A Texas Hero

“Goodbye, Henry.”

His friend tapped the table with his arthritic knuckles as if to make a point. “I’m sorry about Ethan.”

“I know.”

Henry ambled to the door and Walt took the glasses to the sink. Henry’s head was as hard as Walt’s, but they understood each other most of the time. If Henry thought not cussing was easy for him, then he’d better think again. Walt’s tongue was about to fall out of his mouth from sheer lack of use.

“Hey.”

Walt turned to see Kelsey standing there. As always, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. His last good nerve snapped at the word hey. He pointed to a chair. “Sit down.”

She scurried to a chair and he sat facing her. “Let’s get something straight. Whether you like it or not, I’m your grandpa. You can call me Grandpa, Gramps, Pop or whatever you’re comfortable with, but you will not call me Hey. It’s disrespectful. You got it?”

She raised her head and looked at him, something she rarely did. Long black hair partially covered her face, but Ethan’s brown eyes stared back at him. “Yeah, but you will not call me girl, gal or alien. You will call me Kel or Kelsey.”

Damn! She’d heard him say that. His gut knotted tight with guilt.

“Deal.” He extended his hand across the table. It took a moment, but she finally shook it. “I apologize for calling you an alien. That was out of line. I give you my word as your grandfather I will never do that again.”

“Deal.” She nodded. “Did they find Ethan?”

“No. They arrested one of the robbers and they’re questioning him now. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

“Okay.” She stood and twisted on her flip-flops. “Can I have some ice cream?”

“Kelsey, this is your home now, and you can have any food we have.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t know. My grandma didn’t have a home and we lived with her older sister. She didn’t like me eating her food. When my grandma died, my mom and me lived in motels or rented rooms.”

Lordy, Lordy. What a life for a young girl—his granddaughter. A load of guilt hit him right between the eyes as powerful as a butt of a Colt .45. For Ethan’s daughter, he had to do better.

“You have a home now and can eat whatever you want.”

She opened the freezer, took out an ice-cream bar, and ran to her room.

Walt went out onto the deck and sank into a chair. Rowdy lay at his feet. He gazed past the chain-link fence to his pastureland. Cows lay in the shade of several big live oak trees out of the stifling heat. He’d check the water troughs later to make sure they had enough to drink. In this heat, they needed constant water. Wherever Ethan was, he prayed he wasn’t in the heat.

Walt leaned forward, bowed his head, and clasped his hands together. “Lord, I’ve been talking to You a lot in the past few hours and You might find that strange since I haven’t talked to You in years. Maureen, my wife, was a religious woman, and she talked to You daily. I figured that pretty much covered the bases for me. But there comes a time in a man’s life when he has to confront his maker alone. For me, that’s today. My boy’s been taken by some thugs. You probably know that, right? He’s a good man. You know that, too. He has a twelve-year-old daughter who needs him. I don’t know a thing about little girls, but I’ll do my best until You return Ethan to us. That’s all I’m asking, Lord. Watch over Ethan. Kelsey needs him. I need him, too. Thanks for listening.”

He got up and went back into the house with a purpose—to forge a bond with his granddaughter. It didn’t matter what she looked like on the outside. Inside she was a scared little girl needing a home, family and love. Wrestling a steer to the ground might be easier than reaching Kelsey. But grandpas didn’t give up. And that’s who he was—Grandpa.

* * *

THE LIGHT-HEADEDNESS CONTINUED and Abby floated in and out of the clouds. Ethan’s hand rested on her hip as they walked and she knew she was okay. Weird thoughts ran through her head. Had she told Ethan she’d been waiting for him all her life? No. She hadn’t said that out loud. She was almost positive. Besides, she’d only known him a few hours. But inside her heart was a certainty that their souls had connected.

Ethan stopped and she glanced up. They’d reached the small weatherworn wood cabin. There was nothing but dirt around it. What little grass had been there had died. It wasn’t as run-down as the other cabin, and a porch graced the front. She sank onto the stoop.

“Rest,” Ethan said. “I’ll check things out.”

She lay on the wood flooring, totally spent. Suddenly a slight breeze touched her skin. Opening her eyes, she sat up. The breeze continued. She pulled the wet blouse from her skin and fanned it. Heavenly. After a moment, her mind cleared.

“Ethan.”

He strolled from the side of the cabin. “What?”

“The wind.”

“Yeah. It’s picked up.” He glanced toward the sun. “It’s probably about seven o’clock and the sun is going down.”

“We get a break.”

“Yeah.” He eyed her. “Do you feel better?”

“Yes.” There was something different in his gaze. Was he worried about her? She cleared her dry throat. “Did you find anything?”

“There’s an old-timey well out back with a rope and a bucket. The bucket is cracked and the well handle’s rusted, but I’m hoping I can find something in the cabin to use for oil.”

She followed him inside. The flooring was sturdy and the roof hadn’t caved in like the other one. Bunk beds occupied two walls. Faded sheets were still on them. A small cabinet with a makeshift sink and window took up another wall. A refrigerator stood in a corner.

“Without electricity, how do they run a refrigerator?”

“They bring a generator.”

“Oh.”

Ethan opened drawers and cabinet doors. “Not much here. Must be why animals haven’t overrun this place.” He yanked wide the doors beneath the sink. “Wait. What’s this?” He pulled out a large plastic container. “Peanut oil. Not much left, but it should be enough.” He reached for something in the top cabinet. “This stoneware pitcher is heavy and has a handle. We might be able to use it for a bucket.”

She trailed behind him out the side door to the well. It looked like so many she’d seen in landscaped yards. Of course, this one was very rustic. But it had a roller bar across the top with a rope and a crank handle. The bucket lay on the ground, useless. The housing around the hole was made of wide, weatherworn boards. The opening was covered with a heavy-looking metal object.

Ethan took a small scrub brush from his pocket. She hadn’t even seen him remove it from the cabin. He poured peanut oil on it and began to scrub the rusty crank. The well was in the open and the sun showered them with waves of heat, but it wasn’t as intense. Sweat rolled from his face. He had to be exhausted, too, but he never stopped. She wanted to help him. Using her better judgment, though, she just watched, marveling at the muscles working in his arms and the total concentration on his face.

She could imagine him pursuing a killer with everything in him. She’d never been this impressed with anyone in her life. And she wasn’t delusional.

“Hot damn,” he shouted as the crank began to move. After more elbow grease it made a complete circle. Then another.

“It’s working,” she cried.

“All it took was a little muscle.”

“And you’ve got those.”

He gave her a dark-eyed glance.

“What?” She lifted an eyebrow. “Is that a secret?”

“Stop distracting me.” He continued to work the crank.

“Oh, I didn’t realize I was doing that.”