King looked at the approaching fire with a look of disbelief, if not panic, on his face. An impossibly tall wall of bright yellow flames and grey smoke raced towards him, while air rushed past him to be consumed by the fiery demon. The fire jumped the road just south of him. There were fences on both sides of the road. He turned and ran north down the center of Highway 17, away from the approaching flames, towards Fort Davis.
A white pickup truck with Texas Parks and Wildlife on the side slid to a stop in front of King. The lights on top were flashing urgently, and the horn was blowing. He could see the driver motioning to him, so he went around to the side and climbed in the passenger seat.
The driver put the transmission into reverse and turned the truck around in a U on the highway. “You’re fixing to be a crispy critter there, King.” He put the transmission back in drive and floored the accelerator as the flames reached them.
“I guess I owe you one, Delbert.”
King turned around in time to see his classic 911T Porsche, parked on the dry grass of the highway right of way behind them, begin to burn. After just a half mile, Delbert stopped the pickup on the right side of the road and put the transmission in park. “Be right back.” He grabbed a pair of fencing pliers off the seat beside him and jumped out, leaving the door open. Beside them on the land next to the highway, a herd of Hereford cows, maybe fifteen of them, pressed against the fence, bawling. Delbert cut the six strands of barbed wire, starting with the bottom strand. As he got back into the pickup truck the cows poured through the gap and onto the highway.
“That son-of-a-bitch E W don’t give a God damn about anybody ‘cept hisself.”
King looked at him, not understanding. “That’s Earl Wayne Haas’s place. He’d just leave those cows here to burn to death. Nothing deserves that, especially not a cow.” Delbert looked at King. “Not even you. Where you want me to drop you off? I’ve got to get to the park. What the hell you doing back there?”
“Ran out of gas. Coming back from Marfa.”
“Well, that’s a God damned stupid thing to do.”
King shrugged. “Gas station was closed.” They came into Fort Davis. He pointed to the right, to the Limpia Hotel. “This’ll do. Appreciate the lift.”
King stood on the sidewalk as Delbert’s pickup went out of sight up the road to the north. He looked back to the south, where he could see a wall of smoke, but no flames. He shrugged, and walked across the small courtyard and went inside the bar, where he had agreed to meet Maria.
The only people in the bar were the bartender and a busboy. “Maria here?”
The bartender shook his head. “She was here, mebbe half hour ago. Said to tell you to get the fuck outta here.” King grunted. “You want a drink? I’m closing up. Boss told me to go home. The fire, you know.”
“Can you make an old fashioned?”
“Coming up.“
King pulled a ten dollar bill from his wallet and took a seat on a barstool. He played with the bill, folding it in half lengthwise, then in half again, and unfolding it, then folding it again.
“Boss said the fire looks like it’s coming right through town.” He slid the cocktail glass across the bar. King handed him the ten. The bartender held his hand up. “On the house. I closed the register just afore you got here.”
King put the ten down on the bar. “Tip, then. Take it.” The bartender took the bill and stuffed it in his shirt pocket, nodded to him, and left. The busboy went with him.
The bartender turned around in the doorway. “Turn the lights off on your way out.”
King walked out of the bar to the parlor so he could look out the window. The tall grey wall of smoke menaced to the south. A rural fire truck went by on the street outside, lights flashing. He took a sip of the drink, then another, grimaced, then finished the drink in one long swallow. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, pushed the button, put in his passcode, and stared at the screen. The status on the top left said “Searching . . .” He stood up and put the phone back in his left pants pocket.
Kissing Rocks
This is part of the first chapter of Enchanted Rock White(tail):
The Model
Maurice walked into headquarters wearing blue jeans and a t-shirt that had Texas Secede printed on it in red and blue, and went straight back to his office. Right after going through the door, he stopped. There, sitting in a chair next to his desk, was a sultry blonde, wearing a very small pair of black panties, and a black lace bra, which for the most part just spilled out her generous feminine curves towards him. The girl’s left wrist was handcuffed to the arm of the chair. She inclined her head slightly to the right, and blonde curls spilled over her shoulder.
“I’m a flight risk.” The girl’s accent was distinctly not Texan.
Maurice stared at her for a few more seconds, then realized he was staring, and blushed. He went back out of the office to the customer service desk Gwen was working.
“There’s a naked woman in my office.”
Gwen slowly shook her head. “I don’t know where they get these people. Talk to Paul. He just stepped out to use the men’s room on the back deck.”
At that moment, Paul came into the lobby. He was wearing the full uniform of a Texas Parks and Wildlife Park Police Officer, right down to the bullet-proof vest, straw hat, black leather equipment belt, holstered Glock .40 handgun, two extra magazines of ammunition, Mace, and an empty handcuff case.
Maurice nodded towards the office where the young woman sat, and as he did so, he winced.
“You’re on convalescent leave. You’re not supposed to be here. You had a bullet taken out of your chest a week ago.”
“I just thought. . . . “ His sentence tapered off as he looked at the blonde again. “Paul?”
“Lascivious conduct. Got proof, too. Open and shut case.”
Maurice could see a man on the back deck talking on a cell phone, with a camera hanging on a strap around his neck. The hair sticking out from under the man’s New York Yankees baseball cap was dyed an odd shade of red.
“Proof?”
“That guy out there. It’s in his camera, but he won’t give it to me. Says it’s protected by the First Amendment.”
Maurice walked back into the office. “First, let’s get this young lady out of the handcuffs.”
Paul shrugged, and got out his handcuff key. “She’s a flight risk.”
The girl nodded. “I’m a flight risk, officer.” She rubbed her wrist as Paul put the handcuffs back into their case.
Maurice sat down in another chair. He caught himself staring at the blonde again, and blushed, and she winked at him. Paul stood by the door.
“See? He’s blocking the door so I don’t try to escape. I’m a dangerous criminal.”
Her accent was strong; not the melodious speech of the southerner, or the twang of the westerner, but familiar to Maurice.
“OK, Paul, take it from the start. How did we end up with a naked woman in the office?”
The blonde turned to look at the other officer. “Yes, Paul, how did we end up with a naked woman in the office?”
Paul shrugged. “I was walking up the Turkey Canyon Trail. You said ‘A PPO should know every square foot of his territory.’ So, I was doing that. Anyway, I got to that place you call Kissing Rock, and there she was, naked as the day she was born, and this guy had a camera set up and was taking pictures of her.”
Maurice looked at the blonde, trying not to stare. She leaned forward slightly, and her breasts almost escaped the minimal restraint of the bra. Paul shifted nervously in the doorway.
“Ma’am, is that true?”
“Yes, that is true. However, I was just changing into another outfit. I was only naked for a few seconds. He came up on us right between shots. And then he made a big deal out of it and made us come in here.”
“Well, we do have rules about nudity in the park.”
Paul shifted again, thumbs thrust into his equipment belt. “I have proof. Well, that guy out there has proof in his camera.”
The blonde sighed. “He’s a photographer for a very well-known fashion magazine. We’re doing a shoot out here. This place came highly recommended.”
“Highly recommended?” Maurice winced again as he aggravated the still healing wound in his chest.
“Yes. My old step-dad, he told me about this place. Said it was one of the most beautiful places ever. We were doing a shoot in Austin and decided to pop over.”
“I see. Do you have some actual clothes?”
The girl sighed again. “Of course I do. They’re in the car.”
“Why aren’t you wearing them?”
“Bumblebrains here locked the keys in the car.”
It was Paul’s turn to blush. Maurice turned to look at Paul, who shrugged.
“It was an accident.”
“Well, get the tool, and see if you can get the car unlocked.”
Maurice turned back around to look at the girl. “You from New York?”
“What of it?”
“Your accent is familiar. We used to have a New Yorker working here, John Dooley. He talked just like that.”
“Yeah, well that’s the guy I was talking about. He’s my step-dad. Well, he used to be. I’m Monica.”
“John Dooley’s your step dad?”
“My mother was wife number two. They didn’t last long, but he was always nice to me. You’re his friend, aren’t you? You’re that famous park ranger. What was it, the hill country hero?”
Maurice shook his head and sat down at the desk. “I’m not a hero. Let me see what we can do about getting you out of here.”
Swimming Hole at Homer Martin Ranch
This is the prologue for Fort Davis Rocks.
Water from the previous night’s rain trickled out of the cedar breaks through very thin soil on top of a continuous layer of limestone. It collected in a depression and ran down the gentle slope, finally cascading over rock smoothed by millennia of trickling water. The rock had been warmed by the August sunshine, and when it finally reached the swimming hole, it was noticeably warmer than the crystal clear water into which it cascaded, with irregular but consistent tinkling. At the edge of the hole an old live oak tree clung to the bank with half of its original root structure, the other half having disappeared when the soil beneath was scoured out by a succession of floods. One root still grasped a piece of limestone it had grown around, as if to defy the disappearance of the rest of the foundation the tree had once relied on.
At the edge of the pool, perhaps twenty feet by forty feet, long green leaves of bear grass dipped into the water, like so many Rastafarians with the heads bent toward the water. Above, a knotted rope hung from the upper reaches of the old tree, ready to deliver children into the four foot deep pool. The wind blew loudly through the upper branches of the trees, but at the surface of the water, the air barely moved. Two turkey vultures soared far above, and another swooped down for a closer look, then went on its way. The only sounds beyond the tinkling of the water dripping into the pool and the wind in the treetops were the sounds of wet kisses being shared by the young couple in the pool.
Tiny fish, many only a half inch long, searching for something to eat, finally investigated the hair on Maria’s arm. She pulled her arm out of the water. “They’re biting me!” Delbert, eager to continue kissing the girl, looked down into the water. He, too, had felt the tiny fish nibbling on the hairs on his legs, but he was far too engrossed in the girl to care. She put her mouth back on his, and tasted his tongue again, then abruptly pulled away and threw herself backwards into the water, causing a splash that scattered the fish.
Delbert sat still, watching her through the distortion of the water. Maria surfaced again, facing away from him, and wiggled a little, then turned to face him. She held her white bikini top in one hand, and the bottoms in the other. She had long, black hair, and skin the color of toasted marshmallow. Her young breasts sagged only slightly, and she grinned at him, then turned abruptly and climbed out of the far end of the pool. Delbert watched her supple loins, transfixed by the sight, the first girl he had ever seen unclothed. As she slipped on her sandals and began running up the trail, he swam to the shallow end, where he could climb out, but by the time he got his shoes on, she had disappeared.
The fifteen year old’s absence from the after lunch activities had been noted, and counselor’s spread out over the area looking for them. Maria almost ran into one of them, stark naked and laughing, and by morning she was on her way to a family compound in Mexico. Delbert’s parents couldn’t be reached immediately.
Enchanted Rock Blue(s) is in its final stages. I think it may be a better story than Enchanted Rock Red; here is the first part of Chapter 1:
Maurice Neunhoffer stood alone on the top of the knob shown as a scenic view point on the folded map of Enchanted Rock State Natural Area in his left shirt pocket. Above the pocket was the badge of a Texas Parks and Wildlife Park Police Officer. He faced the western horizon, where a cumulonimbus cloud spat out lightning and rain a few miles away. Over his shoulder an AR-15 rifle hung from a strap. A hundred yards behind him on the Loop Trail a John Deere Gator stood empty. The towering storm cloud blocked the late afternoon sun. High above a lone vulture circled, canvassing the terrain below for a meal. Maurice held binoculars to his eyes, moving them slowly to the right as he examined the terrain between his position and the western boundary fence. He continued turning to the right until several minutes had elapsed and he had turned a full 360 degrees. The remains of a picnic were scattered around at his feet. He bent over and collected the scraps of food, an empty green bottle lying on its side by the stain of spilled wine, a daypack, and a picnic blanket, and walked back to the Gator.
The trip back around the Loop Trail to Park Headquarters would be half an hour on foot, but in the Gator it was only ten minutes. When he arrived he saw the green pickup truck of a Texas Parks and Wildlife Game Warden in the parking lot. In the distance he could hear the blades of an approaching helicopter beating the air in a frenzy of ‘whop-whop-whop.’ Maurice slipped through the door beside the entrance drive where Becky stood ready to collect user fees.
“Any luck?”
“Nah.” Maurice continued towards the back office. In the office the Game Warden sat in a chair beside the desk, the Park Superintendent behind the desk. Maurice smiled when he saw who had come in the green pickup outside. “Wie gehts?”
“Sehr gut.”
Maurice shook the Game Warden’s hand, nodded to the Superintendent, then took off his cap and sat down in the other office chair. “Nothing. Nada. How’s the victim?”
The Superintendent shifted in his chair. “Not too bad. Had some stitches at the ER in Fredericksburg.”
“Sounds like you’re going to be on TV tonight.”
The Superintendent shook his head glumly as the helicopter with the logo of an Austin TV station on the side slowly settled onto the grass behind the building. “Well, what are we going to do about it?”
Max, the game warden, spoke up. “They’ve got a pretty big range. He could be watching the campground from one of those rocks behind us or he could be miles away and never coming back.”
“All the same, I think we should close the Loop Trail.”
Maurice sat up straight in his chair. “And the Walnut Springs and Moss Lake Campgrounds too? There’s a bunch of campers out there. Where we going to put all those people?”
“Got to do something. If that cat attacks someone else, there’ll be hell to pay. Max, what do you think?”
“Attacks by mountain lions are very rare. We’ve got some public information handouts on mountain lions. Tells you how to prevent an attack, what to do, that kind of stuff. They’re on our website. We can pass them around and warn people to be on the lookout.”
“How about you guys spending the night out there? Aren’t they nocturnal? Maybe you’d see it then.”
Max looked at Maurice. “Hell, I don’t know. I suppose that would be OK. Maurice, you up for a camp-out?”
“You know me; I’d live in a tent if Angela would let me. She’s in Houston with her parents for a few days. How ‘bout you get your camping stuff and some grub and meet me out by Walnut Springs?”
“I suppose so. You’re going to have to tell me where that is. It’ll take me a couple of hours. What happened to that storm?”
Maurice got up and looked out the window. “Looks like it’s moving off to the north. Bring a couple of those big spotlights with you. I’ll get my stuff together and get some brochures passed out.” They could hear the TV reporter in the lobby. He turned to the Superintendent. “Looks like you got your work cut out for you. I’d face down a mountain lion rather than those cameras any day. I’ll get some of those brochures, and then I’m outta here.” He stuck his head out of the office door; Gwen was only a couple of feet away at a station registering guests. “Are there any campers in Buzzard’s Roost Campground?”
“Two.”
“I’ll get out to the campgrounds and pass the info out ASAP.” He took the folded park map out of his shirt pocket and made an X in the Walnut Springs Primitive Camping Area, then handed it to Max. “Here’s where I’ll be. Bring some decent food, eh?”
While Gwen printed two hundred of the “Mountain Lions In Texas” brochures from the TPWD website, Maurice slipped out the back door with the AR-15 over his shoulder and drove the Gator to his living quarters at the north end of the park along the highway. He got his sleeping bag, sleeping pad, and tent, filled a big jug with water, grabbed his field jacket, and drove back to the Headquarters. The TV camera was set up on the back deck, and the Superintendent was being interviewed by a reporter with long, curly, brown hair. Maurice quietly went in through the side door. Gwen handed him a couple of manila envelopes filled with the two page brochures.
“That reporter asked about you. “She said she was hoping to get you on film for the evening news.” Maurice grimaced. “I told her you were out chasing the big cat.”
“Thanks.” Maurice smiled, tipped his hat to her, and then slipped back out the side door.
robertcdeming 