Green Calder Grass (Calder Saga 6)

“You’ll want to talk to this one,” Chase stated and turned to motion Buck forward, but he was already on his way.

Bending, he crouched directly in front of the rocker. “Hey, Pop, it’s me, Buck.”

The old man rocked forward and peered intently at the white-haired man before him. “Is that really you, boy?” he demanded with wary doubt.

“It’s me, Pop. White hair and all,” Buck replied with a flash of his old grin. “I told you I’d come as soon as I got out.”

A kind of wonder stole through the old man’s expression. Reaching out, he clasped Buck’s face with both hands. “It is you,” he breathed the words, then released a sound that fell somewhere between a laugh and a sob. With tears shining in his eyes, he let go of Buck’s face and excitedly fumbled around in his shirt pocket before he finally succeeded in pulling out a slip of folded paper. He showed it to Buck. “You wrote you would come. I’ve been carrying your letter with me ever since. I was afraid to hope.” His voice had a quaver to it. “I just knew that sunavabitchin’ Calder would find some way to keep you there. But—you’re really here.”

“I’m really here,” Buck repeated in emphasis. “I’m a free man, Pop. I did my time and there is nothing anybody can do to send me back there.”

“You’re free.” Tears ran down the hollows of Vern’s cheeks. “If only your mother could have lived to see this.”

“I know.” Buck nodded then patted the old man on the knee. “Look, Pop, I rented a small little house in town, the old Kromke place. Do you remember it?”

“Yeah, I know the place.”

“It isn’t much, but it’s big enough for the two of us. I want you to come live with me.”

In answer, Vern began to frantically grope around the chair arms looking first one way then the other. “Where the hell did that damned woman hide my cane this time?”

Straightening, Buck retrieved the cane that had been hooked on the windowsill. “Here it is, Pop.” He pressed it into the man’s hand.

Immediately, Vern struggled to rise from the rocker, using the cane for leverage and support. “Give me a hand, will you?” he said with impatience.

As Buck assisted him to his feet, Chase spoke up. “You don’t have to live with him, Vern. You are more than welcome to stay right here.”

“And just why the hell would I want to do that?” Vern challenged with vehemence. “This ain’t my home, and the Atkinses ain’t any kin of mine. Why would I want to stay in a place where I’ve gotta eat when they say, and I’m not allowed to smoke or drink? She won’t even let me have a chew now and again.”

Made self-conscious by the criticism, Ruby defended herself, “But you can’t see well enough to spit into the cup, Vern. You had tobacco juice all over the place.”

Vern either didn’t hear her protest or didn’t care. Leaning on the cane, he took a shuffling step toward the closet. “I’ll just get my clothes and we’ll get out of here.” He took another step then stopped to glare at Ruby. “Don’t just stand there, woman. Go get me something to put my clothes in.”

Hesitating, she glanced at Chase. He nodded. “If Vern wants to leave with Buck, that’s his choice.”

Vern’s belongings were few. In less than twenty minutes, all of them were stowed in the back of Buck’s used truck. Buck was the only one to thank Ruby for looking after his father. Vern never offered so much as a goodbye to any of them.

From the northeast came the rumbling roar of a plane taking off, its engines at full power. The noise of it masked the sound of Buck’s pickup when it pulled away from the house. Chase lingered long enough to express his own gratitude to Ruby for the care she had given Vern, then rode back to The Homestead with Logan.

“That went smoothly,” Logan remarked.

“I didn’t expect any trouble,” Chase replied grimly. “Buck is smarter than that. If you can, keep an eye on him.”

“I will.”

Ty stood by the desk in the den, sifting through the stack of morning mail, when Chase walked in. He looked up, running a searching glance over his father’s face.

“How did it go?”

“Vern left with him.” That closed the subject as far as Chase was concerned.

“Maybe that’s best,” Ty said as Chase walked around the desk and sat down in the big chair. “Logan left, did he?”

Chase nodded. “I invited him in for coffee, but he said he had a mountain of paperwork waiting for him. Anything in the mail?”

“Bills mostly.” Ty resumed sorting through it, then paused when he came across an envelope bearing the return address of the federal government. “Here’s one from the BLM.” He idly passed it to his father. “I asked Sally to bring us some coffee.”

“Good. I could use some.” Chase tore open the flap and pulled the letter out of its envelope as approaching footsteps echoed from the outer hallway.