shallowz

A/N: Final edits are done. Posting the rest of the chapters.

Chapter Four

Scott didn't know what to do about the cold air coming through the vents in the flooring, keeping the room too cool for his comfort. He crossed to the window, flung it open, letting in the soft, warm breeze of night and cricket song. When he tuned his ears to the outside, more familiar things came his way: a coyote crying in the hills, a few restless horses in the corral. Familiar sounds, a salve for the hole in the pit of his stomach.

Palms on the glass, he savored the warmth of it, the hardness. He held onto sanity, at best a tenuous hold, but this was, in fact, real. He rested his head on the back of one hand, closing his eyes. The storm, the explosion, what Abigail called a Jeep—all too fantastic.

Scott swung away from the window. He hadn't undressed, hadn't even thought about it. He brought the coat out and slid it on. A tap on the left side pocket of his coat - water-stained, the leather pouch with his life was still there. The papers inside were wrinkled now and torn at the corner from touching and opening it every so often to make sure. He wished… damn, he wanted it to be right again.

The hallway was dark, but that didn't matter. Just moving, just doing something about it was a relief. By rote he made his way through the darkened house, avoiding the squeaky floorboard this time, passing by the kitchen when he heard a scrape of chair leg against the tile floor.

"Leaving so soon?" William's tinny voice called out.

William's eyes were impossible to read and when he went to the wall flipping a switch, the flood of light made no difference. A man used to keeping things to himself. William reminded Scott a bit of his grandfather but without the starched collar and turned-down lips.

"Are you going to sit down? Or are you going to leave?" No shilly-shally here, straight to the point. Grandfather would have admired William for that. He watched the old man spoon some coffee grounds into a machine and twist a button.

The coffee was awful, possibly the worst he'd ever had, but he drank it for something to do. William was standing by the counter, one hand holding the white pot handle, looking like he was going to offer more. Scott's stomach clenched.

His eyes met Scott's asking him something. Telling him, maybe.

Sit down, you're not going anywhere.

"Yes, I'll sit," Scott murmured, tearing his eyes from the window, from the moon and escape, settling across from William. He allowed more coffee into his cup and the old man finally sat with him only to hitch back up and rustle in the refrigerator. He turned around with the jug of milk in his hand and gestured.

Scott shook his head then looked back to the window.

"What's got you so bothered out there?"

He shrugged, ran a fingernail over the chip in the rim of his mug. "It's warm tonight."

William grimaced, pulling wrinkles together in the middle of his forehead. "Weather's always warm here," as a matter of fact, and Scott's face went hot, then cold.

"Can't trust anyone, not like the old days. Can't rely on good neighbors anymore; they're just people who've figured out how to lie the best and most often. So what does that leave you with?"

William's eyes were bright, a shade of brown-gold hazed with cataract, but still functional. He wasn't expecting an answer to that, was he?

Perhaps not. After a loaded minute, William slouched in the rail-back chair, one hand worrying his cane handle. He sighed as though he'd been hoping for an answer then slid his eyes to the side, ruffled his fingers through his white hair, making it stand on end. "You're from back East, aren't you?"

Scott gave a surprised little half laugh at the change in topics. "Born in California, raised and educated in Boston."

William nodded. "Must have been quite a change. What did your people say when you left?"

Before Scott could correct him, the old man barreled on. "Chris left Lancer for a good while. There was an accident, not Chris's fault, but his parents and I didn't make that clear enough to him at the time. I wanted so desperately for him to stay," he said firmly, like Scott should know. Then a flash of teeth. "The one bright spot of the whole mess? Abby. She wouldn't be here if he hadn't left. Still."

William's jaw worked a little, like he came to some kind of decision.

"We're going to have to do something with you," he said with a tight smile. "Pay is twenty-one hundred a month, room and board. Staff cabins are a ways away from the main house; we can set you up in one once your hip is better, but utilities are extra."

Employment. William was offering him a chance to stay at Lancer.

"Our foreman, Gray, can set you up in the morning. Maybe Abby can take you to town, buy some new clothes."

It sounded so possible and would give him time to sort things out. Scott could barely think. Talk. Reasoning was hard. It would be easy to just give over to this old man. Except William didn't know him from a hole in the ground.

He thought of the money in his pocket, the coinage—would it be correct? "I don't have anything to pay with," Scott finally murmured.

"Don't worry about that." William stared at him, backlit by the light overhead. "We have that covered."

"You know nothing about me."

"I know what I can see. I know you need a hand. Call me a foolish old man, but that's enough for now. We'll figure out the rest. Come on, I'll see you back to your room for what's left of the night. You'll feel better in the morning."

Scott knew it was all lies, but he wanted to believe, so he nodded, not saying a word.

He'd woken up sweating. With a few minutes of not understanding where he was, somewhere on Lancer, but not his Lancer—although if he had a choice he'd take the pristine flushable toilet over the privy any day. Rolled over to his side and hung on the edge as his head made itself known, pounding like the time Johnny had introduced him to mescal.

After a few minutes of arguing with himself, he pushed the quilt to the end of the bed and managed to get out the door. To his new job.

Scott stopped at the kitchen threshold and Chris nodded to him. He was chancing a cup of something, but maybe he'd made it himself. "William tells me we've hired you to work at Lancer." His lips clamped together, then gave Scott a sharp look as though holding him responsible.

"Abby! He's ready." When there was no answer he yelled again.

The girl jogged into the kitchen out of breath and flushed. "Dad, I keep telling you we need to get an intercom. I was all the way back in the greenhouse." She flopped a handful of fresh cut greenery down on the counter. "Here, cilantro for whatever goodness you're whipping up tonight.

She turned to Scott. "C'mon. We'll get breakfast on the road and by the time we hit town, the stores'll be open and I'll do what I do best. You're a thirty-two long, aren't you?"

Chris shrugged at his look. "Good luck."

The changes in this new world battered at Scott's mind. The car, as Abigail called it, growled along the road, its front dials spewing forth an exuberant tune. She tapped her hand in time, the wind making her hair fly up and about in a riotous mess. Her carefree ways reminded him greatly of an older Teresa. Emptiness and a killing sense of loss lay around him.

He couldn't speak while his blood raced. But he swallowed, forced his fists to uncurl and his body to relax, as the car came to a stop. She was a fearless driver, but the speed was unlike anything he had encountered before. The egg sandwich they had picked up 'to-go' sat like a stone in his stomach.

"Here we are! This is a great store. Yeah, I'm thinking jeans and a couple of shirts."

"This isn't a good idea. My current clothes are fine."

"And you'll need a hat if you'll be out on the range."

They swerved into an empty place alongside the boardwalk in front of the large glass window, ending what little conversation they had between them.

Ignoring his shaky legs, Scott got out of the car. He could do this. Determined, he strode toward the glass doors and stuttered to a stop when said doors whooshed open without a visible hand.

The feminine voice calling "Hey, Abby!" was a godsend. Suitably distracted, Abigail looked for the owner of the voice while Scott gathered his scattered wits.

"Gina!"

"When did you get back from Europe, and don't tell me you haven't finished that fussy paper yet."

"Oh, I got back weeks ago. My dissertation will be done in two months."

And from there, he'd tuned out what they were saying. Something about how Charles de Gaulle frisked her and lost luggage, maybe. It made no sense and he was too absorbed in the absolute hum of the town anyway. Green River had grown, become for all intents and purposes a real city. The colors alone were startling.

A high-pitched hail from across the street had Gina making her excuses and stepping off the curb. She leaned toward Scott before she left and he could see a floating pendant with two hearts entwined slide forward on her silver necklace as she came close, and a cloying scent of perfume.

"You are so cute. Abby should bring you to Mugshots on Friday night, you know. We could have a few drinks." She cocked her hip, balancing her weight on one leg, her face inches from Scott's. "It gets really boring around here. Really. Boring." What she meant by it was so obvious, so literally in his face, words did not come right away. He stood there stunned until Abigail pulled on his sleeve.

"See ya, Gina."

Gina smiled, a coy thing. "Hope to see you soon, and you too, Abby." With an extra swish of hip, she turned away.

"Sorry, Scott. She gets a little… exuberant around someone new." She rolled her eyes. "Any male someone, that is."

Sliding glass doors? Scott welcomed them and the Gina-less space after that.

~o~o~o~

Abby grimaced at the all-too-obvious impression Gina left on the all-too-obvious old-fashioned Scott Garrett. Funny, how she had accepted Gina's ways. In fact, didn't give them a second thought, but once Gina moved in on Scott, with his gentlemanly behavior that Abby secretly adored, she saw the gracelessness of the act. She appreciated his manners. Appreciated how they made her feel a little special in a household of men. She didn't think less of Gina. Her ways were her ways and her straightforwardness was a hit among men, and she was honest about who she was, as honest as possible for a person to be.

However.

Abby enjoyed seeing a different side, a peek into manners of another era. She didn't know where Scott hailed from, but California easy-going? He didn't fit in, but his clothes were workman's clothes. His hands calloused. She might have pegged him as a silver-spooned trust fund recipient except for those two facts. Then again, given what she saw in People, trust fund recipients didn't sport the manners their mysterious guest did.

Mysteries later, shopping now. While the guilt of injuring him was no longer crippling, Scott could ask anything of her and Abby would do her best to make it happen.

She owed him. His forgiveness was not to be taken for granted.

Tugging the shell-shocked man after her, Abby introduced him to the men's department.

~o~o~o~

Musing of wranglers turned into jeans, and exhausted, Scott didn't see the man coming out of the tall brick building, but Abigail did. She ran her hand restlessly through her hair.

"Abigail?"

A shaky sigh followed by a shaky smile. "That's Steven Thayer."

Older than Chris, Thayer was tall, wrapped in a coat of pale gray. He considered Scott with understated curiosity.

Up close Thayer's face showed the ravages of both age and life lived hard. He smiled and Scott had to check himself, wanting to make sure his money clip was still in his back pocket.

"Abigail Lancer. How is your father doing?"

"Busy, Mr. Thayer."

"Mm-hm. There's something innately satisfying about owning your own land. Not everyone has the opportunity, or the courage, to make it a success."

"What you call success is another person's heartache."

Scott's heart thudded, because he could see what was in the man's eyes and he couldn't put a word to it, even though he was a man full of words. Before he had time to think it through, Scott grabbed her arm, pulled her away behind him.

"So that's how it is. You've hired your own muscle," Thayer said, but kept his eyes on Abigail. "We'll see who wins this argument, won't we?" He waited, cold eyes darting.

Then, like a light breaking over the horizon, Thayer caught himself and smiled again. "There's no need for me to delay you any longer. Tell the old man I'll be in touch."

Scott waited until he got into the car. "I don't care for the man."

Abigail squeaked out a chuckle. "Slimeball. I always feel like I need a shower after talking to him. You'd feel the same way if someone was trying to steal what was yours."

"Steal?"

"Thayer and his thugs want Lancer. The land around it is not enough; they want it all so they can rape it with strip mining." She nodded to the brick building. "He was visiting his lawyer. I'd feel better if we could do something. The worst is the waiting, the not knowing what he's planning."

"It should be clear you don't want to sell."

"It's not as easy as that, Dad or William can tell you more. It started when I was in France on fellowship. Has to do with some ownership papers that were never filed, or maybe we never had them in the first place. Something about a loophole."

Abruptly, he turned, slid into the seat and waited for her to do the same. He slid his hand inside his coat pocket to touch the envelope. If there was a chance…. "Abigail, I saw a stretch of road I'd like to see on the way back. Can we stop?"

"Important?"

"Humor me."

"Okay, then."

They drove forty minutes out of town and turned onto a two-rut dirt lane that would lead them to the section of land Scott wanted to see. They topped a small summit and came to a dusty halt.

"This is most northern piece of our property, Scott." She turned to him, a curious tilt to her head. "But why you'd want to come out here beats me."

He got out and walked to the creek. "It's rained."

She sent him a puzzled look.

He motioned to the creek. "It's running high."

"You really aren't from around here, are you? We have monsoons every afternoon in the spring, when the clouds come over the mountains. The run-off keeps the creek busy."

Abigail stopped short. "See the green line of scrub grass? Our property extends to the end of it, but nothing past it. I see Thayer has hired some men and moved their trucks out here." She scowled and nodded across the invisible boundary line. "The creek is ours, though. Dad would bring me here as a girl, for picnics," she said, her face coursing with memories.

"Once upon a time, wild flowers grew here, beautiful colors. I wish you could have seen this area just a few years ago, before Thayer bought the adjoining property. It doesn't look like the same place."

Wrong, all wrong. The land had tumbled and rolled like an ocean storm. The shale promontory on the other side of the creek bed—Thayer's property—had shifted and cracked. The bands of river willows and oaks were no more. He studied the rocks, half looking for the tree split in half by the lightning. Maybe there, the trunk twisted and hardened, like the stones around it. Along with it, a whiff of something that lifted the hair on the back of his neck, made his breath hitch painfully. A smell of rain and ozone, stone and ash—of home.

Abigail frowned and started forward. "Hey! What are you doing?"

Scott followed her. The man was rangy, like he was used to hard work. Scabbard on his hip, a shiny-handled knife peeking out. Lean, all muscle and sinew, and a walk like a wild animal.

"That's Adkins, Thayer's hired thug."

There was no hesitation when Adkins noticed them standing there, just pad, pad right to them.

A prickling sensation rippled Scott's spine. On its heels, anger. His right hand went down to his hip, found only fabric. The holster and revolver were folded on the top of the bureau in his room.

Adkins stormy gaze never faltered. "So you're the one Lancer has hired."

"You're trespassing." Abigail's voice gave away her worry.

"Am I, little girl? According to Mr. Thayer, this is his land, or soon will be."

Scott stepped forward. "Then you weren't given the straight of it. This is Lancer property, and always has been."

Adkins scowl darkened with fierce anger. "My men have orders to not make trouble, for now. But it's a thin line. I wouldn't push it."

Scott only had one option, and he and Abigail were going to take it. "I would."

And knew from the way Adkins turned away, leaving, that he was right to take the bluff. Scott took a shaky breath, feeling a little ill.

Abigail looked at him, up, eyes wide in the bright sun, face flushed. "I'll need to tell Dad about the new trucks and men. He won't like it."

"Stay away from Adkins, Abigail," Scott murmured, because the man, he could see, had no intention of staying away from anybody. It was all useless posturing.

Madness, he thought, denying his eyes.

~o~o~o~

The next morning they rode without talking, and Johnny was grateful for it. He didn't want to stop, not when he felt swollen with Murdoch's distress and his own; it had mounted up like a tide, and Johnny felt as though he could crash anytime now, water against rock.

The clearing on their side was pretty big, dominated by an enormous stump slashed down the middle. Except for the divot, black ash covered it, burned into something more solid than it had been as a tree. Around the stump was devastation, recent fallen saplings and tangled underbrush packed into ungainly bundles. He imagined Scott here, riding, the storm all about. Johnny narrowed his eyes. Something wasn't right here. Four long strides took him to the creek.

Across the water, Birch had moved in a few wagons, material and equipment. Had even dug a little. Johnny had seen it in Mexico too many times to count. Birch was mining ore. Either gold or silver, it didn't matter. In a few short months the creek would be polluted with a slurry of magistral and mercury. No cows, no anything, would drink from it.

He kicked the sign lodged on its side in the bank, sent it sliding into the water. He spared one glance at Murdoch, finding the tight jaw and determined eyes boring down over the split burnt tree and scrubby pasture. Mud, rocks and grass, that's all he saw, the willows bending with the slight breeze.

The ground fell off into shale and Johnny searched the rough edge of the embankment, before bringing his eyes back to Murdoch.

A hat. Just a damn hat was all they found. Still curled in Murdoch's hand.

Chapter Five