Under the Midnight Stars (4 page)

He walked into the left bay and entered the office door along the wall.

Zeke was sitting before a desk piled high with papers, a torn-apart carburetor on the middle of it. His buzzed red hair was streaked with gray. Crow’s feet and brow lines marked his face.

Zeke looked up at Colt quizzically before he grinned. “Well, I’ll be damned.” He stood and made his way around the front of the desk, extending his hand. “Colton Tayler, I never thought I’d see
you
again.”

Colt smiled and firmly shook Zeke’s greasy hand.

Zeke looked at Colt’s grease-smudged palms. “I’d hug ya, but I don’t wanna muss you all up. You look good, Colt! Real good! Looks like the city was a good move for you and your mother. How is Annie, anyway? Is she here with you?” he asked hopefully. He grabbed a clean rag from the bin next to him and handed it to Colt.

Colt sighed heavily and took the rag, rubbing it on his palm. He tossed it onto the desk. “She passed away about a month ago.” His voice was low and throaty. “Breast cancer.”

The hopeful smile fell from Zeke’s face. “I’m real sorry to hear that, Colt. She was a wonderful woman.”

“Yeah, she was.” Colt cleared his throat. Ready to change the subject, he glanced out the window at the two cars sitting in the bays and at the others in the parking lot. “Looks like business is steady.”

“Can’t complain.” Zeke found his smile again. “So what brings you back?”

“Home,” Colt replied as if a heavy burden was lifted from his shoulders. “I’m gonna buy my own place. Or possibly the old farm if it’s available. Any idea who owns it?”

Zeke grinned. “Yep — me.”

Colt frowned. He respected Zeke as if he were his own father. There’s no way he’d try to claim the farm back from him.

“But don’t worry, Colt — I don’t live there. I bought it hoping your mom would change her mind and stay.” He shrugged. “I got married a few years back, but I just couldn’t sell the farm.”

Colt grew slightly irritated. His mother had never told him about Zeke’s offer. A part of him wished she had swallowed her pride and accepted it. But he understood why she didn’t. She was an honorable and proud woman, characteristics he’d always admired about her.

“I’m in the market to sell if you’re interested,” Zeke said.

“I’m in the market to buy.” Colt smiled.

“It’s in bad shape, I’m afraid. I couldn’t keep up on two properties and a business.”

“Sold.”

“But you haven’t even seen it.”

“Doesn’t matter — I want it.”

“All right, but I ain’t taking more than I bought it for,” Zeke said firmly.

This time Colt wasn’t dealing with a generous tip. He knew Zeke wouldn’t take a dime more than he was asking. “All right. Still sold.”

A tall slender young man, not more than twenty, with blond curls sprawling out from underneath a gray cowboy hat, entered the office.

Colt turned and looked curiously at the jackass who owned the red sports car.

“JB.” Zeke smiled. “What brings you in here today?”

Colt sighed with relief as he realized why this jackass had been so disrespectful to Brielle — because she was his big sister.

“Howdy, Zeke.” Jack gave him a quick nod. “Just doing business with this guy here.” He extended his hand to Colt. “Colt, I hardly recognized you.”

“Likewise, Jack. How’s life treated you?” Colt shook Jack’s hand. “Any more slack from Billy Collins?”

Jack chuckled slightly. “No — not since you set him straight. He even changed his approach on trying to get my sister’s attention, and started treating her with respect. She’s too smart to give him the time of day though, or anyone for that matter.”

Colt grinned, relieved that Brielle was unattached after all. “Glad to hear that. So let’s take a look at this truck.”

“Let me know if you need to borrow any tools,” Zeke said.

“Come on.” Jack headed into the garage and through the back door. “It’s around back. Zeke didn’t want it taking up any customer parking spaces.”

They went into the back lot, which looked more like a makeshift junkyard. After borrowing some tools from Zeke and making a few minor adjustments to the engine, Colt had it up and running in less than fifteen minutes.

“Thanks, Jack. I appreciate it,” Colt said wholeheartedly as he slapped him on the back.

Jack nodded and handed Colt the truck title. “Likewise.”

He took the title and simultaneously handed Jack a wad of cash.

Jack eyed the roll of twenties. “Wow! This is way too much. I can’t take all this.”

Colt chuckled slightly. “You sound just like your sister. It’s only two thousand. This truck’s worth it. There’s no way I’d take advantage of you and only pay you eight hundred for her.”

Jack grinned. “Thanks, Colt! This is awesome!” He shoved the money into his front pocket. “It’d take me two months to earn this much at the lumber yard — I work there part-time.”

“Don’t spend it all at once.”

“Not a chance. I’m headed for the bank right now.” Jack rambled on eagerly, “I’m almost done with the college courses I’ve been taking in fire science. As soon as I get on with the fire department I’m gonna buy my own place with just enough land to ride some horses. I volunteer for now.”

Colt raised his brows. “You are one busy man, Jack.”

Jack nodded. “You can say that again.”

“So, a fireman, huh? That’s an honorable career. Your parents must be proud.”

Jack’s grin faded. “Not really. Not my dad. He’s disappointed that I didn’t wanna run the ranch with him. But I’ve gotta build my own life, ya know?”

“I know exactly what you mean. Good for you.” Colt slammed the hood shut and shook Jack’s hand. “It was good doing business with you.”

“See ya, Colt.” Jack headed for his car.

Colt hopped into the truck and started the engine. It ran a little rough, vibrating and rattling the inside of the cab, but it had a strong roar. Satisfied, he pulled out of the parking lot, waved to Zeke standing out front with a customer, and made a right on Main Street. Once he reached the edge of town, he eagerly followed the familiar winding country road.

The open rolling green hills, with mighty oaks sprawling here and there, were a welcome sight compared to the lifeless gray of the towering city where the sky was only visible when you looked straight up. Out here, the bright blue sky dotted with white billowy clouds contrasted harmoniously with the grass-green hills in the horizon. The colorful display of Mother Nature was exhilarating.

Colt rolled down his window. The sharp tang of freshly mowed grass from a nearby farm mixed with the pungent stench of cow manure made him sneeze. He chuckled slightly at how unaccustomed his senses were to the refreshing aromas.

Four miles out of town he came to Old Country Road. Making a right at the three-way stop, he drove another two miles. With anxiousness buzzing through his chest, he slowed down and turned right at the crooked rusty mailbox.

The tires slowly crunched forward over the long gravel drive sprigged with clumps of weeds. He topped the slight hill and stopped. The weeds on the other side were too tall to pass. He climbed out of the truck and stood, hands on hips, eyeing his home.

The mowed green grass of his childhood days was now thigh-high fields of grass and weeds, mixed with dandelions and sticker burrs. The white two-story farmhouse, halfway hidden behind the curtain of green, stood erect, though hauntingly desolate. A pang of sadness tugged at his heart.

He made his way on foot via a trail through the tall grass, hoping the trail was made by Zeke, and not by restless teenagers. Though the air had been cool while driving, it was now sticky and warm. Crickets trilled their shrill disapproval at the unwelcome disturbance.

As he neared the house his heart pounded with both anticipation and fear as memories of his childhood flooded his mind. The large oak in the front yard still towered mightily. On the thickest branch the frayed remnants of ropes from the swing that had propelled him to the clouds remained, though the two-by-four seat was missing.

The red barn off to the right still held its color, though its vibrancy had faded and the gray of dead wood loomed under the peeling paint.

He smiled as he remembered when he had tied a rope from the post near the barn’s upstairs window to one of the posts holding up the front porch. Standing in the open barn window, with his leather belt looped over the rope and wound tightly in both fists, he lifted his legs and coasted along the stretched rope.

Though the moment only lasted a few seconds, he sailed through the air, grinning from ear to ear, feeling as free as a crow flying overhead. Unfortunately, he hadn’t anticipated how long it would take to unbind his hands. He crashed into the post so hard that the painful blow knocked the wind out of him. Then he fell backward into the overgrown bushy geraniums, cracking two ribs.

He smiled, remembering how Shane Whitley, his lanky best friend with light brown shoulder-length hair, cried like a girl as he scurried to Colt’s side, afraid he had just killed his best friend with his amazing idea. Colt chuckled and shook the memory from his thoughts.

With the tip of his boot he tested the steps of the front porch. They were sturdy. And after ascending the three steps he was finally home.

He looked to the end of the porch where a white wooden swing used to sit. It was his mother’s favorite place to drink a glass of iced tea in the evening, watching as he ran around the yard chasing lightning bugs and putting them into a jar. And when his father finished closing up the barn for the night, he would join her on the swing with a beer in hand. When Colt was sure he’d have enough lightning bugs to keep his room lit throughout the night, he’d climb into bed and set the bugs free, watching as they floated above his head, sporadically illuminating the darkness with a fluorescent yellow-green.

His heart grew heavy. He wondered why he was torturing himself this way, evoking a happiness he could never relive. Moving along, he pushed his way through the slightly open front door. It creaked loudly.

Beer bottles and cans littered the living area. He kicked over a bottle. Its clinking as it rolled across the floor filled the haunting stillness of the heavy stale air. It clanked to a stop along the wall. Aside from the obscene black graffiti, the walls throughout the house were white, the floors a natural oak. “Country simple,” he remembered his mother saying. Everything about her life was country simple.

He opened the French doors to the left, panes still intact. He glanced around the study, disappointed to see that the built-in oak shelves — what were left of them — were hanging crooked. More beer cans and chip bags cluttered the floor.

Angered at how disrespectful kids could be, he kicked a beer can, sending it flying across the room.

A gray field mouse bolted out of a chip bag and scurried past him out the front door.

“Shit.” Colt sighed and rubbed his forehead, attempting to stay the accumulating pressure of a tension headache. He hadn’t realized exactly how much work the place would need. But it didn’t matter. He was home and ready to settle down and make memories of his own.

He shut the French doors and went down the hallway between the staircase and the living room that led toward the back of the house. He stopped at the open basement door and peered down into the darkness below, wishing he’d thought to bring a flashlight. He closed the door and made his way to the spacious kitchen that took up the entire back of the house. It was in the same condition as the living area, scattered with litter and graffiti.

The laminate countertops had warped, probably from beer spills. Most of the cabinet doors were either missing or hanging crooked by only one hinge. To the left of the kitchen, in the open dining area, the linoleum in the corner was also warped and peeling.

Reminiscing once more, he saw a table loaded plumb full with the many courses of Thanksgiving. And in the middle of it all, the turkey — the largest bird he and his father could find on their previous day’s hunt. It was a tradition proudly honored by the Taylers. Not once had any Tayler ever purchased a turkey … until eleven years ago, and every year thereafter… “Not this year, Mom…” Colt whispered huskily.

A sudden gust of wind blew through the two broken panes in the back door, sending a waft of foul odor through the air, similar to the raw stench of roadkill. He crinkled his nose at the pungent aroma.

He eyed the one cupboard that remained intact and partially closed, anticipating what he would find on the other side of it. He crossed the room and opened the door, gagging as a waft of rotting flesh shocked his senses. A dead rat lay on its back with its claws curled into the air like dead crooked branches, and its mouth frozen open, baring its sharp fangs.

Holding his breath, he pinched the tail between two fingertips and carried it out the back door, tossing it into a rain-damaged cardboard box at the edge of the back porch. He dusted off his hands on his jeans and eyed the vast overgrown backyard and surrounding one hundred and fifty acre parcel.

It was a good piece of property his dad had picked. Slight rolling hills with just enough trees to provide the house and fields with ample shade to stifle the summer heat. Just over the largest hill, toward the back of the property, ran a creek, pooling into swimming ponds along its long journey to the lake. Beyond the creek was a vast pasture bordered by larger hills, riddled with animal trails where he’d often ride horseback until sundown.

Atop the highest hill, on the border of the neighbor’s property, he would sit on a boulder under a large oak to admire the majestic countryside. And though his home had looked so minuscule in the distance, it had given him a sense of peace just knowing that it was still nearby. He could even see the Sinclair ranch from where he’d sat, but at the time he’d never given it a second glance.

Sighing heavily, he eyed the overgrown path to the creek, wondering if the rope swing he’d tied to the tree which overlooked the pond still remained. Running, clutching the huge knot, and soaring over the deep pond before disappearing into its refreshing cool depths had been his favorite summer pastime. He recalled the last summer he’d spent here, during the drought, when the creek had nearly run dry. His seven-foot-deep pond had turned into a murky still of stench…