Читать книгу The Hard-To-Tame Texan - Lass Small, Lass Small - Страница 7

One

Prologue

Back, some time ago, Andrew Parsons had intruded onto the TEXAS tableland of the Keepers. He just clipped the herd-restraining fence and entered where he chose. He didn’t mend the rip he’d caused in the barbwire.

As Andrew had ridden along, his horse had been silently shot from some awesome, silent distance. At the time, Andrew didn’t even know the horse had been shot. He thought it had a heart attack or something similar.

After Andrew’s leg had been hopelessly trapped under his dead horse for just past two days, it was Andrew’s dog who searched for help. The lost dog had eventually been seen by Tom Keeper.

Tom had used his cell phone to contact the pilots to see where the earnest dog wanted to go and why. And the pilots did find the trapped Andrew.

Rescued, Andrew was in the hospital for some time. One of the ranch pilots, Rip, had taken care of Andrew’s dog. And Rip had taken the dog to see his master. That was how Rip had met Andrew’s logical, normal, alluring sister, Lu Parsons.

Now Andrew was to be released from the area hospital, out there on the TEXAS tableland. However, Andrew—the obsolete man—was perfectly comfortable, in hospital, living as he chose, being cared for by others.

He slept in the daytime and visited with the nurses and watched TV in the night. His time was askew; the hospital was tolerant. People are people. Some are strange.

The time came when Andrew was able to walk. He could eat by himself and he could shower alone. He was capable of sharing his time with other people. The doctors scolded the staff. Andrew was not to be pampered, the room in the hospital was needed for other patients.

That was said sternly. It was all vocally underlined. No one mentioned the night nurses had spoiled him.

Andrew did not want to leave the hospital. It was a haven. When told he should go, he’d said, “Not yet.”

The staff was adamant, “There are others who need the space in the hospital.” They told Andrew he could use his leg, which was healing. “It is time for you to leave us,” they told him.

Andrew was irritated and turned stubborn. He repeated, “Not yet.”

So what was to be done with him? He was alone. There was no place for him to go. His father refused him.

Having been unable to reach any agreement with Andrew’s family in Houston, the staff at the hospital contacted those who had brought the pilgrim to them. They talked to the Keepers who lived out and beyond. Their land seemed endless.

The Keepers recommended the hospital contact the Parsons family again and gave them another phone number. Unfortunately the hospital person contacted Mr. Parsons who was very odd. And, with hostility, he declined sharing stress with his son.

The hospital crew became terse.

Eventually, it was the Keepers who accepted the burden of the pilgrim.

Andrew paid none of his hospital bills.

His sister, Lu, who was by then living with the Keepers’ pilot Rip Morris, insisted that the Parsons were responsible and must take the bill. And before that was done, she did some telephone talking with her father in Houston. The father was a man very similar to his son.

His father did pay the bill. Mr. Parsons was not gracious. He simply sent the check to the hospital. Then his daughter let go of his throat. Holding a throat with dug-in fingernails, over a long-distance phone, is not easy.

So with the reluctantly courteous invitation of the Keepers, Andrew Parsons was taken from the hospital and moved into the big house at the Keepers’ place. That place was where Keepers had been for something like five centuries. It hadn’t been easy.

As the Keepers had gone along through time, they had coped with many problem people. That’s why their house was so large. The family had secret access to stairs and corridors. They could avoid just about anyone. With that security, they offered an interim shelter to Andrew Parsons.

Andrew kindly accepted that he was a guest of the Keepers’. He had no concern at all. He knew his acceptance was a gift to the Keepers.

So the Keepers again were reminded of their name, and it was they who finally, reluctantly volunteered to become the keepers of Andrew. And Andrew very easily accepted the care as due him.

He allowed the staff to clean his room and to bring him meals and care for him. He expected such conduct, all for him. He did not hesitate to ring the bell for attention.

As Andrew healed, more fully, the staff became restless. They had other things to do and other people for whom to care. The crew began to revolt.

It was Tom Keeper’s mother who went to see Andrew in his room. He was reading, sitting with his back to the window. With the knock, he said, “Come in.” And as Mrs. Keeper entered, he smiled and falsely pretended to move to stand.

Mrs. Keeper stood just inside the room and smiled. “You’re much better. Tonight you may come down for dinner.” She ignored his protest and continued, “Tom and his brother Sam will come by for you and guide you down.”

“I’m really not yet—”

But Mrs. Keeper was leaving the room as she said, “Dinner is at six.” And she was...gone.

That was blunt enough.

Andrew phoned the doctor. It was a house phone and he called long distance. He gave the phone number. The Keepers would pay.

The nurse said, “The doctor is with a patient. How can we help?”

Identifying himself, Andrew said, “They’re trying to get me to walk downstairs to dinner!”

The nurse flipped through Andrew’s medical records. Then she said, “You’re capable. Do it.” And she hung up.

Andrew was furious. He paced and gestured and breathed and was livid! He didn’t want to be sucked in by others’ rules. He had his own. It was to allow himself to do as he chose.

So Andrew didn’t go down to dinner with Tom and his brother Sam. Andrew had locked the door. When someone knocked at five ’til six, Andrew said through the door, “I’m not well enough to go down yet.”

Tom said, “Okay.”

Andrew said through the door, “Send my supper up to me.”

There was no reply.

No one came.

Andrew went without dinner. He was furious.

About ten that night there was another knock at his door. With the sound, Andrew was in a fury. He snarled, “The door is not locked.” He’d assumed he’d finally be getting his dinner. And he turned deadly eyes on the door.

His sister, Lu, came inside with a smile. “You’re still up?”

“I’ve not yet had dinner...not even supper.”

“Oh.”

“Go down to the kitchen and get me something to eat.” It was not a request. It was an order.

Lu watched her brother thoughtfully. She understood exactly why Mrs. Keeper was doing as she was. Lu said kindly, “The kitchen is closed.” She patted her pockets and said, “I do have a caramel.” She held it out to her brother.

He snatched it with steely fury and threw it against the wall as he retorted, “That isn’t enough.”

She considered him. “Well, then, drink a whole lot of water and fool your stomach.” She turned and opened the door. Over her shoulder she advised, “Practice walking and come down for breakfast in the morning.”

As he drew in an indignant breath, she went out and closed the door behind her.

Andrew was infuriated. No one was doing as he said. He was abandoned. He tore the bed apart and shoved furniture around. He was not quiet. With all the chaos finished, he sat in one chair and panted with anger and exhaustion.

Finally, he phoned down to the servants to ask for someone to come straighten his room and bring him some food. No one replied to the ring. He let it ring a hundred times. He could be dying. Who cared?

He considered that. Who would care? His father? He was too concerned with himself. His mother? She never took her amused eyes from his father. His siblings? All were self-centered. None cared two hoots in hell about him. They were just like his sister, Lu.

He looked at his silent dog who watched him thoughtfully.

His Buddy.

Would Buddy abandon him, too?

So Andrew made up his bed. It wasn’t because he regretted tearing it apart, it was because he had to sleep in it, and no one had come to tidy his room. He was bitter. He sat sourly.

The dog sighed rather obviously. Rather enduringly.

He said to the dog, “When I’m stronger, we’ll leave and go our own way by ourselves.”

The dog watched him and did not respond or wag his tail or anything. It was as if Buddy understood every word said and was opposed to such nonsense.

With that intrusive awareness, Andrew remembered how the dog had looked around and moved his head when they were out on the tableland. And belatedly, Andrew realized that Buddy had never been sure out there. He’d been watchful and careful and listening. Hmmm.

It was interesting that Andrew had known, all through that time, that the dog was uneasy, and he had ignored the animal’s alertness. He’d thought it’d been rabbits.

If it had been rabbits, the dog would have investigated it. Whatever had rattled the dog, out on the tableland, it hadn’t been anything close. The long, silent path of that great bullet that had killed the horse had been proof of the distance.

So Andrew went to bed that night without any supper. Neither had the dog been fed. Andrew forgot that part. He hadn’t taken the dog down to where the dogs were fed. Since he hadn’t eaten any supper, it didn’t occur to him to see to it that the dog did.

Buddy went into the bathroom and drank a lot of water. That was, of course, out of the toilet. Then the dog came back into the bedroom, curled down in a corner and slept. He was used to such times. Most of those times, he had been hungry because Andrew had forgotten to feed him.

When the man had remembered, the dog was eager and the man only chided the dog for being rude. Just the fact that Andrew had more dog food than was needed ought to have been some clue. Actually, Andrew only thought about himself.

So the man and dog slept that night with rumbling, complaining stomachs. It was especially strange that Andrew endured the hunger. He could have gone downstairs anytime in the night and found something in the kitchen. He was just mind-bogglingly stubborn.

So that hungry morning, Buddy considered the man more closely. He didn’t sneak looks, he observed.

Finally, the man said to the dog, “You can go out by yourself. I’ll open the door. You can leave.”

To Andrew’s surprise, the dog got up and went to the door and stood there waiting for it to be opened. The knob was high, he could not reach it. He looked at the man.

Andrew’s temper flared. He went to the door and snatched it open...and the dog was gone! Just like that.

Such an “escape” made Andrew blink. He found he was still holding the door open. He closed it gently, firmly. The dog would not get back inside unless he scratched on the panel.

Andrew smiled. If the dog scratched to get inside, the door would be marked. Okay. He’d just wait to go down to the second breakfast. He’d just see who had control of the door.

Buddy was not back by the time Andrew heard the subtle, ringing sound for the second breakfast. And it was obvious to Andrew that if he wanted anything to eat, he would have to go downstairs, right then.

As he opened the door, he looked down both sides of the hall and saw only a few people who paid no attention to him at all.

For a man who had once been paid to be on TV to tell tales of his adventures, it was very strange not to be noticed by those people there.

They treated him as if he was—average.

The use of the word average caused Andrew to be pensive. He would despise being labeled as average. He was an adventurer. An explorer.

Andrew arrived in the dining room as the tables were being cleared. Those doing that, nodded cheerfully to the lagging person who was almost too late for the meal. They offered serving plates that had been almost cleared off, but there were tidbits still available.

The laggard guest was so hungry that he didn’t mind taking the last of things. That made him seem ordinary to those clearing the tables. To them, he was an ordinary man who’d overslept. He was just from the hospital, wasn’t he? And his timetable might be a bit odd for a while, but he was healing quite well. There was no reason to indulge him.

The crew was tolerant. Someone brought fresh orange juice; another brought in fresh coffee. They all spoke to him. He nodded rather formally. They assumed he was starving and therefore hadn’t the time to chat. They didn’t mind.

One said, “Your dog came down and ate, then he asked to go out. Since you allowed him from your room, that way, we figured you didn’t mind if he went out by himself.”

Coldly, Andrew replied, “He is a stranger here.”

Another said in passing, “We’re keeping an eye on him.”

Andrew’s eyes lowered in irritation. How could they keep an eye on a dog that was outside? Buddy would be lost. Well, maybe not. He did pretty well by himself.

Sullenly, Andrew rubbed his stomach and felt isolated clear out there, alone, with no entourage. Being alone and traveling was very different from being in a large house where he wasn’t known. They were treating him as if he was like everyone else. How rude.

He ate enough to live on without gorging himself with food. He felt like gorging, but he knew better than to be that stupid. He did not speak or smile as any reply to those around. No one had asked if they could speak. He had not asked it of them. They were just help. He did not need to tolerate any familiarity from anyone.

He lay his napkin next to his plate and pushed his chair back to rise.

One of the crew asked, “Enough? We have some lovely fruit cobbler.”

Andrew looked coldly at the man and replied rudely, “No.”

“Good. Then I get it!” He laughed easily. Then he explained, “We flipped a penny. If you didn’t want it, I won!”

But Andrew didn’t even wait to hear what was said by who all. He’d walked out.

One of the crew said, “I’d guess...and it’s just a guess, you know, but I’ll bet some really elegant, feisty female just ditched him.”

Another considered and then nodded. “That could well be. He’s in a snit.”

But somebody else said, “He could just be a selfish bastard.”

Since they all laughed, and did know him slightly, the fact that Andrew Parsons was one, was soon known through all the Keeper help.

The house crew had already been told that Andrew Parsons was capable of walking, of eating downstairs. He could shower alone and shave himself.

While he’d slept days at the hospital, and been awake all night watching TV and visiting with the nurses, he could now walk well enough to get around on his own.

The more he did that—walking—the better his leg would be.

He selected a cane from a collection the Keepers had in a cylinder at the bottom of the stairs, and he gently, perfectly used it.

Then the staff was further cautioned that Andrew, Parsons was just about completely healed. He was capable of dressing alone and of walking by himself. The selected cane was all drama. Ignore it.

The staff was told that Andrew could share his time with other people. He was not to be pampered. That was underlined. At the hospital, the nurses were so kind they had just about ruined him. At the Keepers’ place, he was to take care of himself with minimal attention or assistance.

The crew could assist him only if he fell and could not manage to get up by himself—they paused and then aided him—only after he’d tried three times.

Andrew was not ignored. Everyone talked to him. But no one...helped him. No one arranged his plate or cut his meat or...fetched things for him.

With such obvious lack of attention, Andrew was as sulky as a spoiled child.

Of course, when any of the crew went from the Keeper Place into town, they did manage to report progress to the hospital crews. And at first, they chided the people at the hospital for corrupting Andrew Parsons so carelessly.

But those at the hospital retorted, “He was that way when we got him!”

The Keeper crew chided, “He is rock-bottom spoiled.”

The hospital staff admitted, “Well, we did let him sleep when he wanted, and he just got his days and nights mixed up a little.” They figured that admission would be enough.

The Keeper bunch said, “We’d never in the world allow something that dumb out there at our place.”

Since that hospital was where any harmed person was taken, the medical crew then said, “He was spoiled before you all ever got ahold of him. His parents didn’t even come to see him. We figured they’d abandoned him, he was so difficult. Then we found out the grandparents had been in a terrible wreck and lingered for a long old time. His daddy is now weird about hospitals.”

One of the ranch crew said softly, “Ahhhh. I don’t think I knew that. Parsons wasn’t that harmed.”

Thoughtfully the ranch crew shifted as they looked at the vast space around as if to be sure that it was still there. Then they mentioned, “He is strange. Most outdoor people really hate being trapped inside.”

So the hospital crew shared, “Readjusting him will be a challenge to you all. Good luck.” They were leaving the crew, but they all hesitated and one cautioned earnestly, “Don’t send him back to us.”

“You gotta know how much the Keepers’ve put into that pile of bricks you all call a ‘hospital’?”

“Careful. You might need us. We can attach legs backwards.”

“Uh-oh. Uhhhhh... We was just warning you all about that strange Parsons person. You could get him back without wanting him again.”

And the intern shook his head. “Don’t fret about us. Our Admittance Office is cold and sly. We only get people who actually need us. We wouldn’t have taken him, but he had a bad leg. That got him inside. Then the nurses didn’t care which shift got him. It don’t make no nevermind to them.”

One of the ranch crew asked, “Where you from again?”

The intern started out: “Uhhhh. How come you want to know?”

“You’re getting the swing of talking TEXAN pretty good now.”

And another of the hospital crew mentioned, “It’s the sunshine and the food. Any man and most women are susceptible to being TEXAN. It’s in the climate. And other people around and about talk thataway. It’s catching...like a cold.”

One of the ranch crew was fascinated. “I hadn’t ever been told that. Do you suppose it’s the climate that makes us thisaway?”

“Wouldn’t be a-tall surprised.”

So being gossi—communicators, the critical words about Andrew Parsons’s conduct did slide along all around the area. It was just a surprise that it didn’t go on to other states and foreign countries.

They finally figured the reason the word hadn’t spread on beyond was because the TEXANS are not gossips and only mention odd conduct to good, closed-mouthed friends. They smiled at one another. It was good to be able to trust other people. They were all TEXAN, born and bred.

So Andrew Parsons had been discarded and ignored. At the Keeper Place, he was where he could recover. He had a room. His sister, Lu, visited him. He assumed she was still at the hospice, in town, near the hospital. He hadn’t been interested enough in her to find out what she was now doing, or why she hadn’t gone on back to Houston?

And the thought came to Andrew that she was still around! He was out of hospital. There was no need for her to be there! Why was she still hanging around? Hmmmm.

But when he went to the dining area, he didn’t see his sister anywhere. Had she left? How strange. No farewell? Well, it didn’t bother him at all. She was useless anyway. She’d insisted the family pay his hospital bills.

The Parsons had done that. It was only right that they did. It had been their son and his horse that had been shot. No one had mentioned replacing his horse. That would come...the time when he could mention his dead horse.

What had become of his faithful dog?

Using the cane, Andrew ventured carefully onto the porch and whistled the call for the dog. It did not appear. Where was he? Not that Andrew cared much one way or the other. To whistle for the dog was an excuse to get out on the terrace. He didn’t want to appear physically ready for prodding around the area.

After his horse had been shot, Andrew hadn’t felt any urge to again go out onto the land...at all. So it was no surprise that right away he went back inside the Keepers’ house. No one was anywhere around. There was no one to entertain him.

That didn’t mean someone for him to watch. It meant someone who would ask him questions and then listen to what he had to say.

Of course.

All of the world was anxious to know what reply Andrew Parsons would give. He’d wondered why he hadn’t been asked back to the Oklahoma town’s television station. He asked. They said there had been no response...at all.

When Andrew demurred, they searched for and found and gave him one postcard that had said, “Good gravy, man, can’t you find anything else for us bed-bound guys?”

Andrew had said the obvious: That was only one person’s opinion. But he hadn’t gotten through to even one of the blank heads confronting him.

One had said, “Do you know how many people have been on the places where you’ve ridden?”

Andrew had replied, “Think of the people who have walked in the path of others?”

“Most of those paths have been made by celebrated, intelligent travelers. Most of that time is past. There is nothing in your presentation that is either new or different.”

“Then...why did you accept my interview?”

“Desperation. We are cured of it. We are changing the concept.”

“How will I fit in?”

“No way. Not here. Good luck.”

And they’d escorted him out of the place...and closed their door on his heels.

What was it about adventure that had faltered? And his mind gave him the view of loaded cars on interstate highways. People traveling. A whole lot didn’t even look at the countryside. They read. Played games. Slept. The driver watched the road and noted the speed and maneuvering.

Times had changed when Andrew hadn’t noticed. He was a throwback to another time. Out of it? How strange.

If he was obsolete, then why did people go to museums? And he remembered being a child when an old cousin came to visit with them. He didn’t really visit. He read the paper and watched TV. Andrew’s own mother invited the elderly cousin to go to the museum, which was one of the eleven best in the country.

The old cousin said, “I’ve seen a museum.”

He indicated that if you’ve seen anything once, it was enough. It wouldn’t change. Museums did.

Think of the people who go to see the paintings and stand and just stare at them, absorbing the lights and shadows, the colors, the genius of it.

There are people who have such paintings or photos or drawings in their homes. They smile at them or stand and allow their eyes to draw the drawings into their brains and feel fulfilled.

Andrew really wasn’t such a person. He was not a viewer. He felt he, himself, was enough for any audience. He was unique and precious and worthwhile. He was there for them to regard and admire.

Yeah. Sure.