Customer Service

"Eighty-something. He's old school, ranching's in his blood."

"Does he still run cattle?"

"A few. Not as many as you do, though. Maybe a thousand head."

"I've wanted to meet him, ya know? Just to shoot the shit."

"Go out and do it, then; most mornings he's out running hay, but he's usually in by noon."

"I reckon. Winter's are tough out here."

She shrugged. "I guess. Do you write all the time now, or go out and work the fields?"

"A little of both, but Bert runs things. I think I just get in the way when I go out there."

"Is that the way you want things to be?"

He chuckled. "You know, Tracy, I grew up in Brooklyn. What I know about ranching wouldn't fill that coffee cup."

"Well, Bert's a top hand. You're in good hands."

"You know him?"

She nodded her head. "A little. We dated all through high school."

He looked at her then, a hard, penetrating gaze. "Oh?"

"We were going to get married. He wanted to work for my dad in the worst way back then." She sighed, looked back through stacks of memories. "I guess everyone wanted to work for my dad, the kids who wanted to stay here, anyway. I figured out early on I didn't want to. I wanted all the bright lights, the faraway places, so I left."

"How long have you been back?"

"Not quite five years."

"I'm sixty two years old, Tracy. Sixty two, and I'm tired of living out on that ranch by myself. Tired of the superficial types in California. I want a woman to wake up next to me in the morning, to help me write, to think. I think you're that woman, Tracy."

"I wish I was, Bob. I really do."

"Could we date a while?"

She looked at him, smiled. "Why?"

"Because I like being around you, Tracy. You make me feel good inside."

"We've known each other a few years. Why are you asking now?"

"Because I've known you a few years," he said, smiling, then his eyes fell. "You're not seeing someone else, are you?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Is it Bert?"

She almost laughed. "Oh, God no."

"You're not into, like, women, are you?"

She burst out laughing, an eye-watering, rip-snorting laugh, then took a sip of water while she wiped her eyes with a napkin. "Oh, Jesus, Robert...you're such a -- guy!"

"What?"

"If she's not attracted to me, she must be a dyke...!"

He looked crestfallen. "You're not attracted to me?"

"I told you -- you're attracted to Eunice Gibson. You just don't know it yet."

"I don't get it, Tracy. Why do you think that?"

"You'd be good for each other. She's a real prime mover, Robert. You want someone to help shape your world? You won't find any better woman around here to help you do that."

"I...I just..."

"And there's something else," she added.

"Oh? What?"

"She needs you, too. Badly."

"Who do you need, Tracy?"

"Ah...here comes your steak," she said, and when Becky put the overflowing platter down on his placemat he gasped. "Jiminy Cricket! I wanted a steak, not the whole goddamn cow!"

"This is the small order, Mr Rankin," the waitress said, perplexed.

"You mean...there's a bigger one than this?"

"Yessir, but you got to ask for it."

"Holy smokes. This is enough for three people..."

The girl smiled. "Can I get you anything else?"

"Tums? Rolaids? A cardiologist?"

"At the check-out counter, Rob," Tracy said.

"Thank God. Well, no, this oughta do, for now." Becky walked off, grinning in triumph.

"Most of the ranchers around here would send that back," Tracy said. "Too small."

"I know. You can work up an appetite out there."

They ate in silence for a while, then he came up for air. "You know, this is the real deal," he sighed, letting his belt out a notch.

"Donny's a good cook."

"You know him too, I suppose?"

"High school. Two years behind me. He went into the Navy, cooked on a carrier for twenty years, or so he tells it."

"Well, he can cook a mean chicken fried steak, that's for sure."

"He'd love to hear that."

Rankin looked at her, at the way she said it and he nodded his head, then picked up his phone when it chirped. "Yo, Bert, how's it lookin'?" He listened for a minute, then: "Sounds good. Did you cut him a check?" Pause. "Alright, just have him bring it by the house in the morning; I'd like to talk to him about building some more bookcases in the study, and some stuff downstairs. Yeah. That'll be fine."

"What was that all about?" Tracy asked.

"Had Bert get Ronnie Higgins out to fix that door. He couldn't match the stain, so'll have to get back over to refinish the wood in the morning."

She nodded, "That was nice of you."

"That door is priceless, and I knocked the hell out of it. Solid mahogany, too. Don't make 'em like that anymore."

"They don't make a lot of things like that any more, I guess?"

"No. Reckon that's true."

"That's what I like about living here. I think people appreciate what we had, what we still have, and they're not willing to let go just yet -- simply in the name of progress, anyway."

"And I'm not from here, am I? I'm the rich outsider."

"You do like to reduce things down to a framework you understand, don't you?"

"But that's it, isn't it?"

"No, not really. Look, Bob, I like my life, don't really want to change anything right now. I'm comfortable, and I'm with people all day long, so I'm not lonely. I help them, do things for them, and when I get home I just want to lean back and wrap up in my cocoon. I don't want, or need, anyone to take care of..."

"What if I wanted to take care of you?"

She laughed, because he still didn't get it. "You want a woman to take care of, go back to California, or get a dog? The women around here are pretty self-reliant."

"What does that mean?"

"Another word for someone who wants to be taken care of is lazy. Not many lazy folk left around here. They tend to move to the city, get on disability, or welfare. Life's hard out here."

"I see."

"People are different, Bob, out here. Self-reliance isn't just some tag-line from a John Wayne movie. People live it, because there's no one else you can count on when the chips are down. There's yourself, and maybe family, if you're lucky, anyway. You can afford a foremen like Bert, and to hire people to get what you want done, but that's not really the way life is out here. It's not the way I grew up."

"Sounds like you resent me -- in a way."

"No, I just can't relate to you, the way you live. And I don't feel like I need to live that way. Like I said, I'm comfortable -- with where I am in life. That doesn't mean I don't like you, or that I don't want to go out to a movie with you every now and then. I does mean I don't think we'd be a good fit. I think you'd be unhappy with me after a few weeks."

"How's your salad?"

"You know? Not bad. You gonna make it through that side of beef?"

He nodded, then shook his head. "No way. One more bite and I'm off for a triple by-pass."

"They'll box it up, if you like."

"Can I drop you at home?"

"Could you? Not sure I want to wait for the bus this time of night, not out in that snow..."

+++++

She was behind the customer service desk the morning when Tom came in again.

"Tom? Did the shrimp work out last night?"

"Hmm, oh, they were fine. I just wanted to apologize for yesterday. I was rude, and there's no need for that."

"You look sad, Tom. What's up?" His wife had passed a year ago, ovarian cancer, and he'd had a hard time ever since, and his girls were still off on holiday, hanging protectively behind their father.

"My dog," he said, his eyes watering. "Had to put her down night before last."

"Oh, Tom," she said, taking his hand. "I'm so sorry."

He started crying, and she motioned to a floor manager to watch her desk, then came out and walked with the girls over to the Starbucks in the far corner of the store. She sat him down, waited for the darkness to run it's course.

"Which dog? Lucy?" she said a while later.

"That's right."

"She was one of Brigit's, wasn't she?"

"Yeah..."

She pulled out her phone, dialed her father's landline.

"Dad? You mentioned Sally was going to have a litter? Oh, she did? Yeah? Well, Tom Stoddard's here. Yup, that's right -- Lucy, one of Brigit's. She passed last night. Oh? Okay. He's having a tough time -- yeah, with me at the store right now. Okay, I'll tell him. Thanks, Dad."

"What was that all about?" Stoddard said.

"Dad kept a couple of girls from Brigit's last litter; one of those had a litter last week, and Dad's got three females not spoken for."

The change was instantaneous, and complete -- even his girls looked excited. "One of Brigit's granddaughters? Is that what you're telling me?"

"That's what I'm telling you. He mentioned he's got one that looks like a clone of Lucy -- think you could run out and and take a look?"

He stood, made as if to run for the door but stopped. He grabbed Tracy by the waist and pulled her close, kissed her on the lips -- then sprinted for the front door. "Thanks!" he yelled, just as the three of them cleared the door on their way out to the parking lot.

"Your welcome," Tracy whispered, as she made her way back to the customer service desk.

+++++

Rankin and the carpenter, Ron Higgins, finished looking over the repairs to the Gibson house's door, and he thanked the man for his work then walked through knee deep snow down to his Rover. Checking his phone, he made a few calls then drove the few blocks to the hospital and walked to Gibson's room. A knock on the door, a cheery "come on in," so he slipped in quietly, peeking his head around the door before he stepped fully into the room.

"Hello," he said, looking at Gibson's bruised, raccoon-like eyes.

"Hello, yourself."

"I just wanted to drop by, see how you're doing. Also, I've had a carpenter over to fix your front door."

"My front...why?"

"I'm afraid I kicked it off it's hinges when you fell, made quite a mess of things."

"Oh?"

"Yes. The way you hit the floor, well, I was afraid you'd really done some damage and I guess that got the adrenaline flowing."

"I guess I should be grateful you were there. I shudder to think what might have happened had no one seen me fall."

"Well, we got your groceries put up, so you should be in good shape once you get home."

"My, my. So, you were with Tracy?"

"I was at the store, she told me she needed to drop some things off at your house after she got off, and as it was snowing pretty good I offered to drive her over."

"That was sweet of you. Damsels in distress? Is that your thing, Mr Rankin?"

He laughed. "Not hardly."

"Are you two dating?"

Again he laughed, though he shook his head this time. "Not hardly."

"Tracy's a nice girl, but she's been different since she got back. Not quite herself."

"Oh? How so?"

"Hard to put my finger exactly on what I'm getting at. I'd say she's more resigned to her fate than she was before she left. Like she's seen death, and is waiting for it to come for her."

He stared blankly at the woman, wondered how much she knew about Tracy's accident. "Do you know her well?" he finally asked.

"I used to, yes. Quite well. Her mother was a close friend, and I watched Tracy grow up over the years. Her father was always one of the big movers and shakers in the valley, I guess you've figured out by now, so big things were always expected of her."

"Oh?"

"In another age, perhaps, she would have understood these expectations, moved to secure her family's legacy. As it was, she became the rebel. The loud music, the late night parties, and she developed a reputation, if you know what I mean."

"No, I suppose I don't," he said, suddenly despising this sanctimonious woman.

"Oh, she became quite the little slut, then she was -- poof -- gone. First to Boise, then off to New York City and jetting around the world all the time. Her mother was quite embarrassed by the whole thing."

"I see." He looked down at his watch and sighed. "Well, I just wanted to drop by, tell you about the door. It has a fresh coat of varnish on the inside; too cold now to tackle the exterior, but we'll get it come springtime." He turned and moved to leave -- "If I can lend a hand with the door, give me a shout."

"Thank you, Robert."

"Good day," he said as he left the room, and he shivered when he was out of view, felt like he'd been cornered in that room by a rattlesnake -- though he'd heard just enough to wonder what the hell was really going on with Tracy Tomberlin.

'What is it," he wondered to himself, "about this girl that's so captivating? She's just cute as any gal in Hollywood I've ever known, but that's not it. No...there's something deeper going on, like she's found some kind of inner peace.' He thought about books he'd read about finding such a place, notably Hesse's Siddhartha and Ullman's And Not To Yield, but they were no help. No, she was an enigma, hiding behind that desk helping people -- when it was she who more than likely needed help.

His help.

And he was as suddenly determined to get to the bottom of all this.

He picked up his phone, found the number for the Tomberlin ranch and called, spoke with her father. A few minutes later he was headed south out of town, heading into the unknown. Searching, he knew, for what might prove, in the end, to be completely unknowable -- yet he felt powerless to ignore the call he heard from this woman -- powerless to ignore the hold she already had on his heart.

+++++

Deke Tomberlin put the phone in it's cradle and chuckled.

"What the devil is that girl up to now?" he sighed. First Tom Stoddard in full blown grief over the passing of that dog, now Rankin, that silly actor -- who everyone in town said was in lust with his daughter. Everyone said he'd been after her for months -- to no avail -- and he wondered why.

He felt her on his thigh just then -- and reached down to scratch behind her ears.

Sadie moaned, looked up with grateful eyes and let him scratch away, then he patted his thigh, bid her to come up on his lap -- and she wasted no time springing up. She put her paws on either side of his neck and looked him in the eye, reading his mood, then she put her face on his right shoulder and sighed.

"I think you hate this snow about as much as I do, don't you, girl?" He cupped her head and scratched for a while longer, then ran his hands down to her shoulder and felt the lingering wound.

He'd gone into the hay barn two weeks ago to load the wagon and a rattler had struck out at him, but Sadie had intercepted the strike in midair. Yet somehow the rattler recovered, for a moment, anyway, and managed to get off a weak, ill-timed blow -- and Sadie had taken a few drops of venom in a shallow wound. He'd killed the snake, stuffed a couple of Benedryl under her tongue and loaded her in the pickup, then gotten her to the vet's office in record time, and while the wound turned black a few days later, the vet debrided the area and pronounced her fit as a fiddle.

And of course, that's when Sally went into labor.

Now he had seven Springer pups writhing around in their whelping box, in addition to Sally, Sadie and Max. He'd decided to keep a male this time, as Max was getting on now, so he had three males and three females to find good homes for. Tom Stoddard was a natural -- and as the man's two daughters had loved Lucy more than anyone could have hoped, he had reason to think he'd be a good match once again.

He looked up, saw Stoddard's old Ford coming up the drive and put Sadie down.

"Come on, girl. Company's comin'," he said as he walked over to the entry off the kitchen mudroom. He layered up: two sweaters and a heavy jacket, then walked out into the swirling snow -- Sadie by his side, a stately, calming presence.

Stoddard stopped behind his pickup and got out, the girls followed and Sadie walked over and sniffed the strangers' ankles, her stumpy tail barely moving. A few sniffs and the tail started beating away, then she fell in beside Deke as he came over to shake hands.

"Sorry to hear about Lucy. What got her, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Kidney failure, came out of nowhere."

Deke nodded. "Thirteen years, about right," he sighed. "You think you're ready for a pup?"

"I think without another pup around the house I'll up and die, Zeke. The girls graduate this summer, and I'm going to be alone for the first time in thirty years."

"Well, I reckon puppies are cheaper than women. Still, have you considered finding a wife, giving that whole thing a go again?"

"Nope. Never will. Just couldn't, you know. Jill was the love of my life, and I'm not going to sully her memory by taking another woman into my life."

"Oh?"

"Well, lookin' around this place, I sure don't see a new woman around here..."

"Nope, but then again, I'm almost eighty. Sarah was seventy five when she passed. You're what? Not even fifty? You've got twenty five years until you're where we were when Sarah got sick. That's a lot of livin' you've yet to get around to. You might want to give that some thought, you know."

"Yeah, okay."

Deke noticed the girls looking at their father just then, the concern in their eyes, and he wondered what they thought. "Well, you wanna stand out here and freeze our asses off, or head over to the Hilton."

"The Hilton?"

"The puppy shed," Deke said, winking at the girls.

They all laughed. "Lead the way, Deke."

The 'Hilton' was the newest, and arguably the nicest, building on the property. Tiled floors and walls, central heat and air conditioning, there were kennels for ten dogs, two tiled whelping boxes and facilities to wash and dry dogs of all size, and another larger room off the main to handle bovine emergencies. They walked in, shook snow from their clothes and boots, then sidled over to the nearest whelping box.

Sally lay curled on the floor, seven squirming puppies sucking away on her breast.

"See that one, second from the top?"

"Yup."

"If that one's not a near twin of your Lucy, I don't know what is."

Stoddard leaned close, looked at the pup. When he stood up there was tears in his eyes, but Deke was watching Rankin's Range Rover as it pulled up to the main house. "You stay here a minute. That Rankin fella just pulled up."

"The actor?"

"Yup."

"He still after Tracy?"

"Yup. Mind if I bring him in here?"

"Hell yes, but do it anyway."

They laughed as Deke put his coat on again and walked out into the howling storm.

Sally was looking up at Stoddard when he turned back to the litter; she seemed to be measuring him against memory for a while, then she lay her head back down and closed her eyes. The door opened a moment later, and a wave of icy air surged into the room -- Sally looked up and yawned, then plopped her head down again, clearly annoyed with the universe.

"What's this?" Rankin said as he came over and looked down at the brood. "Springers?"

"Yup. And Robert, this is Tom Stoddard. Tom? Robert."

The two shook hands, and Stoddard introduced his two daughters. "This is June, and this is Judy," he said.

"Twins?" Rankin asked.

"That's right," Stoddard said. "They graduate this year."

"Ever taken drama class?" Rankin asked.

"Last year," June said. "It was real fun."

"Think you'd like acting?"

"Oh, yeah," the girls said in unison, and he laughed, then he looked at the two Springer females: "Are these two sisters?" Rankin asked Deke.

"Yes, that's right. You like dogs, Mr Rankin?"

"Been a while, but yes. Damn, they're gorgeous..."

"Yup. We've been breeding Springers out here since right before the second world war. Good field dogs, not bad with cattle, too."

"You hunt with 'em?"

"Yup. Lots of pheasant, even a few quail along the creek beds."

"Lots of rattlers, too, I imagine."

"Yup. Lots of rattlers."

"Ever lose one?"

"What? To a rattler?"