Meadowlarks by Thomas Holladay (novels to improve english TXT) 📗

heard his brother owns one of those marijuana shops down below.”

Nason grinned and set the calf down, admitting the probability of a legal permit.

“You know how much I hate this?” Kidro followed Nason and the calf onto the wide, flat, blood stained rock. The surrounding grass stood thick and green, a good place for meadowlarks to nest and feed on bloodworms.

Kidro wished Scooter could chase them off for good, knowing Willis Donner loved the damn things.

Nason tied the lead-rope to the bronze ring he and Embry had installed at the center, maybe five years back. He straightened and stared at Kidro. “Hate what?”

“Oh, you know what I mean, this monthly ritual. I hate paying any kind of tribute to that son-of-a-bitch, offering up a sacrifice like he’s a god or something.”

“Kidro, we both know it’s not him. If he could, he’d probably kill that thing himself.”

“Ah . . .” Deep down, Kidro knew Nason was right, but the hurt from that night ten years ago seemed like yesterday.

He changed direction, getting to what he really wanted to talk about. “I’m thinking about reopening one of the mines.” Not that he needed anybody’s approval.

Nason thought about this, obviously searching for words. He turned and looked up the valley toward the village. “You still carrying that torch, still need to do big things, show up your father?” He turned back and stepped closer, making sure he'd been understood. Hard to see his eyes, getting dark out now.  “He’s dead for what, twenty years now, for Christ’s sake?”

“What’re you talking about?” Kidro didn’t need to prove anything to anybody. He could do whatever he wanted on his land.

“Isn’t that what happened ten years ago?”

And there it was, everybody thinking Kidro was to blame. “What do you mean? We haven’t taken out any ore since mother and dad bought those war bonds during World War II. Why, Willis helped in the mine every day.”

“Kidro, didn’t you have this argument with your mother ten years ago?”

“You saying I don’t have the right?” He leaned closer to Nason and sharp pain gripped his left leg. “Even she never told me I didn’t have the right. She knew I wanted to make my own mark ever since dad died. That’s all that bothered her, not that I shouldn’t do it.”

“You know what I mean.” Nason shook his head, disappointed. “Jesus, Kidro, haven’t you got enough?”

“What good is all my money if I’ve got no one to enjoy it with?”

“You never worry about consequences Kidro. I’m the one who has to worry about what might happen.”

“You want me to get somebody else?”

I don’t want that.

“You can take it up with the committee if you want. That’s how your mom set it up, so you Potters won’t have total control over who’s the sheriff or who runs the bank or who is pastor of the church and who runs the school.”

Nason was getting angry.

Not good.

Nason was protecting the small ranchers against Kidro, but Nason didn’t understand anything. Kidro said, “I’m tired of being alone. I need an heir.”

“J.J. is still around somewhere. He’ll come home. Wait and see.”

“That night when . . .” Kidro staggered backward and planted his stiff left leg, not willing to give another inch, but the words stuck in his throat like a fish bone.

Shake it off.

“That night, after his mother and brother died, J.J. never forgave me. Then, after mom died, when I fired John and Willis, he said he never wanted to see me again and left.”

Nason put a friendly hand on Kidro’s shoulder. “Yeah . . . well . . . Kids say a lot of things. I mean, didn’t he cash out that trust your mother set up? I think he was out of the Corps by then.”

“That was over five years ago, and we’ve heard nothing since. I’ve been thinking, what if he never does come back? What if he can’t come back?”

“What good will opening the mines do?”

“I can get some new faces up here, you know, interview some folks and hire a house-keeper.”

“What’s wrong with Bee Ralston?”

“You know what I mean. If I can get a nice looking single girl up here . . .”

Maybe get married, have another kid.

“Can’t you do that anyway?”

Kidro had no answer for that one.

“I always thought you hated having anybody else around, that you wanted this whole valley to yourself.”

Kidro had no answer for that one either.

A blaring horn changed the subject.

Down the slope, Gilpin’s truck turned off River Road and churned dust climbing up the dirt road toward Kidro’s upper meadow. All but the dust disappeared in the dip behind the road-crest.

“Told you he won’t like it. Damn, I hate this stupid ritual.” Kidro hated these squatters.  Without him, none of them would survive a single winter.

Nason squared his hat, badge in front, getting ready. “Gilpin’s not like everybody else, is he?”

Gilpin’s truck crossed the crest with a roar and his round head jerked back, surprised by the nearness of Nason’s truck. Gilpin’s older Chevy hit the ground in a slide, shuddering to a stop in a swirling cloud of dust, not quick enough. He bumped Nason’s lowered tailgate and put a crease in the center of it.

Not caring about Nason’s truck, Bruce Gilpin leapt from his truck and waddled toward Nason, grabbing at his crotch like he had jock-itch or something.

Kidro grinned at the thought.

Gilpin said, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Nason pointed at his dented tailgate, angrier than Kidro had ever seen him. “You numb cup of sheep dip, look what you did.”

“So sue me. I got insurance.” Gilpin stretched out his leg and scratched his crotch.

Jock-itch for sure.

Nason pulled off his hat and used it like a shield, holding Gilpin at arm’s length. “I called you this morning and left a message with Sally. Just now, I banged on your door for five minutes.” Gilpin stepped sideways and they circled one another like two roosters in Tijuana.

Kidro smiled. He