Page 2 of A Mile of Ocean

“Noble Colter. Pioneer stock, going all the way back to the 1700s. My great-granddaddy was a mountain man.”

“Good for you. Good to know you have all this land to yourself. Where’s your family? Why aren’t they around to help you with the cattle? I saw a sizeable herd grazing in the fields but not one ranch hand in sight.”

Noble decided that if this was his last night on earth, he might as well try to strike a bargain to save his life. His options were running out fast. “My wife and I never had kids. I got a nephew, though, my sister’s kid, lives in OKC. Never comes to visit, hates the ranch, hates the smell of cows. Has a hay allergy. I got two hundred head out there grazing. Got a high school kid who comes around and helps me out on the weekends. Otherwise, I’m on my own.”

Barrett lifted his foot off Noble’s chest. “I don’t want any trouble. I’m just passing through on my way to California. I swear to you I didn’t mean any harm. I thought I could sneak into your barn, grab some shuteye, spend the night, and then be on my way before sunrise before anyone knew I was here.”

Noble sat upright and rubbed a hand across his sore chest. “I get up every day at five-fifteen on the dot, rain or shine. And these dogs are loyal to a fault.”

Barrett reached out a hand to help Noble get to his feet. “Good to know. I’ll remember that for next time.”

“You keep showing up uninvited, and there won’t be a next time. You’ll get shot sooner or later,” the rancher advised. “Look, why don’t you stay the night? There are leftovers in the refrigerator. Mac and cheese casserole. It’s the only thing I know how to make.”

Barrett relinquished the shotgun to prove there were no hard feelings and handed it back to Noble. “Here. Take it. After eight years in the Army, I’ve had my fill of holding a gun.”

“That explains the jacket you’re wearing. Green beret. I might’ve taken you in my younger day.”

“You keep thinking that,” Barrett tossed back amicably.

“How long you been out?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“I haven’t seen a soul out here in four days. Nobody to talk to. How long you been traveling, son?”

“Almost two months.”

“What’d you do over there anyway?”

Barrett let out a sigh and resigned himself to having a conversation. “In ’62, they sent us to Vietnam to help train the South Vietnamese. But there was recon, direct action, combat missions against the insurgents, and ground force operations that didn’t go as planned. After spending fifteen months over there, I opted out when my enlistment popped up, even though they put pressure on me to stay.”

“I bet they did. I hear it’s a mess over there.”

“You have no idea.”

“I can feed a soldier,” Noble stated matter-of-factly, slapping Barrett on the back with his free hand while cradling the shotgun with the other. “My wife died five years ago. Cancer. Left me out here all alone. What’s in California? Is that where your people live?”

“I don’t have any people. I just wanted to see California, see the ocean.”

“Not in a rush to get there then,” Noble muttered as he lumbered toward the house. “Might as well spend the night here.”

“Thanks. I’ll stay in the barn and be gone by morning.”

Noble squeezed out a sigh. “Tonight, you made me miss seeing whether somebody turned in Richard Kimble. I’ve been waiting for that all season long. With that tussle, you just caused my life to flash before me, thinking I might see Crystal again sooner rather than later. You’ll sit at the table and eat a meal. Did you really cut my phone lines?”

“No, sir,” Barrett admitted. “But it was a good bluff, the only one I could think of at the time.”

“Damn straight. You had me believing it.”

“You gonna call the sheriff?” Barrett asked as Buck and Cutter trailed after him.

“Nah. I think I’ll put you to work moving hay around the south forty in exchange for room and board. Sound like a deal?”

“I guess tomorrow I could work off the scare I gave you tonight. But you were pointing a shotgun at me.”

“You were trying to sneak into my barn without asking. Scared us all half to death. Whaddya say we get out of the chilly night air? It’ll get forty before morning. I’ll heat up that casserole, crack us open a couple of cold beers. How does that sound? You can tell me about what you’ve been doing for the past two months. I might even be able to find a bag of Mallomars for a midnight snack.”

Barrett chuckled and rubbed his chin. “Mallomars, huh? I haven’t had those since I was a kid. And you don’t need to heat up the casserole. I can eat it cold.”

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