Priorities-Jack & Emma

Apologies to all. I haven't written anything for quite awhile...at least since my recent open heart surgery. I had many things rattling around within this dusty brain pan, and writing, I'm afraid, was near the bottom of the list. I want to thank those of you that have sent me praise and, of course, constructive criticism.

I have taken up the pen, or keyboard, many times and...many times, stopped only to start a new story. This is one of those stories. Just a little tale about priorities and communication.

Note: I may have taken certain author's liberties regarding Oak Harbor, Washington and Valdez, Alaska. Maybe, not as accurate in my descriptions as they should be. Oh well.

Again—any comments, critiques are welcome.

******

*

The tall stranger stood in the middle of the trail, his dusty black boots jammed into the earth, shoulders stilly taught. Standing at a slight angle, his healed Colt hidden, the stranger looked downward to the ground, his eyes hidden behind the brim of his black Stetson. His hat matched the rest of his attire; black woolen shirt, gun belt, black denim pants and a black leather vest. In the heat of the mid-day sun with the heat wafting upward from the ground, the stranger gave the appearance of a wavering shadow.

His horse bristled at the noise of the two riders easing over the rise, approaching along the same trail. Snorting, the stranger's steed bobbed his head, his eyes watching the roan and paint converging toward them.

"Easy...shhh...Dakota. Easy there," whispered the stranger. His head still staring at the ground, as he heard the two riders pull up.

"Mister...you're standing in the middle of the road, you mind moving over some?" The rider sitting on the paint waited for the stranger's reply, his hand resting on his six-gun.

"Whatcha think, Blair? You seen im before?" asked the one astride the roan.

"Yeah Dex...I seen him before," was all the one called Blair said. He stared at the man in black, his right hand carefully removing the leather strap from over the horn of the hammer of his Navy Colt.

"Well...who is he? Hissed Dex, anxiety evident in his eyes.

"This here's Chase Sanborne..." muttered Blair, his hand hovering over the polished handle of his pistol.

The rider called Dex whispered, "Dear god."

"God's got nuthin to do with it!" snarled the man in black, the hat slowly turning upward revealing a set of pale blue eyes, eyes devoid of any emotion or mercy.

"What's your beef, Sanborne?" asked Blair, his eyes watching the stranger's gun hand. "Why you bracing us?"

"Know a man called Jim Bartlett?"

Blair closed his eyes for a brief second. "Yeh, I know im. Me and Dex once worked for im a spell...before he sent us packin. Wrongly accused us of losing some of his herd intentionally."

"He's dead!"

"How?"

"You should know, you killed him," said Sanborne.

Dex's eyes widened and Blair glared at the dark man. "The hell I did. When that man told us to move on, I was relieved. Bartlett was an angry and bitter old man...meaner than an irritable sidewinder. Workin for im was nuthin but trouble for the two of us but...I stop short of killin. Truth is, both Dex and me was ready to quit the Single Bar T."

The man call Sanborne reached inside his vest with his left hand, the right still over the black steel strapped to his hip. When the hand slid out from his vest, a small object was clutched within the fist. Sanborne held the item for a moment before tossing it on the ground directly in front of the two horses.

Blair looked at the object and swore under his breath. As he gazed at the insignificant piece of leather, he heard his partner gasp. "Blair that looks like your..."

"Shut your pie hole you fool!" snarled Blair.

As Blair looked up, his hand had already pulled at his big Navy Colt, growling "Take him!"

Dex stared in horror as his trail partner spun around in his saddle, red mist exploding from the center of his chest as the blast of Sanborne's Colt .45 boomed. "BLAIR!" he screamed reaching for his gun. Dex never cleared leather, the two forty-five slugs lifting him from his saddle over the backside of the paint. He landed in a cloud of dust in the middle of the trail, not far from the lifeless body of his companion.

Chase Sanborne stood motionless, staring at the carnage he orchestrated. Healing his Colt, he walked over to the fallen two. He stooped down and grabbed the small object. He gazed at the leather and multi-colored bead piece before he tossed it next to Blair's hat. Standing, he glared at the two men. Their horses had bolted after the shooting and both bodies now lay across the trail, Blair's gun still gripped in his hand.

Dakota snorted, his left front hoof scratching in the dirt. Sanborne turned and made for the temperamental stallion. Without looking back, he grabbed the saddle horn with his left, slid his left foot into the stirrup and swung into the black leather saddle. He didn't worry about the two corpses; it was a well used trail.

With a vocal click and a twist of the reins, horse and rider galloped off.

******

"Will you get your nose out of that damn book and help around this house!" she screeched. "At least take out the god damn trash! Sometimes, I think you love books more than your wife."

Jack sighed and thought, at times dear wife, at times... as he set the book down. Damn woman, you're in rare form for a Saturday afternoon. Usually, I'm able to get a couple of chapters in before you start screaming. He pushed himself up from the chair staring at the western novel he had been devouring the past two days. "Good read," he mused, "May be awhile before I get back to you."

Entering the kitchen, he could hear Em, short for Emma, banging around in the living room moving furniture and whatever else to clean the house. He also heard that god awful noise she listened to whenever she began her house cleaning ritual, some kind of new age stuff. When he did take the time to listen, that soft electronic music would damn near put him to sleep. Em always said it kept her sane. Shit, I wonder what she'd be like insane, he wondered.

He winced at the crash and sound of breaking glass. Sure enough, a high pitched shriek slammed into his skull, "OH MY GOD...NO!" He knew he'd better check it out or else give her another reason to show how uncaring he is.

"What's wrong, honey?"

"Oh Jack, my crystal flamingo slipped off the end table and fell on the floor. It's shattered!" she cried. Jack found her kneeling on the tiled floor holding the largest remaining piece. Inwardly, he smiled...he hated that monstrosity but he knew it meant much to Em. David Preston, her boss, gave it to her at the last company banquet. Thinking of Preston, Jack frowned. Em's boss was a real shit and pussy hound. Jack knew Preston was always sniffing after Em, always giving her gifts such as that fucking crystal flamingo.

Trying to sound as sincere as he possibly could Jack attempted to sooth his distressed wife. "I'm so sorry, babe. I know how much you liked it. Wasn't it the expensive crystal Preston gave you? You know...the one from Santorini, Greece."

Em nodded as she held most of the broken shards in a dish towel. Sniffling, she quietly said, "Ye...yes, it was. But, it's not the expense but the sentiment. Preston remembered how much I like flamingos. He's always been good at that."

Jack had wished he'd kept his mouth shut but...no, not him. "Good at that?" he asked a little too sternly.

Emma turned and glared at her husband. "He's good at something you seem to lack. He always knows what I like!" she groused.

Keep my mouth shut, he mused, please don't say any...awe fuck it! "Sure he always knows what you like, Emma; he desperately wants inside those pretty little panties of yours!" The moment it came out, Jack knew he was in a world of shit. Hell, too late now.

Emma's eyes narrowed so tight Jack could barely see those precious green irises, her face turning an ugly reddish yellow hue that nearly blended with her red hair.

"You shit! You bastard! You jealous asshole! You've never like David, never given him a chance. You always believe the worst about people and think he's always trying to seduce me. Well, I'll tell you something right now Mr. Jackson 'Asshole' Lee, it'll be a long time before you ever get back into these, as you say, pretty little panties! A LONG FUCKING TIME! In fact...SLEEP IN THE GUEST ROOM TONIGHT!"

A rage that had been simmering for a long while reared its grisly head within him and Jack couldn't help but smile and laugh. He knew it would only add fuel to the blazing furnace known as Emma Marie Lee. "Shit, Em...I can't remember the last time I got into those panties you think so highly of. God damn woman, you know...now that I think about, we haven't fooled around for maybe what, two...three months?

And...making love? Hell, I don't think we've made love for the past six months. Maybe, shit, maybe somebody else has been the lucky recipient of your hidden affections? Wouldn't doubt it cause you sure ain't been gettin any from your loving husband now, have you? And God knows he's tried. Furthermore...YOU SURE HAVEN'T BEEN GIVIN IT TO YOUR LOVIN HUSBAND NOW, HAVE YOU!"

Jack chuckled as he continued, "Guestroom? I don't think so sweetie. As a great philosopher once remarked, 'Homey don't do that! You don't want to sleep with your husband then YOU can fucking move into the guest room."

Staring at her husband, Emma blinked, her face pale and quickly losing the red flush of her anger. Eyes widened, she displaying those beautiful deep emerald orbs Jack so loved. A tear formed at the corner of her right eye as she understood what her husband had just said.

He had never before spoken to her in that manner and was shocked at his anger and resentment. Then, the realization of what he just accused her of hit home and she jumped up running from the room and down the hall. Seconds later, Jack grimaced as he heard the slam of a bedroom door and briefly wondered if she locked him out of theirs.

"Damn it, why couldn't I just keep my big mouth shut? He reflected. "You know why, you idiot. This has been going on for way too long!" he gruffly answered himself. Soon, he calmed down enough to wrap his mind around a very uncomfortable thought. She never denied it; she didn't refute his allegation of her cheating. Abruptly, his heart sank as he worried what her lack of denial meant.

"Son of a bitch..." he whispered thinking of a despairingly new and uncertain future.

Jack sat down and contemplated on his next step. His wife was in the bedroom undoubtedly bawling her eyes out and here he was wondering what's to come. At that moment, it occurred to him his wife didn't actually say she had cheated on him either.

Jack stood and walked down the hallway. He saw their bedroom door still open and assumed she must have run into the guest room; however, when he turned he saw that door open as well. But, Emilia's, their eldest daughter, bedroom door was closed. Stepping softly to the door, he listened and could hear his wife sobbing. Gently tapping, he quietly spoke, "Em...could we talk?" Emma sniffled and hesitantly murmured, "Please leave me alone. I...I'll be okay, just give me a few minutes."

Angry as he was, it tore at Jack's heart to hear his wife sound so sad, so forlorn. "All right then. If and when you do want to talk, call me." There was no reply and he turned to walk away as she continued crying. "Damn!" he muttered.

It was near six in the evening when Emma went looking for her husband. She found him sitting alongside the work bench in the garage with the garage door open and Jack watching the neighborhood. She stood in the door frame from the house and gazed at her husband sitting there. He had that look she knew so well. He was deep in thought and who knew where he was at this moment. She feared the answer.

"Jack?" she called out, almost in barely a whisper.

Jack turned and looked at his wife and a deep sadness washed over him like a large wave rolling across the beach. He knew he loved her more than anything and, despite their issues, cherished this woman.

"Yes, Em?"

"Can we talk now?"

A lazy crooked grin spread across his face and nodded. "Sure...why not."

She couldn't help but smile at the man she married twenty-one years ago, still just as handsome but with a few more lines around the eyes, a little more gray around the temples. Jack's deep brown eyes were always mischievous, twinkling with humor and love. Emma knew who held the love in those eyes. Oh, why couldn't he be more attentive to her needs like David, she thought. Thinking of David Preston, she blushed as guilt swept through her thoughts.

Jack noticed the metamorphosis rush across her face; an expression he'd seen many times before ...it was her guilty look. Now why would she feel guilty?

He slowly rose from the stool and walked toward her. Emma could see the change in his eyes and became nervous. Maybe this wasn't the right time for them talk.

"Well, let's get this over with," said Jack resignedly. He expected the worst.

"Okay," she timidly answered.

Together, they walk out onto the back yard where she sat in a sofa length, covered swing. Jack looked at her and asked, "Want some coffee?"

Nodding, she smiled and replied, "That sounds nice."

He went inside and set up the coffee maker and while waiting he closely observed his wife sitting in the swing slowly drifting back and forth. He couldn't help but smile thinking back to happier occasions and the first time he saw her along the dock in Salmon Bay, Seattle, Washington.

Jackson Nathan Lee had just finished tying off the bow line of the Sea Mist, a seventy-five foot scientific research trawler and had just sounded off, "Bow line secured" when he saw her walking down the dock toward the vessel. He stood there transfixed as she approached. Tall, maybe somewhere around five foot nine to five ten, she was slender and strolled along the undulating dock with a grace befitting a ballerina. Though she wore a pale green woolen cap pulled halfway over her ears, rich tresses of deep red, highlighted with slivers of gold, fell over her shoulders in luxuriant curls. Her trim frame, hidden beneath a dark navy blue pea-coat, accented the long slender legs contained in pale blue denim jeans tucked just below the knees into a pair of black suede boots.

As she passed, Jack had looked an incredibly deep emerald green eyes twisting upward in an exotic almond shape below a pair of thin deep rust colored eyebrows. A few wisps of reddish curls tumbled downward in front of the exposed portion of those delicate ears creating a unique framework around an equally exquisite porcelain face complete with soft rosy cheeks and sculptured nose. Her lips were full, red and inviting perched above a flawless chin set atop a long willowy neck that elegantly curved into a bone white thick turtle-neck collar. He had never seen anything or anyone so beautiful.

As he stood there mouth gaping, eyes wide staring, the striking young woman turned and looked back at him from over her left shoulder. With just the hint of a smile, her eyes flashed before she turned back and continued walking along the dock.

"Jackson Lee...JACK!"

Jack snapped out of his trance to find Captain Barrick and his crew staring down at him from the gangway, the captain frowning while the rest those misfits either grinned or howled in bouts of laughter.

"Get your ass moving and secure the stern line!" bellowed Barrick above the convulsions of the others.

"Aye sir," yelled Jack as he ran to the stern to brace the thick line to the mooring bollard.

Once he had the line secured, Jack turned to search for the cause of his mortification only to catch a quick glimpse one black boot and blue denim vanish beyond the railing of a massive yacht moored on the opposite side of the dock, the gleaming white yacht taking up the entire side.

Shaking his head, he knew she must come from money, way beyond his meager standards.

"Aw...come on Jack, she's way outa your league bud. Let's go grab some brewskies at Flannigan's."

Jack turned and found his closest friend, Michael Chee, grinning, flashing those bright pearly whites of his. Michael Chee was an undergraduate majoring in oceanography who was assigned as an intern aboard the Sea Mist, much the same as Jack, an intern in marine biology and engineering.

"Sounds good to me ya grinning gargoyle, as soon as the Sea Mist is..."

"Don't worry, Barrick gave us the go ahead. The rest of the crew will finish up," laughed Chee.

"Why would he..."

"Aw, because of that baby gray we helped. We were the only one's willing to jump in and cut away that fuckin net. Anyway, we free so don't argue...let's go."

Jack smiled and said, "In a minute, need to grab my gear."

"Hurry man, I'm parched!" complained Chee, his eyes pleading.

Fifteen minutes later, they were busting through the front entrance of Flannigan's Sports Bar and Grille.

"Hey, Jacky you ole' sea wolf...Chee-man, where you guys been?" shouted a huge mass of muscles behind the bar.

"Jimbo...how's business man? Just got off the Sea Mist and do we need to get the taste of salt outa our system. Give us a couple a Corona's port faver!"

"That's por favor you nimrod," he laughed and slammed two Corona's on the counter. "First two are on the house you two clowns, after that you pay double for every skirt you chase away."

Chee looked hurt and, with huge puppy dog eyes, whined, "What are you accusing us of Jimmy...we bring the fairer sex in by the droves...don't we Jacky?"

"Hell yeah we do, Chee! They can't help themselves but converge on this old fire trap once we're in town."

James, Jimmy, Flannigan shook his head and chuckled. "The only thing you two poor excuses for marine biologists can attract is a good case of the crabs!" Guffawing, the giant bald headed bartender and owner wiped his hands in a less than clean dish towel and moved toward the other end of the bar to handle a sudden mob of customers.

"That's marine biologist and ENGINEER, JIMBO!" yelled Jack. "When will you ever get it right?" All he got back was laughter.

"Come on Chee, let's grab a table. I've got ten bucks says I can take you down this time."

Chee just laughed and replied, "You know something Jacky, you never will beat me but at least you never give up. Custer and the Seventh Cavalry would have been proud. Grab a stick, I'll rack."

It was on the fifth game, and forty dollars poorer, that found Jack lining up the cue ball on the side cushion to bank the eight into the side pocket. Easy shot, he thought. "Gonna finally get you, you red skinned devil," he snickered as he pulled back on the stick. Just as he slid the cue tip forward, someone struck his elbow causing the cue ball to glance off the edge of the eight ball and roll slowly across the faded green and worn felt.

"NO!" he screamed as the glossy white ball hesitated on the edge of the corner pocket and hung there. Chee screamed, "Yeah...do it, DO IT FOR THE RAPE OF OUR INDIAN CULTURE!" As if obeying the skinny Native American, the ball unceremoniously dropped into the pocket.

"SCRATCH! You lose again pale face. Hey yah, hey yah, hey yah ho hah!" chanted Chee as he broke out into a ceremonial dance.

"God damn, mother fuckin, son of a bitch! Who the hell bumped my elbow?" Jack angrily looked around searching for the culprit and froze. Staring at him was a pair of green eyes, eyes that were very concerned; upset about its owner bumping into this handsome young man now standing there red faced holding a cue stick.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry. I didn't mean to hit your elbow. Did I ruin your game? Please forgive me."

Jack understood what a deer felt like when struck by oncoming headlights. He just stood there staring at those beautiful eyes unable to utter a syllable.