zapata, and Hidalgo counties, and even more in Mexico, like in a couple of states there, Nuevo Leon and Tamulipas. Names you think are Spanish surnames, like Sanchez, Ybarra, Aldape, and Mendiola are actually Basque names. Simón Bolívar was Basque. Many of their names show up on Spanish Land Grants as owners of farms and ranches. They expected to establish the same kind of ranches they had for herds of sheep as they did in the old Basque lands, but the land isn't the same."

Gail nodded, and said, "Yes, if you were looking for an old land grant, you would find those names in all the records in the Texas General Land Office because that's the repository of the original Spanish and Mexican land titles in Texas. There are boxes and boxes, roughly sorted by county. Those records are from somewhere around 1720 to the year of the Alamo, 1836, but the bulk of it is from about a dozen years before the Alamo, you know when Stephen F. Austin was doing most of his work bringing settlers, sometime between 1824 and 1836. At least that's what I was taught. I don't do much about material that old, and it's in Spanish. I can't read Spanish."

"Yeah, I'll betcha the papers that Dad talked about are there. He said the land grant was For Services Rendered." 

"I'm sure they would be there, and most of that information is online now, too. I've often wanted to go to Austin and see some of the original correspondence. It's a large collection, like just the Spanish collection is about 2.5 linear feet of official correspondence, and that's just about politics from around that time. I don't know how many reams of paper that would be, but it would be a lot. I mean it's like letters and official communications to and from this political chief of Texas at San Antonio and it's about the land grants and the people who got them. The papers were written by empresarios, like Austin, and all the city hall alcaldes. Some were records from the offices of the commandant general of the Eastern Interior Province, and the Governor of the Mexican state of Coahuila and Texas. Just think about it. Something you or I write today will end up as an historical document to someone else in about two hundred years."

"Then I better practice my handwriting because I'm the only one who can read it." 

"It can't be any worse than the actual documents we saw in class. Some had faded areas that were hard to read or showed water spots that caused ink to run. The documents would show someone who received a grant and only their initials and a last name were used, then they sold some of the land using only their first and last names. The official's names weren't hard, because we know who they were, but figuring out all of it is a real researcher's nightmare. One set of documents was a will where a man left land to his son and the son's wife. She sold it after she was widowed and remarried and the only way I could really understand it was the same woman, was because her first name was so unusual, Ernianne, or something like that."

"Well, I read the abstract on my land and I thought I figured out all of the transfers, but maybe I didn't, if what you are saying is correct."

"Yes, you may have read it, but it's hard to follow all the transfers, sometimes. An Abstract of Title is a condensed history of all transactions affecting a particular tract of land. But it's often not the actual documents, just a description of them, and they aren't always correct or complete. See to include a transfer that's backed up by a document, the document's description has to show three requirements are met, nature and date of each document, parties and date plus name and title of official who witnessed it, and the location where the document is actually recorded showing book and page numbers. 

"There's another requirement that causes a lot of problems, particularly if a trial is being held in a county other than the one where it's recorded; in that case a copy has to be provided. But it's really complicated when the document was never recorded or was lost or destroyed. Then the only thing to do is provide a description of the lost or destroyed document. Even if that information is provided and affidavits are used for the missing document, a court has to allow the missing document to amend the abstract because the trial must be confined to the information contained in the abstract of title. It doesn't happen as often now, but a couple of generations ago, it was a big deal in lots of instances." 

Howard shook his head, "You might need to tell me all of that again, until I can understand it."

"It's really simple, if you think about it. The existing abstract is the legal document, unless a correction is accepted. All the rest are requirements the documents have to meet to be included."

"So when I was asking about the original land grant for services rendered, if what my dad said was true, does that mean Santos might not really own his ranch, and that maybe I do?"

"I don't know, Howard. It's likely that every document used to prepare the abstract is in your county clerk's office. And if it's not there, it's at the state General Land Office."

"Then if Santos said his multi--grandfather bought his ranch from my multi--grandfather, he could be right? But if it happened like Dad said, Santos is full of bluster, trying to keep something that's not really his."

"Yes, Texas, like most of the other southwest states, is a fee simple state. The owner has the right to control, use, and transfer the property at will."

"Okay Gail, I'm going to think about all of that, while I try to remember everything Dad told me Grandpa said."

"Ah, Howard ... did you move ... did you do something with my letters? I left them here in the bottom of my food box."

******

Please comment or send feedback to let me know if you find this an interesting story. A special Thank you to Erik Thread for a magnificent and patient job of editing.



Gathering Fallen Rocks Ch. 05



"Santos said his multi--grandfather bought his ranch from my multi--grandfather. But if it happened like Dad said, Santos is full of bluster, trying to keep something that's not really his."

"Yes, Texas, like most of the other southwest states, is a fee simple state. The owner has the right to control, use, and transfer the property at will."

"Okay Gail, I'm going to think about all of that, while I try to remember everything Dad told me Grandpa said."

"Ah, Howard ... did you move ... did you do something with my letters? I left them here in the bottom of my food box."

"No, I gave you the ones I read, the one to your mother and the other one, to your ex--husband. I didn't look at any of the others and I didn't pay much attention to where you put them. Are you sure they were in the food box?"

"Yes, I only had them in my handbag or the tray between the seats of my truck. When I brought them into the house, I put them in the pocket on the outside of my handbag, here in the food box."

"And we didn't grab your handbag when we left, did we?"

"No, leaving was a much bigger priority than anything else."

"You don't think ... no, Santos wouldn't ... but maybe someone else might. Look, tomorrow we can drive down to Santos's ranch and ask him if anyone went through your purse. Can you tell if anything else is missing?"

"I don't think so. I never have carried a large handbag, just my wallet, keys, a lipstick and my checkbook, and all of it's still there. Oh wait, yeah, I had a business card case, darn it's gone, too. Good grief, who would want a cheap thing like that? It's just plastic and holds maybe ten or fifteen cards." 

"Gail, go lie down for a while, you've been on your feet for a lot more than you're supposed to be. The ten days aren't up yet."

"Doctor Jackson didn't say anything about ..."

"Oh yes he did, remember? He asked if you were staying off you feet as much as you can for the first ten days, didn't he?"

"Well, yes he did, I forgot about that. Okay, but I'll fix supper."

"And you're still complaining about my cooking, huh?"

"No, not a complaint, I just want to do my share as long as I'm here."

Howard watched Gail sit down on the side of the bed, and then she jumped up and ran to the food box. "What are you doing? Bed time, remember?"

"My cell phone, I just remembered, it was in my handbag, too. It's gone. Oh hell, it has all my phone book in it. Oh lord, now what. Whoever took it has had it all week." 

"Gail, I don't know if it will do any good, but I can take you back to town and you can call your cell phone company and report it as a theft. Is that going to keep you being charged if any calls were made on the phone during the week?"

"Howard, I have no idea. I'm on a plan and have hundreds and hundreds of minutes rolled over every month. Who ever has it probably can't use it anyway. When I was driving down here, the battery was already showing I needed to charge it."

Howard walked over to Gail, took her by the arm, and pulled gently, "Come on, Sweetheart, bed, remember? It's your doctor's orders." 

Gail turned and looked at Howard. "I need to get out of your life, Howard. I can't stay here with you. I need to leave."

Howard put one hand on her cheek and said, "I don't want you to leave."

Gail looked up into his eyes, "You can't possibly want me around to complicate your life."

"I'm not sure what I want. I just know I don't want you to leave." Slowly, giving her a chance to turn her head or back away from him, he leaned forward and kissed her gently.

Gail closed her eyes, feeling him put his arms around her, pulling her closer, and putting her head on his shoulder. It was a natural reaction for her to put her arms around him, holding him as easily as he held her.

"I don't have a very good history with guys, Howard. My life is a mess. I don't want to mess up your life, too."

"Sweetheart, I'm not a guy, I'm a man. Your life is not a mess. You've left the mess behind. We can worry about my life later." He removed his arms from around her and stepped back, took her hand, and led her to the bed. "Now, come on, bed, doctor's orders." 

When she sat on the bed, to remove her shoes, she looked up at Howard, "You can't save me as a substitute for Marie."

"No, and I wouldn't try. Marie didn't give me a chance to help her. I just hope you will."

An hour later, but what seemed only a moment to Gail, when she opened her eyes, Howard was sitting on the side of the bed, looking at her. "Do you know," he asked, "you smile in your sleep?"

"No, I don't think I've ever had anyone sit and watch me sleep, before."

"No, probably not, I came to wake you up for supper, so you wouldn't sleep too long. I saw you smiling and I wanted to watch. You're a beautiful woman."

"Not that beautiful, I'm sure. You don't see a string of men trailing behind me."

"Nope, there are no other men." Hesitatingly, he said, "I haven't had ... I don't look for ... There aren't any ..." Howard paused for a moment and took a deep breath, "I'm sort of bungling this aren't I? I think I'm just trying to say that I'm attracted to you. I'm not accustomed to having a woman in my bed. I'm not a monk, not by any means, but I don't bring women here. This house is special to me. I'm very glad you are here." He paused for a moment and watched the blush creep up her neck and fill her cheeks with color. 

"Howard ..."

He put a finger across her lips and said, "Sh-h-h, I'm not going to ... I'm not the kind of man who would force a woman, or anything like that. I just wanted you to know, I want you here."

Gail rolled over, her shoulders began to shake, and Howard was pulling her into his arms. "Please, Sweetheart, don't cry. God, it hurts me when you cry like that. I know it's hard. I know you lost something ... something you wanted. I can't get that back for you, but I can take care of you if you'll let me."

Through her sobs and hiccups, Gail said, "It's not ... It isn't about, not about the baby ... I know Dad would ... he would tell me to get an ... I never had anyone ... not anyone who ever ... cared enough."

Howard put her back on the bed and brushed her hair out of her face. She put both hands up to cover her face and he pulled her hands away. "Don't hide from me, please. Talk to me, yell at me, scream, throw things, have a temper tantrum, I don't care. Just don't hide from me." 

"I don't ... I'm not temperamental ... I don't throw tantrums."

"Well, maybe you needto. Take a picture of that useless "guy" who abused you last, and use him as a target. When that's out of your system, start on the one before him."

"Is that what you do? You, Frank, and the others, when you holler, throw beer cans and shoot guns?"

"It could be." He stood and offered his hand, "Come on, Sweetheart. Let's eat supper and try to figure out a way to keep any more rocks from falling."

* * *

"Golly, that was good," Gail complimented Howard's cooking as she pushed herself back from the table. "I'm never going to make enchiladas with plain hamburger meat again. I might have trouble finding venison at the meat market, but I'm going to ask."

"Then, if you are so appreciative, you can wash dishes and I'll get the pillows and blankets."

Standing with the empty plates in her hands, Gail looked at Howard and asked, "Pillows and blankets?"

"Yeah, I need to count my stars. I think I noticed one missing the last time I counted, so I figured it was about time to do it again."

Gail laughed, "You are crazy. You aren't really going to try to count the stars?" She stopped laughing and changed her tone, "Are you?"

Howard grinned, "Sure, I don't have television; radio stations play mostly music I can't dance to, or it's some evangelist telling me I'm a sinner. I already know that. So, since there's not a whole lot to do after dark, I figured I'd try to count the stars, again."

"Alright, I'll hurry with the dishes and as soon as you get the blanket spread out, come get me and I'll help you count your stars."

********

When Gail got outside, she asked, "Hey, this is not just a blanket, is it?"

"No, it's an old cowboy camp bed," Howard told her. "I made it while you were taking a nap. See, it's an old blanket, folded in half. You sew the bottom and sides together and fill it with moss, grass, and leaves. You have to be careful and not get any sticks in with the grass. It can get sort of painful, trying to sleep on a stick or a rock after a few hours."

After they were comfortable, lying on the stuffed blanket with pillows under their heads, Gail said, "This cowboy bed isn't very big, is it?"

"No-o-o," Howard drawled, "Cowboys didn't take women on a trail drive." He was lying on his side, his elbow dug into the blanket and his head propped on his hand. He was looking at Gail.

She turned her head to the side to look at him and reminded him, "You're not counting stars, Howard."

"No, I'm not. I'm thinking about kissing you."

Gail started to move away from him, but he put an arm across her to hold her still. "Howard, that's probably not a very good idea."

"I don't know, I sort of like it, myself." He leaned over and gently kissed her. "In fact, I was thinking, I've already done that a time or two and I sort of like it."

Gail said nothing, just looked up at him, waiting to see what he would do or say next.

Howard was confused. He was a mature thirty-two year old man who had enough experience with women to know when one was flirting with him and when one didn't need much attention before being ready to share his bed. He'd been receiving mixed messages from Gail. She seemed shy, inexperienced, she blushed when he smiled at her. Yet she had a woman's confidence in the way she talked to him. From the little she had said about her ex-husband and the former boyfriend, Howard felt she was almost virginal, requiring he show some patience to this very young twenty-three year old woman. 

Howard lowered his head and kissed her again, just a little longer than before. Then he said, "But it seems to me that you never kiss me back, and I was wondering why that is. I figure, that if you really don't like me, you would have already left." 

He moved a little closer and kissed her again, just a little longer, slowly moving his lips from one side of her mouth to the other, before lifting his head. "Then I thought that you might be afraid of me, like maybe you thought I would do something to hurt you, or take advantage of you. But I don't think that's it, either."

This time he began to kiss her, raising his head long enough to say, "Then I decided that you are afraid of yourself, like you are afraid to kiss me back, because you want to and you don't trust yourself." He threw his leg across her and kissed her some more, moving down to place a few kisses under her chin and down her throat. He raised his head to look at her, "So, I decided I would promise you that I'm not going to do anything but kiss you. That might make you feel safe enough to kiss me back. You think you can do that, huh?"

Gail lifted her head and gave him a slow tender kiss, parting her lips slightly. She rested the tip of her tongue inside her lower lip and relaxed her tongue as she pushed the middle of her tongue against his lips, and then made several gentle sucking motions with her cheeks. She put her head back on the pillow. "You mean like that?"

"Oh, God yes, just like that." Now the message going to Howard's brain was that Gail was much more experienced than he had thought. A woman who could kiss like that made his toes curl and his cock hard. Then he was devouring her lips, moving over her face to kiss her eyes, her temples, down to the soft tender place under her ear, down her neck, and then back to her mouth, his promise to go no farther than a kiss forgotten. 

He rolled over, pulling her on top of him and didn't stop until both of them were panting. Gail was disoriented, astonished at her participation in the few moments of meeting his probing tongue with her own. 

"My lord, woman, where did you learn to kiss like that?"

Half on the camp bed and half on Howard, with his arms around her, Gail braced her arms and lifted her shoulders. Her first words were stammered trying to cover her embarrassment, "I didn't ... it wasn't ... I just tried to ..." She stopped for a moment for her head to clear so she could explain. 

Gail did not resist Howard's hand at the back of her head, encouraging her to relax against his shoulder. His other hand moved slowly up and down her back, soothing her, as he enjoyed simply holding her in his arms. 

"You see, Carol Ann had this advertisement. She's my friend. Well, she used to be my friend. Anyway, this advertisement was about how to drive a man wild, I think it was seven steps or something like that. Maybe it was seven minutes. It was for a CD or VCR tape and Carol Ann checked the wrong box. She wanted the CD so she could play it on her computer, like before she had a date, well, that's another story. She ordered the VCR tape by mistake and came pounding on my door one evening, all in a rush. She had a date and no VCR and I did. We watched the tape and she was in such a hurry when she left she didn't take the tape out of the VCR. Well, I didn't understand some of what the tape was all about, so I watched it a second time."

Gail was so involved in explaining how she learned to kiss she didn't realize her hand was doing much the same as his was. Her palm smoothed his shirt over the flexing muscles beneath her hand. Her fingers traced down the midline of his chest, as if she were counting the buttons on his shirt, unaware his stomach clenched when she reached his belt buckle. 

"And," Howard encouraged, shaking his head in puzzlement, "this tape was about how to kiss a man?" 

"Yes, and a bunch of other stuff, but I'd already told Gary to leave ... actually what I told him was to get out of my life, and that he should turn around and run if he ever saw me coming his way. So I never tried anything on the tape. I just forgot all about it, until you asked me, just now. That was what the guy on the tape said. "Where did you learn to kiss like that?" I guess I just sort of had it in my head. I wasn't really trying, honest. I kissed you because I wanted to, I liked it, you kissed me back, not like you were going to, kiss-kiss, bang-bang, bye-bye, at least that's what Carol Ann calls it."

"This Carol Ann friend of yours, she's not very complimentary of men—or hasn't met many good ones."

"No, she's not a friend any more. That's the other story, that's why I ... why I didn't let Gary ... oh, never mind, it was just another mess I made for myself."

Slowly rolling Gail over, Howard put his head down beside hers and chuckled. He'd meant to go slow and she'd responded, testing her untried skills, alluring him into kissing her, showing how much he desired her. Then he began to laugh and was soon laughing so hard he had to sit up. 

"Oh lord, oh my lord, what a riot. I thought I was going to be so gentle and show you some tenderness and instead I have a woman who wants to test her skills on me and she doesn't even know that all she has to do is smile and I'd fall at her feet." He suddenly grew serious, leaned over her, and began to kiss her again, moving over her mouth, almost in a frenzy to taste her and grinding his erection against her hip, feeling she was ready to take their relationship to another level. "Kiss me, Gail. Please, kiss me." 

Faster than Howard could react, Gail was pushing his arms away, struggling from under him, on her feet, standing over him, yelling at him, "I am not some wanton fool. I'm not a blonde idiot. I am not collecting my own personal list of The Best 100 Men I've Fucked. That's Carol Ann's list."

Howard was on his feet too, angry at himself and the growing sexual frustration he was unable to control. "Well, you could have fooled me." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Throwing her hands in the air, Gail stomped around and came back to stand in front of him and give vent to her own frustration. "You think I'm a prick teaser. Hell, Mister Pleas, for your information, I was married for two years and never had a climax, how about that one? You want a better one, huh? I got pregnant from sleeping with a man one time, one time. Yeah, I know it only takes one time and I pushed him off of me before he could finish."

Howard was just as loud, and as much in her face as she was doing to him, "Yeah, and what about all those other men you practiced your skills on?"

"Oh, no you don't. You are not going to accuse me of that. I have been in bed with exactly two men, my husband, and Gary the two--timer. That VCR tape is the first time I ever heard a woman could climax like a man does and I've been driving myself crazy that I killed the baby because I tried a little experiment one night. Now, get out of my way." 

Howard stood in stunned silence when she tried to brush by him. She escaped his grab for her when they were both startled by headlights shining in their eyes from a vehicle coming down the road, heading toward the highway. Gail stomped into the house and Howard stood, waiting for the car to see him.

"Hey, Howard, I see you finally got you a new truck. That's a nice one, wish I could afford to drive something like that."

"Pete, you spend so much time in this Border Patrol jail cell on wheels, you'd never get to drive it. Where you been, trying to read the riot act to Santos?"

"Man, don't I wish." Pete shook his head. "No, someone called in on a cell phone and reported carrion flying back there, thought you might have seen it."

"No, I didn't. I wasn't paying any attention. How bad and how many?"

"Pretty bad, couple of women cut up and probably raped, two males with their throats cut, and three children, someone bashed their heads in, the baby's naked. I guess it was a family, crossing over, or going home, we can't tell. No ID, no cash, not even a coin."

"Oh man, that's too bad. You got a crew coming?"

"Yeah, I'm going to the highway to lead them in, they're way back in the brush. I stopped to tell you to buckle up tight tonight. These guys are on foot, no tire tracks."

"Thanks, Pete."

Pete nodded and said, "Gotta go, Howard. Tell your guys to stay out of this one. It's going to get ugly."

"Thanks for the heads up, will do. Take care, man."

When he walked in the house, Gail yelled at him, "Where's my damn keys?"

He yelled right back at her, "What are you doing?"

"I'm getting out of here, that's what I'm doing. Where are my keys?"

Sounding dejected, Howard said, "You're not going anywhere." Then he turned away from her and closed the door, pushing the top and bottom metal bars deep through the door facing and into the adobe wall.

She walked to the door and started to pull the bars back, but Howard stopped her, "No Gail, it's not safe out there in the dark."

"What do you mean, it's not safe?" 

"Never mind, just take my word for it. You can leave in the morning if you want to. But you can't leave tonight." He walked into the kitchen and closed the interior shutters over the window, pushing the slide latches tightly in place.

Gail followed him, watching what he was doing and continued to demand, "You can't order me around Howard. Give me my keys, so I can get out of here."

Howard turned and leaned over into her face to say, "Gail, it's not safe. It's dark and you don't know who is walking around out there. You can leave tomorrow. Now, give it a rest, alright?"

Finally understanding that his attitude had completely changed, she asked, "Who was in the car? I thought it was Santos."

"No, it was Pete, he patrols this area."

"Pete? What kind of patrol? Howard you aren't making sense, what's going on?"

"Sweetheart, Pete is a Border Patrol agent in this sector, he patrols this area."




Gathering Fallen Rocks Ch. 05



"Oh, did he go to see Santos?" Gail asked, thinking Howard's problems with Santos were over. "Did Pete arrest him?"

"No, he's investigating something else. He stopped to say we need to stay inside and lock up."

"Howard," Gail raised her voice, "What is going on? You're not telling me something. What's going on?"

"Damn, won't you let it rest? No, I guess you won't. Alright, some illegals were killed not far from here. An investigation team is coming to look at the area and there will be lots of law enforcement going through here. That's going to frighten any other illegals out there, you understand? Pete said we need to stay inside and not be a target. Now do you understand?"

"Alright. Okay. Then you can follow me out and when I'm on the highway, you can come back here or go to Frank's. Give me my keys. I just need to load my things and we can go."

Howard walked over to Gail, grabbed her upper arms, and gave her a little shake. "No, Gail, do you understand? No. You cannot unlock your truck and come inside for anything to carry out there. Someone could get into your truck and hide in your back seat or with the camping gear. If you try to drive out of here, they will stand in the road and you will stop rather than run over them. They will break your window and drag you out of the truck. They will rape you, slit your throat, cut you up, take your truck, and be in Iowa before anyone knows what happened. No, you cannot leave here, at least not until daylight. Do you understand?"

When she stood staring at him and did not respond, he shook her again. "Tell me you understand."

She nodded once, jerked out of his hands, and went to sit on the old rawhide bench, arms crossed against her chest, leaning back with her eyes closed. 

Howard stood for a very long moment looking at Gail's stiff posture. He didn't know whether to go to her and try to reassure her, or leave her alone. Either way, he feared he wasn't going to be happy with the results. So he walked over and sat beside her. When she didn't even look at him, he moved over a little and put his arm around her shoulders.

"We're pretty good at yelling at each other, aren't we? Is that what your mother and father did?"

He was a little surprised to hear her chuckle, "Yeah, I guess so. I didn't understand then."

"I'm sorry, Gail. I shouldn't have said all those things. I guess I don't know enough about your life, but I want to know. I want to tell you about me, too."

Their attention was drawn to the sounds outside, of several cars or trucks going down the road, all of them rattling and creaking like vehicles customarily driven over rough and uneven ground. Passing by the house, the vehicles raised so much road dust it could be felt on their skin and tasted in the air.

They sat for a while longer, barely exchanging an occasional remark, then growing silent again until Howard said, "Come on, it's time to go to bed." He stood and offered his hand to Gail, led her to the big bed, and despite her objections that she should sleep on one of the narrow metal cots, Howard told her to take off her jeans and get under the covers. Then he walked across the room and turned off the lamp.

Gail stretched out, stiffly, taking deep breaths, waiting for the trembling to stop so she could relax and go to sleep. Just as she was growing drowsy, rolling over to her favorite sleeping position, someone outside began to pound on the door.

"Permítame en la casa." Then the same phrase was repeated again, "Permítame en su casa."

Gail sat up and whispered as quietly as she dared, "What does he want?" When Howard didn't immediately respond, she raised her voice, "Say something, what does he want?"

She heard the creak of the narrow metal cot as Howard got up to go to the door, raising his voice, "Váyase. Usted no puede entrar."

Gail was shaking. Her voice trembled as she asked Howard what they wanted, at the same time a second voice outside yelled, 

She stumbled to the door, finding Howard in the darkness by his white boxer shorts. Gail grabbed Howard's arm and screamed, "Howard, what do they want?"

Howard put his hand over her mouth and said to the door, "Váyase, váyase."

He turned to Gail, and whispered, "They want me to let them in the house. The other one is yelling for me to open the door."

"What did you say? What did you tell them?"

"I told them to go away. I'm not going to let them in. Gail, go back to bed. They'll go away in a little while."

Gail grabbed Howard's arm trying to pull him across the room. "Get away from the door, they'll break it down."

"No," Howard whispered, a hint of laughter in his voice. "They won't break that door down. Even if they try, they'll never do it. The wood is four inches thick. They can't get in here. Too many of them and a bunch of Indians tried, for the past two hundred years. This is a fortress. Even if they break the kitchen window, it won't do any good, it's too small for anyone to get through."

He turned and put his arm around Gail, taking her to the corner, "Okay, in the bed."

"No." She pulled away from him as if to walk away. "I can't sleep, not with them out there. I'll ... I'll just go sit or something."

"Alright," he grabbed her hand, "Come on, I'll stay with you, just go to bed. Even if you can't sleep, at least you can rest."

He held the covers back and waited until she sat down and put her feet on the bed, but she didn't lie down. Howard walked to the other side and climbed in the bed, pulled her down, with her head on his shoulder.

"Okay, Sweetheart, it's okay, just try to relax, they're gone now. They're just looking for a place to hide. They'll go somewhere else."

"Howard, this is frightening. How do you stand it? Does Santos have anything to do with these people? Does he send them to harass you?"

"I don't know. It is possible Santos may know something about it, but he would have to be extremely careful. I know he has relatives, or perhaps they are only contacts, across the border. I don't know if he is involved in anything beyond bringing illegal immigrants into the United States and getting them away from the border. I believe he has some organization for doing it, trucks, drivers, and the like. If you can imagine that some of these people pay several thousand dollars for what they believe is safe, secure passage. It can be a pretty good cash business."

"Do you think he's involved in drugs?" 

"Oh, I really don't know. I sort of doubt it," Howard answered. "He has good legal advice, we do know that much. There's never been any hint of Drug Enforcement people snooping around. At least that I know of. If any drug couriers go through his transportation business, they would have to be carrying very small amounts. He won't take anyone with baggage, not even a suitcase or a change of clothes. That's why you see so many clothes and backpacks around that big tree. They come over with two or three changes of clothes and take off whatever is dirty, trying to look clean and "American" when they get on the truck. I used to go out there every few months and pick up some of what they discard, but I'm not going to do that any more."

"Why not? I'd think you would want to get rid of the trash."

"Well, I don't have a way to get rid of it and every time I start a fire to burn it, some one calls it in as a brush fire. I don't have enough time either. I read something about the amount of trash that builds up in Arizona, its like eight pounds per person. But mostly, I'm getting worried about drug needles and disease from feces, baby diapers, or toilet paper. The trash includes hundreds of plastic water bottles, sweaters, jeans, shoes, razors, soap, food, even ropes and batteries, cell phones, radios, some pretty mean looking homemade weapons and on and on. 

"We are getting worried about our livestock, because there are tons of over--the--counter medications out there. If some cow comes along and eats a bunch of pills, that would be a real sick animal. The trash also isn't good for wildlife. Birds get tangled up in it or eat it. Some ranchers make extra income from hunters, especially during white wing season, and they don't like it either. 

"It's not often, but occasionally I'll find the trash in the stomach of an animal, like plastic bags and foil. I didn't used to look, but one of Billy's friends mentioned it and I've been opening stomachs, mostly out of curiosity, it's not fun to see a grass eater that swallowed a zip lock bag or wrapper from an energy bar.

"So, what do you do about it?"

Howard chuckled, "I could build a ten foot high brick wall, but they'd probably bring a ladder and then I'd have to add that to the trash pile."

"How do you stand it?"

"This is my land. I'm a little possessive about it. Come on, roll over, let's get a little sleep. I need to check on my cows tomorrow."

********

"Gail, oh Baby, don't do that. God, Baby, I'm trying to behave myself."

"Um-m-m," she responded sleepily, "I was dreaming. I could feel your hands."

Rolling her over, he was on top of her, resting his hardness against her heat. "See what you do to me." He moved against her. He was hard, so hard he hurt. He started kissing her and increased his exploration of her mouth when she responded, putting her arms around him, rubbing her hands up and down his back, reaching down as far as she could, pushing him tighter against her and lifting her hips.

She moved her hips up and down rubbing against him and mumbled, "Feels good."

He put his hand down between them, slipped his hand down inside her underwear, slid his finger between her labia and began to stimulate her, going around and around in a circle, as her breathing grew faster and faster. "Oh lord, you are so wet."



Gathering Fallen Rocks Ch. 06



"Gail, oh Baby, don't do that. God, Baby, I'm trying to behave myself."

"Um-m-m," she responded sleepily, "I was dreaming. I could feel your hands."

Rolling her over, he was on top of her, resting his hardness against her heat. "See what you do to me." He moved against her. He was hard, so hard he hurt. He started kissing her and increased his exploration of her mouth when she responded, putting her arms around him, rubbing her hands up and down his back, reaching down as far as she could, pushing him tighter against her and lifting her hips.

She moved her hips up and down rubbing against him and mumbled, "Feels good."

He put his hand down between them, slipped his hand down inside her underwear, slid his finger between her labia and began to stimulate her, going around and around in a circle, as her breathing grew faster and faster. "Oh lord, you are so wet." 

Suddenly he stopped, got off the bed, and walked across the room. Angrily, he jerked the top and bottom metal bars out of the door facing, opened the door, and escaped outside into the early morning light, taking deep breaths, bending over with his hands on his knees. When he turned around Gail was standing in the doorway, looking at him.

"I'm sorry, Howard," there were tears in her voice. "I'm sorry. I didn't know I was ... I'm sorry." She turned and went back inside walking to the bed, bending over to pick up her jeans and sat on the side of the bed.

Howard followed her into the house. Almost afraid to get too near her, he sat down at the table, put his elbows on the table, and buried his head in his hands, groaning. He looked up when he heard her in the kitchen opening the window shutter and pulling the can of coffee out of the cabinet. 

"Gail..."

She shook her head and finished filling the coffee pot, then put it on the fire but would not turn around and look at him. She was wearing an old thin man's undershirt and panties. When she reached up for the can of coffee, he could see a faint line of skin above her low cut underwear. He shook his head and smiled, wondering if she always wore tiny white bikini panties with little pink flowers, or did she change colors.

Howard stood and moved nearer to her, "Baby, I'm sorry. I woke up. I didn't know what I was doing. I just knew I had this warm delicious woman in my bed and I wanted her. Oh lord, I wanted you. I still do." 

Still, she would not turn around and look at him. Knowing it was absolutely the wrong thing for him to do, but unable to stop himself, he walked the remaining few feet and put his arms around her. Pulling her back to his chest, and wrapping his arms around her, he was kissing her on the shoulder and working his way up to the soft spot beneath her ear.

In a trembling voice, Gail told him, "I don't know a lot about ... Ricky didn't touch ... he'd drink, and then he just wanted to, I guess the proper word is intercourse, but I thought of it as a much uglier word, then he would go to sleep." She paused a moment, sniffed and then continued, "I ... I used to avoid him. I'd stay up late and try to be so still when I went to bed, so he wouldn't wake up. He wasn't gentle or stuff, he was rough and he hurt me, not bad, just a little painful." She shuddered and took a deep breath. "He, ah ... he complained because I was too dry. Sometimes, he was so fast, he wouldn't get it in but just a minute, and then he'd say I wasn't sexy enough to give a man a decent hard on. I thought something was wrong with me."

Howard whispered in her ear, "Well, I've got news for him, you are not dry. My shorts are still wet from just touching you. And you can feel that the rest of his excuses were a bunch of bunk, too."

"Gary didn't ... he wouldn't ... he kept his clothes on ... his zipper scratched and it hurt, so I pushed him off and got up."

"Oh my, and I'm Mister Eveready. Doctor Jackson said we have to wait, and I don't want to. You kiss me like a mad woman and I think it's an invitation. I get anywhere near you and I'm so hard I hurt from wanting you. I'm not much better, am I?"

Gail turned around and Howard dropped his arms, looking down at her. The thin, lightly ribbed, material of the undershirt didn't disguise the soft roundness of her breasts. If anything, the fabric of the shirt enhanced her shape. Her nipples were hard and pushing against the soft fabric. Seeing where his attention was drawn to, she quickly folded her arms across her chest to hide herself from his view and started to turn around.

He caught her shoulder, stopped her from moving, and gently reached out to take her arms down, "Don't hide from me, Baby, please. I can't do much else, but I can admire your beauty."

"They're not, though." She held her arms out wide and said, "See, that's not beauty, there's nothing there, just two little bumps. That's what Melissa ... ah ... my mother called them. When I was in junior high school, she wouldn't even buy me a bra. She said I didn't have anything to put in one."

Slowly, watching her face, he put his hands out, placing them over her breasts. "There is more than enough to fill my hands." He bent forward and removed one hand, opened him mouth, closed it over one breast barely covered by the thin fabric, while he put his hand behind her and pulled her forward as he moved his tongue across the hard nipple. He heard Gail catch her breath and let out a soft groan, then stiffen her body when he sucked on the nipple.

She pleaded with him, "Please ... oh please, don't bite me." Putting her hands on each side of his face, she tried to push him away. "... please don't bite me ... it hurts, if you use your teeth." 

Howard raised his head, stood up straight, dropped his arms, and looked her in the eyes, "If I knew where to find the bastard, I'd kill him." 

He turned, walked across the room to the metal cot where he began the night, pulled his jeans on and jerked open a drawer in the small chest to pull out a pair of clean socks. He pulled the socks over his feet, not caring if they are straight or not and grabbed his shirt, pulling it on as he stomped his feet into his boots. He was out the door seconds later, saying nothing to Gail who stood beside the stove with the coffee pot boiling behind her. Only when she heard it boiling over and hissing in the fire did she shake herself out of the trance.

Howard slammed his feet into the ground as he walked. He cursed himself for a fool, and called another man so many despicable names he knew his mother would have given him the tongue--lashing of his life for saying them. Halfway to the small partially fenced area where the horses came for water, Howard put his hand in his pocket and realized he still had Gail's keys. 

Turning around, he went back to the house, walked inside and stopped. Gail was sitting at the table, a cup of coffee in front of her and she was looking down at her hands, in her lap. She looked up at Howard, smiled, and asked, "Would you like me to fix you a cup of coffee?"

"No, keep your seat. I'll get it." He poured a cup of coffee and stood leaning against the kitchen counter. "Sweetheart, maybe you can tell me what it is. I look at you and I see a quiet person, so self--contained that I believe you have the confidence of a woman much older than I know you are. Then something happens and it's like you are a child, so frightened you can't even sleep alone without falling to pieces."

He walked over to the table and sat down across from her. "When we were outside last night, you kissed me like no woman has ever done before. I was drowning in the passion coming from you. The next minute you're on your feet telling me you are a virgin, or very nearly so."

Howard leaned back in his chair and looked at her, she hadn't taken her eyes off him, and she had not said a word. "You stomp into the house and start ordering me around like some Amazon. Minutes later some stranger, probably just looking for something to eat, pounds on the door and you are screaming with fright."

He picked up his cup and took a sip of coffee, then swallowed more. "Early this morning you are rubbing against me and telling me you want me. Maybe not in so many words, but the message was clear. I touch you, that's right, I just barely touch you and it's like a flood, how wet you are. Then you tell me some asshole, with a severe case of premature ejaculation blames you for his problems. You walk around here dressed like that and I'm burning to touch you. When I tell you, what seeing you like that does to me, you turn my admiration into an insult and try to hide from me. So, I try to show you, the only way I know how, and you think I'm going to torture you."

He took another swallow of his coffee and still she said nothing. He stood and walked around the table and dropped to his knees, put his head in her lap, and wrapped his arms around her. "Oh Baby, tell me what I have to do to convince you that I'm not those other men. I'm just me. I want you so much, I'm considering telling Santos he can have the whole damn thing and I'll follow you wherever you want to go. If it frightens you to be here, I'll take you somewhere else. If you want some revenge against those men, I'll tie them up and hold the bastards still and you can do whatever you want."

Slowly, almost tentatively, Gail began to thread her fingers through his short hair. He did not move when she started to speak. "I can always tell when you're angry at me. You call me Gail. The rest of the time, you call me Sweetheart. And when you call me Baby, it's for a different reason. I can't remember anyone ever calling me anything but Gail, except for your Aunt Jean. She calls me Honey, just like she does you. I wonder why it is so easy for your whole family to treat me with so much love and my family just didn't seem to care, or thought I was in the way of their career or interfering with them looking for their next fucking partner. That's all it was, just another partner to take to bed."

"Ah, so love--birds have no fear when I give the warning," a voice from the doorway teased and was followed by laughter, jerking Gail and Howard out of their moment of intimacy. 

Santos Aguirre stepped inside and waved a small stack of envelopes. He walked to stand beside Gail and placed one envelope down on the table.

"Mrs. Pleas, does your new husband know of the many lovers of your mother?" 

Another envelope, was placed on the table, as Santos taunted her, "What a poor choice you make for the first husband, yes? Maybe this Howard cannot give you the baby. You permit Santos to give you the baby, huh?" 

He leaned a little nearer and lowered his voice, "The virgin sister of this Howard enjoyed Santos as her lover." 

His voice grew louder when he declared, "There is much sorrow I have for the death of my son by her hand." 

With force, he slammed the remaining envelopes on the table and told Gail, "Nothing of you is hidden from me." 

Then he walked across the room, stopping at the door. "Howard, the brothers and the families, is to warn, the last I send to you." He rattled off additional sentences in Spanish and laughed as he went to his shiny black vehicle.

Howard was trying to stand and had to bear Gail's weight also, because she had her arms around his neck, whispering in his ear, "No, oh no, please. Not this way." And then she was kissing him, stopping to say, "Hold me" kissing and pleading, "Kiss me, Howard," begging and demanding, "Kiss me, Howard," until he did, the world around them fading as he backed her to the bed, falling and rolling over, with her above him, his hands on her breasts and her mouth moving across his.

When she raised her head and smiled at him, he grinned back at her, his breathing heavy, "My lord, woman, you would try the will of a saint."

"You already knew about Marie, didn't you?" Gail asked as she tried to take in deep breaths of air. "How did you know?" 

Howard nodded, as he pulled up Gail's undershirt, rolled her over, and began to suck on one breast before moving to the other, and finally pulling the undershirt over her head so he could have access to every inch of her. Holding her arms out to the side, kissing down her stomach, to the very edge of the elastic of her underwear and then to her hipbones and back up to her breasts, he mumbled, "God, you taste good. How the hell am I going to wait another day, and then another, until Doctor Jackson said I can make love to you?"

Using his lips and teeth, softly biting her, he nipped the soft skin at her waist and then the skin on her ribs and felt Gail twitch from the tickling sensation, so he did it again until she was squirming under him and laughing, and he was too.

She laughed and tried to wiggle away from him until he pulled her closer, "Stay here, I can't do much more, but at least I can touch and taste you." 

Gail cleared her throat, "Ah, pardon me sir, but I seem to have misplaced my clothes. Can you assist me, please?"

"No, I'm not sure I can." Howard answered, trying not to laugh at her ability to put a little humor into their half--hearted wrestling match. "In fact, I think I'll hide everything you own, so I can watch you, all day long, wearing nothing but these tiny little scraps that hide something I very much want to explore."

Trying not to sound too serious, Gail admitted, "I looked one time." A furious blush moved up her face. "After I watched Carol Ann's tape, I got my mirror and looked to make sure I had all the right parts. I didn't know why they don't work right, so I looked."

"Is that when you experimented?" Howard tried to keep his voice from being too rough. He brushed his fingers lightly across first one pink cheek, and then the other.

"Yeah, and I saw little spots of water on the mirror. That's when I decided it wasn't me it was them. I was trying to tell you, but I didn't know how. I didn't know what words to use. Except, I guess the medical ones, or vulgar ones. When I ... when you kiss me ... I feel wet, I never did before. That's what I meant, I didn't understand."

Howard stood, picked up her undershirt, and held out his hand, "Come on, Sweetheart, I have to check my cows."

When Gail stood, he looked at her, smiled, and pulled the undershirt over her head, saying it was a shame to cover her up. He even picked up the jeans she had put across the back of the kitchen chair when she made the coffee. He reached into his pocket and pulled out her keys, holding them out to her.

Gail shook her head, "No, Doctor Jackson said I wasn't really supposed to drive for a couple of weeks. I was just mad last night that you didn't believe me." 

"Alright, let me go check my cows, then I'll take you to town and you can report your cell phone as stolen. Would you like to see if Frank and Melanie are interested in sharing some pizza? We could spend the night in my room above their garage. Or I'll take you to Aunt Jean if you don't trust me in the same bed with you." 

"Okay, I like pizza. Howard, I trust you. I may not trust myself, but I trust you. I forgot about the cell phone. Yeah, I need to do that."

Knowing Santos had read her letters, she feared he might have mixed them up in the envelopes or written on them or might even have destroyed them. Gail opened each letter and became engrossed in what she had written over the few weeks before she moved out of her apartment.

********

Carol Ann, 

I suppose I should not be surprised, after all, aren't you the one who believes she could find a man she wanted to keep by compiling a list of The Best 100 Men I've Fucked. You may be blonde, but you can't possibly be that dumb.

With all the men out there, why did you have to paint a target on Gary? Was it just to prove you could take him away from me? Had I known you wanted him, I would have wrapped him in ribbon and sent him to you. He talked about you all the time, anyway.

By the way, I still have your VCR tape. I even watched it a second time. Maybe you should order another, and be sure to check the CD box this time, unless you want to take it on your next date and hope the guy has his own VCR. I should have had something like that before I got married. I might have been a little smarter or made a better choice. I wish you would use it in that spirit, instead of starting on your second one hundred men.

There is no simple way to say this, but I thought you were my friend and now I regret telling you so much about my parents and my marriage. I just hope it went through your air head and did not lodge somewhere to be recalled at an inopportune time and break your concentration while you are testing your newly learned skills.

I have one request of you, if it's not too much trouble. Please, just forget me and I'll do the same for you.

Gail 

********

"Hey, Howard," Frank stuck his head out the door while Howard and Gail were getting out of Gail's truck after Howard drove into the back yard. "I thought you were taking the week--end off. Come on in, Gail."

As they stepped up onto the small back porch, Howard told his brother, "She needs to use your phone, while you two change clothes. Let's go get a pizza, my treat."

"Good deal, I'll buy the beer."

Howard and Frank stood talking in the kitchen, while Gail used the telephone, trying to be patient as she was transferred from one person to another, repeatedly asked for her password, while she tried to report her telephone had been stolen. Some one at the cellular telephone company made her wait a long time, while they checked on her payment record before they finally decided they would honor the insurance policy and send her a replacement. 

Gail waited additional minutes to convince someone else that she was on vacation and needed the telephone sent to a different address. Then Gail had to give Frank's name as the resident at that address and wait, while they checked that out. She wanted a three--month history of her phone calls mailed to the same address, so she could reconstitute her telephone book and had to talk to several more people to get them to understand that request. 

By the time she could finally hang up the telephone, rubbing her numb ear, Melanie and Frank were dressed. As everyone walked out the back door, Gail told Frank to sit up front with Howard as she started to raise the middle seat from the floorboard. Howard stopped her, reminding her not to strain. When she and Melanie could finally sit down, Frank turned around and teased Gail about being his new sister--in--law.

"What are you talking about, Frank?" Gail asked.

"George Hernandez," Frank looked at Howard. "You know him, don't you, at the newspaper?" Frank turned back to Gail, "He called this morning. He said he'd heard Howard got married and he wanted to put your wedding announcement in the paper."

Howard leaned to one side and looked in the rear view mirror, watching Gail turn slightly pale, and asked, "What did you tell him?"

"Damn Howard, what could I say? I just said it was old news and not worth printing. Santos was in the Short Stop before daylight." As Frank continued, Melanie whispered that the Short Stop was the name of the store where Frank worked. "He was telling me some trash about something happening out at the ranch and he was going to take Gail, just like he did Marie, and leave you and me in the brush like two other brothers."

"I told you about that, Frank."

"Yeah, but I'm just now putting two and two together. I didn't hear about those bodies until I watched the news about half an hour before you'll got here. And that's the first time I ever heard he was the one who raped Marie."

Howard shook his head, "It wasn't rape, Frank. It was consensual, she told me about it. She didn't want Mom and Dad to find out, but it wasn't rape."

Frank almost yelled at his brother, "Hell, Howard what was she thinking, they say he's got a wife in Mexico. They said it then and they still say it. What did she think? That he'd let her be his wife on this side and take her to live at his ranch? What was she doing, giving it away?"




Gathering Fallen Rocks Ch. 06



Howard looked at his brother and growled, "Frank, give it a rest. It wasn't rape and that's all you're entitled to know. So, shut--up about it."

Frank seemed unable to let it go, however, "Look Howard, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say all of that, but Marie gave me a hard time every time I said anything about a Mexican. She and I didn't agree on very much and Mexicans was at the top of the list."

Howard nodded, "I know. Maybe that's why she didn't tell you. Now, give it a rest. She made a choice and she regretted it. Then she didn't want to live with the consequences. She's gone and nothing is going to change that. So, keep your mouth shut and I'll handle Santos, alright?"

Resignedly, Frank agreed, "Alright Howard, alright. Say you two, you wanna go to Scooters after pizza and do a little dancing? He's supposed to have a pretty good band tonight."

"I don't think so, I think we'll just go to bed early. We didn't get much sleep last night with all the Border Patrol going up and down the road."

In the restaurant, Gail and Howard sat on one side of a booth, across from Frank and Melanie. Gail recognized a few things these two brothers had in common and some very glaring differences. Frank was a talker, occupying most conversations, often talking over someone else, and he usually addressed his remarks to his brother, as if trying to impress him.

Throughout the meal, Melanie was rather quiet. When she did want to say something, it was usually to Gail and she leaned across the table so she can say it quietly, as Frank continued to tell Howard about Santos's wild talk when he was in the small store earlier in the day. By the time the pizza was gone and they were finishing their beer, Gail was so tired she felt her eyes drooping. 

Howard reached down under the tabletop to pick up one of Gail's hands where it rested on her lap and squeezed it. Gail looked up at Howard and wished they were alone so she could kiss him. The look on his face told her he was thinking the same thing. 

As Frank finally drained his mug and started to ask for another pitcher, Howard was standing. "Let's get out of here. You two can go to Scooters if you want any more beer. I'm going to bed." He gave the keys to Gail, "Here, Sweetheart, unlock the truck. Frank and I'll be right there."

Gail unlocked the doors, then opened the driver's door, pushed the key into the ignition and turned the motor on. At least she and Melanie wouldn't have to sit in the hot truck, waiting for the men. Even with the sun down for over an hour, the truck wouldn't cool off for hours. Just as Howard and Frank walked out of the restaurant, three Border Patrol vehicles pulled up, parking at the front of the building. 

Howard, Frank, and the agents stood in front of the building and talked, Frank waving his hands as one of the agents tried to calm him down. Howard turned to Frank and the women could hear him say, "And keep your mouth shut about that too. Not a word, not even to Melanie. Do you understand me?"

Melanie leaned over to tell Gail, "Howard is certainly upset about something. Does he do that to you, too? I mean yell like that?"

Gail chuckled, "Only if I start it first. No, he doesn't raise his voice like that. Does he yell at you?"

"Oh never," Melanie shook her head. "Frank is the only one he yells at like that. But most of the time Frank deserves it." She turned back to look at the men, going silent after saying, "Oops, here they come."

Although it was a short drive, to Gail it seemed like they would never get back to Frank and Melanie's house. Gail's head was nodding when Howard drove into the driveway. As she took the first few steps up the stairs on the side of the garage, she stopped, "I forgot to tell Melanie that FedEx is going to deliver my telephone here on Monday or Tuesday."

"Tell her tomorrow, I'm dead on my feet and you're half asleep."

"Howard, I didn't bring anything to sleep in."

"Good, I'll have you naked in my bed and I can have my way with you." Gail stopped before taking the next step up, but before she could turn to respond to his remark, he said, "No, I'm just kidding, I'll give you a t--shirt or something. Go woman." He slapped her on the butt and pushed her up the stairs, laughing at her indignation, but she was laughing too as they reached to top of the stairs.

"Good grief, Howard. Don't you ever lock your doors?"

"Nope," he answered as he walked across the room to turn on a window air conditioner. "All I have up here is clean clothes and a bed. It's the same at the ranch. Anything that's important is in Aunt Jean's garage. Bathroom's in the corner." 

When she returned, he said, "Here," and handed her a shirt, unashamedly watching as she took off her short sleeved shirt and bra then pulled his shirt over her head, stepped on the heels of her shoes to remove them before wiggling out of her jeans. When she looked up and saw him watching, she got very still and took a step backward.

"Howard ..."

Not saying a word, he walked to one side of the bed and threw back the covers. "You get in bed, I'll get the light." Before her eyes had fully adjusted to the dark, he was sitting on the other side of the bed pulling his boots off and standing to unbuckle his belt. He went toward the corner bathroom and returned, lifting the covers on his side and getting in the bed. As he turned over, Gail was moving to the middle of the bed, putting her head on his shoulder and settling next to him.

Speaking softly, he asked, "Do you like being right there as much as I like having you there?"

"Yes, I think so. You're comfortable or maybe I just feel safe, protected, or whatever it is that makes weak women seek out strong men."

"That's probably why men want women to think they're strong, even when they aren't. Kiss me good--night, Baby, and go to sleep." 

She gave him a quick peck on the lips, but he held her to keep her from moving away from him. "No, I don't think that was good enough. I'd like one of those good kisses, one that makes my blood boil and my toes curl." When she raised herself up on her elbow, and did as he asked, he let out a deep breath, "Oh yeah, one like that. Maybe, I should have a few of those every night, for the next ten or twenty thousand nights. I'd finally know I'm not going to fall off my wall of rocks. Good night, sweetheart."

********

"Howard. Howard. Are you'll in there?" The words were accompanied by pounding on the door.

"Yes, damnit. Frank, go away."

"Hey, Pete's downstairs, says he needs to talk to Gail."

Gail sat up in bed and turned to Howard, as if to say something. He put his finger across her lips to keep her speaking. Then he asked his brother, "What does he want?"

"Hell, man, I don't know. He just wants to talk to Gail."

"Okay, tell him I'm just waking up. It's not even eight o'clock yet. We'll be down in a few minutes." 

While Frank's footsteps pounded down the stairs, Howard pulled Gail back down to the bed, leaned over her, and started covering her face with kisses, stopping at her mouth for a long deep kiss, and then pulling her over on top of his body, holding her hips as he ground his erection into her. 

Gail was shaking, breathing fast, and holding Howard's head for another kiss as he rolled her over. As suddenly as he started, he stopped, rested his head for a moment on the pillow beside her then raised his head, "Remember that, it's a promise. Now get up and put your clothes on. Let's go see what my favorite Border Patrol agent wants."

Gail pulled him down for another few kisses and said, "I'd rather stay here."

"Me too, but I don't think he's going away. Come on, come on, out of bed."

********

"Are you Gail E. Fisher? And is this your cellular phone number?" Pete held out a report showing her cell phone number printed beside her name. Pete Curran was stiff, acting so official that Howard was surprised by his attitude. He appeared formal and in asking questions, had Gail standing stiffly.

They were outside Frank and Melanie's front door. Although invited to come inside, Pete declined and politely asked Frank and Melanie to go inside the house so he could interview Gail alone. When Pete looked at Howard, expecting him to leave, too, Gail grabbed Howard by the hand and held on, saying she wanted him to stay. Pete nodded once at Howard then turned to Gail, asking her a few questions before asking about her cell phone number. 

"Yes, that's my number."

"Ma'am, this number was used to report an incident on Friday involving the deaths of seven individuals. Your cell phone provider said you reported this telephone was stolen before this report was called in. Is that correct?"



Gathering Fallen Rocks Ch. 07



"Are you Gail E. Fisher? And is this your cellular phone number?" Pete held out a report showing her cell phone number printed beside her name. Pete Curran was stiff, acting so official that Howard was surprised by his attitude. He appeared formal and in asking questions, had Gail standing stiffly.

They were outside Frank and Melanie's front door. Although invited to come inside, Pete declined and politely asked Frank and Melanie to go inside the house so he could interview Gail alone. When Pete looked at Howard, expecting him to leave, too, Gail grabbed Howard by the hand and held on, saying she wanted him to stay. Pete nodded once at Howard then turned to Gail, asking her a few questions before asking about her cell phone number. 

"Yes, that's my number."

"Ma'am, this number was used to report an incident on Friday involving the deaths of seven individuals. Your cell phone provider said you reported this telephone was stolen before this report was called in. Is that correct?" 

His question was so accusatory Gail looked from Pete to Howard, seeking help. Howard merely nodded. The expression on his face gave Gail the information that she should trust Pete. "Yes sir, I called in the report yesterday."

"Can you tell me why you waited so long to report the theft?" 

Before answering, Gail looked at Howard, then back to Pete, showing how nervous she was. "I'm sorry, I was not aware of the theft until Friday evening." 

Howard interrupted, "Pete, she was in the hospital and I took her to stay with Aunt Jean for a few days. The first time she was back at the ranch was Friday night, after I got off work."

Pete looked at Howard, nodded and said, "Thank you Howard. However, I'd rather have her tell me what happened."

As Gail explained, Howard occasionally offered clarification of the information Gail provided and went to the truck to get the treatment and discharge instructions given to him when he took Gail from the hospital.

"May I keep this?" Pete asked. "I promise it will be returned to you as soon as I can get a copy."

Gail nodded, "Sure, I guess so. I have no reason not to."

Pete looked at the papers in his hand then asked, "By the way, was anything, other than your cell phone, taken from your handbag?"

"Yes, but it wasn't important. My business cards from a company where I'm no longer employed and," responding to the pressure from Howard squeezing her hand added, "a couple of envelopes, but I found them later, so I guess it was just the phone and business cards."

Pete said, "Thank you" then looked at Howard. "I think I'll stop by and talk to your aunt. Don't call her, Howard. I'm not going to frighten her. I just need to make sure the story checks out."

Gail looked at Pete, "Are you also going to talk to Santos Aguirre. It's his fault, you know. He frightened me and I didn't want to stay at the ranch."

Pete nodded and both Howard and Gail could tell he was reluctant to do so, however he said, "Yes, I will speak to Santos Aguirre. I don't think either of you are interested in getting into a shouting match with him over who said what or did what, but I will speak to him."

As soon as Pete drove away, Howard, still holding her hand, was leading Gail toward the stairs saying he needed to turn off the air conditioner and they should go back to the ranch. Frank stuck his head out the back door of the house, asking what Pete wanted, so Howard explained as simply as he could, and then gave the truck keys to Gail.

"Here, Sweetheart, start the truck, let's go back to the ranch, I think we're done here."

********

"Gail," Howard said, as they walk into his ranch house. "You probably aren't going to like this, but I've been thinking about your letters. If this investigation of Pete's goes any further, it might be a good idea to destroy the letters."

"Why?" Gail asked, startled that Howard would ask her to do such a thing. "There's nothing in those letters to hurt anyone. I didn't make any threats. I'm just fussing or complaining to people about how they caused problems for me."

Shaking his head, Howard said, "I don't know what Santos is planning, but he sure seemed interested in the letters. He's not above mentioning them to Pete and might take delight in detailing the contents of the letters."

"So what if he does?" Gail said, unconcerned that Santos would mention the letters to Pete or anyone else. "What good is it going to do him? It's not going to get your ranch for him. And isn't that what he wants?"

"I don't know. I haven't read them. Well, I read a couple of them and you're right, they just sound like you are really pissed at someone. I just remember you saying something about not wanting them to be part of some police investigation, if you did what you said you wanted to do." He turned to look at her and said angrily, "And I don't even know if you are still thinking about doing that. Any time I say something to you about how much I want you here, you keep saying you need to leave." 

"Well, damn. Howard, you have enough going on in your life right now. You don't need me to mess it up worse." She raised her voice, "I can't stay here, mooching off of you. I need to get on with my life, what little there is left of it."

Howard lowered his voice, but couldn't keep the anger out of it, "Is this about the baby? You can't possibly think a baby would have made your life better. Good God, a child is a lifetime commitment."

Instead of matching his lower voice, Gail screamed at him, "Well, thank you, Mister Pleas. Maybe a commitment to a baby is just a little better than anything else I've ever had in the rest of my worthless life. At least it would be someone that cared about me and loved me back, instead of all the men who never did give a damn."

Unable to avoid matching her vehemence, Howard yelled, "And you think I'm another of those men?" 

When she stood toe to toe, glaring at him and did not answer, he demanded, "Do you? Do you Gail? Is that what you think?"

Just as he demanded an answer, she demanded an answer to her own question, "Well, don't you? From my side of this debacle, I can't see any difference."

Howard took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, and looked at her, "Then before you leave, sit down and write me a letter, too." He turned and walked out the door, going he did not know where, to do what he did not know. He just needed to escape her before he said any more he would have to regret.

********

My dearest Howard,

Sometimes when you look at me, I see something in your eyes that I do not understand. I don't know if what I see in your expression is sympathy or sadness, contempt or fury, lust or some other emotion I can't describe. I know you try to hide your emotions from me, so some of what I see may not be what you really feel.

If you feel sympathy, please don't. It causes me to cry, when I think about the miscarriage, but I know it is for the best. I am not emotionally or financially stable enough to rear a child. And it would be a horror if I had to live with my mother and allow her opinions and disregard for others to rub off on my child. I doubt that my father would help, either. After all, he took me back to my mother and said I was too much like her for him to live with. He would just tell me to get an abortion. 

If you are sad for me, I can understand that, when I think about how badly I have messed up my life, it makes me sad, too. If the sadness is for your sister, I will share that emotion with you. I might wish she had asked for your help. She had to know how much you loved her. I know you would have taken care of her. You are doing it so well for me.

I don't know how you could avoid feeling contempt. I should be ashamed of considering leaving a world as beautiful as this one. But I despise myself when I consider that I cannot manage to live one single day without feeling I'm a total and utter disgrace and causing problems for the other people around me. 

I know you get furious with me. It seems like I want you to show a strong emotion, because I do it to you so often, almost every day. Why is that? I start the argument and then I cannot stop. I spend an hour trying to think of a way to apologize and it does me no good, because the next time I see you, I just want to do something to make you smile. 

After this morning, I think I finally understand lust. That's probably what has kept me here longer than I should have stayed. Is that what it is? Or is it more than simple lust? I am not experienced enough to know.

I am surprised at the welcome I feel from the people in this little town. When I was staying with your Aunt Jean, I even considered looking in the phone book to see if I might find a job in my profession. I have a license, which is quite an accomplishment at my age, even though I seldom mention it. 

However, I didn't make any calls, probably because I am too insecure to ask for a job. I know I could get a lot of information about your many times great–grandfather and might even settle your concerns about the original land grant and any subsequent transfers. It would be one way of repaying you for giving me a home and caring for me, for which I will never be able to fully express my gratitude.

Love,

Gail

********

After writing the letter, crossing out parts and then writing some more, Gail copied it onto clean sheets of the special yellow paper and folded them, but she did not have an envelope for the letter. Instead, she put it with the other envelopes. Despite Howard's questions, she could not bring herself to destroy the letters she had worked so hard to write. She was discovering they had taught her something, every one of them. Some of the self–taught lessons were about whom to trust, and whom she should not. No longer would she be a small mouse in the corner, waiting to be frightened into running into a hole at the first sign of a cat. She might not be able to attack the cat, but she would not allow another mouse to take her cheese, or take cheese from someone she cared about.

It was useless to sit and worry about things she could not solve, because she could not change other people. Whatever they had done in their past, it need no longer affect her. Instead, it was time to tackle a problem she had the skills to solve. It was time for someone to investigate Howard's concerns about the ownership of his ranch. As Gail paced from the kitchen stove to her wooden food box beside the fireplace, Santos Aguirre walked into Howard's small adobe house. 

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Pleas," he startled her.

Gail turned and looked at the man who was causing her so much grief. As she walked toward him, she said in her sternest tone, "Mister Aguirre, get out of this house. You do not own this house and you have no right to walk in here when it pleases you. Knock on the door like any civilized person. If, and I repeat, if, I want to invite you in, I will do so. Otherwise, get the hell out of here."

He did not move and Gail advanced a few more steps as he said, "Mrs. Pleas, you do not have this right to demand I am to leave the house. It is my house. I own it. I come inside when I choose."

Gale glared at him, "There you are wrong, sir. You do not own this property or you would have already used every legal means at your disposal to see that Howard was removed from it. 

"If you are not aware, let me tell you that a law has recently passed the state legislature. It is called the Castle Doctrine. Do you understand that a man's home is his castle? If I feel threatened by someone coming into my home, my car, or my place of business, I have no duty to retreat from an attack if I am in a place where I have a right to be and if I do not provoke my attacker. I can use force to defend myself. You read those letters, so you know my father is a police officer. I assure you I am an excellent shot with a 270 rifle and any handgun you want to name, both automatics and revolvers. That means I can kill you, and I would not be arrested for a crime. So, Mister Aguirre, I am informing you that I feel threatened by your presence, and I am telling you, as politely as I know how, please leave." 

Gail turned and walked toward the fireplace, to stand beside Howard's gun rack and crossed her arms, waiting for Santos to leave. Within her reach were several loaded rifles and handguns.

Santos turned and walked out of the house, brushing past Howard on the way to his big shiny black sport utility vehicle, rattling off a volley of Spanish words so fast Gail couldn't understand a single one of them. Howard watched as the man got into his truck, slammed the door, started the engine, and gunned the motor, throwing dirt and dust in his wake.

Howard walked into the house and looked at Gail then leaned out the door watching Santos's dust cloud going toward the highway. There was a quiet look of anger on his face. "What did you do to him?"

Shaking and trembling, Gail tried to hide her fear, but she felt good about what she had done. "I told him to get the hell out of here or I'd kill him."

"Yep, I imagine that would really piss him off. I've never seen him that mad before. Are you still mad at me?"

"No, Howard, I never was mad at you. I'm mad at myself. I am such a fool. When you go to work in the morning, can I ride to town with you? I need to buy myself some decent clothes, so I can find a job, an apartment to live in, and hopefully my replacement cell phone."

"What?" Howard shook his head, fearing he had not heard what he hoped she was saying. Did she really intend to stay? Even if it wasn't with him, at least he would know where she was.

"Well, I can't very well ask for a job wearing blue jeans. I need a telephone so I can get a phone call, just in case someone actually wants to hire me. And I need a place to live so I can go get my furniture and the rest of my clothes." 

"Do you want to tell me what this is all about?"

"I'm not sure yet. But as soon as I know, you can be the next one. I'm sorry I can't burn the letters yet, they are the best education I've had in my entire life, and I still have a few things to learn."

********

Before speaking, Gail watched as a short, elderly man stepped off a stepladder and bent over, to pick up a roll of wallpaper. "Excuse me. I'm looking for Mister Atwood."

Straightening up, the man turned to answer Gail, "You got him, that's me."

"The young lady, next door," Gail pointed to the office space adjoining the one where this man was hanging wallpaper, "she said I should come speak to you about a job."

"Well, my goodness, you wallpaper people sure do dress up when you go to a job, don't you?" 

"Oh, I'm sorry I'm not a wallpaper person. I came about a job in your abstract company."

"Now, that is curious, I haven't advertised for that job yet. How did you hear about it?"

"I didn't hear about a particular opening, I'm new in town and I'm just checking to see if anyone has an opening."

The man walked toward Gail, holding out his hand, "Then let me introduce myself, I'm Atwood, David Atwood."

Gail shook hands with him, "Nice to meet you Mister Atwood, I'm Gail Fisher. I'm TLTA licensed, and I'm looking for a job. I asked the girl next door for an employment application, but she said I should speak to you."

"Then let's go talk about this," he said as he walked toward the front door.

Gail followed and looked back, "Can you leave that? I mean it looks like you're about ready to start putting the paper on. Can you just leave it? Won't it dry out, or something?"

"Oh, those wallpaper people will be here in a little while, I'm just trying to rush things and I should leave things like that to the professionals. Come with me, we can go next door to my office, and get better acquainted. And you can tell me what experience you have."

Gail followed as Mister Atwood led the way, out the door of the large office space, which looked like it was in the middle of being gutted and rebuilt. They walked down an outside walkway and into the office space next door. 

As he walked by the front desk, the young lady sitting there handed him three pink telephone messages. He stopped for a moment to read them and handed one back to the young girl, saying, "Petra, call them and say, "No, not yet"." He gave her a second message and told her to return the call and say, "Tomorrow, if I get instructions today." The third message he stuffed in his pants pocket.

Down a short hallway, he turned into an office full of dark woods, a massive desk with stacks of files on the two front corners and more stacks of files on the credenza behind him. A small table in the corner of the room had two chairs beside it, but the tabletop was not visible, it was covered with additional stacks of file folders, most were two or three inches thick. There were additional files on the chairs.

"Yes, as you can see I have a lot of work to do. Properties in this part of the state are selling faster than I can keep up with them. Sit down, Gail, and tell me who you worked for, how long you were there and what your job was."

"Thank you, Mister Atwood."

Before she could say another word, the man interrupted her, "But first of all, I need to ask you to call me Atwood. My mother had a sense of humor and my father wasn't much better. His name was Zechariah Atwood. He said his name covered the alphabet from A to Z. They named me Atwood David Atwood. Dad said no one would forget my name, but he was an important man in this town and everyone called him Mister Atwood. When you say Mister Atwood, people will think you're referring to my father. So, you may call me Atwood. Makes it simple, doesn't it?" He laughed and Gail joined, liking his sense of humor and his comfortable way of talking to someone he did not know.

Gail told him of her previous experience, the courses she took, how long she had been licensed, and what her duties were. Atwood remarked that he knew her former employer and asked if she objected to him calling to verify what she had said.

"No, I would expect you to call them. But I'll be blunt. I had a personal problem with Mister Abrams. So, if he doesn't give you a glowing recommendation, please take that into consideration."

Atwood chuckled, "No, I thought I'd call Carlson," indicating the President of the company. "He and I are old friends. Confidentially, if you had told me you respected Abrams and worked well with him, I'd put that down as a black mark. The only reason that man has a job is because his sister is married to Carlson. Now, you just sit there for a minute and I'll make my call."

Gail listened as Atwood and his friend spoke about each other's personal lives. She tried to be polite and not act too curious when Atwood laughed a few times after asking Carlson for an employment recommendation for Gail. 

When he hung up the telephone Atwood said, "I guess I better hire you before Carlson drives down here and takes you home with him. He said his whole plant is in a mess since you left. Abrams is complaining he doesn't have enough people to do the job and has to work overtime."

Gail blushed and replied, "That was very nice of Mister Grayson."

Atwood asked, "Is he correct, that you trained most of the people in the abstract and research plant and got passed over for promotion a couple of times because Abrams said you weren't experienced enough? You want to tell me about that?"

"I don't really want to say anything bad about Mister Abrams," Gail began and was interrupted by Atwood saying he wasn't looking for dirt, he just wanted to know what Gail could do and how good she really was. She added, "Yes, most of the new hires worked beside me for at least the first two weeks. A couple of times I applied for openings in the main office, but someone else got those jobs."

"Then tell me why you decided to change towns. Looks like almost any company in town would hire you the minute you walked in the door." 




Gathering Fallen Rocks Ch. 07



Gail smiled and tried not to say anything derogatory about her mother, but knew he would discover more about her if he hired her. "I have a name recognition problem too. My mother is a major real estate broker in town. Mister Abrams said many of the other brokers in town would take their business elsewhere if they knew her daughter worked in the main office. I know Realtors are pretty competitive. Although she and I are not close, I thought I'd find another town, where she isn't as well known."

Atwood nodded, "Unfortunately he does have a point. They can be so secretive sometimes, and they do make our job difficult, too. But I must admit, I'd go broke if they didn't bring business in my front door. So, tell me your license is current, your surety bond is good, and when you can start. I don't dare let you out that door. Someone else would grab you and I'd never get that office next door opened."

"I don't know ... I mean, I'm really on vacation ... this was sort of a spur of the moment kind of thing, I've only had one job in my life. I was just curious to see if I ..."

Atwood threw his head back and roared with laughter. Gail couldn't help but smile and laugh a little herself. He finally stopped long enough to say, "Damn, I got me a Texas Land Title Association licensed escrow officer and she wasn't even looking for a job."



Gathering Fallen Rocks Ch. 08



Atwood nodded, "So, tell me your license is current, your surety bond is good, and when you can start. I don't dare let you out that door. Someone else would grab you and I'd never get that office next door opened."

"I don't know ... I mean, I'm really on vacation ... this was sort of a spur of the moment kind of thing, I've only had one job in my life. I was just curious to see if I ..."

Atwood threw his head back and roared with laughter. Gail couldn't help but smile and laugh a little herself. He finally stopped long enough to say, "Damn, I got me a Texas Land Title Association licensed escrow officer and she wasn't even looking for a job." 

Atwood took a deep breath, "I'm teasing you, Gail, and I shouldn't." He paused a moment then said, "Look, you saw that space next door. I have at least a week, or just a little longer, before I will be able to put a desk in there for you. It's going to be dust and blue jeans and boxes around here for at least the next two or three weeks and maybe longer. We have to cut holes in walls and in between that I have all these files that are going to be closing plus other work that needs to be done. I'm drowning and I'm looking for someone I can turn some of this over to. If you are interested, I'll take you today, like you are, and we'll work out the details later."

"Yes sir, I'd like the job, but I think I have a problem. I don't speak Spanish."

"Uh oh, now that might be tough. But we can probably do something about that, at least to get you on your way. Petra can help some. At least she can sit in with anyone who just cannot understand simple English. Do you know what an ESL language course is?" 

"Ah ... Is that English as a Second Language, or something like that?"

"Right you are. My wife, bless her heart, does it the other way around, she's a Mexican National. My daughter--in--law teaches ESL at a little branch of a junior college. My wife works with all the, excuse the phrase, Yankees who come down here, working for big business. They're usually associated with some of the Maquiladoras across the border. She teaches them to operate in Spanish. Some of them might know Spanish, big business does that for their executives, but they can't "talk" it. So, the wife has an evening, once a week, where they come and go and the only rule is 'No English Spoken Here'. 

"Those businessmen get to mingle with each other, which they enjoy and profit from, and a few of the business people from across the border wander in occasionally. So I can get you into those meetings. I'd sort of like to do that anyway. They all know me, but they think I'm just an old lawyer. You'd be able to promote yourself and we might get a little commercial business out of it. In the meantime, Petra can help. What do you say?"

"Goodness, oh my, I'm speechless. I don't know what to say. I guess the best thing for me to do is just say, 'Yes' as fast as I can and leave, before you change your mind."

"Great, but I don't want you to leave. Let me take you out front and introduce you to Petra. She takes care of me. She knows less than half as much about this as you do, and you can teach her while she helps you, too. She's got a green card, meaning she's here as a legal resident, but she's sort of dithering on whether to try to become a US Citizen. I think she has a lot of family over there. I can't even begin to look at getting her licensed until that happens and she can meet all the other requirements. I'm hoping I can retire by then, or at least slow down a little. I'm so far behind in my fishing that all the trout in the bay will be grandmothers many times over before I ever start catching up." 

Atwood described the other people who worked in the office, including a receptionist who was on the last week of her vacation, an abstractor--researcher, a part--time runner who worked afternoons, and a bookkeeper in another office of the small commercial strip of offices. He was hoping to get everyone in one location and would take over another section if he absolutely must, but would prefer not to do so. He hesitated a moment and said he would hire an assistant for Gail as soon as she said she couldn't keep up. 

What began as curiosity, turned into a full day of filling out a real employment application, signing up for health and life insurance, which would be automatically deducted from a salary that was at least three times what she was making at her previous job, with the promise of a commission structure in six months. Petra helped Gail clear off a table in one of the office's workrooms for her to work at, and they found a chair for her to sit in before she ever picked up a file to look at.

True to Atwood's description of Petra's skills, Gail was soon collecting one file after another, reviewing what each file represented, usually the purchase and sale of residential property. A few files included a variety of the legal difficulties and encumbrances both buyer and seller had encountered in their lives that made homeownership a challenge. It took only a short time for Gail to realign her mental arrangement of a file to match the way Petra had files arranged.

Petra said Atwood usually handled most of the work on the commercial transfers. She just collected the forms and documents he gave her. There was often a great deal more to those files than a simple transaction involving the real property. Some included tax abatements, future highway frontage, or entrance and exit ramps. So all Gail needed to do was acquaint herself with the residential files.

Mid--afternoon Gail looked up at Atwood standing in the door of the workroom, "Are you a coffee drinker?"

"Yes sir."

"Then come with me, Petra has a fresh pot brewing. I don't even know your middle name yet and I'm working you like a dog."

For the next hour or so, the three new friends traded information, learned a little about each other and in general decided Petra was overworked, Atwood was overworked, and Gail complained she was overworked too so she wouldn't have to take any more files than the dozen or so already on her desk.

"But, Gail, you saw all those files in my office. They stack up faster than Petra can find room in the file cabinets, so who am I going to turn all that over to?"

"Then you better find a larger file room, or turn business down."

Atwood threw his hand over his heart and moaned, "Her first day on the job and she's trying to give me a heart attack." He straightened up and said, "No, I'm not, but that's part of why I'm taking over that other space. See, I own this whole strip of offices. The equipment room is behind us and that space next door is a lot deeper, so there's a lot more room. But most important of all, I'm going to take all the old files out of my wife's garage, or she will never speak to me again. I promised her a new car for her birthday and she said she won't go pick one out until she has a garage to put it in. Petra's going to get Olivia's old car because I feel guilty every time I see Petra walking to work when her old clunker has broken down again."

Gail's eyes twinkled, "Now let me see, I'm going to need an apartment. Oh yes, and since my furniture is almost two hundred miles away, I could use a house full of furniture. Let me see, what else do I need? Oh yes, a wardrobe, I'm here on vacation with jeans and shorts. I bought this dress and these shoes this morning so I wouldn't look like a practical joke asking for a job. Yeah, I guess that about does it. If I think of something else, I'll let you know and you can take care of me, too."

Atwood said, "Now wait a minute." Then he turned to Petra and said, "Go make me a sign or something, like 'Under Construction' for the front door. Then you two can wear jeans or whatever for a couple of weeks. Will that work? I'll think about the furniture, but a house I cannot do, they can't build them fast enough around here, so your name would just go on a waiting list."

Gail leaned back in her chair, much as Atwood did when he faked his heart attack. "Darn, I guess I'll just have to keep living with Howard."

"Howard, Howard who? Hey, you're Howard Pleas wife, aren't you? You're the one Billy bargained a dance with in exchange for accepting Howard's apology. I thought you said your name is Fisher."

"My goodness, does everyone in town know about that dance?" Gail asked.

"They may not know about the dance," Atwood explained, "but they sure as hell know when Billy Ramsey accepts an apology. If his daddy wasn't the sheriff in this county, he would have been in jail since he was nine years old and lost his temper over a game of marbles on the playground."

Gail nodded, "Ah ha, that's why Howard talked to the sheriff. Now I understand. I guess small town personalities aren't any different from big town ones. My father is a police officer. He resigned and moved to another town because he got tired of doing favors for all of the brass's cronies. Then he found out it wasn't any different at his new job."

"Yes," Atwood agreed, "and you will discover it is even worse this close to the border and all the different layers of relatives. I'm an old man and I can say things young folks won't say. Latinos are wonderful people, I'm married to one, but they are also a clannish people, worse even than the Irish, and I'm Irish."

Atwood stood and said, "Okay girls, I have a closing in a few minutes. Oops. Gail, don't take offense to me calling you one of my girls. That's how I think of you and it would be less than honest if I tried to comply with all those workplace requirements about discrimination. That's why I need to retire. I'm seventy--two years old and that's too old to change." 

"I don't know, Atwood" she said and paused then blushed when she saw Atwood look at her warily, "I sort of like it, myself." ********

When Gail arrived at the hardware store to pick up Howard, she walked around the front of her truck to let Howard drive them to his room above the garage at Frank's house. Before she could complete her trip around the truck, Howard stopped her. 

"Wow, I should take you on a parade up and down the main street of town. You are one beautiful woman in that dress. Oh--oh--oh even high heel shoes. Did I ever tell you how much I like high heels? Dang, you have gorgeous legs." Howard stood looking at Gail, backing up a step to take in all of the complete change from the jeans and sneakers person he had known for so many days.

Showing a little exasperation, Gail complained, "Howard, be serious for one minute, I'm trying to tell you that I have a job." 

"Nope, can't be serious until I've had at least one kiss." He took a step forward and stood as close as he dared, grinning at her, "And I might need more than that."

"You are a thoroughly crazy man sometimes." Gail blushed and looked around to see who might be watching them. "Did you know that?"

"Yes," Howard nodded, "and I still want my kiss and I'm not leaving here until I get it."

"Right out here, in front of God and everybody, you expect me to kiss you?" Gail looked around again seeing a car pull up in front of the store. "At least get in the truck and drive us out of the parking lot."

"Nope. I'm not getting in the truck." He shook his head and moved just a little closer. "I need a kiss and it's not mannerly to force a woman, but I might consider it. I need that kiss."

"Howard," Gail lowered her voice, hoping no one would hear her. "People are watching."

"I don't care, let 'em watch, maybe they'll learn something and I know they'll be jealous."

Gail blushed, again, her face getting hot and she knew it was redder than usual. When she looked up at Howard, he was grinning. "Oh alright, I don't care either," she finally admitted. He took one more step forward and put his arms around her at the same time she put her hands on his chest and tilted her face up to his. 

After Howard released her mouth and brushed her hair behind one ear, they both turned to the sidewalk when a man hollered, "Hey, Howard, you gonna let us kiss your wife, too?"

Howard raised his voice, "Don't think so, Pepper, she's spoke for," Howard said as he put him arm around Gail and walked beside her to the passenger door and then turned again to tell his boss, "Besides, your wife wouldn't like it." 

When Howard was finally inside the truck, Gail asked, "You want to tell me what that was all about?"

Howard cleared his throat, "Almost every person I've spoken to today has congratulated me on getting married."

Gail put her head in her hands and groaned, "Oh my lord." Then she looked up, "I was telling you I have a job. I worked almost all day for Atwood Abstract. Atwood said the same thing. "Oh, you're Howard Pleas' wife, aren't you?" or some words to that effect." 

"What did you say?"

"I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say. If I say, 'No I'm not,' people will ask me why I'm living with you. I don't want to talk about the hospital putting your last name on ... I just don't want to talk about that. If I say, 'Yes,' and then move into an apartment, they will think I'm leaving you and want to know what happened. 

"Howard, what did you say?"

Howard chuckled and admitted, "At first I just asked whoever said something, 'Where did you hear that?' or something. Later in the day, after about the tenth time, I just said something like, 'I found her first, so keep your hands off.'" 

Gail turned slightly pale and asked, "You don't think Santos is doing all of this, do you? And if he is, why would he?"

"I don't know, Sweetheart. I don't know, honest. I'm not sure what to do about it either."

"Maybe I can ask Atwood; he's a lawyer. He will know what we should do." Gail looked around. "Aren't we going out to the ranch?"

"No," Howard answered. "We need to spend the night in town. Pete called me because he couldn't find you today. He needs to ask you some more questions. We also need to pick up your cell phone if it came in today. I called Melanie to tell her to fix enough supper for both of us, too. We can sleep there, if that's okay with you."

"I guess so. I can wear jeans to work for a couple of weeks, but I'm going to need to find an apartment, go get my furniture and clothes, and do all of that while I work. So, I have to do it on a weekend. Atwood is so snowed under he's not even keeping up, just getting a little farther behind all the time."

Howard shook his head, "I don't know where you're going to find an apartment. There are only two real apartment buildings and I think both of them have a waiting list. You might stay with Aunt Jean, but I'd rather keep you with me. I'm sort of selfish." 

When Gail punched his arm he said, "No, I'll be serious. Finding a rent house is next to impossible. If the owner's aren't keeping the house until the value increases, it sells before it can even make it to the classified ads in the newspaper. There is a phenomenal housing boom going on, which is why Atwood's business is so good right now."

"Darn," Gail exclaimed. "I guess I could ask some of the real estate people who come into the office in the next few days."

"Yeah, if anyone knows of something, they do. About the only thing left is for you to go about ten miles from town, there are new houses being built as fast as they can get supplies. Pepper is pissed because he doesn't have a full lumberyard. All he gets is the homeowners buying things they need to finish whatever the builders don't include. 

"You could buy a new house."

"I can't afford a new house. Good grief, I'm going to have trouble if I have to buy any more clothes. I'll have a paycheck at the end of the week, and I'll be in better shape then. But good lord, a house payment would put me so far under, I'd never make it."

"Then you'll just have to stay with me, which is something I will enjoy. I'm getting used to you being around. I sort of like it."

"Howard," Gail announced, "I am trying to get myself out of your life, not bury myself farther in it."

"Well, dammit, you're without a house and I'm without a car. I have a place to live, two of them, in fact. You have a good car, so let's just leave things like they are until there is a reason to change them, alright?"

"It looks like we don't have a choice. Okay. You go in late tomorrow, so you can keep the truck. I'll take a late lunch, we can grab a hamburger, and I'll take you back to the hardware store and pick you up after work. Can we do it that way? Or do we need to make sandwiches for lunch?"

"I don't know. Either that or I'll see if maybe Frank or Melanie can help. We can talk to them at supper."

********

"Mrs. Pleas, is it true you threatened to kill Santos Aguirre?"

"What?" Gail turned pale and almost screamed as she looked from one to the other of the two men standing in front of her.

Sheriff Ramsey repeated his question, changing the wording only slightly, "Santos Aguirre reported that you threatened to kill him. Is what he said true?" 

Gail stood rigid and watched Pete Curran, Howard's professed favorite Border Patrol agent wait patiently for her answer. She took a deep breath and as the color slowly returned to her face, she looked Sheriff Ramsey straight in the eye. "Sheriff Ramsey, Mister Aguirre walked into the house where I live without knocking or asking for permission. I asked him to leave and he refused to do so. I quoted a synopsis of the Castle Doctrine to him and said I had the right to defend myself."

Sheriff Ramsey showed impatience that she had not given him an answer to his question and tried again, "Did you threaten to kill him?"

"No, sir, I did not," Gail stated emphatically. "If Mister Aguirre reported that I said such a thing, he is a liar."

Sheriff Ramsey looked at a small notebook in his hand and asked, "Is it true that Police Captain Walter Fisher is your father?"

"Yes, sir."

The sheriff looked at his notes again, "And you are aware that your father is a state certified handgun instructor."

"Yes, sir."

"And you have received instruction from Captain Walter Fisher on the use of a variety of handguns."

"Yes, sir."

Consulting his notes a third time, the sheriff asked, "And your marksmanship scores are on record at the city police firing range where you were trained."

"I am not aware that the scores were kept, but I would not be surprised," Gail responded. She shrugged her shoulders, "I was a teenager, and my father was encouraging me to go to the police academy. He may have kept that information. I'm sorry I cannot tell you anything more than that."

Sheriff Ramsey appeared to relax and asked his next question in a conversational tone of voice. "Mrs. Pleas, do you own a handgun?"

"Yes, sir."

Not quite as pleasantly voiced as his previous question, Ramsey asked, "Where is the handgun?"

"It is in my truck, in the side tool well by the rear door."

The sheriff phrased the next question in a very stern voice, "Is the gun loaded?"

"Yes, sir. An unloaded gun is about a useful as a condom full of holes. I'm sure you have heard that expression before."

Sheriff Ramsey tried to hide his smile. Pete Curran actually laughed out loud, and then stopped when Sheriff Ramsey gave him a dirty look. The sheriff turned back to Gail and asked, "Does your gun have a trigger lock?"

"No, sir, for the same reason stated previously. If I needed to use the weapon to defend myself, I would be dead before I could get it unlocked."

"May I see your weapon, please?"

Gail looked at Howard, who was also trying to hide his grin and said, "Howard, please give the keys to the sheriff." She turned back to the sheriff and said, "I will remind you, sir, that I am traveling more than one county away from my normal residence and spending more than one night away from there. Please remember that, when you ask me any further questions about why I have a loaded handgun in my vehicle."




Gathering Fallen Rocks Ch. 08



"You don't miss much, do you, Mrs. Pleas?"

"I try not to, when you ask me the kind of questions you asked. I know I have certain rights and I will use those rights to their fullest extent. I did not threaten to kill Santos Aguirre, although I might have had reason to do so. He has made threats against me and I have chosen not to report them."

"Would you care to tell me more about that?"

"No, sir, not at this time."

"Very well, that is your right, also."

"Yes, sir."

Sheriff Ramsey held out his hand for the truck keys, opened the rear door of Gail's truck and pulled back the corner of the carpet covering the tool compartment against the inside wall of the truck. He looked at the gun to make sure the safety on the trigger was locked. He put his ball point pen through the trigger guard and removed the gun from the tool compartment and placed it on the floormat of Gail's truck.

"Ma'am is that your handgun."

"It looks like mine, yes."

"Just out of curiosity, why did you choose a nine millimeter? It is a rather powerful weapon, particularly for a woman."

"Sheriff, as you can see, I'm not a very large person. A large gun might frighten my attacker, who would flee rather than face such a weapon. If he does not flee, I want to have enough power to kill him. You do not point a gun at someone who is threatening to harm you unless you plan to use it and you shoot to kill, not wound, because you will not get a second chance to save your own life."

"Have you ever pointed that gun at anyone, or is that just what you've heard your father say."

"Yes, sir. I pulled that gun out of my handbag and pointed it at my husband, who is now my ex--husband."

"Do you think you could have pulled the trigger?"

Gail shrugged her shoulders, "I might have, if he had hit me again, or if he had used the knife he was holding."

"Did you report the incident?"

"Sheriff, I am going to assume you already have that information, you seem quite well informed. You have obviously made some telephone calls or otherwise investigated me. But for the benefit of these other two men, I will tell you. Yes, the incident was reported. I called the police and an ambulance. I had three broken ribs, a number of very colorful bruises and a badly blackened eye, which the doctor feared I might lose. I filed a report for the physical abuse, and the next day I filed for a divorce. There is a restraining order against him and if he comes anywhere near me, I might actually pull the trigger if he dares to touch me."

"Yep, that's about the same story I was told. I appreciate your honesty. Has anyone besides you held or used this weapon?"

"No, sir, I'm the only one who knows it was in that tool well. I guess I'll have to find another place to keep it now."

"You mean you don't trust the three of us?"

"Sheriff, I don't know who to trust. I am frightened enough to jump at shadows. Loud voices startle me, and anytime Howard is more than a room away from me, I can barely breathe without hyperventilating. So I suppose I trust him, but I'm not sure about you or Agent Curran, and I'm sorry for that but it is the truth. Santos Aguirre seems to me to be a very dangerous man. The fact that he knows where I am or what I am doing, makes me wish I had a full time bodyguard--which is so ridiculous it makes me want to cry that I am so weak I can't stand up to a bully who is an American citizen and can't even speak English properly."

The sheriff bent over, looked at the gun, and smelled to see if he could detect that it had been fired. Then he turned to Agent Curran, "Pete, you want to check this out, too?"

When the Border Patrol Agent shook his head, Sheriff Ramsey told Pete, "If you are satisfied, I think we'll just leave this lady with her personal protection and get on with more important business."

Throughout the questioning, Howard stood two steps away from Gail. She could see him out of the corner of her eye and she knew he wanted to move nearer to her, but refrained from doing so, only because she never looked at him. When she finally looked at him, she could see the strain on his face. He nodded at her and Gail returned her attention to Sheriff Ramsey and Agent Curran. They turned and individually said "Thank you" then together walked out of Frank and Melanie's front yard. 

Howard caught her just as her knees gave way, wrapping his arms around her and feeling her clinging to him, as she whispered, "Oh God, oh God, oh God, what is he going to do to me next. This will make him furious. Howard, what have I done to that man to make him so angry with me?"

"Sweetheart, it isn't you. Santos thinks if he can frighten you, it will scare me, too. Come on, let's go eat some supper and go upstairs. This is over with for now. Let it rest." 

* * *

Gail spent so much time at the county courthouse over the next two days she barely looked at the table where she sat the first day. She knew additional files were added to the original stack of files she worked on that day. However, the new ones were thin, which meant it was new business coming in the door. 

She met the overworked people in the County Clerk's office and returned to her office with a huge file of information the clerks had collected for the abstract company, much of it for Atwood's commercial files, about portions of properties which haven't changed hands in generations. She left work both days tired, but felt like she was getting back into the habit of working. 

The special order parts for Howard's truck finally arrived at the auto parts store. He called while Gail was going back to her office and asked if she could stand a night at the ranch so he could get his truck running. 

"Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful" Gail chanted, "I'm lucky I left my suitcases in the truck, but I'm almost out of clean clothes. I'll do laundry while you're working late tomorrow. I'm missing my furniture more, every day, especially my washer and dryer."

"Damn, you should have said something. You can use the washer and dryer in the house."

"Howard, I can't keep imposing on Melanie all the time."

"Why not, it's half mine."

"What?" Gail had never heard him say anything other than that it was Frank and Melanie's home.



Gathering Fallen Rocks Ch. 09



The special order parts for Howard's truck finally arrived at the auto parts store. He called while Gail was going back to her office and asked if she could stand a night at the ranch so he could get his truck running. 

"Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful" Gail chanted, "I'm lucky I left my suitcases in the truck, but I'm almost out of clean clothes. I'll do laundry while you're working late tomorrow. I'm missing my furniture more, every day, especially my washer and dryer."

"Damn, you should have said something. You can use the washer and dryer in the house."

"Howard, I can't keep imposing on Melanie all the time."

"Why not, it's half mine."

"What?" Gail had never heard him say anything other than that it was Frank and Melanie's home.

"The house and all the furniture is half mine. I thought you knew that. I don't need it. I have the ranch house and my half of the land. Frank has Dad's truck and his land. He was supposed to pay me half of the value, but heck, they can just barely afford to buy groceries and pay the utilities, so I don't bother him about the payments. They'll pay when they can, or more likely, never."

"Howard, I'm suspicious, so don't be offended. How old is the house? Who pays the taxes on the house? How old were those taxes the county said were never paid on the ranch? Were those same year's taxes owed on Frank's land? Is that enough questions for you?"

"You are talking way, way, over my head, Sweetheart. I don't know any of the answers, but maybe there are papers at the house. Ask Melanie or Frank, when you get home. I'll be there as quick as I can. Okay?"

When Gail walked in the office door, she asked Petra what fees she should pay for a personal report she wanted the tax research company to collect for her. Petra didn't know and Gail finally filled out the forms, faxed them to the research company, and wrote a note on the copies that they were a personal request she would pay for. Gail gave the signed note to Petra, asking her to see that it got to the bookkeeper. Gail hadn't seen Atwood, other than to nod at him while passing the window where he was sitting with men in suits, signing a tall stack of documents.

Petra gave Gail keys to the front door, saying it was a little tricky to open, plus a key to the new office space. Gail had no need for the other key, right now, but as her office would eventually be in the new space, Atwood had the keys made at the same time. When Gail left, she looked in the large front windows of the new space and saw the wallpaper was finished, interior walls were beginning to look finished, and she wondered what Atwood did to get so much work finished in such a short time. The doorways were framed in the new space. As soon as the doorways were cut all the way through to the old space, the air conditioner in the new space would begin to run full time. 

********

"Gracious woman, you are a lot of trouble," Howard started telling her on the way to the ranch. "I called Frank and he doesn't have any kind of filing system. Any taxes he paid are in the folder with his tax returns."

"Yes," Gail agreed, "that's what most people do, and it won't do any good to get a copy or an abstract of a tax return from IRS because none of the account numbers are on the return."

"I think he or I will have to go through Dad's old desk for anything more than five or six years old," Howard said. "Some of what you were asking about is at Aunt Jean's. I hate to say this, but I can't trust Frank not to go through my private paperwork and with the number of times the old ranch house has been broken into, I'm not going to keep important papers out there."

"I found a couple of errors, the innocent kind many people make," Gail explained. "A seller gave Atwood a paid receipt and a copy of a cancelled check for some taxes he paid. It wasn't the right account number for that property and the cancelled check was for more than the taxes owed on the property, but he didn't write the account numbers on his check."

Howard looked at Gail and grinned, "And you think Dad paid taxes on the house and ranch with the same check."

"Yes, exactly" Gail told him, "See, the county clerk wrote the account numbers on the top of the check. The writing was so sloppy you could hardly tell what it was. But there's the number eight on the check and the property account number doesn't include an eight So, I'm thinking if we can find the tax receipts, maybe your dad took them with him, if he paid in person, or if you can find the cancelled checks, I can try to reconstruct every year's tax payments."

As they continued down the highway, Gail told Howard about requesting a research of tax charges and payments for the house, and both Howard and Frank's ranch land. The tax research companies would usually show dates payments were made. It might take a long time, several weeks anyway, for the research company to return the completed report because she was asking for such old information. If Frank could not find the cancelled checks it might get expensive, but old bank records may give them what they need.

"Sweetheart, can you tell me why you are doing this? I mean, I can see that it might show I didn't owe those old taxes, which I would personally appreciate. But I don't think that's your real reason."

"Oh, well, I just want to do it."

"Gail ..." Howard's voice warned, saying he did not believe her statement.

"Okay, Santos made me mad," Gail admitted. "He's a horse's rear and if I can prove he's wrong, I'll know I'm not as messed up as I thought."

Howard asked, cautiously, not wanting to hurt her. "Is this about your letters, and not wanting to destroy them?"

"Partly, I mean, I read them again and I didn't like what they said about me. It's like I was holding this big funnel over my head letting anyone and everyone pour trash on me and I decided to turn the funnel upside down, so not as much would get through."

"That's an unusual way of putting it, but I understand," Howard said, as he turned off the truck engine. "While you still have some daylight, load things we need to take in the morning. I'm going to check on my cows."

After her second trip taking things out to the truck, Gail's cell phone rang. "This is Gail."

"Gail, its Atwood. Sorry about the late call, but my wife said she would like you to come by tomorrow evening. You probably don't have a pen and paper right now, so make sure you get the address and other information from Petra in the morning." He stopped talking long enough for Gail to say thank you, and then he continued. "I noticed your tax research request. I've been meaning to tell you, but it seems like all I do is nod at you in passing. Somewhere in all those boxes in my garage are some files, highway department stuff, I think. When we get to them, I'll let you review them, it might answer some questions from back then. I think some Pleas land was involved in the taking the state did for the highway expansion or it could have been a county road that was made wider. Old age is horrible on memory."

"Atwood that would be wonderful, I may not even need the tax research. It will take awhile for them to do it, anyway. But I think I'd like to have it, so which ever one I get first, the other will just help."

Atwood continued, changing the subject, "Gail, I hate to do this on such short notice, but I have a commercial closing at the bank tomorrow and it will take hours. Can you close two residential sales for me?"

"Yes, sir, as long as I have Petra to help."

"Oh yes, she will be there. Thanks, I need to go, Olivia has supper ready."

"Okay, I need some personal advice when we get a few minutes, but it can wait. I'm sorry, I'm keeping you from your supper."

When Howard walked in from checking on his cows, he looked hot and sweaty. Gail told him to take his shower while she got the venison steaks started. Howard teased her about eating all of his steaks and Gail said she would buy him some beef steaks if he would rather have them. He said, no thanks, venison suited him just fine.

Gail asked questions all through supper. She was encouraging Howard to try to remember everything he could recall his dad telling him about the ranch, and any uncles or aunts who might have inherited from Harold's grandfather. Then she asked him about the generation before that.

"I guess what you're asking about is things like a will and who inherited what part of the ranch. Dad didn't write a will. I don't know why. Mom didn't either. I'm not sure about his dad, I was just a little kid when he died, and dad was their only child. All the rest of the ancestors, I think you call them, I don't know. Some people pay a lot of attention to that stuff, I just never did. It didn't ever mean anything to me. So, am I supposed to find out about my family tree now?"

"You can, but only if you want to know about a family tree. What I'm concerned with is this ranch and the chain of title. That would be the actual legal owners and what they did to the property when they owned it and to whom it was passed by devise and descent."

"You want to tell that to me in people speak?"

Gail took a deep breath and began to explain, allowing Howard to ask questions so he could understand. "To start with, you need to understand that ownership of land in a state is controlled by the laws of the state where it is located." Howard nodded, so she continued. "When you borrow money and use the property as security for a debt, you still own it, but the bank has a lien, meaning they have a claim which they can enforce if you don't pay the debt. That's what you would call a foreclosure and the bank could sell the property to collect what you did not pay.

"When you pay off the debt, the lien is released and the bank's interest goes away. If you don't pay taxes or home improvement money, it acts the same way as the bank's lien. The debt and release become documents affecting ownership.

"Now about your dad who died without a will, I'm sure you already know but I'll tell you a few things anyway. Because this is a community property state, a wife who already owns half, inherits one half of his interest and their children divide the remaining half. The wife would then own three--fourths and the children combined would own the remaining one--fourth. If one of the children died before the father, their other children inherit. If Marie had had a child, the child would have inherited her share. Because she did not leave a child, the remaining siblings, you and Frank, shared her portion of the estate. That's the basics of descent. Another document would be created to change ownership from the deceased to the inheritors. That document would be described in the abstract of the land.

"A devise is a provision in a Last Will, where the writer of the Will gets to say what he wants done with the property. He can leave his property, or a portion of it, to a friend, an acquaintance, a relative, or an orphanage for cats. The Last Will becomes another document showing the property ownership changed hands. That would also add a document described in the abstract on the land.

Howard admitted that he had, like most people, a basic understanding of what she has said. But he still did not understand what she was looking for.

"Howard, think about a what if, okay? Let's consider that your dad paid the taxes. Either through error or because someone intentionally changed records, it appears they were never paid. That could have happened to you. You borrowed money from a bank to pay the taxes so the county tax department would not foreclose and sell the property to recover what was owed."

"Yes," Howard nodded, "That is exactly what I did." 

"Now, what if a Will had been written, but was never used as the instrument that transferred the property. Instead, the descent method was used to pass the property to the wife and/or children."

Howard looked at Gail and asked, "Is that possible?"

"Sure, it may not be common, but it happens often enough that there is some history of it occurring. The problem occurs when someone doing research disregards, or does not see, an instrument, like something they think is a letter and is really a will. If a handwritten document expresses a person's desires for the disposition of their property after their death, it's a Will."

"You mean all that stuff dad said about Santos's dad?"

"Yes, that's what your dad always told you, right? He said Santos's great--grandfather took some land he was not entitled to and your dad could not prove it. He was only telling you what his father had told him, which was what his father had told him. That would have been your great--grandfather, the same generation he meant for Santos."

Howard nodded, "And Dad said he thought Santos knew what that great-grandfather did was not legal. I challenged Santos one time and he laughed, and then said something like, 'Proof of this, will not be found.' And because he does not speak English very well, I might have misunderstood what he meant."

When Howard started to describe another possible scenario, Gail held up her hands. "Whoa. Enough, okay? Next lesson is after I can see papers, or copies of papers that I know are actual conveyance documents and look for something that may be missing."

********

Atwood was out of the office all of the next day. The closing on the commercial sale was delayed when the farmer selling his property insisted on being allowed to use the land until he could harvest the crop in his field. After the farmer's lawyer and the purchasing corporation's lawyers argued back and forth over several conference telephone conversations, Atwood finally took the farmer out into the hall and asked him "What is the highest amount you ever received when you sold the crops from that field?"

Atwood went back into the bank's conference room and told the corporation's representative to call his office and have that amount sent by wire transfer as fast as they could. When the bank received the money, and the farmer had the check in his hand, he willingly signed every piece of paper put before him. 

Gail spent a few precious minutes with Petra, learning a few simple Spanish phrases, so she could at least tell people her name and greet them properly. Petra told her several times not to worry about getting the right tense, just concentrate on the word she needed to use, the rest would become more natural as she learned more. 

By the time Atwood was back at the office, Gail was in the closing room with a husband and wife who were purchasing their first home and wanted to read every piece of paper they were signing. It took so long, Petra grew impatient, and Gail was just about as bad. She just barely had time to copy everything, get the buyers out of the office, and drive to Atwood's home for the first No English Spoken Here meeting, which included a small buffet with each food labeled with the correct Spanish name. Some items around the formal living room and in the entry were also labeled with the proper English word and a corresponding Spanish word. Gail wondered if the labels were always there or merely put out for the special Thursday meetings.

Olivia Atwood was a tiny woman with a huge heart. In her youth, she was certainly one of the beauties of her time. That beauty was still very evident, as was her elegance of movement and speech. Although completely white haired, she must have once been a blonde, she had the fair skin and blue eyes of a blonde. She told Gail that everyone was expected to meet everyone who came to the evening get--togethers, trade names, occupations, employers, and at least one personal detail about themselves. 

Gail was handed a small English--Spanish, Spanish--English dictionary, which Olivia had put together, then printed and bound. Its lists of words had simple translations with easy to understand pronunciation guides. It was of immense help during the evenings and for future reference. It was a one--to--a--customer book, already autographed to Gail Fisher with a special message that said a person who spoke two languages was twice as smart as a person who spoke one. 

Olivia was the only person to whom Gail could speak English. She offered Gail one simple piece of advice. Just act natural and remember everyone else's conversation skills are as limited as hers. If the room grew silent, it would not last long. She smiled and said, "This is for learning, but you should have a little fun, too. It is easier to laugh and learn than to fear you will not learn. Have fun." 

Some men were in dress suits, several looked like they had played golf all day and a few were in blue jeans, western shirts, and very expensive western boots. Gail immediately marked them as non--western men—the Yankees Atwood spoke of—who would soon give up their boots for sneakers or some other more comfortable footwear.

There were only two other women, both dressed in business suits, conservative heels, and a minimal amount of very expensive jewelry, heavy gold and larger than average colored stones. They looked at Gail's jeans and sneakers with envy and nodded sagely when she said the business where she worked was under construction. 

Several of the business people had Spanish--speaking skills, at least as limited as Gail's, and she soon discovered she knew more Spanish words than she thought, although what she could say was still very limited, one or two words to get an idea across, but no details. Several times Olivia appeared at her elbow and offered to translate something she wanted to say or something someone wanted to tell her. Gail soon learned to repeat what people said and allow them to help her with pronunciation. 

Another woman, younger than Olivia, appeared during the first hour. Gail discovered she was Atwood and Olivia's daughter--in--law, Clarissa. She helped as her mother--in--law did, but her English was much better than Olivia's with less of an accent. 

Not long after Clarissa appeared, Atwood joined the group and was soon laughing at a joke one of the men tried to tell. He used a word, not the correct one, which made the joke even funnier. Atwood helped the man and sent every man in that corner of the room into peels of laughter. Olivia gave Atwood a very stern look and he blew her a kiss. She turned her back to him, so he couldn't see her smile and shake her head at how childish men can be, calling them adolescente--almost the same word as it would be in English, just spoken in different syllables and accents. 

By the time Gail left, her head was swimming from trying to think in another language and she had a headache--but she felt wonderful. She managed to make herself understood to everyone of the fifteen people in the room, of course with a little help. It would be easier next week and she might eventually be able to carry on a reasonable conversation. Gail almost skipped up the outside stairs to Howard's room above the garage. 

Howard was lying on the bed, watching a small television set on the chest of drawers. He'd already had his shower and wanted to know what she learned. As fast as she could manage, Gail was in and out of the shower and on the bed snuggling next to Howard, then climbing under the covers as the cold air conditioner blew across the bed.

"Hey, what's this? Are you trying to hide from me?"

"No, you're a polar bear. It must be sixty--five degrees in here, I'm freezing."

Howard picked up the remote control, turned off the television, and crawled under the covers, pulling them over their heads and Gail into his arms, "Come here, you luscious thing, and I'll warm you up."

"Howard," Gail asked, "did you and Frank go through your dad's desk?"

Leaning over her, he whispered, "Papers later, I need some kissing now."

"Howard...," Gail said in warning.

"I'll be good, Baby. I promise. I know what the doctor said, but I need to hold you and kiss you. It's all I can do right now." Instead of saying anything else, he put his hands on her cheeks to hold her head as he kissed her. It was a slow, lingering kiss, gentle and sweet as his mouth slid across hers and his fingers threaded into her hair holding her still for his kiss. He put his forehead on hers and looked into her eyes.




Gathering Fallen Rocks Ch. 09



"Does this feel as comfortable to you, as it does to me? I don't want to rush you or frighten you, but you need to know this is important to me."

Gail put her arms around Howard's waist. "Yes. I'm not ... I've never been around men ... very much. You don't frighten me ... at least, not that way. I mean, not like ... like Ricky did. I feel good when you touch me, sort of warm, with a tingle. I like it." A blush rose up her face when she admitted, "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do."

"Oh Baby, you don't do anything. You let me kiss you. Just lie there and feel good. That's enough. If you want to touch me, do it. Just don't stop me from touching you. Can I have one of those kisses?"

Gail raised her head and gave him a slow, tender kiss, parting her lips slightly, finding it easier this time than she ever had before. She relaxed her tongue as she pushed the middle of her tongue against his lips and then made several gentle sucking motions with her cheeks. It was the only kiss she watched on the VCR tape, and the first time she tired it on Howard, she was surprised how easy it was and how good it felt, soft and easy when his lips yielded to hers. She put her head back on the pillow for a moment, but she wanted to try that again. While Howard breathed deeply, she moved her arms up his back and lifted her head again, tilting it to one side. This time she put the tip of her tongue inside her lower teeth and relaxed her tongue as she pushed the middle of her tongue against his lips. When he opened his mouth, she slid her tongue under his and relaxed her tongue, letting Howard take over the kiss. He moved his tongue from side to side across hers, the different textures pleasing both of them. 

Howard moved his arms to pull her closer to him and deepened the kiss. He gently sucked her tongue into his mouth and allowed her to do the same to his. He moved slowly, letting her discover what felt good to her and took delight in her soft moans of pleasure. The inside of her mouth was so wet he could taste her. The wetness spread across her lips, easing his mouth as he slid across her lips. 

He imagined what her other lips would feel like when he could touch them with his tongue. He could smell her musk and knew she was wet. As he kissed her, he used his knee to separate her thighs and moved between her legs. When she tried to tighten her thighs, he soothed her.

"Sh-h-h sh-h-h Baby, I remember. I just want to be close to you."

She relaxed her thighs, tightened them again, and then relaxed more, opening herself to feel him against her. She moved her hips, feeling his hardness.

Howard stopped kissing long enough to say, "Be still, Baby. Just enjoy knowing how I feel when I can touch you."

As he kissed her, he moved one hand from behind her to slowly hovering over her breast, barely touching the nipple with the palm of his hand. It was a slow movement as his palm went in a gentle circle, a bare touch of the nipple which grew from soft to firm and then it hardened. He rested his palm on her breast, his thumb in her cleavage and his fingers around the outside of her breast. He flexed his fingers, pressing into the softness of her breast, enjoying her swiftly indrawn breath and long, deep exhale, showing her acceptance of his hand on her.

She was trembling. He could feel the inside of her thighs quiver and her breath shaking. He moved his hand back around her and lifted her pelvis to let her know she could press herself against him. His mouth trailed across to the soft spot under her ear as chills collected across her shoulders, down her backbone, and along her arms. He had found one of those special places he knew he could always use to stimulate her.

His erection was hard as he rested against her. He wanted to move, the urge to find his own release throbbed in him. Yet he would not, he could not. He must wait. He wanted her badly, hurting from the wanting. She did not trust him yet, and he would see that she did trust before he went any farther. 

While he kissed her, he moved his other hand from behind her, lightly hovering over the other breast, barely touching the nipple with the tips of his fingers. It was a slow movement as his fingers moved in a circle, a little more pressure than he used on the other nipple, feeling it grow from soft to firm and then hard as he captured the areola between his thumb and fingers, not touching the nipple. He rested his palm on her breast, his thumb in her cleavage and his fingers around the outside of her breast. He flexed his fingers, pressing into the softness with more pressure as his palm moved against her nipple. This time she gasped, arched her back and pressed against him, capturing his hand, shivered, and lowered her back. She panted as a shudder surged through her. 

He was surprised to feel a release of moisture as the muscles in her lower belly throbbed. She whimpered through a small climax, her hands grabbing his shoulders as she lifted her hips. He could feel her moisture soaking her panties, his boxer shorts, and drenching his balls with heat. He rested his mouth against her neck as she shook. He did not intend to take her so far, but could not resist a smile against her skin, knowing that she could climax merely from stimulation of her breasts. 

"Howard..." her voice was full of surprise and a little fear.

"It's okay, Baby, just enjoy it."

He rested most of his weight against her, waiting until he felt her breathing return to normal. He moved to lie beside her, with his arm still under her, he rolled her over and pulled her head to rest on his shoulder.

"Go to sleep, Baby." He held her until she was relaxed and breathing deeply. 

"I'm wet, Howard."

"I know, Sweetheart. I am too. It's alright. It's wonderful."



Gathering Fallen Rocks Ch. 10



Howard was pulling on the handle to the second drawer of his personal file cabinet, when Aunt Jean appeared at side door of her garage.

"Honey, Gail called. She sounded a little upset. She wants you to go to Atwood's office. She said you should come by before you go to work, but ... well, she did sound upset about something."

"Okay, I'll go on by there now. This is going to be a bigger job than I thought. I might need to box up some of this and take it with me."

* * *

"Hi Sweetheart, it looks like you'll are getting new furniture."

"Oh, is the truck here already? Atwood said they were going to deliver today, but I thought it would be later. I need to go tell them where to put things. He had to go to the bank for some kind of meeting. I think there was some confusion about the commercial file he closed yesterday."

"Aunt Jean said you wanted me to stop by on my way to work. She said you were upset about something. You want to tell me now or later?"

Gail looked at the door, to make sure no one was listening and whispered, "Howard, Atwood said we have to get a divorce. He said we've told people we are married and people think we are married. He said we've created a common law marriage. We have to get a divorce."

"Nope, I'm not going to divorce you. I might marry you for real, but I'm not going to divorce you. That's a hell of a way to propose to a woman, and I don't even have a ring to give you, but I'm not getting a divorce."

"Howard..."

"Gail, I'm going to work. We can talk about this later." He turned and walked out of the office, leaving Gail staring after him, her mouth open in astonishment.

Instead of trying to figure out such a confusing man as Howard Pleas, Gail went outside and began to tell the office supply deliverymen where each piece of furniture should be placed. Atwood told her there were several nice chairs for the front waiting room, plus a desk, a two-drawer file cabinet, two client chairs, and two bookcases for each office and all the tall metal lateral file cabinets should go into the back room. Every office would get a new office chair and she should use her judgment for everything else. She had to manage the space and she may as well decide where to place all the furniture. He planned to keep his smaller space for his one-man law firm and try to keep the commercial files on this side of the office.

She left the crew of men assembling the desks, file cabinets, and bookcases, to make a quick trip to the bank the abstract company used so she could open personal checking and savings accounts and sign up for a debit card. On her way back to the office, she stopped for hamburgers for herself and Petra and was back at the office, just finishing their lunch in the back room when Atwood walked in.

"Okay, girls, for the first time in I don't know how long, we don't have a rush closing on a Friday afternoon. Petra, go turn on the dumb telephone answering thing and we can have the rest of the afternoon without the telephones ringing. We can't do anything for anyone anyway, the telephone and computer people will be here all afternoon, and the best thing we can do is stay out of their way."

Gail started to say something, and then thought better of it. Instead, she asked Atwood, "I need to make some copies of all the Pleas paperwork, how much do I pay you for my copies?"

"Good Lord, Gail, if I can't afford for you to make a few personal copies, I better quit and go fishing right now. No, I'm teasing you. You just do what you want, I'm sure the extra hours I get out of you will more than pay for a few copies."

"Thank you." 

While Petra was turning on the answering machine, Gail told Atwood what Howard said.

"Well, I'm not surprised. Howard is a lot like his dad. He may not go to mass all the time, but inside his head, he's Catholic. But you two have some other problems, too, I think." Atwood held up his hands, as if to say that he didn't want to hear about them. "And maybe you should concentrate on those other problems first. I'm not going to interfere, but you need to know that your old boss, Carlson Grayson, called me. He said a private investigator was asking questions, trying to learn if you were discharged for cause."

"Santos Aguirre," Gail said, nodding her head.

"What does Santos have to do with this?"

"Atwood, how much do you charge for a retainer? I need some legal advice."

"Gimme a dollar and come into my office so I can make notes while you tell me what's happening."

When Gail was seated, she looked around for a moment, "My goodness, where did all the files go?" Atwood's office looked very different from the first time she sat down to interview for a job she'd had only a week, one she was beginning to love more with every hour she spent as a escrow officer.

"Bless Petra's heart, she's listened to me complain every time she put a new file on my desk. She boxed up everything she could. I think I can almost see the entire top of my desk and I haven't been able to do that in a couple of years. I put this expansion off too long and now I'm glad I did. It gave you a chance to get here. Did I tell you I'm happy you found us? I am very serious about this, Gail. I really am pleased. Now, you tell me what kind of a mess you think you are in and we will look for a solution. If I can't find one, we will go talk to a friend of mine who practices a different kind of law and he will help."

"I'm not sure where to start. Maybe I should tell you a little more about me, and part of why I came down here on vacation. I haven't done anything wrong, but I probably haven't always been very smart, either. I almost feel like I'm going to confession and I'm not one of those who goes to mass, but I think inside my head I'm also a Catholic, and it's going to be a real problem for Howard. I'm divorced, which he knows and I don't know how he feels about that."

For the next couple of hours Gail told Atwood about her parents and their professions, which he already knew about, but she also told about the year she lived with her father and why her mother took her to live with him, describing herself as a little punk. She mentioned her marriage, the abuse, and the reasons for the divorce. When she told Atwood about her boyfriend, she admitted it was very poor judgment on her part, but she did not try to make excuses. With all of those failures, including a few financial difficulties, and being pregnant, heaped on her, she just felt she had to get away from everyone and everything associated with that past and do some real soul searching, not knowing what she would discover, but hoping for some kind of revelation, so she could live with her mistakes. 

Petra interrupted to say Gail and Atwood needed to tell the computer technician where the new computers and printers should be placed. In a few minutes, the telephone installers were asking for an idea of where the new instruments should be placed, and where they wanted the new instruments they were getting for the older space. Atwood finally located the rough drawing of the floor plan he'd used for the men who built the walls inside the new space, including where outlets for the computers and telephones were already in place. Furniture men, telephone installers and the two computer technicians worked around each other as the office space finally began to look like a place where business could be transacted.

Gail and Atwood took cups of freshly made coffee back to his office, where Gail tried to tell the next events in their proper sequence—of picking up Howard, not even sure why she did so, and the miscarriage, which she hated that it happened but it was probably for the best in the long run. 

She grew progressively agitated, leaning forward in her seat, as she explained about all the times Santos just walked into Howard's house as if he owned it and how his threats became more and more frightening. When she described the interview with the sheriff and the border patrol agent, Atwood sat up and began to take a greater interest in her story, occasionally asking her to go back to a previous event and give him more information.

"I hate to tell you this," Atwood said, "but it looks like a real hornet's nest was swarming and you just stepped in and knocked the nest down. You have likely saved Howard's life, although that could be debated, and he has likely saved yours, too. When Howard was suddenly faced with the loss of his ranch, it raised such a cry of public indignation that Santos backed down, or at least the county backed down, and of course the bank helped Howard with the loan."

"Atwood," Gail finally relaxed against the back of her chair, "did anyone ever do a thorough search of tax records, payment histories, or anything like that? I know mistakes are made, but did anyone, like Howard, or someone on his side, do any investigating that the county records were correct?"

"Now, that, I cannot say. This office did not and there is only one other office in the county which might have, but it is unlikely. They really don't do very much of that kind of work and usually call me for any help they need or to issue a policy which the bank would have required."

"Is it possible the past due tax issue was manufactured?"

"Gail, anything is possible. There is not a single person in this town, or many of the surrounding towns, who doubts Santos is involved in some illegal activities, but proof has never been found. And there is no telling how many public officials are in his back pocket. He is a wily character, but someone, whom I will not name, is certainly providing him with some very good legal advice; at least that's how it appears to many of us on the other side of his largess. He and his ilk do not help the future of this county—or the three or four others right along the border."

Gail tried to describe the several generations-old information Howard vaguely recalled his father speaking of, that an ancestor of Santos' took land he was not entitled to, in a family dispute. However, her information was so sketchy she wasn't sure which generation it was, or how long ago the dispute occurred.

Atwood said the old files, in his wife's garage, might provide some information, but they might also need to go to the state land office if they had to research too many years of previous records. The county records were not terribly accurate, which had caused some problems for him in the past, and he had occasionally resorted to state records for clarification, mentioning that his wife often translated things for him. Although he read Spanish, it was her natural language and nuances of word usage were much more common in Spanish than in English. 

Gail added, "And the spelling and handwriting is atrocious. We laughed so hard in the classes I took about the way words were spelled, particularly the documents of Stephen Austin's era."

"Yes," Atwood agreed. 

"Well, I guess if those furniture men are finally finished putting all the big file cabinets in place, I can get my carpenter in here to build the shelves we need in that long room in the back. I had thought I would bring the files into the office a few at a time, but I'm so curious now, I'd like to see those old files, from twenty and thirty years ago, and maybe some older than that. I'll bet we have some answers there, even if it's not the answers we want."

"Atwood, I don't want to completely change your schedule. We're disrupted enough with the move."

He assured her that it was not something he could do overnight. However, it is a project he could start working on. Petra needed a car and Olivia's birthday was getting nearer. The sooner he began the more problems he could solve.

********

"Howard, don't look at me like that. I simply asked, if you and I could have a conversation. If I promise not to yell at you, would you promise not to walk out?"

"Alright, but I'm not getting a divorce." He sounded so adamant Gail knew she would not be able to persuade him today. "So if that's what you want to talk about, we don't need to have a discussion."

When Gail got off work, she drove by Frank's house and asked Howard to take a ride with her. She did not want to have a discussion sitting on the bed, nor did she want to drive all the way out to the ranch. Howard suggested they go to the park. They were sitting in a public park, large plastic glasses of ice and sodas sweating on the picnic table between them, and trying to have a civilized conversation.

"I want you to tell me again what you can remember your father telling you, or at least tell me if you have remembered anything new that you didn't already tell me."

"No, I really don't have any new information. I remember once, and only once, Dad saying that our name, Pleas, is actually the first name, not the last name of someone. He said it happened when someone said "That land belongs to Blaz and this land is Plea's," you know with the apostrophe before the s, whatever that means. The way he told it, the son of one brother started using the last name Pleas and the son of the other family used the last name Blaz, or maybe Blaze, because their actual last name was too hard for people to say."

Crossing her fingers, Gail asked, "Do you know what the original name was?"

"No, I think Dad said it once, but it was like six or seven syllables. The only thing I can remember is that the first syllable sounded like Magoo, or maybe it was Maguna. I was young enough to associate it with the cartoon character Mister Magoo. Not much help, am I?" 

"I don't know. Maybe it's better than remembering the last syllable. Now can we discuss what I told you this morning?"

"Yes, as long as it's a discussion and not a demand that we get a divorce."

"Okay, I understand. Howard, this is very hard for me. I feel like I'm intruding into your life. You have no idea how much I appreciate what you have done for me, for the past two weeks. But it's not fair for me to tie you to something like this."

"Sweetheart, I don't feel like I'm being forced to do anything that I didn't want to do, anyway."

"I may get this all confused, and you can help me a little too, I hope." Gail took a deep breath, "Both my mother and father are Catholic. I was christened when I was a baby, and I don't think I've ever set foot in a Catholic church, but I think I'm still Catholic, although I don't know what that means. My mother threw a fit when I filed for a divorce. I mean she yelled and ... all that stuff ... anyway, I'm a divorced woman. Lord, why is this so hard for me? Never mind, anyway, from what Atwood said, it's not really a common law marriage, it's legally an Informal Marriage. All it takes is for a man and a woman to live together as husband and wife, represent to others that they are married, and agree with one another that they are married. I think on the first two, we've pretty well done a bang up job."

"Gail, I am Catholic, and I know what it means. I'm not right with the church and I don't go to mass, but I know, and that has nothing to do with it. If you wanted to get your marriage annulled, it wouldn't take a priest but one second to help you. Just show him the police report and it would be a done deal."

"Oh boy," Gail said, shaking her head, "I just ... it's going to get ... I don't know how ... dammit, why can't I say, what I want, without getting so confused? This is a community property state, alright? Do not get angry until I tell you all of it, okay? In a community property state, there is a duty-to-support law, which means each spouse has to financially support the other. Debts which one incurs, the other owes. Money that comes into the marriage, I mean like wages, is joint money. Your income, my income, it's combined, even if we have separate accounts. I have debts I'm still paying off, from my marriage. I don't want you to be obligated on those. Technically it's not supposed to happen, but it does, all the time."

"I don't care anything about that," Howard shook his head. "Besides, my debts are probably a lot worse than yours are. I'm still paying on all those taxes."

"Yes, and that's the next one. See, even if I never write a check for anything for the ranch, if you never take a dime from me, I still acquire homestead rights to the ranch and from the date of our marriage, some interest in its value. The taxes are paid, what's left is a bank loan. If joint income is used to pay off that bank loan, it gives me equity. Why is this so hard for me to explain?"

"Gail, I told you, I don't care anything about that." Howard continued his original statement that whatever reasons she can come up with, he still did not care.

Gail was a little surprised that Howard sat so calmly, and discussed things and still maintained they were of little importance to him. She tried to tell him every disadvantage she could think of, but he just calmly said he didn't care.

"Then please, if you can, tell me what you do care about."

"You."

"Yes, and I care about you, too. But you can't disregard every thing I've told you, as if it's a gnat you can swat. I sit here and I see the little wheels and gears inside your head turning, thinking, and I know something is going on in there, but you won't tell me what it is and I can't guess."

Howard clamped his hands on top of his head and said, "Then I guess I better slow them down so I can explain it to the little woman, huh?" When Gail grinned and nodded, he said, "I wish I knew how to say the things I know as well as you can. I will speak bluntly. For the past week, I have had a very delicious woman in my bed and I can't touch her. She wears these tiny little scraps of underwear and they drive me crazy because I can't figure out what holds them up."

Gail blushed furiously, started to hide her face in her hands and Howard reached across to pull her hands down to the table. "No please, Baby, don't hide from me. It's been a little over one week since Doctor Jackson said we had to wait at least a week, two if we could. Every time I think about touching you, I know I can't. I also know what it means for the church's three requirements of conjugal love and also about the sacrament of matrimony. And that is what holds me back."

Gail stood and began to back away from the table, "Howard, you cannot, no, you cannot..."

Howard followed her, catching up with her and putting his arms around her, to hold her and perhaps to avoid having to look at her, when he said, "Sweetheart, I don't know what love is. I've heard it is called the all consuming passion a man has for one woman, but I've never found a woman I felt anywhere near something like that for. At least I'd never met one until a couple of weeks ago, I think. See, I'm still not sure. But I want to find out, and I can't if I agree to this divorce. But that's not the real reason."

Trembling, Gail said against his shirt, "Then please tell me, what is the real reason, you won't even consider what I've told you? We need to get a divorce."

"Every morning when you leave for work, I want to glue myself to you. If I can't do that, I want to sit in my truck outside your office and follow you around to make sure you are safe. When I know where you are, I'm alright. When I don't, I want to find you and put you where I can see you."

"Why, Howard? You aren't jealous? At least I don't think you are."

"No, Baby, I'm not a jealous man, but I'm protective, particularly of something or someone I consider mine. I do not want you to come to any harm. I haven't said anything, because I didn't want to scare you." Howard paused for a moment, took her hand, and led her back to the picnic table. "Come back over here and sit down." 

When they were seated, Howard put his arm around Gail and said, "I think I need to apologize to you, first of all. So, I'm sorry, I guess. I really have no right to meddle in your affairs. But I watched you stand up to Holden Ramsey like you were ten feet tall and I watched you almost crumble to pieces when he left. I don't know how hard this has been on you, but I can imagine. You said something a little while ago about a gnat I could swat. That's sort of how I've viewed Santos, all these years. It's only been since the tax thing that he's gotten bolder, like he was just playing before and now he's serious."




Gathering Fallen Rocks Ch. 10



Howard took a deep breath and said he needed to tell her about some things that had happened in the past. "I used to have a telephone at the ranch, but every time I went out there, someone had broken in. Then one time I got a phone bill, it was enormous, like six hundred dollars. The next month is was worse. I sat down one evening and looked at the bill, and noticed all the different times calls were made to some of the same numbers. Dumb me, I called one of the numbers and the guy that answered said, in Spanish, "Hello Santos" and man, I couldn't hang up fast enough. I took the bill to town and gave it to Pete. I don't know what he did with it, but I spent a few hours with lots of fancy badges answering questions. They said they would take care of the bill, asked me to keep the phone and I could get sloppy about locking my door if I wanted to. After a couple of months I got a call from one of the badges who said I could go ahead and have the phone disconnected, they had all the evidence they needed. I've never heard any more about it."

Gail interrupted to ask, "Were the calls international or just long distance, like to US area codes?"

"Both. About six months, no it was probably eight months ago, a woman, an illegal, came pounding on the door one night. She'd been raped and beaten pretty badly. I took her to the hospital and called Pete. He told me to leave and he'd take care of it from there. It happened a couple a more times and I did the same thing. I never did ask what Pete did with the women, but I guess they got treated, questioned, and returned across the border."

As Gail listened, she nodded. "That explains some of the women's underwear I saw that afternoon, when I took a walk?"

"Yeah, or maybe it was just dragged around by animals. Female underwear is an attractant to some wild animals. Not much is ever said, but I've seen it myself. 

"A few times Santos has stopped by the house, you know, just stopped his car and motioned me over. He'd chat for a minute or two then say he could bring me a virgin or a clean woman anytime I wanted. He said he would get one I could keep, if I was really interested. A couple of times I've seen him driving one of the ranch vehicles, but most of the time it's one of his ranch hands ... and there will be four or five, mostly girls, and occasionally a young boy, in the back of the truck. An hour or so later the truck will drive back by and the back will be empty, so I can imagine what he does with them. 

"Every once in a while you hear about some house being busted and it's full of sex slaves, I guess that's what they are called, but not all of them are Mexican, some are Oriental. From what I understand they are paying off their transport fees."

"Good Lord, yes," Gail shuddered. "I've heard of such things, but not this close to home."

"Oh, I think there's a regular network, but I really don't know much about it. So after about the fourth time I took one of the women to the hospital and then Santos showed his ugly mug offering me a woman, I called Pete. It was just a friendly call, you know, hey what's happening, and oh by the way, I need to report something, but I don't think it's a regular sheriff's thing, who is the best to call. I've known Holden Ramsey all my life. 

"Billy's sort of a friend. His dad's always gotten him out of scrapes, but Billy's never done anything really bad, so most of us just turn a blind eye. I just didn't want something I reported to get back to Santos. Pete said to call Ramsey and tell him I'd already reported it to Pete."

"Did you think the sheriff was one of the people Atwood said is in Santo's hip pocket?"

"I didn't know, but I wanted to be safe. I think Ramsey is a little guy. He's probably a good cop but he can't do much and I don't think he likes Santos. You can sort of see it by the way he talks about him. Anything that gets done around here is federal, but I sort of wanted to get the information passed along to some federal badges, too, without having federal badges visiting me. Santos might find out about that pretty quickly. That's why I told Pete. So I called Ramsey and told him a few things. I guess he either visited with Santos or stopped him on the street and sounded curious, maybe he wheedled the information out of him, you know about you threatening him. 

"Ramsey is not dumb, but he can really act like a country bumpkin, when it suits him. Billy is like that, too. Billy's got a lot of law enforcement training, but he won't get a license, said he'd have to quit having fun. 

"I did not know about your gun. If I had known, I might not have said anything to Ramsey. I'm just so very, very thankful that you have that gun and know how to use it. If I could convince you to do it, I'd ask you to put it in your purse and carry it wherever you go, and if there is somewhere that you can't take it, then don't go there."

"Goodness, I'll have to think about that. If I understand what you're saying, Santos has a lot of people alerted to what he's doing. Why doesn't someone stop him and arrest him or something?" 

"From what the feds didn't say, but hinted at, he's a little fish and they want to catch big fish. Well, I guess I just got tired of waiting. This has been going on long enough, and it's beginning to really piss me off. The feds don't care what it costs me to make repairs every time some illegal breaks into my home. They aren't going to go out there in my pasture and clean up all that trash. They aren't going to sit in front of my house and protect someone I care for, so I'll do it myself if I have to and that's what I told Ramsey. I told Pete the same thing. I told them it's time to do their business, or get off the pot."

"Howard," Gail said, almost shocked at the Howard's vehemence. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"Sweetheart, I would not do a single thing to put you in danger. I'm trying to keep you out of danger. I just wanted to shake things up a little, get the feds off their rears and maybe put an end to my misery. 

"Baby, you think you could give me a kiss about now, so I'll know you aren't real angry with me, because that might change in another minute or two." 

The tone of warning in her voice is unmistakable, "Howard..."

"Just one kiss, a toe curler, and I'll tell you the rest, I promise." He wrapped his arms around Gail, pulling her as close as he could and kissed her. He took joy in her response and when he could bear to release her, he put her head on his shoulder and said, "It has been eight days and almost two hours since Doctor Jackson said I had to wait, and every one of those hours gets longer and longer."

"Howard, maybe I need to go stay with Aunt Jean. It would take a little pressure off both of us."

"Baby, oh my beautiful Baby, don't think that. I just need to know that I can hold you and I'm okay. I've been thinking about this all week and I didn't know what else to do. Pete told me what happened to those people in the pasture when your cell phone was used to call in the report about the buzzards. It was all I could think about when Santos said if he ever got the chance he'd leave you in the pasture."

"He said what?" Gail wasn't exactly screaming, but very nearly so.

Carefully, Howard repeated the threat the man had made, watching to see if Gail understood. "Santos said something like, 'Usted controla a su mujer.' That basically means, 'You control your woman.' Then he said, 'I'll leave her out in the pasture with nothing but cows to lick her breasts.'"



Gathering Fallen Rocks Ch. 11



"Howard, maybe I need to go stay with Aunt Jean. It would take a little pressure off both of us."

"Baby, oh my beautiful Baby, don't think that. I just need to know that I can hold you and I'm okay. I've been thinking about this all week and I didn't know what else to do. Pete told me what happened to those people in the pasture when your cell phone was used to call in the report about the buzzards. It was all I could think about when Santos said if he ever got the chance he'd leave you in the pasture."

"He said what?" Gail wasn't exactly screaming, but very nearly so.

Carefully, Howard repeated the threat the man had made, watching to see if Gail understood. "Santos said something like, 'Usted controla a su mujer.' That basically means, 'You control your woman.' Then he said, 'I'll leave her out in the pasture with nothing but cows to lick her breasts.'"

Gail struggled against Howard, but he would not release her, "Oh My God. Oh My God. Oh My God. What have I ever done to that man to make him hate me so?"

"It's not you he wants, it's me. It's not me he wants. It's that house. It's not just the house. It's the whole ranch. He wants to own the land from the river to the highway. He doesn't dare do anything to me personally, he knows I've reported him and he knows the sheriff and the feds will never leave him alone if something happens to me. He's cautious about you, but he could do something stupid."

Howard continued to talk, trying to calm Gail, " He doesn't know what I'd do to him if he so much as touches you again. If he can scare me off, he will take the ranch and the house and frighten Frank into doing nothing. Frank is my brother, but he's not much more than a loud mouth. He wouldn't lift a finger to try to run Santos off. I am the only thing Santos doesn't own or control between the border and the highway. And I'm not leaving. 

"Santos has a huge ranch in Mexico. It's his wife's property. The only reason he is here is because of the money he makes from his people express, and I'm doing everything I can to stop it. It pisses him off that a little nobody like me, a gnat, is in his way and he can't swat me like he wants to."

Finally able to understand the kind of pressure Howard has been under, Gail shook her head as she said, "This is insanity, pure insanity."

"No, Baby, this is life. It is your life and my life. Santos knows me and he knows what I can do. I've done it before. I may not look like I can do much more than work in a hardware store or watch a bunch of cows eating grass. But I can. I can do a lot more, and he knows it."

"What do you mean?" When Howard did not answer her, Gail stood, and stepped away from him. For the moment, he let her go. She took another step back when she saw the look on his face. Howard did nothing. Instead he just stood and looked at her, so she asked again, "What do you mean, Howard?"

"Gail, I am not a gnat, but no one knows it. Not even Frank. I don't tell my brother very much. He can't keep his mouth shut. You know that scarf Santos wears like a necktie? He used to wear a stickpin in the tie. It was a daisy, an insignificant little flower, maybe twenty slender petals and a big yellow center. The Spanish call them a margarita. Yeah, it's the same word they use for the tequila drink. 

"Santos's daisy was small, about the size of the first joint of your little finger. It had long slender white enamel petals and a yellow diamond in the center. He stopped one day, like I was telling you, just to say something, just to piss me off, offered me a woman, complained a little saying a couple of my cows broke down a fence, talked a little trash about me owing him something to repair the fence. I reached in and pulled the stickpin out of his tie and I was looking at it. He got all huffy, demanded I give it back. It was a gift from his wife; she had it made for him; some expensive jeweler in Mexico, and so forth. I just looked at him and said something like, "Yeah, I'll give it back, when I'm ready." He stomped on the gas, twisted the steering wheel and man, if I hadn't jumped back, the rear end of his big black car would have knocked me down."

"Well, did you give it back?"

As if he did not hear Gail's question, Howard continued. "He's got all kinds of men around his house. It's like an armed compound. It doesn't look like it, but there are men sitting in a chair on a platform in a tree, full time, around the clock, a weapon hidden somewhere on them—and probably more nearby, guarding his lousy rear. A couple of nights after he made the threat against you, I left his stickpin in his pillow, right beside his head."

Gail was almost hyperventilating, she couldn't catch her breath, "Howard, oh please, please don't tell me any more, I don't want to know. I don't want to know any more."

He stepped forward and gathered her back into his arms. "It's okay, Baby, I promise you, it's okay. He is not going to hurt you. He knows I can get to him anytime I want. I'm good. I've been one of the best. But the first time someone like me feels himself hesitate, you have to stop or a lot of people will get hurt. I hesitated once. So I stopped. I quit. 

"Santos tried to find out about me. I don't know what he knows—maybe nothing, or not much, but he knows something. My military records are supposed to be sealed, but there are still ways for some people to find out about me. That's enough to keep him away, away from me and away from you. But it's not enough to stop him, and that's what I want."

"Howard, I can't do this. I cannot do this."

"Gail, I want you, and what's more important, I need you. I'm not very good at talking about my feelings, but you are important to me, like nothing I have ever imagined. I don't know if that's love. I don't know if it's just lust. I just know it is. I'm not sure about you, but I sense you feel the same about me, don't you?" When she didn't answer or nod her head, he asked again, "Don't you?"

Finally, she said, so faintly he barely heard her, "Yes."

Howard tightened his arms around her and said, "That's all I need to know." 

********

"Gail," Atwood interrupted her as she carried a stack of files from the workroom to her new desk. He followed her through the newly completed doorway that connected his old offices with the new office space.

"Yes, sir?"

"You know, you have created a mystery that I am compelled to solve. I'm too old for this. I wish I were fifty-two instead of seventy-two. Well, hell as long as I'm wishing, I'm gonna wish for thirty-two. I can't ask for anything younger or I wouldn't have Olivia. I've been moving boxes in my garage all weekend." He held up his hands for a moment. "Don't get excited. I didn't actually move most of them. I called Barry, our runner, and promised him double pay for working the weekend, and he helped me. So I have a load of files for you. They're in the trunk of my car. When Barry gets here this afternoon, he's going to unload my car and we are going on a treasure hunt."

"What is the treasure we're going to look for?"

"Well-l-l," Atwood drawled out the word, increasing Gail's curiosity. "I've been doing this for more than forty years and my dad did the same for about fifty years. Of course, some of those years overlap, but his father was a lawyer, too. He called himself a solicitor, which isn't really proper, but I think I'd like being called a solicitor. It sounds so much better than being called a lawyer, maybe even a little saucy." He wiggled his eyebrows and then chuckled because his remark caused Gail to blush.

"I'm sorry. Olivia tells me I should only say such things to her. She is a cute little thing, isn't she? You should have seen her when she was eighteen. One look, that's all it took." 

Atwood cleared his throat and returned to his explanation. "Anyway, I have three or four boxes of my grandfather's papers. They are in a jumble. I suppose they didn't produce as much paper as we do now. In fact I know they didn't, they just rolled them up or stacked one on top of another. 

"I wonder sometimes, will we ever really get to the point of a paperless society? No, probably not. The lawyers wouldn't have anything to do. 

"My apologies, madam, I will return to the subject at hand. So, I have roughly about one hundred years of history."

Gail was aware Atwood did not mention his son, Michael, who had shared the Law Office space with his father before his untimely death. He'd had an undetected defect in his heart and failed to awaken one morning. He had practiced law for only ten years. For the short time she had known Atwood, Gail could not recall him mentioning his son's name, although he often mentioned Clarissa, his daughter. Gail had asked Petra, who quietly told her a little about Michael Atwood.

"Are you going to give all of your old papers to a museum or something like that?"

"That is what I have been discussing with my very learned friend Philip, ah, that's Philip Querax, damn, pardon me, why are some of these Latino names so difficult? Querexeta, yes Philip Querexeta, is an historian as an avocation, a very good one. At least HE SAYS he is good. He specializes in documents. He's been harassing me for a number of years. I will not tell you how many years. He wants the boxes at the bottom of my stash."

"Is that a Mexican name, or might it be Basque?"

"Uh oh, the lady knows something I don't. As a matter of fact, Philip says he is Basque and dislikes being referred to as Hispanic or Latino. I don't think Fisher is a derivative, but is Pleas a Basque name?"

"Howard says he is Basque and the family name is like seven or eight syllables long, and starts with Magoo, or something like that. I've been online searching for something that fits, without much luck." Gail told Atwood as much as she knew and he said they would just wait until Philip came in after lunch with his supplies. Atwood shook his head about historians and their proclivities to preserve, preserve, preserve. Evidently Philip knew quite a lot about how to handle old documents, including ridiculous white cotton gloves, how to put a document into protective archival covering so it can still be studied, and had volunteered to give Atwood and Gail a quick lesson. After their instruction, he would "permit" them to help him examine Atwood's collection.

"Atwood, isn't this going to take a lot of time? We have other work to do. I think at least one buyer is coming in this afternoon to sign."

"Yes, yes, my dear, and with our receptionist back, Petra has more time. You can do the closing and Philip and I will do research, but you can help as much as you have time to spare. It will all work out." 

As Atwood walked away, he stopped and turned back to Gail. "By the way, did you have your little discussion with Howard?"

"Yes and he won't budge. He said if I find another place to live, he will sleep on the porch until the neighbors embarrass me into letting him out of the doghouse and back inside."

Atwood grinned, saluted her, and walked away, quietly singing, Mendelssohn's Wedding March, "Here comes the bride. Here comes the bride."

Gail called out to him, in a sing-song voice, "You're not helping." 

Atwood just laughed and went back into his office while Gail continued moving into her office. By lunch time, all she wanted to do was sit down and drink something cold. Howard walked in and handed her a bag from a nearby hamburger place and plopped himself down in one of the other chairs around the small table in the coffee break room.

"There's one in there for me, it has jalapeño peppers on it. I called a little while ago. Petra said you were on the phone. I told her not to let you leave for lunch."

"Are you still following me, watching over me?"

"No, I just wanted to see my girl for lunch." He grinned and laughed when she blushed. "You are so cute when you blush. I don't always embarrass you on purpose, but I like to watch those cheeks turn pink. I wonder if you blush all over, hum, I'm going to need to investigate this." 

"Howard, be nice."

"Me" he slapped both hands to his chest, "I'm not being nice? Why, Sweetheart, I'm one of the nicest men you know."

"Yes, I would have to agree with you about that." 

Atwood walked in and lightly pounded Howard on the shoulder, "What you got in there for me?"

Howard answered, "Meat, bread, mustard and onions. Atwood that is not a hamburger, a good hamburger is juicy, runs down your arm, and then drips off your elbow."

Atwood was digging into the bag, pulling out one paper wrapped hamburger, "What is this one with the white sticker?"

"That's Petra's. She said mayonnaise, and that's not a hamburger, either. You people in the abstract business don't know squat about hamburgers."

Atwood grinned, "Maybe not; we are paper people. Did you bring those things my carpenter said he needs?"

"Yes, sir, if he uses all of them, he'll have a fortress. What is he building? I thought the office space was finished."

"Shelves, that will hold hundreds and hundreds of pounds of paper, which are the life blood of this business. Say, Gail tells me you are Basque. Do you know Philip, Philip Querexeta? He's nuts about being Basque, maybe he can help you with that Magoo name Gail was mentioning."

"It's going to take more help than me knowing two syllables. No, I don't know Philip Querexeta, who is he?"

Atwood told Howard about the same thing he told Gail earlier, and then he added, "I don't think my grandfather's papers go back that far, but we may get some clue where to look for your ancestors. Granddad started in this town probably around the turn of the last century, 1900, or maybe a little before. We might find where they stopped using that other name and started using Pleas. Where's your abstract?"

"At the bank. They wanted it, I guess to make copies. The guy I talked to was young. He'd never seen a real one, only copies, and wanted to look at it. I guess they would give it back to me by now. I've just never gone and asked."

"After you eat, or the first chance you get, go get it and bring it to me. I want to look at it. I don't remember if I ever worked on it or if Dad did, too long ago for me. I looked through some papers the other day, and I seem to recall your dad didn't leave a will, and I think his dad didn't either. But I don't know about before then. Maybe the abstract will answer some questions. At least that's where I want to start."

Howard asked, "You think there's anything missing, or incorrect, like my dad said? I mean, what would I do, if you discover a mistake?"

Atwood brushed off Howard's question, "Oh that's a long way from anything to consider right now. I just need a thread to follow and the abstract might provide it." 

"Okay by me, actually I wouldn't mind a little harassment power in my hands, just to tweak Aguirre's nuts. Oops, excuse that, but that's about how pissed I am."

"Yeah" Atwood grinned. "So Gail was telling me. I might like a little of that action, too."

********

It was several hours after lunch before Gail had a chance to go check on the historians. She answered emails and downloaded a whole set of closing instructions, and then just about the time the last document was printing, the lender called and said to trash them, another set was on the way. The homeowners sat in the new waiting room for over an hour and were signing papers as they were being printed, with Petra getting the settlement statement finished. Thankfully it was a refinance and the funding checks weren't needed for several days.

Finally, Gail had a little time to watch Philip Querexeta, pick up a paper, look at it and put it into a clear folded sheet of plastic, then go to the next document. He wore white cotton gloves and used tweezers to remove anything foreign, like insect legs, from the document. Then he used a magnifying glass to go over the front and back, before putting it into the folded opaque plastic sleeve. He put the plastic covered document under something to bleed air out of the covering, and then carefully folded the top over and used edge-sealing tape. He had a special box of folders he put some documents into, which he said may need some work done on them before they could be sealed and many of the ones he was sealing inside the clear acid-free folded plastic, would likely be opened, examined, and then be sealed again.

Atwood looked up at Gail watching, "We should have my daughter or her son here. This is their legacy, after all."

"Oh," Gail said, "I didn't know you have a grandson."

"Oh yes, when Atwood Charles Atwood gets tired of being a hot shot lawyer for some big international corporation in Albuquerque, he's suppose to come down here and take over all this, so I can go fishing." He grinned at Gail and said, "And you better learn everything there is to know in this office, 'cause you'll have to train him. Philip and me, we're going fishing." 

"Atwood," Gail asked, "do you even know how to catch a fish?"

"Yes, I do. Olivia and I have a little contest. Whoever catches the biggest fish, the other has to cook supper. I am quite good at pan frying trout on a campfire." Then he looked at Philip and said, "Hey Philip, tell Gail that Magoo name."

Philip looked up from his work and said a rattle of syllables so fast Gail shook her head and pleaded with him to say it slowly, pronouncing each syllable. She needed to remember it so she could repeat it to Howard.

"Oh yes," answered Phillip, unable to do as Atwood requested without educating both him and Gail. "Now, each name is usually the name of a village and each syllable means something, and in combination mean "top of the hill" or "beside the river" and such. In many instances, two or three letters are combined to make a sound, much like our own, "ch" or the "ph" in physician. Their alphabet doesn't have as many letters as ours. My language skills are so poor I can't begin to tell you what all the names mean.

"Now, I have heard one that might be what Atwood described, Ma-gun-a-goi-ko-etx-ea. The only reason I know that name is a mention of it on a list of soldiers who were sent on special guard duty for a visiting dignitary from Tamulipas. The two soldier's names were not listed when the troop returned to the garrison at Victoria. That's not the city by that name, on this side of the river. It's a city in the Mexican state of Tamulipas. Nor could I discover if he was killed or sickened and died, which was rather common in those days, what with impure water, and the lack of modern medicines. It was just rather curious, don't you think?"

As Gail turned to leave the workroom, she heard Philip calling her back, "Now isn't this curious, Gail. Just as we were discussing the name, here it is on this document, at least I believe this is the name of which I spoke, but the spelling is somewhat different. No, it is not spelled differently, merely hyphenated after Maguna and the remainder of the name follows. Atwood, come look at this. This document isn't even dated, so all you will have to go on is the official's name. What is this man's first name, Plezo, or is that Plizo? And what is this word, s-u-t-o, or s-e-t-o, or s-i-t-o, hum? What is that, do you imagine? Is this a gift or something to this man for services rendered? See it reads, "en la gratitud para servicios rendidos". Oh well, I'm sure when you and Olivia begin looking at these papers more closely, it will begin to have meaning."

********

Gail heard the receptionist, Emily, calling her over the new telephone intercom, and rather than disturb Atwood and Philip Querexeta she went to her office to use the telephone. It was a real estate agent she had been expecting to return her call with information about a possible rent house.

"Good heavens, Julia, I can't pay twelve hundred dollars a month for a two bedroom. That's outrageous."




Gathering Fallen Rocks Ch. 11



"I know, Gail, but it's what the traffic will bear. I have one other property, but I don't know if you'd be interested. It won't be ready for at least a week, but the rent is much better because it's only available for four months, or maybe a little longer. The owners will be back in town by then and will want their townhouse back."

"A townhouse, oh that would be fantastic. No grass to mow. Don't frighten me, how much?"

"Six-fifty, it's furnished, dishes and linens included, and you pay all the bills."

"I'll take it. I don't care if the roof leaks. When can I see it and when can I have a key?"

"I'll meet you there in fifteen minutes. Just knock on the front door. The owners want to meet whoever will live in their house while they are up north."

"Okay. Give me names and directions. I'm new in town and don't know my way around very well yet."

"It's easy, left turn out of your parking lot, about a mile straight down the main street where your office is, left turn on Paulson Drive, go two blocks and a second left turn on Phyllis. You would never guess the name of the subdivision's developer or his wife's name, now would you?"

********

"Howard, I don't care. I'm moving into the townhouse and if I must, I'll take you with me. I'm sorry, I hate to say this, but I cannot continue to eat Melanie's fried food every night and I'm tired of canned vegetables. I want a kitchen, a decent bathroom, and no more stairs to climb."

"Okay, okay, I'll go with you to meet 'our' new landlord. I agree with you about the food and the bathroom, and since I'm not going to let you leave me, I have to go with you. Come by and pick me up, I'll tell Pepper I'm leaving for an hour and then you can bring me back here."

When Gail stopped to get Howard, he was standing outside the hardware store talking to a customer just getting out of his vehicle. Howard climbed into the passenger seat and as he closed the door, he hooked is arm around Gail and pulled her head toward him for a solid and thorough kiss.

"Alright, Baby, we can go now. That will hold me for a little while."

"You are incorrigible, Howard," Gail complained, and could not resist laughing when he agreed. 

"No, I'm determined to wait one more week and that's the only thing that keeps me from tossing you on a bed and having my way with you."

Gail laughed and asked, "And I have nothing to say about this?"

"Not much, and if you wear that dress again, with those high heel shoes, I might not wait all week. So consider yourself warned."

After knocking on the front door of the townhouse, they were greeted by a woman who was probably about Atwood's age.

"Mrs. Fletcher, I'm Gail and this is Howard Pleas. Did Julia Ramos call you?"

"Oh yes, yes, come in, come in, I'll call my husband." The older woman could be heard calling, "David, David, that couple is here to look at the house."

Gail and Howard stood just inside the front door and looked around. The open style of the townhouse was large enough for comfort and was plainly furnished. They could see a small living area on one side. There was a similarly sized dining area on the opposite side with a bar, which separated it from the long narrow kitchen. Straight ahead was an abbreviated hall with a bathroom door and bedroom doors on both sides. It was exactly what Gail would like to have. Everything looked easy to keep neat and there were plenty of kitchen cabinets.

David and Betsy Fletcher emerged from one bedroom and invited Gale and Howard to look over the small townhouse, pointing out two covered parking spaces across from their front door. In just a few minutes, both couples agreed it was just what each of them needed. The Fletchers knew their vacation home would be well cared for while they were gone. They had delayed leaving because David's heart was giving him some problems. They were doing so now, with the possibility that he may face bypass surgery when they returned to their permanent home. They had also considered selling, but wanted to wait until the surgery was over before making that decision. 

A few minutes later Julia Ramos rang the doorbell and before Gail could mention taking Howard back to his job, they had signed a six-month lease, with a provision they would vacate the house if the Fletchers needed the property sooner and could remain in the property if the Fletchers wished to skip the winter in their vacation home. 

Gail looked at Julia Ramos, and then asked the Fletchers if they would object to including a provision that she has first right of refusal if they decided to sell. She thought they might object, but could see both of them with wide smiles on their faces.

"Oh, that would be wonderful," Betsy said excitedly. "We just didn't know how to do something like that and didn't want to think about trying to sell it ourselves or have people coming all the time, to look at the place while we're trying to leave."

****



Gathering Fallen Rocks Ch. 12



"I have the rest of the week for wearing blue jeans to work. Atwood hasn't decided if we're going to have another week of construction, so I need to go get some clothes out of storage. I don't know how much stuff I have to move out of the way to get to the boxes of clothes."

"We can go Sunday, but what about all the rest of it and why make two trips?"

"I guess I could rent a storage room here. It's all boxed. But I'd rather sell my furniture. I don't care what I get for it. Then all I'd have is linens and some personal stuff, which isn't much, maybe half a dozen boxes. I'm not sure I could get all of it in my truck, but it would be close. And there's a luggage rack on top."

"I don't know, Sweetheart, but I have a suggestion. If we're going to rent the townhouse, we could put the boxes in my room at Frank's."

"If I call around tomorrow and arrange for a second-hand furniture company to meet me at the storage room, can we do this in one day?"

"Will a second-hand furniture store do that on a Sunday?"

"If the price is right, they'd do it on Christmas Day."

As Gail drove Howard back to work, she was thinking about spending the rest of the afternoon helping Atwood and Philip. She saw Howard repeatedly taking his eyes off the road, looking at her.

"Howard, you want to tell me what's going on inside your head? I know something is, but I don't know what."

"You're really going to do this, aren't you? I mean leave all that life you had before this and move down here?"

"Of course I am. I wouldn't have looked for a job or a place to live, if I weren't serious. What did you think? That this is a lark for me, something to amuse myself while I'm on vacation?"

"No, not that, I meant about the problem with Santos. I was afraid you would let him run you off."

"Oh. Well, if I'm truthful, I'm not particularly happy about what he is or is not doing. But I'm not really afraid of him anymore. I suppose I'm cautious, or leery or maybe just watchful. But what I am looking forward to is finding a shred of proof that creates a tiny or even a miniscule threat of a cloud on the ownership of his land. Then I will have him playing in my ballgame, where I know the rules and he does not."

"That's some pretty tough talk," Howard announced. "Particularly from someone I've watched get almost hysterical when he walks into the ranch house."

"See, you said that you are good and that you are one of the best. Well, I am too. I'm very good, I don't know about being one of the best, but I have Atwood and he is one of the best. I don't know if he is aware that I know it, but I did a little research online. Atwood David Atwood broke a long-standing private land dispute, and he did it with a personal letter a man wrote to his sister, saying he didn't want his worthless son to have his farm. He wanted the land to go to his widowed sister and her two small children. After his wife died, she moved in and kept house for him, for a number of years. It was a case of adverse possession, or squatter's rights, which she had fought for a long time. When the man died, his son packed the woman and her children up and put them off the land, telling them never to set foot on his property again. 

"After her lawyer filed the first lawsuit, the son paid off the first lawyer and then he paid off the next one, too. Atwood was number three and when she showed him the letter he took her and the letter to the courthouse, had it filed of record in the probate section and requested the abstract to the land be amended. By that time, the worthless son was dead and his son, who was not much better, and was trying to protect his oil well revenues, knew his case was lost. He moved the money Atwood couldn't find offshore and skipped town, leaving his wife and two daughters behind. The sister had a little house built for herself. She told the son's wife she could live in the big house as long as she wanted, but her daughters better marry well because they weren't getting any of the oil revenue."

"And you think Atwood can do the same for me?"

"Not only do I think it, I believe he has already found the beginning of the trail he needs to follow." She held up her right hand with her first two fingers crossed and grinned at Howard.

"Alright, tell me what I need to do."

"Go sit in the lobby of that bank until they hand you that abstract, and then bring it to Atwood."

****

Emily was on the telephone when Gail entered the office door, but she held up her hand, indicating Gail should wait just a minute. As soon as Emily could hang up, she said Atwood needed to see Gail, before she went to her office.

"Hello Gail, where's that good looking man of yours?"

"I told him to go to the bank and sit in the lobby until someone placed the abstract in his hand and then he's to bring it to you."

"Good, good, you are going to be surprised at what Phillip has found." When Gail said nothing, but began to smile, Atwood said, "You better sit down for this one."

Pulling a chair around so she could see both men, Gail said, "Okay, now tell me."

"That Magoo paper Philip found is an original, a letter signed by a "Gentleman" saying he had given forty pesos plus forty pesos to the governor, Francisco Vital Fernández, in appreciation for services rendered, by Plea and Blaz Maguna-goikoetxea, to pay for their land, after they each paid their own ten pesos. Evidently, it is actually a duplicate original. Such things were frequently done in those days. It's undated, but is signed by constitutional governor Francisco Vital Fernández, which would indicate the governor was accepting the money. It appears to be one of the documents prepared to comply with Decree 24 of October 13, 1833, which offered inhabitants of Nueveo Santander, who had livestock but no land, as much as five sitio each for a payment of ten pesos for each sitio."

"Atwood," Gail could hardly catch her breath, "You are frightening me, are we talking about a league of land, 4428 acres times five, that's more than twenty thousand acres?"

"Maybe we are," Atwood grinned. "And then again, we may be talking about forty thousand acres, depending on what each of the brothers did regarding family and so forth." 

Atwood began to explain, while Philip Querexeta offered additional information. According to an historian, title to land involved proceedings recorded in the alcalde, or mayor's office, with a duplicate, or expediente, given to the applicant. The expediente was forwarded by the grantee to the governor along with the payment for the land with the title being granted under the seal of the state. The alcalde was then authorized to put the individual in possession of the land.

Gail could barely sit still. "If Howard doesn't get here with that abstract pretty soon, I'm going to the bank myself and demand it." What Atwood was explaining was maybe, perhaps, possibly, what they had been looking for—but maybe it had nothing to do with Howard's ranch.

Although Atwood wanted her to remain calm, he was a little excited himself. "I do not recall ever working on any land owned by a Maguna-goikoetxea. I don't even recall seeing that name on any land grants. I have done things on Pleas land, like the highway taking I told you about, and I know of a large block of land owned by a man named Blaze, from sometime in the mid-1830's, right before the Alamo. But, and I give you this heavy caution, but those plots of land are nowhere near the size of what this document indicates and the two acreages are miles apart. If I think about what this size would be, it's like from one side of Blaze land to the opposite side of Pleas land is just about that size, if you include at least a mile deep on the other side of the highway."

Gail was picturing the property in her mind. "So you think there was originally two pieces of land side-by-side and someone took, bought, or acquired, a chunk out of the middle of it?"

Atwood nodded, "Yes, and someone else bought or acquired a huge chunk of both properties, across the top and someone else got another huge chunk out of the bottom, which would have formed a big fat 'I'. That would have left the two parcels of land Howard's dad described. 

"There is a description in one old file, which I have a copy of in one of these boxes, called the Benadito File. I do not remember it word for word, but roughly it says that this mayor goes with a man to the land to give him possession. The document then describes a standard ceremony. The mayor takes the man's hand and tells him in a loud voice that, having paid the state treasury, he gives him this land in the name of the sovereign state of Tamaulipas. He is required to build boundaries of rough stone and mortar on his grant within four months or he will lose the title. The man then gave thanks to the state, sprinkled water on the land, cut some grass, and pulled some weeds, which he then threw to the four winds. At the same time he asked the witnesses to note that he had been given possession of this land by the mayor, and that no one there had contradicted his claim and right to the land."

Gail smiled, "That's the old description, or joke they tell, of how to establish a homestead."

"Yes, my dear, it certainly is. Maybe that's where the state started with the description of how to designate what land you were claiming as a home, and thus a homestead. But I think the description of claiming a homestead included that the man had to include a handful of dirt and turn around in a circle, or maybe that's the four winds part." 

As they were talking about how to find other documents to begin proving the letter actually put property in the two brother's names, Emily transferred a call to Atwood's office. She announced over the intercom that Howard Pleas was calling for Atwood or Gail.

Atwood answered, "Are you at the bank?" Ten seconds later he said, "We are on our way." Atwood turned to Gail, "Howard is still at the bank, he said we need to get there before they lock the doors."

Gail was on her feet going out the door, as she offered, "I'll drive."

Howard was sitting in one of the chairs in the lobby of the bank. As Gail approached, he stood and said, "They can't find it."

Atwood asked, "Did that young loan officer make a copy for his file?"

"He said he did not." Howard then leaned over and said quietly, "But I think he's lying. He either has it or copied it."

Atwood patted Howard on the shoulder and looked at Gail, "Why don't you two sit down here for a minute. I'll go talk to someone with a little more authority than a young loan officer has. Maybe a little threat of calling some bank examiners will shake a little paper out of them. You think, huh?"

Gail and Howard sat side-by-side in the elegant chairs of the large bank's lobby, occasionally saying a few words to each other, but for the most part, they simply sat and watched the activity around them. Gail tried to give Howard a little information about Atwood and Philip's find, and said it may be wonderful news, but Atwood still had a lot of research to do. 

A teller and a man walked toward the front doors, calling the entry guard over, who helped lock the front doors. The man pulled the tall drapes across the large windows on either side of the front door and then lowered the blinds to close off the front door from the view of anyone outside the building. 

Tellers began counting money in their drawers as their computers printed out page after page of reports. One teller was short thirty dollars and she counted and re-counted her drawer. One of the other tellers came over to help and both laughed with a sigh of relief, when they find a fifty-dollar bill, stuck in with her twenty-dollar bills. 

Gail watched a clock on the wall, as the second hand moved around and around the dial. She knew Howard was nervous, but he was also a little angry. She wished Atwood would hurry up or at least come tell them what was happening. About twenty minutes after the front doors were locked, Atwood walked out of a hallway beside the half wall of teller's stations, and came to where Gail and Howard were sitting. Howard started to stand, but Atwood motioned to him to keep his seat. 

Atwood sat down across from them and said, "Several people are looking through boxes of documents in the safe. Your young loan officer said that when the abstract is found it will be delivered to my office. I told them we would wait."

Ten minutes later, a man in an expensive suit walked to Atwood and handed him a stack of papers. "Atwood, this is a copy. I believe our Loan Officer is going to spend many hours looking for that original. I do not think he enjoys the prospect of several years in prison."

"Thanks Raymond, I can work with copies for now. But Mister Pleas would certainly like to have his original. It is quiet an expensive process to prepare such a complicated document. If you are not able to locate the original, you might offer to pay for the research to reproduce it. I believe that would satisfy him, for the present."

The man walked to Howard, who stood, and introduced himself, "I am Raymond Loyola, president of this bank." After shaking hands, Raymond said, "I'm terribly sorry we've misplaced your document, sir. I assure you, if it is not located by the beginning of the business day tomorrow, this bank will certainly reimburse you and your attorney for any expense to reproduce and replace your missing document." He turned to Gail, nodded his head, and said, "Good day, gentlemen and ma'am. The guard will see you out."

All three of them walked toward the front door as the guard unlocked the door, followed them through and locked it behind himself, and then did the same to the outside doors, leaving them outside the bank building.

Atwood turned to Gail, "Will you take me back to the office?" Then he looked at Howard, "If you are not expected back at work, you might join us."

When they were inside Gail's truck, with the doors closed, Gail said, "Atwood, you are a fraud. You enjoyed that didn't you?"

He threw back his head and laughed, "Get me out of this parking lot before I make a fool of myself." Then he laughed some more and finally stopped to say, "I imagine that young loan officer is sitting at that twenty thousand dollar board room table. He has already ruined his career in banking and is just trying to stay out of jail." Atwood chuckled all the way to the office, slowing down as they were parking in front of the closed and locked door to their office.

As Atwood was unlocking the door he said, "You know that new time recording software that works every time you open a file?" When Gail nodded, he continued, "And you know those new phones? They have that display on them, you know, time, date, and caller ID. If you notice in the lower right corner, it tells you how long a phone call has lasted. Tomorrow morning, I want you to tell Petra, Emily, and everyone else, that they are to keep track of every telephone call and every minute they work on this abstract. I'm going to let that bank pay for my new telephone system and maybe at least the cost of that software." He chuckled all the way back to his office, while Gail waited for Howard so she could lock the doors.

As they walked down the hall, they heard Atwood exclaim, "Ah ha, I knew it! Whoopee, Howard you have to buy the steaks."

"What, Atwood, tell us, what did you find?" Gail asked as she and Howard walked into Atwood's office.

"They are the same people on the letter. Yep, date of grant is right and it's for one sito. I'll wager you that steak that what it said in that letter is true. They each bought one sito and another four were a gift, for services rendered. That gentleman was one happy fellow, or maybe one that got to live because of what those two brothers did for him. Now, all I have to do is find the other four sito each of them received and see what they did with them, kept, sold, made a gift or left them by will or descent."

Howard looked at Gail and asked, "You can explain all this to me later, right?"

"Yes, I can try." Once again, she showed him she had the first two fingers of her right hand were crossed. "Just remember it may mean nothing but a little bit of history. That's Atwood's job and it looks like he is in his element." Then she turned to Atwood, "You better let me make a copy for you to mark up. I've seen your other files and if we have to produce any of those copies, you don't want anyone to see how many times you corrected the spelling or wrote 'Rascal,' 'Shyster,' or 'Thief' on them."

Half way home, Gail's cell phone rang. When she answered, the caller said, "Gail, this is Betsy Fletcher. David and I are trying to leave town tomorrow morning. If you can come by, I'll give you your keys."

"Yes ma'am, I'll be there in a few minutes. Do you need help loading your car?"

"Oh dear, you don't have to do that. We can just take our time. If we don't get it done tomorrow, we can wait another day."

Instead of pulling into the driveway, she motioned Howard to drive in before her then she drove in the driveway behind his truck. She leaned out her window and asked, "You interested in helping the Fletchers load their car? I think they would appreciate some help."

"Okay, it will give me good practice for Sunday." Howard tried to dodge Gail's hand when she playfully punched him in the ribs and laughed because he held her hand, forcing her to drive one-handed while he nibbled on her fingers.

Gail explained that she wasn't trying to rush them, but multiple trips back and forth to their car and carrying loads of clothes and anything else they wanted to take home could not be good for David's weakened heart. It took Gail and Howard less than two hours to load all but the Fletcher's overnight things. Betsy promised to clean the refrigerator and bathroom before they left. Gail said not to bother, and then started doing those two things for her because she knew the older woman would do them anyway.

When they were finally home, Gail fell on the bed, "Oh, don't even ask me to get up for at least an hour."

"Come on, Sweetheart, go take a shower, you'll feel better and sleep better, too."

"No," Gail shook her head. "I'm just going to stay right here."

Howard walked to the bed and picked her up. "You wash it, or I will."

"Okay," she said. "You can wash it."

Howard put her down in the middle of the tiny bathroom. "Gail, I was not teasing."

"I'm not either. I've thought about it and I don't know why we are waiting. I don't know what to do or I would ... So, if you can teach me ..."

Howard looked at her for a long moment, "This is not for fun. This is forever."

"I know," Gail said. "I remember what you said about the church's requirements of conjugal love and the sacrament of matrimony. I may not understand them as you do, but I know what they mean."

"Alright, if it is what you want, please take a shower and then I will. I want our first time together to be very special. I'm not going to rush, I've waited too long."



Gathering Fallen Rocks Ch. 13



It took Gail and Howard less than two hours to load all but the Fletcher's overnight things. Betsy promised to clean the refrigerator and bathroom before they left. Gail said not to bother, and then started doing those two things for her because she knew the older woman would do them anyway.

When they were finally home, Gail fell on the bed, "Oh, don't even ask me to get up for at least an hour."

"Come on, Sweetheart, go take a shower, you'll feel better and sleep better, too."

"No," Gail shook her head. "I'm just going to stay right here."

Howard walked to the bed and picked her up. "You wash it, or I will."

"Okay," she said. "You can wash it."

Howard put her down in the middle of the tiny bathroom. "Gail, I was not teasing."

"I'm not either. I've thought about it and I don't know why we are waiting. I don't know what to do or I would ... So, if you can teach me ..."

Howard looked at her for a long moment, "This is not for fun. This is forever."

"I know," Gail said. "I remember what you said about the church's requirements of conjugal love and the sacrament of matrimony. I may not understand them as you do, but I know what they mean."

"Alright, if it is what you want, please take a shower and then I will. I want our first time together to be very special. I'm not going to rush, I've waited too long."

After his shower Howard got into bed and moved as close to Gail as he could get, whispering in her ear, "Gail Fisher, I love you. I love you and want to live with you for the rest of my life."

He slid one arm under her and neatly turned her over to face him, kissed her and became very still, just holding her.

"Howard, I said marriage vows once, but I didn't really understand them then. I do understand them now. I could say every one of them by heart, because they would mean something to me now. For the rest of our lives, I'm going to think about them every time I say I love you."

For a few moments they were both quiet, enjoying holding each other. Haltingly, Gail asked. "Tell me ... tell me what to do."

"Don't do anything. Just relax for a minute." 

Slowly, he began to touch her, and she touched him. She found his small male nipples and circled them with her fingers, then arched her back when he did the same to her. They found places to touch and rub, like the insides of her thighs, the inside of his, the smooth skin up the back of his thighs and all the way to his shoulder blades. He stroked the underside of her upper arms while she kissed the tender spot at his throat that caused shivers when he did the same to the soft skin under her breasts.

Howard found a soft spot under her jaw and used his tongue to slide back and forth while she raised her chin. He kept going from side to side as she moved her head for him, moaned, and mumbled about how good it felt.

"Yes, Sweetheart, that's what it feels like when a man worships a woman." He nuzzled her neck, intensifying the sensations, and gently kissed her, working his way back down to her breasts. 

He reached up to brush her hair back from her face and leaned over to kiss each eye, then moved to her lips to kiss her deeper than before. She could feel the heat of his body as his muscles flexed when he rubbed his hands up and down her back, cupping his hands to pull her hips closer to him. 

He placed a hand on each side of her face, pulling her head to him to kiss her. He whispered, "Open your mouth for me, Baby. I want to taste you. I want you to taste me." 

He leaned back, taking her with him, and then rolled over until she was on her back and the intensity of his kisses increased. His hands were on her, moving from one breast to the other as he kissed her. He rubbed her belly, occasionally threading his fingers through the curls in the vee between her thighs and returned to massage her breasts, moving his head down to suckle for a moment on one and then the other before returning to her mouth. 

"Raise you hips for me, Baby. Oh yes, and again, move with me, just like that." Then he couldn't speak, he could only feel—the tightness of her, her heat and her strength as she learned to match his rhythm. Enjoying the feel of the friction between them, they moved apart and then together as if they were dancing, her hands going up and down his back in the same rhythm their bodies were moving.

He looked down at her, her eyes closed, smiling with her mouth partly open, the dimple barely visible. 

Then she took over, increasing the speed, then a little faster, pulling the energy from him, until he felt like he would explode. She threaded her hands through his hair and pulled his face down while she raised her head to kiss him, drawing his tongue into her mouth in the same rhythm she was moving her hips, sucking on his bottom lip, and running her tongue down his neck. 

He felt her back arch and her hips rise off the bed as she groaned. Her muscles contracted around him, over and over as his arms quivered from holding himself rigid until he was exploding inside her, wishing he could have lasted longer and wanting to begin again. Her arms wrapped around him and held him in place. The sweat from her exertion mingled with his, their breathing panted heavily, their heads lay together on the pillow while she trembled, and the aftershocks of pleasure went through her body as if she were reacting to someone suddenly slapping their hands together. 

He rolled off her and pulled her into his arms. He was trembling, just as she was. She put her hand up to brush the perspiration off his forehead, rubbed her cheek against his chest and whispered his name over and over.

He spoke softly near her ear "I have never particularly liked my name, but when you say it like that, it's the most beautiful sound in the world. Go to sleep, Baby. I may want to do that again in the morning, just to hear you say my name."

****

Gail awakened when Howard was nibbling on the soft spot under her ear. She had been dreaming and realized it wasn't a dream. It was barely light in the room and the air conditioner had finally cycled off, but she was still cold. 

"Howard, did we really do that last night."

"Yes, Sweetheart, every time. I've been thinking we need two beds, one to play in and one to sleep in."

"That was playing?"

"Well, I was having fun and I know you enjoyed it, so I guess calling it fun is alright. But I felt like I was making love to you."

"Yes, I guess so. I've always wondered what it was like. You know, you hear things like that, at a movie or on television, "I love you," "I want to love you," "Let me make love to you," and they don't sound real, they sound false. I just wondered what making love really meant."

"But you don't wonder anymore?"

"No, I think I know now. But I want you to tell me what feels good to you." She rubbed her hips against him, to get his attention.

"You keep doing that for much longer and you won't need to be shown anything."

Both of them were surprised when Gail's cell phone rang so early. She received a further surprise when she answered. "Atwood, it's Saturday, what are you doing at the office."

"Who-e-e-e," Atwood used his favorite word of celebration. "Boy, have I got news for you."

Tempted to take the telephone away from her ear to look at it, just to make sure she was really talking to the Atwood she knew, she asked, "Okay, tell me."

Atwood chuckled, "I think that young bank officer is going to prison and he may take a few friends with him."

"Atwood, what are you talking about?"

"Well-l-l," he drawled, enjoying the suspense he was creating. "I think I'm talking about fraud. That young man forgot to remove the copies of some of the other papers he had attached to his copy of the abstract. I am looking at copies of some paid receipts for those taxes on Howard's land that the county said were never paid. The receipts have dates on them much earlier than the bank loan, which I suppose means they were paid when they were due. That means someone gave him these copies, or he has the originals somewhere in the bank vault."

Gail could barely control her excitement, "You have what?"

"Yep, that's what I'm looking at. But that's not all I found. Oh well, we shall save the rest for another time," Atwood said, as if he was having a pleasant conversation. "By the way, ask Howard how much of that bank he wants to own." 

Surprised at Atwood's question, Gail stumbled over her words, "What ... How ... I can't believe ..."

Atwood laughed as he tried to calm her down, "Take it easy, Gail. I'm joshing, sort of. You two have a nice weekend." 

****

Howard worked Saturday, which gave Gail a chance to make most of the arrangements to meet a second-hand furniture dealer at her storage room. The manager of the facility gave her the name of someone at the Women's Shelter who would take anything Gail did not want to keep. Her donations would go to an abused or homeless woman who was trying to reestablish herself. 

They left town before daylight, already groaning about the long day ahead of them. Three blocks from the storage buildings, Gail's cell phone rang. She looked at the small window on the front of the phone and muttered, "Oh shit!"

Instead of putting the phone to her ear, she pushed the button to operate the telephone in hands free mode. Howard would enjoy this conversation.

"Hello, Mother, ah ... Melissa."

"Gail, where have you been and why won't you answer your phone? Are you trying to avoid taking my calls? I've been leaving messages for a god damn week."

"No, my telephone was stolen and I just received the replacement. They let me keep my old number." 

"Humph," the wordless sound could be heard by both Gail and Howard, causing them to look at each other. Howard's jaw tightened and Gail turned back to the windshield as if she didn't want to speak, but could not bring herself to remain silent.

"Why were you calling?"

"I finally called that asshole, Collins. He said you moved out of your apartment. Did you move in with Gary, or is there another man I don't know about?"

"The answer to both of your questions is, 'No.' Why were you calling?"

"Gail, did you quit or did you get fired. I pulled a lot of strings to get that job for you."

"Melissa, you did not get that job for me. I asked for it on my own and was working there for over a month before they knew I was your daughter."

"Well, all that snot nose Tommy Abrams said was that you didn't work there any more. I had to call Carlson to find you."

"But you didn't call me at work, you called my cell phone. Now please, tell me why you called."

"I thought I did call you. Are you sure they didn't just forget to give you the message?"

Gail clenched her jaw, "I always return my calls. No one has mentioned that I've failed to receive a message."

"That doesn't matter now. Your father called to ask me about you. He said a sheriff in some county on the border called him asking questions about you."

"Yes, that would be Sheriff Ramsey. I've spoken to him and answered his questions. Did Dad say he thought I was in trouble?"

"No, he just said this sheriff was doing his job and asking questions. If you want to tell me what this is about I'll let your father know."

"No, that's okay. He was just asking questions."

Following Gail's hand motions, Howard drove into the driveway of the storage facility and parked the car then reached his hand out to Gail. 

"What did you do and what are you doing down there almost across the street from Mexico? Good God, you'll get killed over there."

Gail grasped Howard's hand and held on to him, trying to keep her voice to a reasonable level. "I'm right here in town Mother. Now, why did you call?"

"Well, Ricky ... ah, his mother called me. He ... ah, she said Ricky went to rehab and took the anger management classes but you still refused to withdraw your complaint. He lost another job because of the outstanding criminal complaint."

Before Melissa could finish speaking, Gail was talking, "He put me in the hospital." She was almost screaming. "I had three broken ribs. I almost lost an eye. He had a knife and he said he'd kill me. NO. I WILL NOT WITHDRAW MY COMPLAINT. I don't ever want to hear his name again and if that's the only reason you called, you shouldn't have bothered. GOODBYE."

Gail folded her cell phone and tossed it on the floor. Then she looked at Howard. "If that phone rings, don't answer it."

Howard's organization and packing skills had Gail's vehicle completely filled. She was surprised how easily he tied down other boxes on the roof luggage rack. The representative from the women's shelter arrived to take everything Gail could not load into her vehicle or sell to the second hand furniture dealer, leaving the garage-sized room completely empty. 

After speaking to the weekend manager who promised to mail Gail's refund check, minus fees and penalty for breaking the lease early, they left, going slower than they had arrived because of the weight the vehicle was hauling. It was long after dark when Howard parked in front of the small townhouse and near midnight when they finished unloading. 

The next morning, after far too few hours of sleep, Gail was sitting on the side of the bed while Howard was rubbing her aching shoulders.

"Howard, how can you possibly be in a good mood this morning? I'm so stiff I'm afraid I'll fall over if I try to stand up."

"Its okay, Baby. We need to spend a night at the ranch. You can rest while I pack. I go in late tomorrow. I'll unload while you're at work."

"Okay, I need to shower and get to the office to see what Atwood was so excited about Saturday. He probably worked all weekend."

****

The residential closing side of the office was neat as a pin, which meant Petra and Emily, the receptionist, found time Friday afternoon for a little dusting and straightening after all their supplies had been moved and put away. It was a shock, however, when Gail walked through the connecting door into the law office side. Old file storage boxes, some looking like they would barely hold together if touched, were stacked none too neatly in several places. The hallway to the break room was barely passable where more file boxes appeared to be leaning dangerously, in danger of falling.

Atwood was sitting at his desk, with several opened boxes on the floor nearby. Olivia was sitting across the desk from him, holding two thick files on her lap. One of the files was opened and she was reading a paper, while speaking to Atwood in Spanish.

Olivia paused for a moment, giving Gail a chance to speak, "Atwood, what on earth ..."

"Good morning, Gail." He looked around his office, just as Gail was doing and started chuckling. "I told you you've created a mystery that I am compelled to solve."

"Yes, but you didn't have to ..."

Olivia interrupted, "This you see, Gail, is the man I live with. To me David says we will select my new car today."

"I thought you were going to take your time to move all the old records," Gail groaned.

"Yes, I did. The carpenter was persuaded to finish the shelves on Saturday while Barry and a few of his friends happily moved the boxes. You can take care of the residential business and I can concentrate on the commercial. That gives me a lot of time to solve the mystery." 

Atwood looked around for a moment then looked at his wife, "Olivia, where is that ..." he picked up a folder from the credenza behind him, offering it to Gail, answering his own question. "Yes, here it is. Make yourself a copy of this then make a list of the documents I've marked that we need copies of. I want new, certified copies of the original documents, not old ones from any files we might have around here. You can go or you can send Barry to the courthouse for the copies." He waved his hand in dismissal and returned to the conversation he'd been engaged in with his wife.

Before Gail could turn around to walk to the nearby copy machine, Atwood stopped her, "Gail. Keep good notes on any documents the courthouse doesn't have. We will need a written request to the state for copies from the archives. I don't want them from the online site. We will need legible certified copies of the original documents."

Before Gail could make it back to her office, Atwood was calling Emily on the intercom asking her to make sure the table Gail had used for her temporary desk was cleared off. Philip Querexeta would need plenty of desktop space to catalog additional documents, and he just might be able to resolve a few minor questions about some of the land titles in the county. 

****

Howard nodded all the way to the ranch, often admitting that he could only half-way follow what Gail was trying to teach him. Several times he asked her if she understood what she was explaining. He was satisfied when she assured him that she knew what she was talking about but that Atwood had much more knowledge than she did.

Howard parked in front of the old adobe house and was just leaving the vehicle when Pete Curran stopped his light green Border Patrol car, turned off the engine, and got out then walked over to talk to Howard and Gail. 

"Did you come out to check on your cattle or are you two spending the night?"

"We're staying the night. We rented a place in town so I need to pack some stuff."

Pete leaned against his car and folded his arms across his chest, looking like he was going to be visiting for a while. He glanced at Gail, but spoke to Howard. "I heard you created a little stir at the bank Friday." He glanced at Gail again then turned his attention back to Howard.

Howard chuckled and began to explain what all the fuss at the bank had been about. Gail interrupted for a moment to tell them she was going inside to start some supper and gather her things.

From inside the house, Gail could hear the men's laughter. After a short time she was so busy she did not notice their voices were lowered.

Pete looked at the dirt between his boots and spoke quietly, "While you were in town Saturday, a woman made it all the way out to the highway."

"How bad was she?"

"A passing motorist picked her up and took her to the police station. She understood more English than they thought she did. The booking officer told another officer where he was taking her. She got away from him as he was taking her out the back door. She escaped and hid between a couple of parked cars at a convenience store until one of the customers came out."

"So, the driver took her to Sheriff Ramsey?"

"You know George Hernandez at the newspaper?"

"Yeah." 

"The driver was his girlfriend. The woman told her what happened and George's girl took her to his house. He interviewed her and she had some story to tell. I guess his story made some big headlines in some big city papers."

"Santos's little party gets broken up, huh?"

Pete took a deep breath and blew it out. "Yeah, the feds will probably be here in a few hours. You sure you want to stay out here tonight?"

"Pete, this is my home. I didn't let Santos drive me away and my ancestors didn't let the Indians scare them off."

"We're not sure what he was moving, but two big semi-rigs pulled out of the road onto the highway this morning, about daylight, headed south. Customs is holding them at the border. Some of his pickups left a little after that, but we think he's still out there in his house. There must be something important he's guarding and he hasn't gotten all of it moved."

Howard looked behind him and saw Gail at the small kitchen window. He turned back to Pete, "Can I go in with you tonight?"

"No man, no way. And don't you come on your own either. I know about you. I could lose my job and probably go to prison for what I'm telling you, but that's why I'm here. Keep out of it and don't let anyone interfere. This is big time big. The feds were just about ready to act. This just speeded things up by a few weeks. The shit is hitting the fan and people are going down. You don't want any of this action."




Gathering Fallen Rocks Ch. 13



Pete cleared his throat and resumed, "This is the County Sheriff's Department, FBI, the Attorney General, US Department of Justice, Border Patrol, and Immigration. Santos might be a big problem to you, but in this – he's just the speck in your eye."

Without another word, Pete turned on his heel, got into his car and drove off. Howard watched the dust cloud that followed his vehicle and forced himself to go inside. One month ago, nothing would have kept him from watching Santos Aguirre get what was coming to him. Yet, one month ago he had not met Gail Fisher. For once in his life, the bear was not going to stand on his hind legs and try to swat a gnat.

Three hours later, Howard and Gail were traveling down the highway, headed toward the townhouse to unload. 

"Sweetheart, would you like to sleep at the townhouse tonight?"

"Really? So that's why you were in such a hurry to load up and leave. Oh yes, let's do it."

**** 

Within a week the US Department of Justice issued a press release announcing four individuals had been indicted regarding allegations of human trafficking. The individuals were charged with holding illegal aliens in "safe houses" near the US-Mexico border, extorting money from aliens' families through threats, holding female aliens in involuntary servitude to cook and clean, as well as with raping and beating them.

One of the individuals named in the indictment was Santos Aguirre, a US Citizen, who was taken from his home, along with a cache of weapons and more than eight hundred thousand dollars in cash. None of the currency was larger than a one hundred dollar bill. 

The case came to the attention of law enforcement officials after a woman sought help following a particularly brutal rape. Agents of the Bureau of Immigration and Customs Enforcement assisted in freeing three other women from the Aguirre home on the night of his arrest.

Aguirre and his co-defendants were facing sentences of up to life in prison.

****

The County Clerk's office took several days to provide certified copies of the most recent documents. It was almost a month before the much older documents could be removed from the fireproof vault, copied, and certified as a true and correct copy of the original. 

Atwood, Gail, and Petra were sitting in the break room waiting for Howard to arrive with the hamburgers. They laughed good-naturedly as he chastised them about the way they liked their sandwiches made. He visibly shuddered with each bite they took until everyone was laughing. 

The receptionist appeared at the door, her telephone headset cord dangling down the front of her dress. "Atwood, the Deputy County Clerk is on line three. Do you want to return ..."

"I'll take the call in my office, Emily," he replied before she could finish her question. They could hear Atwood speaking as he walked around his desk to sit down, while Petra was wrapping his hamburger, hoping to keep it fresh until he finished his call.

"Hot damn," Atwood's voice sounded like an excited teenager.



Gathering Fallen Rocks Ch. 14



The receptionist appeared at the door, her telephone headset cord dangling down the front of her dress. "Atwood, the Deputy County Clerk is on line three. Do you want to return ..."

"I'll take the call in my office, Emily," he replied before she could finish her question. They could hear Atwood speaking as he walked around his desk to sit down, while Petra was wrapping his hamburger, hoping to keep it fresh until he finished his call.

"Hot damn," Atwood's voice sounded like an excited teenager. 

"How many, I mean, how much?" There was a period of silence before Atwood's voice became very friendly, "Oh come on, Javier. You can tell me now. I'm going to find out anyway."

Had anyone from the back room seen Atwood, they would have watched him rise half a foot off the seat of his chair then reseat himself as his shoulders relaxed. His voice turned serious, as if he were talking to a judge sitting behind his bench in a courtroom. "Is the Secretary of State going to investigate or will they send the Rangers?"

When Gail appeared at his open office door Atwood motioned her inside and pointed at one of the chairs in front of his desk. She was soon followed by Howard. They sat quietly trying to glean as much as they could from the one-sided conversation.

Atwood finally completed his call and hung up the telephone. For a moment he dropped his head as if he wanted to rest his chin on his chest. He straightened up and looked at Gail a moment as a smile began to form on his face, and then he turned to Howard. 

"I know Gail has been keeping you informed and in the process she's probably been educating you. She's a wonderful teacher just ask Petra." He paused for a moment then continued, "A County Clerk's job is to keep the papers that become legal records. Their fear of destroying something important is probably greater than their fear of death."

As he spoke, Atwood relayed some of the information he had learned from Deputy County Clerk Javier Mendoza. While one of the clerks in the office was searching for some of the documents Atwood had requested, she discovered an old file folder at the back of one of the drawers in a fire proof file cabinet. The folder was of much newer age than the other folders in the drawer. The clerk opened the file, thinking she could discover where it should be properly filed. Instead of being misfiled, it had been placed at the rear of the drawer to prevent it from being discovered.

Inside the file were carbon copies of receipts for tax payments. The receipts covered a span of over twenty years. She checked the most recent receipt against the office records in the computer, rather than checking an older receipt which would have meant a much more difficult search. The computer showed the payment had not been recorded. She copied the receipts in the file and returned it to where she had found it, then walked across the hall and asked to use a telephone in the County Commissioner's office.

Before the day was over, the young clerk was sitting in an interview room telling her story to a representative from the office of the state's Secretary of State. At least one of the receipts for taxes paid was on land now owned by Howard Pleas. Another receipt was for land now owned by Frank Pleas. As additional information was verified, it would be provided to the Law Office of Atwood David Atwood, legal representative of Howard Pleas. 

Howard and Gail looked at each other in stunned silence. Atwood was apologizing for his profound mistake in leading them to believe the bank officer had forged the paid receipts. It was what he truly believed, the copies looked like they had been doctored and were of such poor quality they did not appear to be authentic. He admitted he was almost at a loss in determining what crime the bank officer had committed other than some kind of fraud or conspiracy. 

Atwood threw his hands in the air and exclaimed, "I'm getting too old for all this. I need to retire and go fishing."

"I didn't want to own any of that bank anyway, Atwood," Howard declared. "I just want to straighten out the ownership of my ranch. I need to know if the rightful owner of the land is Santos Aguirre or me. Did Santos's grandfather, or great-grandfather, or how ever many greats it was, actually legally obtain the property or was there some kind of a swindle? And I'd like to know that before the feds bury his ass at the back corner of some basement in a federal prison."

"Well then," Atwood grinned. "Get out of here and let me get back to work. Oh, Gail -- before you leave today, call the state archive office and ask how far along they are on that list of documents I requested. I'm trying to do some of my work with copies from the online site, but there are a few words that aren't legible. Olivia says she can't tell if the words mean some ancestor 'can have' something or if it says he 'cannot have' whatever that individual was distributing to the grandsons."

Gail walked out of Atwood's office turning to go toward her office. Howard grabbed her hand and pulled her to the rear of the office, into the break room, closing the door behind them. 

"I need a kiss."

"Howard."

"Just a little one, just because I feel so good."

Gail turned her face up to him and then stood with her arms around him, breathing slowly, trying to calm down from the intensity of the time they had spent in Atwood's office. 

Howard's hands rubbed up and down her back, feeling her beginning to relax. "It's okay, Sweetheart. We're doing great. The stress is just going to make us stronger."

"You know what I miss. Howard?" Gail spoke against the buttons on the front of his shirt.

"What?"

"I miss sitting on that old couch watching the steaks cook in that brick fireplace. They don't taste the same when I broil them in the oven."

"We don't have room on that tiny patio for a good grill. So, how about if I bring you one of those portable charcoal grills with a lid on it. I can cook the steaks over charcoal or wood, whichever you prefer."

"Okay," she straightened up and smiled. "Can you bring one home tonight? I took steaks out of the freezer this morning."

"Yes dear."

****

"Howard, let me know when the fire is hot enough and I'll bring the steaks out. The salads are made and I've already set the table." 

A short while later, Howard stuck his head in the door to tell Gail he was ready for the steaks. She carried the pan outside and placed it on the small table between two lawn chairs. 

Howard reached for the pan, but Gail stopped him, "Do this first" She offered him a small bundle of white envelopes.

Howard looked at the envelopes in his hand, "These are ...?"

"All my letters."

"Why, Baby? Why are you burning them now?"

"I don't need them anymore. I learned something about myself as I was writing them but it didn't really sink in until I was staying with you and had a chance to read them again. That's when I really learned that all those people I felt were against me weren't really doing anything to me. I was doing it to myself, letting them take advantage of me."

"Okay."

"Howard, I can't say I'll never let anyone take advantage of me again. But at least I know I can overcome being a victim of myself. I'm too busy to feel sorry for myself. I'm enjoying what I have now, which is a good job I enjoy and the most wonderful man in the world to love me as much as I love him." 

"Yeah, I think we've both allowed all the rocks to fall then we mixed a little better mortar and built a much stronger wall using the rocks from both of our walls."

They watched in silence as Howard fed each envelope into the fire where it would flame brightly for a short while. Then it would slowly turn to ashes with an occasional thin ash wafting upward with the smoke. After feeding the final envelope to the fire and watching it disintegrate, Howard put the steaks on the grill. They watched again, silently, as the bacon wrapped around the venison began to sizzle.

****

"Gail, if Howard can take the day off Thursday, I need you to go to Austin and get the last batch of documents we requested. That dumb clerk said they were going to send them regular mail." 

Gail looked up from her computer monitor to tell the agitated man in her door, "Atwood, Friday was Howard's last day at the hardware store. Pepper said he's going to borrow the money to build a big lumber yard and hire a general manager. Howard's going to take a year or so off and see if he can be a real rancher."

"Are you okay with that?"

"Oh yes, very much. Frank and Melanie are moving to Houston so she can help her mother. Howard wants to buy Frank's half of their house and remodel it for us. We've closed a few home improvement loans for some of the other homeowners in that area. It's really starting to look nice with all the houses being redone."

Atwood took a step back to allow Howard to walk into Gail's office and take a seat in one of the chairs in front of her office. The older man chuckled a moment, "I know you're anxious for this meeting, but aren't you a little early?"

"I thought Gail said two o'clock."

"Damn," Atwood exclaimed, looking at the clock at the end of the hall. "I got to get cracking. Aguirre's shysters will be here in a few minutes." He added as he walked away, "Don't forget about Thursday."

Howard turned to Gail, "Thursday?"

"Atwood wants me to go to Austin on Thursday to get the rest of the records from the state archives so they won't try to send them by regular mail."

"Oh good, I need to go to San Antonio and Austin to check on the brand."

"The brand?"

"Yeah, cattle brand. They're registered in the county, but old Spanish law required them to be recorded in the book in San Antonio. I'm trying to find out who registered it."

"So you want to go look at the book?"

"Either that or talk to someone who can tell me what to do next. It should have been, but the brand was never registered n this county."

"What does it look like?"

"Oh wow. Well it's sort of like the reverse of an old fashioned lower case 'g'. Like a circle on the top, a line going down the right side and a small oval on the bottom. There's a pendant, a triangle shaped flag, attached to the line between the circles and two little tails hanging down from the lower oval. Dad had a small pen and ink drawing of it framed over his desk at the house. I guess it would have been about the size of the actual brand that would appear on the animal's left side. Dad eventually used a tattoo instead of a brand. 

"I can't find that picture anywhere. Melanie cleaned out the house when she and Frank moved in there. I brought some of the stuff out here and she trashed the rest."

"You have to help me here, what's the significance of the brand?" 

"I think Santos was using my Dad's brand." 

"What does that mean?"

"I'm not sure. It's an old 'quién sabe' brand with that pendant and the bottom curlicues. 

"'Quién sabe' like the words for 'I don't know'?"

"Yeah, sort of, it's actually 'who knows?' I think I discovered the original brand was the two circles and the line, registered to a Magoo guy in Mexico. Then it was passed down a few generations. A son would take his father's brand and add a little something to it, like another pendant or a curlicue and that became his brand. One of those got to a generation of men who were using Pleas as their last name then Santos started using it on some special purebreds. But his name's not on any records as owning it."

"Does that mean his cattle belong to you?" 

"I don't know yet. I'm wondering if it was one of those deregistered in the early 1940's."

"How would you get answers?"

"That's a good one. Brand law in the state is probably as complicated as the laws you deal with."

"Are you serious? It's that complicated?"

"Oh yeah. I found the 'dog irons' at his place. I've got 'em in the truck."

"Howard." Gail said with fear in her voice. "What were you doing out there? What's a 'dog iron'?"

"Pete came by, said he wasn't sure what was going to happen to the house and that I should go look around. A 'dog iron' is the metal brand that's heated."

"Oh," Gail shivered a moment thinking about intentionally heating a heavy piece of metal and holding it to the hide of a live animal for long enough to create the scar that would always identify who owned the animal. 

"Pete had just come from there. He said all of the gates were open and there were no vehicles in the garages or parked around the buildings. He finally found an old man sitting in a rocking chair on the rear patio. He said he was the caretaker but he didn't have keys to any of the doors. He had an old metal cot in the building that houses the water pump.

"It didn't take me long to get there. I couldn't get inside, but I looked in a few windows. There wasn't very much to see, almost no furniture but lots of trash on the floors. Except for one room, it didn't look like it had been torn up, it just looked abandoned."

From the reception area, Gail and Howard heard Emily directing men with deep voices. "This way gentlemen. Mister Atwood and his team will be with you shortly. Would either of you care for a soft drink, water, or coffee?"

Two male voices declined Emily's offer, followed by the soft click of the door being closed. A few minutes later, Atwood appeared in Gail's office door and whispered, "It's show time. Bring your toys and let's go pla-a-ay with the big boys."

Gail picked up her stack of file folders and copies and followed Atwood, burdened by a similar stack, plus a large handful of freshly sharpened yellow pencils. Following the introductions and handshakes with Alejandro Vargas, who requested he be called Alex, and Santiago Tovar, who said he was comfortable being called Jimmy, the five people in the room were seated.

Gail separated her files into two separate stacks as Atwood was doing the same to the files he had carried. "Would you gentlemen be comfortable with a conversation? Or, do you want a recording or a stenographer."

Alex, who appeared to be the leader of the other side, said they were comfortable with a conversation, for the time being. If things got complicated they had also brought a small recorder.

"In that case," Atwood replied as he placed his hand on one stack of files, "I have copies of everything we've previously provided to your office in case you didn't bring everything with you. We may be a little premature with this meeting but the earlier we deal with some of these issues, the better. A few of the documents we are using are less legible than I would like. I have yet to receive the last of my list of certified copies requested from the state but I think we are safe using those we now have, for the time being."

The two men across the table shook their heads, indicating they did not need additional copies, each gently patting a similar stack of files in front of them.

Atwood smiled and began. "Since this is my party, I'll begin the entertainment." He paused a moment then placed the handful of pencils on top of the table, separating them and lining the sharpened points facing himself. Next he placed a legal size piece of paper on the table, with one short side just barely touching the pencil points.

"We all know a picture is worth a thousand words, so I have a picture for you. I'm not going to tell you anything you don't know, but I like to do this so please indulge me for a few minutes. Imagine the erasers are the US side of the Rio Grande River. The pencils represent the individual grants or porciones given on the basis of merit and seniority, with the colonists divided into three categories: original, old, and recent settlers. Those long slender porciones date from the mid-1700's and later. The shape allowed each land owner to have irrigation rights to the Rio Grande River.

"This paper represents what the documents provided to you describe as being two chunks of land, five sitio each, or a little more than forty four hundred acres per sitio. One grant went to a man named Plezo Maguna-goikoetxea and a similar size grant to his brother Blaz Maguna-goikoetxea, giving each man a little over twenty-two thousand acres. This grant included one sitio, for which each brother paid the required fees. The fees for the other four sitio were a gift For Services Rendered during their duty as special guards for a visiting dignitary from Tamulipas. We have not discovered the dignitary's complete name, but the documents, of which you have certified copies, were signed by the governor accepting the fees. From the official records of the appointment of officials and from that governor's name we can deduce the approximate date of the grants."

Both men opened one of their files and looked at the document Atwood had described. He waited patiently until they looked up from their examination. 

"Bear with me just a little longer, gentlemen." Atwood reached across the table and scooped up the majority of the pencils in the middle of his arrangement, leaving a few on each side. "Over the course of some years, the brothers and their heirs acquired the majority of the prociones between their land and the river." Atwood placed a smaller sheet of paper where the pencils had once been positioned.

"At about this point, the brothers and their sons ceased to use their surname, Maguna-goikoetxea, switching to their given names, giving them some semblance of an English pronunciation, Pleas and Blaze. It was a slow transition, some documents use the long surname and the next time only the given name is used then they switched back to the longer name. By the time their heirs were executing written documents, the Maguna-goikoetxea name has disappeared."

Atwood picked up the larger piece of paper and carefully tore off a narrow strip on the short side nearest him then returned the paper to the table. "It appears that the immediate heirs of both brothers, and/or their heirs, divested themselves of some of their land. We will no longer be concerned with that land." A showman at heart, he grinned at the two men across the table, wadded up the strip then tossed it over his shoulder.

"In the case of the Blaze estate, the land was divided according to whatever method was appropriate at that time, whether it was by devise or descent. It appears the Pleas land was not similarly divided. Instead, if there were multiple heirs, they simply used the land as they informally agreed and passed it to the next generation providing very few documents to show the change in ownership. It was almost as if there was a single patronal estate and he gave everything to his eldest son who became the new patron or padrino, benefactor, or godfather—if you will—for the entire family."

As he continued with his explanation and details of the documents the men were looking at, Atwood picked up the large and small pieces of paper, folded them lengthwise, and tore off a thin strip, which included the fold. "However, there must have been some kind of disagreement between the heirs of one brother and the heirs of the other. We can only assume this happened, but it is a safe assumption because both estates transferred some property to a husband and wife, who were members of the two separate families." 

When his explanation was complete he returned the papers to the table top, leaving them with a space between the two sides, from top to bottom. "The land transferred to the husband and wife created a separate ranch between the two larger blocks of land. Part of that transfer included the center most porciones and one or two additional to each side leaving, in essence, a large boot heel on the original grants, comprised of some of the acquired porciones."

Atwood chuckled for a moment, "It is supposition on my part, but each of the individuals of that marriage must have been very important people within their own families, for them to receive so much riverfront. He may have been a favorite son of the patron and her dowry, in the form of land, came from a wealthy family. It is also possible that my suggested rift between the families of the two original brothers was so harsh that they all agreed the greater distance they could place between themselves, the better and this long slender separate ranch was that solution."




Gathering Fallen Rocks Ch. 14



For several months, Gail and Howard had listened to Atwood's descriptions and explanations. However, they had not witnessed his theatrical performance. They sat as raptly attentive as the two men across the table. Gail was almost tempted at one point to applaud. For a moment she glanced at Jimmy and saw he was nodding as Atwood spoke. It was a slow methodical nod, as if he were telling Atwood to continue with his fascinating tale. 

Atwood chuckled, "I'm going to venture a little guess here, as a way of explaining what happened next. If either of you gentlemen would like to offer your opinion, I'd certainly like to have it." He watched both men shake their heads, so he continued. "My theory, which someone could research if they so desired, is that the husband died and the wife took the long strip including her side of the land by the river, the Blaze side, and she let their only surviving child, a son, have some of the riverfront land on the other side of the strip, the Pleas side. The amount of acreage is about one-fourth to the son, which left the wife with her own community property half plus one half of the remaining land. And therein begins the problem which we must clarify."

There was a pause in Atwood's presentation as Alex asked a few questions to clarify some notes they had made on their copies. Jimmy asked several questions that dealt with the strip of land between the two largest pieces of property. During their discussion, Petra appeared with a fresh pot of coffee. She also gave Atwood a bottle of water. He had been talking for a long time and was beginning to wear down, although he was still quite relaxed. 

Some friendly conversation passed across the table while the participants cleared their minds of the complicated land transactions Atwood had been describing. Both sides offered a few interesting comments they had read in the documents and challenged each other on how to properly pronounce Maguna-goikoetxea. 

Alex laughed at himself as he tried to twist his tongue around each of the syllables. "I called a Basque expert in Boise, Idaho, where there's a pretty big representation of Basque families. He wasn't any better than I am. He finally said he'd get back to me after he checked with some people he knew, including a contact in the mountains in Spain and another in France. He was going to check with both of them and record their answers. If he ever sends the recording, I'll share it with you." 

Alex shifted his attention to Howard, "I think Magoo is about the closest I can get to it, too. It's funny how our mind only wants to work with something it already knows. In college, I wanted to toss my books at a professor who kept saying, "Think outside the box." I caught myself telling that to someone the other day and wanted to wash my mouth out." 

With answers to their questions and a little comfortable conversation, the two men across the table relaxed in their chairs so Atwood could continue with his presentation.

"All right, gentleman," Atwood nodded at Gail and smiled, "and lady. Let's get a little curious. We are going to play a game of 'What If and If, Then What' and the more participants we have in the discussion, the better.

****

NOTE: The final chapter, along with an Epilog, will be posted in a few days. Please comment or send feedback to let me know if you enjoyed this story. A special Thank you to Erik Thread for a magnificent and patient job of editing.



Gathering Fallen Rocks Ch. 15



This chapter, including the Epilog, is the final submission for this story. I sincerely hope you liked the story.

Once again I thank my editor, Erik Thread, for his tireless efforts to help me give you an enjoyable read.



"All right, gentleman," Atwood nodded at Gail and smiled, "and lady. Let's get a little curious. We are going to play a game of 'What If and If, Then What' and the more participants we have in the discussion, the better.

Atwood put his right hand on the large paper on the right side. "For the remainder of our discussion, we will deal with only this land. The other side is Blaze and I have no information or knowledge of any disputes there. 

"I believe our main contention is that about four generations ago, a younger son, who was perhaps a bastard, was disappointed he didn't inherit from his father's estate. With the river at his back, he went around to all the homes near his own and ran everyone off, diligently working farther inland. If you recall the Pleas family was not very careful about creating a paper to evidence what land a certain individual should be using. There was so much land, that with primitive farming and open grazing their 'gentlemen's agreements' or patronage assignments of specific portions of the land, seemed to work well for them. 

"How violent those confrontations were, we don't know. Okay, so if that method worked, let's do it again. He went a little further inland and ran off some more residents. He continued to do this until he controlled most of the land along the river that had been the original porciones or about one third the size of the original Pleas grant, somewhere in the range of eight thousand acres. Basically, that is the story Martin Pleas told his sons, Howard and Frank. In conversations with Frank, he can only recall a few snippets of what his father told him, he was so young it seemed more like a nursery rhyme than family history. 

"Martin Pleas was an only child, as was his father before him and, as far as we know, the father before him. Three generations of only one child, or only one surviving child, all of whom were sons. All of whom died without writing a Last Will. These men were solemn, often silent men, who did not discuss weighty issues, nor did they share much of their family's oral history. With the life expectancy of those days, and the continued reduction in number of family members, the property was being consolidated into one man's ownership, the father of Howard and Frank Pleas, Martin. Howard's recollection of his father's few comments were the basis of our contention. I believe they were something to the effect that, 'He took land which did not belong to him.' Moreover, the documents provided bear out this scenario."

Atwood paused for a moment then answered a few questions posed by Alex who indicated his knowledge of the few documents available which allowed the land to pass from one generation to the next. 

After a general discussion, Atwood continued, "In essence the original Pleas grants were increased by the purchase of some porciones. Then they were reduced by a few sales and a gift to a favorite son who married a Blaze woman. That man died and his son received a small portion of the Pleas land. A short while later that land was claimed by Aguirre, the son of his novia, which can be interpreted as bride, fiancée, lover or girlfriend. That undocumented heir proceeded to enlarge his property by taking other land simply because he could—or because no one stopped him from doing so."

Atwood looked around the room, waiting for anyone who cared to make a comment. "At no time has Senor Santos Aguirre, or any of his representatives, provided a legal document to prove that ancestor's legal ownership of the land in question, the large boot heel on the Pleas side of the center strip. It is true, however, that the county taxing authority assesses taxes in his name. It remains unclear if an Aguirre, or any ancestor, informed the Catholic Church that he owned the property. The church was sometimes used as the official tax collector, and at other times soldiers collected taxes which could account for the taxes being collected from an Aguirre or an Aguirre ancestor, information which in turn was passed along to the county taxing authority. Yet, the fact remains that there is no document to establish that legal ownership."

Alex and Jimmy began to shake their heads. Atwood held up his hand for a moment. "There is, however, a document. I call your attention to it now and am providing additional copies for you to review, in the event you did not realize the significance of the document. The writer of the document is not known. It was probably a clerk paid by the man who signed the document, and it is signed with a name, not with an 'X' to which his names would have been added. It is a signature. The date of that document is about the same date as the church record of collecting taxes from the son of the man's novia. His name was Heriberto Pleas, the then current patron. He wrote that he wanted his entire estate to pass to his oldest son, Jaime Pleas, specifically stating Aguirre Pleas, was not permitted to have ownership of any land. The term used is non-permisso and restated using the words sin consentimento."

Atwood paused a moment, "Heriberto Pleas did not specifically name Aguirre Pleas as his son, nor did he deny he had fathered Aguirre. He simply excluded him from any ownership. It could be conjectured that Aguirre was angry he was treated in such a manner. To demonstrate his animosity he proceeded to take any additional land he could get by chasing people from their homes and driving them from the land."

Atwood took a drink of water and cleared his throat. "Now, gentlemen, Martin Pleas and then Howard and Frank Pleas are direct decedents of Jaime Pleas who, upon his father's death, became the new patron. I will now entertain any alternate views or discussions in which you would care to participate."

What followed was a heated discussion, not argumentative but intense. Squatter's Rights, also known as Adverse Possession, was repeated over and over. Atwood continued to shake his head, reminding the other side that a violent taking could not be called Adverse Possession, it was outright theft. 

The eight hundred pound gorilla in the room was the possibility that two men wrote their wills on the same date and proceeded to have a duel over a woman. No one mentioned that Heriberto Pleas excluded Aguirre Pleas from his estate because he feared his novia had been unfaithful to him and gave birth to Aguirre, fathered by another man. 

Neither Jimmy nor Alex offered an alternate scenario to the one described by Atwood. As the conversation was winding down, Jimmy asked, "Tell us what you want so we have a beginning point for negotiation."

"Restoration of ownership of the property to Howard and Frank Pleas, including all land and any improvements and livestock thereon, plus reasonable reimbursement of income lost for a reasonable number of years because of the denial of use and ownership." Atwood spoke calmly and didn't blink when he said it. He paused a moment, then said, "Plus written admission of knowledge of the fraud, binding Senor Santos, his heirs, transferees, and/or assigns to any court ordered restitution." 

"Will Mr. Pleas agree to a reimbursement of expenses for improvements and livestock?"

"It's negotiable."

Alejandro Vargas and Santiago Tovar calmly stood and shook hands with Atwood, Gail, and Howard. They offered their polite thanks for the documentation that had been provided and also accepted the additional copies. Jimmy said he looked forward to receiving copies of the additional documents Atwood would receive from the state. They left the office and drove out of the parking lot before any of the remaining occupants of the room dared to draw a deep breath.

"I'm not coming in tomorrow. I'm going fishing." Atwood announced and rested his forehead against the top of the table.

"Atwood, you are a big fraud," Gail had difficulty hiding her wide grin. "You enjoyed that too much. You need to learn how to sweat. You were too calm and you frightened those two men. They're both going to get drunk tonight and curse you all the way home tomorrow." 

"Perhaps you're correct, my dear, perhaps." He stood and patted Howard on the shoulder. "You're buying the steaks tonight. I'm going to call Olivia to join us. Now that's a woman who can make a man sweat, but don't you tell her I said that."  ****

Howard and Gail smiled at each other for the entire time they ate and chatted with Atwood and Olivia. Mrs. Atwood questioned all three of them about the afternoon's meeting, checking from one to the other to see if their observations were similar or different.

Once inside the small townhouse, Howard stopped Gail, taking her hand and leading her to the bedroom.

"Come on Gail, I want to make love to you." He stood beside the bed and put his hands on her cheeks. "Sweetheart, I want to know if you're ready to go see Doctor Jackson again."

"Why do I need to go to the doctor?"

"So you can stop taking your pills. Remember? He said in a couple of months we could try for another baby."

"A baby?" Gail could not hide her smile, but it was tentative. "But, Howard, we ... we're not ... what about the church?"

"I know what the church teaches." He grinned and kissed her quickly then said, "I seem to remember you said that legally we already have an informal marriage. We can have a civil wedding. After we satisfy the church's requirements we can be married by a priest." 

Gail was slowly nodding her head when Howard added, "I've always heard the third times the charm. Gail Fisher, will you marry me two more times?"

****

EPILOG: 

Although it was a long complicated process, the local priest was very helpful when Gail approached him for help to obtain an annulment of her first marriage. It took both Howard and Gail some time to satisfy the requirements for a church wedding.  

David and Betsy Fletcher did not return to live in their townhouse that winter. David's bypass surgery was successful, but his heart was not strong. Their children convinced them to stay home that year, giving them more time to be together as a family. When it was time to plan the next trip south, they decided they had experienced their last time of being Winter Texans and sold the townhouse to Howard Pleas and his new wife, Gail. 

Curiously, there were no charges of criminal activity against the young loan officer at the bank. However, he did seek employment in another profession in another state. The bank agreed to a generous financial settlement with Howard Pleas, which included payment of his attorney's fees to reproduce the abstract, which was never found. Had it been located, it would have needed extensive revision to include the additional documents discovered during Atwood D. Atwood's review of documents from his father and grandfather's legal practice.

An audit at the County Clerk's office corrected the accounting errors without admission of any wrong-doing. Howard Pleas, and several other property owners, accepted full refunds plus interest offered by the tax office. Four employees in that office were dismissed. The County Clerk did not seek reelection. Deputy County Clerk Javier Mendoza's political campaign was very successful.

****

Through his lawyers, assisted by additional lawyers representing his spouse, Santos Aguirre was unable to challenge the documentation and arguments of Atwood David Atwood, who represented Howard and Frank Pleas as they sought to correct a disagreement, several generations old, on the ownership of a very large segment of land, which included a large home within a walled compound. The final court decision greatly increased the amount of land each brother owned, with appropriate corrections to land titles, where needed. Any initial financial settlement reached with or without a formal court hearing, was done with the parties in full agreement to keep the details private.

However, because of his criminal activity, assets and accounts Santos Aguirre owned were frozen by Federal authorities. A financial settlement would be a long time in coming. 

Howard and Gail's first son was born in a private hospital in Mexico City, thus entitling him to dual nationality because of recent changes to laws in Mexico. He, his brother, and sister were teens before Santos Aguirre's wife, a citizen of Mexico, suffered her first loss in the legal battle. Atwood Charles Atwood, handling the reins his grandfather had laid down, showed he was quite successful in steering the Pleas case through US, Mexican, and international courts on behalf of the parents acting for their older son, Emilio Pleas.

****

Overshadowing the local news of a startling increase in the amount of land owned by Howard and Frank Pleas, were ongoing investigations of a large operation involving human smuggling and sexual slavery. The investigations soon lost their place on the front page of newspapers with the announcements of several counties combining efforts to create an economic development corporation. The incorporation permitted the counties to act as one entity, successfully activating a Foreign Trade Zone to create new warehouse and management jobs for local residents.    

**** 

Drive several hours south of San Antonio and you might see a sign announcing the entrance to the Pleas Ranch. The decorative metal arch above the much improved entry shows the bold letters which spell the name of the family that has owned the land for many generations. On each side of the entry are stone pedestals serving as anchors for the sign.

On each side of the name is the reproduction of a quién sabe cattle brand which is much like a lower case letter 'g' with three curlicues hanging from the lower oval of the letter. Beneath the large letters, which spell out the family name in flowing script, is the family's Basque name, Maguna-goikoetxea, as it was shown on a Pre-Alamo document where their forbearer was cited for special guard duty with a visiting dignitary from Tamulipas, Mexico, during the early 1800's. 

Beside one of the pedestals is a small billboard announcing a museum located about two miles from the highway. The billboard advises the public that displays in an adobe building track ranching activities from the time the land was part of New Spain, when Mexico gained her independence. Family ownership continued through the years when Texicans fought for their own independence to form the Republic of Texas. Later the Pleas family's cattle production fed soldiers of the Confederate Army during the War Between the States and continues to operate as one of the largest single—family ranches in the United States. 

Visitors to the museum are usually greeted by Liana Pleas, who will accompany them through the photos and memorabilia displayed or allow them to browse on their own. Although she is still a teenager, Liana is the official curator of the museum and a published author and photographer whose pictorial history of the ranch documents the people who live and work the ranch, including her parents, Howard and Gail Pleas.  

Within the pages of the book are photos of Liana's father, Howard Pleas, working his cattle and managing the large family ranch, including the annual auction of his purebred cattle. Other photos show Gail Pleas as hostess of social events within the walled compound of the family home.

However, to get a true picture of the current generation of the Pleas Ranch, one would need to attend one of the quiet family dinners and listen to the laughter of their sons, Emilio and David, and watch the demure Liana turn aside when Howard teases Gail until she blushes. 

THE END

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