Generations in Agony...Texas: Chapter Twenty

20) Carla and the Doc…

“You have to have noticed the way I feel about you, Carla.” Thurmond held her hand and leaned over the kitchen table. His feelings had been building up to the point where he was loosing sleep. Even with the whole Doyle situation, Thurmond was so smitten with Carla that he thought of little else. It had come to a head that morning. He had gotten up and determined that today was the day he would profess everything to Carla, and see where the chips fell. He squeezed her hand tighter, feeling desperate and terrified that she was going to reject him. “I never thought I would ever say this to another human being, but I’m in love with you.”

Carla returned the squeeze as she wrestled with the tumult of emotions that ran through her; just feeling his strong fingers in hers was enough to spring forth a well of want. She knew that Carl Speck Jr. was dead and gone. But, barely three months had past since the day she got news of the accident. She nodded. “I have noticed, Thurmond. There was no way not to notice.”

His grip on her hand lightened. “But, you don’t feel it, not the way I do.”

“That’s not true, Thurmond. I believe you’ve noticed my feelings. I’m very attracted to you. But, I’m barely a widow. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to react to all of this.”

“What do you want to do about it?”

She looked at him, studied his eyes closely and saw the raw nerve of his feelings. “I want to…”

He waited for her to finish speaking. But, Carla leaned over the table instead. Her lips moved to his. The kiss was brief, but sweet. Upon release, both of them held the position, their breath pulsing along with rapid heartbeats. Thurmond’s hand came up to the small of Carla’s neck and another kiss followed, this one deeper, more passionate, like the kindling of a flame over dry fuel, it popped to life and rushed into both of them. They stood and came close together, bodies pressing tightly, urgently.

*

Charlie was feeling good when he rolled up to his house. Both Mom’s Nomad, and Doc’s Impala were parked in the driveway. That was starting to become the norm, he had noticed over the last few days.

As was his routine, he went around the back and stopped at the pump, where he ran cold water over his head and washed his hands and arms, up to the elbows. The towel mom let him keep out there was getting pretty crispy in the heat. He made himself a mental note to change it out before he left for work in the morning. Then, he stepped up on the back porch and put his hand on the doorknob.

What he saw through the glass top of the door brought him to an abrupt halt. Mom and the Doc were standing up by the table and kissing like a couple of lovebirds in the movies!

Quickly, Charlie turned away and stepped back off the porch. His head was spinning. His heart pounded. Red blotches of light formed around the edges of his vision as he walked out into the scrub behind the house and faced toward the cuts. When he could focus his eyes on the jagged edges to the west, he felt the hot wind on his face, tracing the tears he had not realized were leaking down his face. Mom! What are you doing?

*

By the time Carl had surveyed the herd, he was spitting mad. Some fool had clipped the wires along the west fence line. Tire tracks rode off into the Big Nothing, disappearing as they neared the Cuts, which were just a purple shadow on the horizon. “Som’bitch!”

By his count, and by the tracks of the steers that had simply walked out of the fence line, it looked as if thirty or more head had wandered off. Disgusted, Carl Speck nudged Cleo and they went loping off after the strays, the horse much happier about the detail than the rider.

He would now have to waste the better part of a day, two if the strays had not kept together. Once he had them rounded up, he would have to spend more time mending the fence.

It was considered a serious crime to cut a man’s fence. Carl had known a few cowboys when he was a young man who spoke of the wars that had broken out over fence lines. At one time, the entire Great Plains had been open range, and only a branding iron told whose cattle belonged to whom.

That was long over with. Now, trucks and trains came right up to the property and the beasts were driven into waiting boxcars or crowded onto trailers that perpetually oozed manure. But the job of riding a herd was still a cowboy’s job, even if they no longer made the long trail rides.

Following the tracks that had churned up the sand, Carl found his wayward steers gathered around a large thatch of weeds. As he drew close, he could smell something dead. For a dreadful moment, he thought that one or more of his steers had fallen sick and died out here. The dread of disease, something he had too much experience with over the decades, was not something to be considered lightly.

Cleo kicked into gear and they loped over and circled the steers; Carl let go with a few shrill whistles designed to get the attention of a bovine. Mewling sighs answered as the beeves began to turn away from their impromptu meal of weeds. Watching closely to make sure they got headed back in the right direction, Carl noticed how they all circled around one small area. He moved Cleo in closer. Then, he saw the dead man’s toes poking up from the weeds. “Som’bitch…”

*