All Roads Lead to Texas

Herb didn’t answer, just kept wiping the bar.

“Let’s go home,” Wade said again.

“I’m not ready. I want more whiskey.” He slammed the glass several times against the table. “Herb, you sorry ass, bring me another drink.”

Wade grabbed the glass out of his hand. “No more. You’re drunk. Let’s go.”

“I can drive myself home,” Jock scoffed, his words slurred.

“You’re not driving drunk in my county.”

“Hmmph. Used to be my county. I was sheriff here for over forty years—before you were born, so don’t tell me what to do.”

This was difficult for Wade, dealing with his father and his attitude. Rescuing him from drinking binges was becoming a common occurrence.

He caught Jock by the elbow and helped him to his feet. Jock tottered a bit, but he didn’t resist or protest. Wade led him out the door.

“Thanks, Herb,” he called over his shoulder.

“You bet.”

He opened the door of his squad car and Jock got in without one word of complaint. His dad didn’t have his cane so it must have been in his truck. Jock never used it when he was drinking. Taking the driver’s side, Wade headed for Spring Creek Ranch.

“I’m not drunk,” Jock said, staring at him through bloodshot eyes.

“I know, Pop.” Wade didn’t feel he needed to argue the point.

“All these new people in town make me mad as a fightin’ rooster.”

“I know.” Wade knew that all too well and he didn’t feel the need to argue that point either. They had many times to no avail. His dad was more stubborn than Mr. Worczak’s mule.

Jock leaned his head back in his seat. “Had it all planned, son. Invest in the KC consortium and retire in luxury. With Zeb Ritter as foreman, what could go wrong?”

Whenever his father drank, he talked about the same thing. Jock and a few old rancher friends had formed a consortium and bought the old K Bar C Ranch when the owner had died and the heirs had run the ranch into bankruptcy. When the land came up for auction, Nate Cantrell had pulled together some of his friends, and with their life savings had bought the ranch. They’d made big plans, but those plans hadn’t materialized and Jock had never gotten over it. Then Zeb had committed suicide and that was just another blow Jock couldn’t handle without drinking. When Jock had been thrown from his horse and busted up his leg, he’d retired as sheriff. He’d gone downhill ever since. His father didn’t care about life anymore.

“We didn’t count on the drought and the bottom falling out of the cattle market. We didn’t count on a lot of things.” He rested his arm over his eyes. “Clint had a lot to do with everything in my opinion. He wanted that land, but we got it before he could and he made sure our venture didn’t succeed. Can’t prove it, but I know he’s a yellow-livered snake and the reason the bank wouldn’t renew our loan.”

Clint Gallagher, a Texas senator, owned the big Four Aces ranch outside of Homestead. He’d been trying to buy the K Bar C for years. An aquifer that supplied a large percentage of water to the Four Aces ran beneath it. Clint wanted the water rights, but Jock and his friends bought the ranch before Clint found out about the auction. Clint was still angry over the deal. He and Jock had once been friends, but were now foes.

After the consortium had failed, Nate had gone to work for Clint and the rumor mill had had a field day. The investors suspected Nate had been in Clint’s pocket the whole time and had sabotaged the consortium deal for Clint. The town had labeled him a two-timing, back-stabbing crook and had treated him as such. Then Nate had suddenly been killed in a freak auto accident and the townsfolk didn’t lose any sleep over it. Small-town people with small-town minds.

When Nate’s daughter, Kristin, had returned to Homestead on the Home Free Program, she’d kept searching and digging to clear her father’s name. Her findings showed her father had gone to work for Clint because he’d needed a job. It was that simple. And the evidence proved Nate’s accident wasn’t an accident. He’d been murdered by Leland Haven, Clint’s lawyer. Leland had been stealing from Clint for years and when Nate had found out, Leland had decided to get rid of him. Nate Cantrell’s name had been cleared, but sometimes the old-timers, like his dad, seemed to forget that.

“Now Homestead is giving away the damn land. Never heard of such shenanigans. And a woman mayor. Never heard of that either—not in my kind of Texas.”

“Miranda’s doing a lot for Homestead,” Wade felt a need to say.

“Hmmph.”

“Take a look around you. Homestead was on the verge on becoming a ghost town. Now people are coming back. We have kids enrolling for school and that builds our tax base. That’s good. Miranda had nothing to do with the failure of the consortium so cut her some slack.”

“My grandson should be here,” Jock muttered in a broken voice. “Our boy should be here.” A tear rolled from his eye.

Wade’s throat closed up and he didn’t respond. He couldn’t. It had happened four years ago but it felt like yesterday that he’d gotten a hysterical call from his wife, Kim, telling him their son had been rushed to the emergency room. But they’d been too late. Zach was dead.

At twelve, Zach had wanted to go to a party a friend from school was giving. Wade and Kim didn’t know the boy all that well and they’d been hesitant. In the end, they had relented because Zach had wanted to go so badly. There had been drugs at the party and, after a lot of teasing and egging from the older boys, Zach had tried the stuff. He’d had an allergic reaction to the drug and had died thirty minutes later. Just like that, his young life was gone.

Wade and Kim had blamed each other, the boys at the party and the world in general. But placing blame didn’t ease it or accomplish anything besides creating more guilt.

He and Kim had been high-school sweethearts and they’d become parents when they were seventeen. So young, but they’d thought their love would last forever. With their parent’s help, they’d continued with their education and Kim had become a teacher and Wade a police detective in Houston. They’d been through so many trials, but they couldn’t get through the death of their son. At least not together. Kim had moved to Phoenix to live with her sister and Wade had returned to Homestead.

His father had retired and Miranda had encouraged Wade to run for the job. He had and being here in the slow, easy pace of Homestead was helping the wounds to heal. Until his father said things like he just did. Then the blame and the guilt came back tenfold.

And the grief.

IN SILENCE, WADE CROSSED the cattle guard to Spring Creek Ranch. The property consisted of the house, the barns and five hundred acres. The rest of the land Jock had put into the consortium that had failed. The city now owned it and was giving away parcels to people willing to build on it and make their home in Homestead. That was a hard pill for Jock to swallow.

Board fences flanked the road that led to the three-bedroom brick house Jock had built for his wife, Lila. She’d died ten years ago and Jock’s life had never been the same. He’d started to make bad decisions, bad choices.

As Wade drove to the back of the house, Poncho and Tex Alvarez came toward them, two Mexican brothers in their fifties who ran the ranch and watched out for Jock. They’d been here for thirty years and lived in the old home place below the hill. Tex’s wife, Yolanda, helped out in the house.

“Wonder why he no come back from town,” Tex said to Wade. Tex, a short, thin cowboy with a protruding beer belly, loved his beer and could ride a horse better than anyone Wade had ever seen. There wasn’t anything he didn’t know about cattle. Poncho, taller and heavier, had cowboying in his blood, too.

“He’s had a little too much to drink at the Lone Wolf.” Wade walked around to the passenger’s side to help his father.

Jock stumbled out. “Don’t need no damn help,” he muttered.

Wade nodded to Poncho, who wrapped an arm around Jock’s waist. “C’mon, Mr. Jock, that old sofa’s just waitin’ for ya.”

They slowly made their way to the back door.

Yolanda held it open, frowning. Short and plump, she had a quick tongue and she and Jock often had days where they screamed at each other. Yo would swear she wasn’t coming back, but in a couple of days she’d return to do the cleaning and cooking. “Lawdy, Mister Jock, ain’t you got no sense?”

“Don’t preach to me you sassy bitch.”

Yo’s black eyes flared. “You talk like that and I’ll knock you out with a frying pan. It’ll be swift and sure, not slow like that filthy stuff you drink.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Yo grabbed his arm and Jock wobbled meekly into the den. Wade was grateful for small miracles, but when Jock was drunk he did more damage with his mouth than his fist. He’d have to do something about his father and soon. What? He wasn’t quite sure.

“He went to town for a load of feed.” Tex broke into his thoughts.

“His truck and the feed are at the Lone Wolf. You can ride with me and bring it back.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Pop, I’m going back to the office. Be back later.” Wade knew that Tex and his family could handle Jock. He’d probably sleep until morning anyway, then they’d talk.