9 Ways to Fall in Love

by Caroline Clemmons

  "You oughtta come around and meet him. I tell him all the time about when you and me played together. I still got that picture somebody made of us in our uniforms that day down in Denver City. Shari framed it and we got it sitting on the mantel."

  "No shit?" Dalton grinned, but now he wanted to get to the point of why he came.

  As if Jay had read what was going on in Dalton's head, he said, "What can I do for you, Dalton? Something tells me you didn't come to see me just for old time's sake."

  Guilt poked Dalton. Even when he had visited Hatlow the few times in the past, he had made no attempt to look up high school friends. "I've got some questions about oil well drilling," he said.

  "Ask away. What I can't tell you, I guarantee my dad can."

  Dalton braced his elbows on the chair arms and leaned forward, holding his coffee cup. "I meant to discuss this with my mother, but she took ill before I got the chance. When I was just a kid, someone drilled an oil well on our place. I remember all the activity, but I never knew who did the work. And I can't remember the location of the well."

  Jay shook his head. "Man, I wouldn't know about that. I would've been a kid, too. As for where it was, if it was a dry hole, the operator probably plugged it and abandoned the lease. If your mom can remember roughly where it was, you might find it with a metal detector. Something should still be in the ground."

  "Where can I get reliable information? I'd like to talk to whoever did the drilling if he's still around."

  "I guess you'd start with the Railroad Commission. They're the king-shit in the oil business in Texas. See what kind of records they've got. A lot of the time, they don't have much, especially from that long ago."

  Dalton already knew that much. Just this morning before going to the courthouse, he'd had a lengthy phone conversation with someone from the Texas Railroad Commission and learned that the well had been drilled in 1977, the year of Lane's birth. Dalton was eight years old. No wonder he recalled few of the details about the oil well.

  "Or you could ask my dad," Jay was saying. "He knows damn near every oil well that's been drilled in Wacker County like it's a personal friend."

  "How can I reach him?"

  Jay laughed. "You could step out the back door here and yell at him. He lives in that trailer house behind the workshop. Let me get him over here."

  Jay got to his feet and walked out of the office, his boot heels clunking against the gray tile floor. Dalton heard the scrunch of a metal door opening, heard Jay call out to his dad. In a few beats, Jay returned and took his seat behind the desk again. "He'll be over here in a minute."

  While they waited for Jim Huddleston, Dalton thought of how comfortable and at home he felt in Jay's company. Other than his buddies in the Marine Corps, he hadn't made close male friends. But in high school, Jay had been among the best. It didn't feel as if nearly twenty years of distance lay between them. "So your son must be seventeen or eighteen now," Dalton said.

  "Seventeen. He's a good kid, but he's got his mother tore up right now."

  "How's that?"

  "I guess he's a horny little fart. I caught him in an embarrassing way with one of the cheerleaders. My wife nearly had a cow. Now we've got one of those hard-learning sessions going on. Shari's scared he'll do something stupid and screw up the rest of his life. You remember Shari, don't you?"

  Dalton had no memory of the girls he himself had known and dated at eighteen, much less the girl Jay married. With most of his existence back then having been unpleasant, he had made a diligent effort to forget all of it. His philosophy of continuing to forge ahead had been formed at an early age. That was all that had enabled him to live through growing up amid the unfathomable relationship between his mother and her husband. What he did recall with clarity was that at that time he had recognized a turning point and made some adult decisions.

  "Cody won't talk about it to his mother," Jay was saying, "but he and I are hashing it out."

  Instantly, Dalton thought of Lane and Mandy Ferguson and their daughter and emotion filled his chest. No one had been around to counsel Lane about the consequences of his behavior. He was sure his mother hadn’t done it and he doubted if Lane would have listened to her anyway. Dalton felt guilty, but he chuckled at Jay's remarks, then sipped his coffee.

  "Me and Shari got four boys," Jay went on. "They're all pistols. They're all athletes except the youngest. I think he's gonna be a musician."

  Dalton didn't miss seeing Jay Huddleston's pride in his children. He couldn't imagine himself with kids, but it wasn't an altogether unpleasant thought. He could damn sure do a better job at parenting than his own parents had done. And he wondered how Lane felt about having a child.

  Soon Jim Huddleston came into the office. Dalton rose as Jay introduced them. "I remember you," the slender older man said, extending his right hand.

  Dalton took his hand. "Yes, sir?"

  "You were the best quarterback Hatlow's ever had. Where'd you disappear to, son?"

  Dalton smiled at another reference to high school football and released the man's hand. "Here and there. I left here for the military. Joined the marines."

  "Dalton wants to know about a well that was drilled on his folks' place, Dad," Jay said.

  "Oh, yes. Lemme see." Frowning, he looked down at the floor. "Seventy-seven or seventy-eight, I believe it was. As I recall, it was oversold."

  "Oversold?" Dalton asked, unfamiliar with oil industry jargon.

  "That's when an operator sells more shares to investors than a well's production will support," Jay put in. "If the well turns out to be a producer, the operator's got his tit in a wringer. He wouldn't dare complete it. If the investors found out what he done, they might have his hide. Or the SEC might come calling. So to save his neck, the operator just tells everybody it was a dry hole, plugs it and takes his profit from overselling."

  "Is that better than getting the oil?" Dalton asked, knowing it was a naive question.

  Jay's dad's head shook. "Lord, no. A man could make more money off the well production, but at that point, it's too late. Poor ol' boy's got hisself backed into a corner. That kind of stuff used to happen pretty often when there was a lot of drilling around here."

  Dalton hid his amazement that investors could be so easily fleeced. The woman he had spoken to at the Texas Railroad Commission had mentioned none of this. "That isn't legal, right?"

  Jay and his dad both laughed.

  "Hell, no, it ain't legal," the older man said. "But most of the time, nobody never knew nothing about it, least of all a landowner or the folks who put up the money for the well. You can't see down in the ground, you see, so all they got to go on is the operator's word.

  “They didn't used to have all the science they got now. Back in those days, most of those high-rollers willing to invest in a wildcat oil well knew it was a high-risk deal from the git-go. Hell, they were primed to swallow a dry-hole story."

  Now that he thought about it, maybe Dalton wasn't surprised. Though he knew little about the oil business, he knew enough about life to know that where there was as much money floating around anywhere as there was in the oil industry, creative crooks abounded.

  "So does anyone know what happened on my mom's place? he asked. “I mean, if it was a dry hole, that's one thing, but if it wasn't and there was fraud—"

  "I think the operator who drilled it is dead now," Jim Huddleston said. "So I guess it don't hurt to talk about him. He come from down at Odessa. As I recall, it was a pretty good well. What is it you're wanting, Dalton?"

  "I want someone to drill on Mom's place. Christ, with the price of oil now, there must be some new activity. I'm trying to get a feel for the possibility of finding oil."

  "Oh, there's new activity, to be sure. Reentering some old wells that were plugged, drilling some new ones. They've got all kinds of new techniques now for detecting and getting that crude out of the ground."

  "I know a dependable man down in Denver City, Dalton," Jay said. "I don't know
what he's up to, far as digging new wells goes. I heard he stacked his rig last year, but—"

  "Stacked his rig?" Another term with which Dalton was unfamiliar.

  "Quit drilling. He might've retired. But I can put you in touch with him." Jay glanced at his watch. "He might be in his shop today. I don't know if you remember, but it's just twenty-two miles down to Denver City." He walked behind his desk, opened his center drawer and pulled out a business card. He handed it across the desk. "Skeeter Vance is the guy's name. Good man. And honest. Tell him I told you to call him."

  Dalton took the card and looked at the name. "I could get down there today. Hey, thanks."

  "Glad to help you out. How long you gonna stay in Hatlow?"

  "Mom's got pneumonia, so it looks like I'm gonna be around a little longer than I first thought."

  "Damn, that's too bad. I knew she was sick back in the spring. Hope she gets okay. I was going to say, if you're looking for some social life, some of us are getting together over at the state line Wednesday night for Shari's birthday. Remember the Silver Spur?"

  "A little. I never went there much, but I—"

  "Come on over and have a beer with us. Shari's gonna be thirty-six. I told her we’d go dancing. I don't know if we're celebrating or mourning, but a bunch of us are getting together."

  "I'll give it some thought," Dalton said, glancing at his watch. He had to get moving.

  He said good-bye and started for Denver City and a conversation that could alter the future of the Lazy P.

  Chapter 15

  Driving toward Denver City, Dalton chewed on the information he had picked up from the Huddlestons about oil wells. His mother and Cherry had been screwed over by some slick oilman? And never known the difference? If Earl Cherry had been the only victim, Dalton might have found that humorous, but thinking about some asshole ripping off his mother was another story.

  He soon reached Denver City. The town had been larger than Hatlow in his youth, but now it appeared to be just one more crumbling West Texas oil and farming town that had lost fifty percent of its population and ninety percent of its life.

  He had no trouble locating Skeeter Vance's shop. It was right on the highway. Vance was a jolly, square-built man a foot shorter than Dalton and maybe ten years older. A fringe of white hair poked out around the edges of a cap showing a SKEETER’s DRILLING logo. The man had freckles, blond eyelashes and no-color eyes, which made Dalton think he had been a redhead in his youth. He had a strong handshake and Dalton liked him at once. He usually did like a man who wasn't afraid to shake hands.

  "Jay Huddleston told me to come see you," Dalton told him.

  "He called me a little bit ago. Said you want a well dug."

  "I'm thinking about it. On my mom's place up in Hatlow."

  Vance lifted off his cap and scratched his head. "I've stacked my rigs, but if Jay sends somebody to me, I usually try to oblige. Let's go on in my office and you can tell me what's on your mind."

  Dalton followed him into an office that looked to be a converted mobile home. It was clean and well kept—nothing like Dalton had expected to see. That, too, spoke well of Vance.

  "Sit down, sit down," Vance said. "Want a cup of coffee?"

  "No, thanks." When Vance moved to his desk chair, Dalton seated himself in front of the desk. "Look, I need to get back up to Hatlow before night comes. I'll get right to the point." Dalton explained the old oil well and what Jim Huddleston had told him had probably happened to it.

  "How old's the hole?" Vance asked.

  "Thirty years."

  "Ooo-whee," Vance said, "I'm not fond of entering a well that old. Here's what can happen. First off, even if you find it, if it was a crooked deal, you don't know what they might've throwed down that hole when they abandoned it. If I got down there with my equipment and ran into junk, we could lose the hole. Worse yet, I could lose my equipment. That could cost you and me both a ton of money. Forty, fifty thousand dollars. For nothing."

  "What if you drilled a new well alongside it?" Dalton asked. "Can you do that? If there was oil in one place, shouldn't there be some nearby? I don't want to spend a bunch of money on geologists and scientists."

  "You're paying for this hole?"

  "It's my nickel," Dalton answered. "If I decide to do it, that is."

  "Sure, you can go alongside it. Just move over a hundred feet or so."

  "And you might or might not hit oil."

  Vance broke into a chuckle, his face showing a huge grin. "Well, son, if you don’t depend on the scientists to guide you to oil, you’re wildcattin’. It's a high-stakes gamble if there ever was one."

  "I figured that out. Today I'm mostly collecting information." He still had to discuss the venture with his business manager and his mother.

  "Then why don't you just tell me how much hole you might be thinkin' about."

  Dalton harked back to his conversation with the Texas Railroad Commission in which he had learned the depth of the old well was 4,732 feet. "I don't know. Let's say not over five thousand feet."

  "Good round number. Don't even have to get out my calculator. I can do that for about a hundred and twenty thousand."

  Uncertain if he was ready for this kind of expenditure, Dalton assumed his best poker face. "No shit?"

  The driller leaned forward, his eyes wide and questioning. "Too much?"

  "I don't know. Sounds like a lot. I'd have to think about it. How do you usually get paid?"

  "I'm easy to get along with. Half up front, the rest when we either plug a dry hole or start runnin' pipe in a producin' well. Now, if we don't go five thousand...Say we go thirty-five hundred. It'll cost you less. But 'til we dig that hole, we just don't know. How deep did you say that old well was?"

  Dalton pulled the piece of notepaper where he had jotted the old well depth from his shirt pocket. "Four thousand seven hundred thirty-two feet."

  Vance looked down at the floor, either thinking or playing a cat-and-mouse game. Dalton couldn't tell which. "Well....I could drill it m'self. Save a little not hirin' a tool pusher and a driller. If I went thataway, I could do it for a hundred."

  Dalton would definitely have to discuss this with his business manager. If oil wasn't found, was he ready to kiss a hundred thousand dollars good-bye? And if that happened, how would his own future be affected? Suddenly he had new and wary respect for those who speculated on oil wells. "How much land do you need?"

  "For a well that depth? We oughtta make do with an acre."

  Dalton nodded. "No problem. I'd need to get a lease on the land in place and find the old oil well."

  "You don't own the land?"

  "It belongs to my mother. It's rangeland."

  "She own the minerals?"

  "The land and the mineral rights have been in our family for more than a hundred years."

  Vance grinned again. "Old-timers around here, eh?"

  "Wilburn Parker was my granddad. My mother's his daughter."

  "Oh, yeah. I heard of him. Indian, wasn’t he? If you and your mama get along, things oughtta go real smooth."

  "If I gave you the go-ahead, when could you start?"

  "Well, you'd need to get a survey and a drillin' permit. You'd need to get me about five hundred feet of twelve-inch casing. You need to build us a road and a pad—"

  "I can't do any of that. I don't live here. I need a turnkey deal."

  "I know people to do that work, yes sir. But son, if it's gonna be your oil well, you've got to be the one to get the drillin' permit."

  "That makes sense," Dalton said. "I think I know roughly where the old well is. A fence and a couple of small structures might have to be moved, probably a new gate installed."

  "Got livestock, huh? You don't need to worry, son. We do our best not to leave a mess. And we don't never harm cattle. They can graze all around us."

  "It isn't cattle." Dalton hesitated, feeling silly over what he had to say next. "It's chickens."

  Vance gave him a look devoid of ex
pression. "Chickens."

  Dalton could almost see the gears grinding behind the man's eyes as he tried to figure out just exactly what Dalton meant.

  "Two hundred chickens and two donkeys. And the chickens are kind of sensitive."

  "Hunh," Vance said, still blank faced.

  Dalton suspected that the driller, in his career, had never encountered chickens as an obstacle. But Dalton had no intention of embarking on an explanation of the sensitivities of free-range chickens and eggs.

  "Well, son, we can take care of it, whatever it is. We work with folks all the time. I can get a fence moved and rebuilt for three to five hundred dollars. It'll just take a day or two."

  "Fine," Dalton said.

  Vance reached for a pad of paper. "Tell me your name again and how somebody gets ahold of you."

  "Dalton Parker." He pulled a business card from his wallet and wrote his mother's phone number on the back of it. “This is my cell and my mother’s home phone.”

  Vance studied the card, then looked up, grinning. "Photographer, huh? Don’t think I’ve ever run across a professional photographer.”

  “Uh, yeah,” Dalton said, not wanting to get into a discussion of how he made his living.

  “Well, alrighty then,” Skeeter Vance said, as if he sensed Dalton’s attitude. “Just let me know when you wanna do business and I'll send you a contract."

  "Fine. You can fax it to me on my mom's phone number."

  Dalton left Vance's office in a quandary. A hundred thousand dollars was a shitload of money. The idea of risking so much on a hole in the ground incited an unexpected anxiety within him. When he discussed the venture with his business manager, a disciplined man whose gambling instincts were restricted to the stock market, the guy might have a heart attack.

  Dalton wasn't worried about his mother failing to approve, but he had questions about how such a venture would affect Joanna's operation. If he decided to go through with it, he would have to discuss it with her. He hated the damn chickens, but after yesterday, he respected Joanna enough not to want to harm her.