Apologies to all. I haven't written anything for quite awhile...at least since my recent open heart surgery. I had many things rattling around within this dusty brain pan, and writing, I'm afraid, was near the bottom of the list. I want to thank those of you that have sent me praise and, of course, constructive criticism.
I have taken up the pen, or keyboard, many times and...many times, stopped only to start a new story. This is one of those stories. Just a little tale about priorities and communication.
Note: I may have taken certain author's liberties regarding Oak Harbor, Washington and Valdez, Alaska. Maybe, not as accurate in my descriptions as they should be. Oh well.
Again—any comments, critiques are welcome.
******
*
The tall stranger stood in the middle of the trail, his dusty black boots jammed into the earth, shoulders stilly taught. Standing at a slight angle, his healed Colt hidden, the stranger looked downward to the ground, his eyes hidden behind the brim of his black Stetson. His hat matched the rest of his attire; black woolen shirt, gun belt, black denim pants and a black leather vest. In the heat of the mid-day sun with the heat wafting upward from the ground, the stranger gave the appearance of a wavering shadow.
His horse bristled at the noise of the two riders easing over the rise, approaching along the same trail. Snorting, the stranger's steed bobbed his head, his eyes watching the roan and paint converging toward them.
"Easy...shhh...Dakota. Easy there," whispered the stranger. His head still staring at the ground, as he heard the two riders pull up.
"Mister...you're standing in the middle of the road, you mind moving over some?" The rider sitting on the paint waited for the stranger's reply, his hand resting on his six-gun.
"Whatcha think, Blair? You seen im before?" asked the one astride the roan.
"Yeah Dex...I seen him before," was all the one called Blair said. He stared at the man in black, his right hand carefully removing the leather strap from over the horn of the hammer of his Navy Colt.
"Well...who is he? Hissed Dex, anxiety evident in his eyes.
"This here's Chase Sanborne..." muttered Blair, his hand hovering over the polished handle of his pistol.
The rider called Dex whispered, "Dear god."
"God's got nuthin to do with it!" snarled the man in black, the hat slowly turning upward revealing a set of pale blue eyes, eyes devoid of any emotion or mercy.
"What's your beef, Sanborne?" asked Blair, his eyes watching the stranger's gun hand. "Why you bracing us?"
"Know a man called Jim Bartlett?"
Blair closed his eyes for a brief second. "Yeh, I know im. Me and Dex once worked for im a spell...before he sent us packin. Wrongly accused us of losing some of his herd intentionally."
"He's dead!"
"How?"
"You should know, you killed him," said Sanborne.
Dex's eyes widened and Blair glared at the dark man. "The hell I did. When that man told us to move on, I was relieved. Bartlett was an angry and bitter old man...meaner than an irritable sidewinder. Workin for im was nuthin but trouble for the two of us but...I stop short of killin. Truth is, both Dex and me was ready to quit the Single Bar T."
The man call Sanborne reached inside his vest with his left hand, the right still over the black steel strapped to his hip. When the hand slid out from his vest, a small object was clutched within the fist. Sanborne held the item for a moment before tossing it on the ground directly in front of the two horses.
Blair looked at the object and swore under his breath. As he gazed at the insignificant piece of leather, he heard his partner gasp. "Blair that looks like your..."
"Shut your pie hole you fool!" snarled Blair.
As Blair looked up, his hand had already pulled at his big Navy Colt, growling "Take him!"
Dex stared in horror as his trail partner spun around in his saddle, red mist exploding from the center of his chest as the blast of Sanborne's Colt .45 boomed. "BLAIR!" he screamed reaching for his gun. Dex never cleared leather, the two forty-five slugs lifting him from his saddle over the backside of the paint. He landed in a cloud of dust in the middle of the trail, not far from the lifeless body of his companion.
Chase Sanborne stood motionless, staring at the carnage he orchestrated. Healing his Colt, he walked over to the fallen two. He stooped down and grabbed the small object. He gazed at the leather and multi-colored bead piece before he tossed it next to Blair's hat. Standing, he glared at the two men. Their horses had bolted after the shooting and both bodies now lay across the trail, Blair's gun still gripped in his hand.
Dakota snorted, his left front hoof scratching in the dirt. Sanborne turned and made for the temperamental stallion. Without looking back, he grabbed the saddle horn with his left, slid his left foot into the stirrup and swung into the black leather saddle. He didn't worry about the two corpses; it was a well used trail.
With a vocal click and a twist of the reins, horse and rider galloped off.
******
"Will you get your nose out of that damn book and help around this house!" she screeched. "At least take out the god damn trash! Sometimes, I think you love books more than your wife."
Jack sighed and thought, at times dear wife, at times... as he set the book down. Damn woman, you're in rare form for a Saturday afternoon. Usually, I'm able to get a couple of chapters in before you start screaming. He pushed himself up from the chair staring at the western novel he had been devouring the past two days. "Good read," he mused, "May be awhile before I get back to you."
Entering the kitchen, he could hear Em, short for Emma, banging around in the living room moving furniture and whatever else to clean the house. He also heard that god awful noise she listened to whenever she began her house cleaning ritual, some kind of new age stuff. When he did take the time to listen, that soft electronic music would damn near put him to sleep. Em always said it kept her sane. Shit, I wonder what she'd be like insane, he wondered.
He winced at the crash and sound of breaking glass. Sure enough, a high pitched shriek slammed into his skull, "OH MY GOD...NO!" He knew he'd better check it out or else give her another reason to show how uncaring he is.
"What's wrong, honey?"
"Oh Jack, my crystal flamingo slipped off the end table and fell on the floor. It's shattered!" she cried. Jack found her kneeling on the tiled floor holding the largest remaining piece. Inwardly, he smiled...he hated that monstrosity but he knew it meant much to Em. David Preston, her boss, gave it to her at the last company banquet. Thinking of Preston, Jack frowned. Em's boss was a real shit and pussy hound. Jack knew Preston was always sniffing after Em, always giving her gifts such as that fucking crystal flamingo.
Trying to sound as sincere as he possibly could Jack attempted to sooth his distressed wife. "I'm so sorry, babe. I know how much you liked it. Wasn't it the expensive crystal Preston gave you? You know...the one from Santorini, Greece."
Em nodded as she held most of the broken shards in a dish towel. Sniffling, she quietly said, "Ye...yes, it was. But, it's not the expense but the sentiment. Preston remembered how much I like flamingos. He's always been good at that."
Jack had wished he'd kept his mouth shut but...no, not him. "Good at that?" he asked a little too sternly.
Emma turned and glared at her husband. "He's good at something you seem to lack. He always knows what I like!" she groused.
Keep my mouth shut, he mused, please don't say any...awe fuck it! "Sure he always knows what you like, Emma; he desperately wants inside those pretty little panties of yours!" The moment it came out, Jack knew he was in a world of shit. Hell, too late now.
Emma's eyes narrowed so tight Jack could barely see those precious green irises, her face turning an ugly reddish yellow hue that nearly blended with her red hair.
"You shit! You bastard! You jealous asshole! You've never like David, never given him a chance. You always believe the worst about people and think he's always trying to seduce me. Well, I'll tell you something right now Mr. Jackson 'Asshole' Lee, it'll be a long time before you ever get back into these, as you say, pretty little panties! A LONG FUCKING TIME! In fact...SLEEP IN THE GUEST ROOM TONIGHT!"
A rage that had been simmering for a long while reared its grisly head within him and Jack couldn't help but smile and laugh. He knew it would only add fuel to the blazing furnace known as Emma Marie Lee. "Shit, Em...I can't remember the last time I got into those panties you think so highly of. God damn woman, you know...now that I think about, we haven't fooled around for maybe what, two...three months?
And...making love? Hell, I don't think we've made love for the past six months. Maybe, shit, maybe somebody else has been the lucky recipient of your hidden affections? Wouldn't doubt it cause you sure ain't been gettin any from your loving husband now, have you? And God knows he's tried. Furthermore...YOU SURE HAVEN'T BEEN GIVIN IT TO YOUR LOVIN HUSBAND NOW, HAVE YOU!"
Jack chuckled as he continued, "Guestroom? I don't think so sweetie. As a great philosopher once remarked, 'Homey don't do that! You don't want to sleep with your husband then YOU can fucking move into the guest room."
Staring at her husband, Emma blinked, her face pale and quickly losing the red flush of her anger. Eyes widened, she displaying those beautiful deep emerald orbs Jack so loved. A tear formed at the corner of her right eye as she understood what her husband had just said.
He had never before spoken to her in that manner and was shocked at his anger and resentment. Then, the realization of what he just accused her of hit home and she jumped up running from the room and down the hall. Seconds later, Jack grimaced as he heard the slam of a bedroom door and briefly wondered if she locked him out of theirs.
"Damn it, why couldn't I just keep my big mouth shut? He reflected. "You know why, you idiot. This has been going on for way too long!" he gruffly answered himself. Soon, he calmed down enough to wrap his mind around a very uncomfortable thought. She never denied it; she didn't refute his allegation of her cheating. Abruptly, his heart sank as he worried what her lack of denial meant.
