Dry Creek Sweethearts. Janet Tronstad

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СКАЧАТЬ Cornelia had been a drill sergeant. That was the only thing that had saved them. He never could have stayed if she’d been sweet. He would have had to hitchhike back to Chicago. Great-Aunt Cornelia knew just how much softness he could handle and she never smothered him with sentimental stuff. He still missed her.

      Phil didn’t even stop. “But that’s out. Visiting her grave is too morbid. And, we certainly can’t say you’re here to go hunting for wild game or anything because that’s a big no-no with some groups. And there’s no water around for fishing. There’s really no reason for you to be in Dry Creek.”

      Duane’s head hurt. For years he would have agreed with Phil; there really was no reason for him to be in Dry Creek. But lately he’d started to miss the place although he couldn’t quite say why. He looked out the bus window at the buildings just in case someone had added an opera house or something since he’d been here last. Of course, no one had. There were still only the usual places. The hardware store, the houses, the church—Duane stopped. “Say I came to visit the church.”

      Duane had gone to church when he lived with his great-aunt. It had been one of her rules. He hadn’t paid much attention while he was in church, but he’d learned enough to know that churches were supposed to help people who were in need and he was definitely in need. Besides, he’d much rather go to a church service than have to explain to Linda why the papers all said he had come back to visit her. At least God wasn’t likely to spit in his eye the way Linda would. He hoped not anyway. After all, Great-Aunt Cornelia had always said God was good at forgiving people.

      Phil was nodding. “Church might work. It’s a nice sentimental touch. It goes with the humble roots. And it would work in the Latin market.”

      Duane nodded as he turned around and switched on the ignition again. He was glad that was settled.

      The band hovered on the precipice and Duane wanted to do what he could to help. The band had already fallen apart once several years ago and reorganized with different people. He’d been the new one in the old band and now he was the oldest in the new band. And he felt it.

      He missed the old band members; the ones who’d left so they could have normal lives.

      The new members were trying louder and more aggressive sounds in their songs and Duane couldn’t seem to get his voice right to make it happen. That’s probably why his voice was strained. Sometimes the sheer noise of the new songs they played made him want to cover his ears. What if the others sensed that in him? In the old band, he had always been the one who was out there, ready to take the next step forward. Now, he was the one who was holding everything back.

      Maybe that’s why he was drawn to Dry Creek. He’d known what he wanted from his music when he was here.

      “We’ll say it’s a pilgrimage thing,” Phil said. “People like that kind of thing. A spiritual quest in the church of your childhood. This might work.”

      Duane passed the last house in Dry Creek and then saw the driveway to his great-aunt’s house. There were no lights in the house, of course, because no one was living there now. Still, Duane felt satisfaction when he drove past the bent stop sign and turned the bus onto the driveway. He was back on Enger land at last. His grandfather had farmed this land. Coming to this place had made him feel, for the first time as a boy, that he wasn’t just drifting through life. Granted, at the moment, it was muddy Enger land, but Duane’s roots were here even if they were buried deep.

      The bus was about halfway down the driveway when Duane felt the tires start to spin. He pressed on the gas and the tires spun some more. After the third time on the gas pedal, he was well and truly stuck in the mud. He didn’t think Phil even realized what had gone wrong and Duane didn’t have the voice to explain it all to him so he just said it was time to rest.

      Phil was so involved in making notes in his planner that he didn’t pay any attention to where they were anyway. Which was fine with Duane. He turned the ignition off and stretched a minute. Then he stood up and took one of the blankets draped over one of the seats and walked toward the bed area they had in the back of the bus. He was going to get some sleep. If Phil wanted to stay up all night and plan the church visit, that was fine. Let the man have his fun.

      Duane lay down in the back of the bus and wrapped the blanket around him. Sleep never sounded so good.

      Ten hours later, Duane heard a horn honking. He turned over and squinted at the soft light coming in the windows of the bus. It wasn’t even full day yet. And his throat was on fire. So, he pulled the blanket over his head to block the emerging sun and hoped that Phil would go talk to whoever was outside. Phil was good at reasoning with people who were annoyed and that honking sounded as if someone was upset about something.

      Linda stared at the big bus stuck in the middle of the Enger driveway. There were enough tinted windows in the thing to make it look like a caricature of a Mafia car. Only twenty times as big, of course. She wondered if a gamblers’ tour to Las Vegas had gotten blown off course in the storm last night. There was no sane reason she could think of for a bus like this to be parked in a Dry Creek driveway. So much mud was spattered along the side of the bus that she couldn’t read the name of the tour company. Sometimes tour buses came through here on the way to the park where Custer’s Last Stand happened and this could be one of them.

      Of course, there would be dozens of people milling around outside if that were the case. Once in a while, a tour bus would stop at the café and she knew tourists were never quiet. No, it couldn’t be a tour bus.

      Maybe Lucy was right about everything needing a name, after all. There was something unsettling about seeing things and not knowing their name. She didn’t have a clue about where the bus came from or what it was or why it was here. That’s why she’d pulled off the road and come in to check it out. Maybe Duane had decided to repair the old homestead and had sent a bus up filled with supplies. No, that didn’t make any sense, either.

      Linda’s heart sank. Maybe Duane had sold the place. He certainly hadn’t advertised for a buyer around this part of the country so that meant the new owners were probably from Hollywood. They’d probably tear the old house down and build some ugly mansion. Boots would be totally lost if they did that. He still walked over to the old house every day just to smell the familiar things. Not that Duane had probably bothered to find that out.

      It was just like Duane to sell the house without checking with anyone in Dry Creek. But that must be what happened. This bus surely made it look that way. That bus was even big enough to serve as temporary lodging for workmen while the mansion was being built.

      There was one of the workers now. Linda saw a man open the door of the bus and step down. He didn’t look very strong, but she supposed Hollywood builders might have enough sophisticated tools that they didn’t need to be strong to do their jobs.

      “Can I help you?” the man said as he closed the door to the bus and stepped closer to her. “We’re not blocking anything, are we?”

      “No, not a problem,” Linda said as she tried to give the man a cheerful smile. “Sorry if I woke you up. I suppose you’re with the new owners?”

      The man blinked at her. “Maybe.”

      “Oh.” Linda swallowed. That was a clear “none of your business” answer. “Well, if there’s anything I can do to help you, let me know. And welcome to Dry Creek.”

      “I could use some help finding the church.”

      “Oh, well, that’s easy.” Linda turned to point. “It’s the white building СКАЧАТЬ