Molly's Garden. Roz Denny Fox

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СКАЧАТЬ an adrenaline rush for him. “This isn’t the most stimulating job. But if the landowner won’t allow testing, that’s pretty final.”

      Dave pulled a folded piece of newspaper out of his pocket. “Maybe there’s another way. This morning the big boss at Branchville gave me this ad. The woman in question first ran it a week ago. Apparently the job hasn’t been filled.”

      Taking the paper, Adam read the ad. “You could do this. Why don’t you apply?”

      “I spoke with her, so she knows me. She’s not stupid, just stubborn. We hear she’s not well liked in the area. Not by some townsfolk at least. Word is she makes life easy for border crossers. Authorities haven’t caught her hiring or hiding illegals, but she’s a sympathizer. At the local café I found out she supplies crossers with food and water.”

      “Why get in the middle of a hostile negotiation, Dave?”

      “For a spanking-new oil supply.”

      Adam pursed his lips and read the ad again. “Maybe I don’t qualify. Anyway, if she’s a hard-nose like you suggest, if she caught me testing her dirt she’d probably fire me on the spot or toss my body in the Rio Grande.”

      Dave took another swig from the bottle. “You’re complaining to a guy who’s seen you charm your way out of many a hot spot, friend. I can tell you’re interested. Of course, I trust you have a barber.”

      “Hmm. How would you figure to play this? I’ve no desire to work for Branchville or to renew my ties to Hollister-Benson Wildcatters. If I’m hired by the woman I’d want to remain unencumbered. Say I take a gander? It’s gotta be at my pace and aboveboard. No pressure from you or your people. If she refuses to deal, I walk away regardless.”

      Dave circled his sweating beer bottle around and around in circles of condensation, frowning all the while.

      “What’s the matter? That’s my offer. Take it or leave it.”

      “It’s just that the government offer runs out the first of July. That’s what—six weeks? Not a lot of time. It also occurs to me Branchville might be uneasy if you don’t have any skin in the game. I mean, your name is synonymous with the best wildcatter in the world. My bosses will want assurances you won’t undercut them and blow in a well on your own.”

      Picking up the rag he’d used earlier to polish the bar, Adam wiped up the rings under Dave’s bottle and shoved the empty into the return crate. “I’m not signing any contract except for a W-4 tax form if the farm owner hires me. It’s your call.”

      His one-time partner stared at Adam for what seemed like a long time. Finally he muttered, “Give me a napkin. I’ll draw a map to McNair Gardens. That’s what she calls it. Used to be McNair Cattle Ranch.”

      “I’ll find it. And write down a phone number where I can get in touch with you if I decide it’s worth drilling there. Your people have nothing but the word of a chemist. They’re known to be wrong. Or maybe you’ve forgotten the sheikh who bet a fortune on such a report and we drilled what turned out to be a duster.”

      “I remember you tried to tell him and he wouldn’t listen. There are a number of people at Branchville who think the chemist is right.” Dave scribbled a phone number on a clean bar napkin and slid it across to Adam. “Do you have to give notice here? I’d hate for someone to beat you to that truck-driving job.”

      “It’s not a problem. I’ll mosey on over there tomorrow and decide if I want to quit here.”

      As if he knew he’d pressed hard enough, Dave slid off the stool and hitched up his pants. “By the way, I don’t recommend snooping around much in advance. The woman owns a killer dog. The Doberman didn’t bite me, but only because she held him in check. Good luck, buddy. I’ll touch base later.”

      Adam let Dave go without further response. He stared at the raggedly torn-out ad and the scribbled phone number on the napkin. His drive to become a multimillionaire had lost him Jenny and Lindy, the two most precious things in his life. He’d let chasing after big bucks mean more than his family. The money still sat untapped—where it could stay.

      Dave might be betting on the wrong man, though, Adam thought. He’d been out of the oil business for more than two years. Admittedly it had once been his life. Work he’d chosen at seventeen. Next week he’d turn forty-one.

      But he couldn’t resist the lure of the hunt. For old times’ sake he’d have a look-see at McNair Gardens.

      Looking around the bar, he knew he owed Frank a lot for this job. Frank had seen Adam’s reckless attitude toward life. Good friend that he was, Adam knew Frank would understand his desire to help out a former partner.

      After seeing to the old-timers’ refills, he picked up the phone.

      “I figured this day would come,” Frank Tully said. “I’m grateful you stuck around and helped out for as long as you did while I renovated the house. Diane said it’s time I get behind the bar, anyway. But, listen, if you go over there and don’t want to get involved, there’s still a job here for you. We’ll work something out. I told you my dad used to bring in live music on weekends. I’d like to do that again. It’s bound to draw crowds, so I’ll need help with control if nothing else.”

      “I appreciate your friendship. I’ll take a run over there tomorrow. If the woman hires me, I’ll still need to rent your travel trailer, if I may.”

      “Sure. She’d be stupid to not hire you. On the other hand, bud, you may want to lose the scruff.”

      “I’ll shave and maybe get my hair trimmed. But why get gussied up?” Adam laughed. “Oh, one other favor. Will you provide a reference? Just don’t mention my past work.”

      Adam finished out the night at the bar, all the while his mind straying ahead to hunting for oil again.

      * * *

      THE FULL-THROATED growl of a motorcycle roaring down her laneway jarred Molly from her task at hand. She stood from where she’d been kneeling among two dozen or so third-graders.

      “That’s a cool Harley,” one big-eyed boy said. “My uncle had one, but it got stoled,” he added when Molly took her eyes off the biker to glance down at him.

      She signaled one of her teacher helpers. “Callie, would you help them finish this row of carrots? If I’m not back by the time you finish, start on those flats of sugar peas. There’s enough for two long rows.”

      “He looks yummy from a distance,” Grace, a teacher, added with a grin.

      “Hmm,” was Molly’s response.

      Removing her gloves, she tucked them under a sisal belt that held up her ragged jeans.

      She stepped out of the raised bed and collected Nitro who’d been dozing in the shade afforded by one of several pecan trees that had been on the property since Molly had played here as a child.

      The Doberman seemed to like the kids.

      Adults were a different matter.

      “Hello?” Molly called out to the stranger, who’d gone into the barn but then come out and gotten on his bike.

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