by Bryan Dunn
“Hey,” said Sam, as he walked over to greet her, relieved to be able to move his legs again.
Laura held out a hand. “Laura Beecham.” For some reason, she suddenly felt the need to include her last name.
“Sam Rainsford,” he said, taking her hand. “Welcome to the Rainsford Ranch, home of the seedless date.”
“Oh right, yes…” Laura pointed to the entrance. “I saw the sign.”
“Want a date?”
“I can’t remember the last time I had a date.”
Sam smiled, took a step back. Then using his hands, he framed her face like a photographer. “Hair. Wardrobe upgrade. Maybe a touch more makeup…”
“Ha, ha. Very funny,” said Laura, giving him a flat look.
“I am, of course, kidding,” Sam said, giving her a warm smile. “Actually, you’re incredibly perfect just the way you are. Just a little date humor. We’re big on that around here.” Then he thought to himself, What the hell’s come over me?
“Date humor?” she said, a skeptical tone in her voice. “How quaint.”
“Quaint? Oh, we’re very quaint around here. In fact, it’s why I moved here. I was looking for quaint. In my opinion, the world could use more quaint.”
“Well, it’s working. You’re very quaint.”
“Thank you.”
Sam went over to a workbench next to the water tank, grabbed a basket filled with dates, and offered one to Laura. “Here, try one.”
Laura reached out, took a date, then held it up and examined it. “Deglet Noor, right?”
“Right,” said Sam, instantly impressed. Beautiful AND smart. What had he done to deserve this?
Laura was thinking she should mention why she was here, that she was looking for the Fletcher place, but she was having fun—and there was something about this guy… So instead, she said, “I’m familiar with the trees. Actually, I’m a botanist.” She looked over, staring at the rows of palms silhouetted by the fading light. “They’re majestic.”
“My favorite time of day. Always reminds me of an ancient oasis.”
Laura held the date up, examined it. “I just never think to eat them.”
“That’s because of the seeds. They’re a real bummer. Hey, who ate grapes before the Thompson Seedless, right?”
She thought about that. “Maybe you’ve got a point there.”
Sam held up a date. “Rainsford Seedless Dates. Jewel of the Mojave.”
Laura popped a date in her mouth—and right before she began to chew, Sam said, “Careful! Watch out for the seed.”
She gave him a funny look, finished the date, then let the seed slide into her fingers. “Wait a minute, I thought you—”
“Um, yeah. They’re not exactly seedless yet.”
“Well, despite the seed, it was very good. Very tasty.”
“The Deglet Noor is the king of dates,” said Sam, motioning towards the palms. “Doc and I figure by next year we’ll be growing the seedless version.”
“Doc? Laura questioned, suddenly forgetting the dates. “Dr. Henry Fletcher?”
“Right, I should’ve mentioned that…”
“That’s why I’m here. I’m on my way to see him.”
“Yeah, I know. Carla called, said you might be stopping by.”
“Oh,” Laura nodded.
“So how do you know, Doc? Dr. Fletcher?”
“We met once, years ago…” she said, letting her voice trial off. “He’s not expecting me.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“Oh…?”
“Doc doesn’t get any visitors. Especially good-looking women.”
“Hmm,” she nodded, saying to herself, glad he thinks so. “Well, won’t he be surprised.”
“Very.”
“I understand it’s not far from here… do I just follow the road?”
“Basically, yeah. But not in that,” said Sam, pointing at her car. “That Honda will never make it. The road up to Fletcher’s is like the back of a camel. Four-wheel-drive only.”
Laura frowned. “How far is it?”
“Two hours… on foot.”
“By four-wheel-drive, I mean,” she said flatly, stopping just short of rolling her eyes.
“I seen Sam make the run to Doc’s in twenty-five minutes,” said Curley, stepping out of the shadows and giving Laura a wide-eyed look. He’d never seen such a good-looking woman.
“Yeah, but not at night,” said Sam, putting a hand on Curley’s back. “Curley, say hello to Laura.”
Curley raised his cap. “Hey,” he said. You could see the blush on his cheeks clear through his beard.
“Nice to meet you, Curley,” she said, warmly. “Quaint name,” she added, giving Sam a little smile.
“Quaint?” said Curley, giving her a confused look.
“Just say thank you, Curley,” Sam laughed. “Trust me on this.”
Curley threw up his hands and shook his head. “I don’t understand you any better than Sam.” He turned to go, then looked back and said, “I swear, Sam, one of these days I’m just gonna up and walk off this place.”
“Fine, Curley. You do that,” challenged Sam. “But just remember, your bunk will always be here waiting for you.”
“Aww… how am I ever gonna get out of here…”
A loud snorting sound erupted next to the barn. They all turned and watched as Blossom trotted over to a bag of chicken feed and tried to open it with her hoof.
“Curley! Didn’t I tell you to keep that pig penned up?” said Sam, a little anger edging into his voice.
“Shoot! Sorry, Sam…” Curley hitched up his coveralls and ran toward the pig. “Blossom! Blossom, no! Get away from there!”
Sam looked at Laura, shrugged, and gave her a What am I gonna do look.
Laura just smiled. She could see that Sam was really fond of Curley and had taken him under his wing. “So, how about running me up to the Fletcher place?”
“Love to.”
“Great,” said Laura. She moved toward her car. “I just have to—”
“First thing tomorrow morning,” he said, cutting her off.
“What’s wrong with right now?”
“It’s too late. That road is bad in the daytime. At night, it’s suicide.”
What’s this guy playing at? She suddenly thought to herself. Is he working the situation, trying to come onto her? And then, Would that be so bad?
“You’re kidding… are you sure?”
“Cross my seedless heart.”
Laura frowned. “Great.”
“You’re welcome to stay here tonight.”
There it was… Mr. Suave. Mister Smooth Operator makes his move. She mashed her lips together, glanced at the house, then issued an equivocal, “Hmm…”
“Or, I’m sure Tommy and Carla would put you up for the night.”
Laura sighed. There was no way she was getting back in that car. “I couldn’t face the drive,” she said, dropping her defenses. “Not after today.”
“Good. Then it’s settled. You can stay here.” Sam plucked a date out of the basket and flipped it to Laura. “Besides, you don’t want to miss the Rainsford Ranch house special.”
“What would that be?” she asked, flashing a skeptical look.
“Date loaf,” Sam said, a dead serious look on his face.
Laura’s face dropped. “Date loaf?”
“Just kidding!” he laughed. “Tonight it’s roast chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, and grilled asparagus.”
“Thank God,” Laura said, genuinely relieved.
Chapter 30
Kristin was still crashed out on the couch when Sam and Laura entered, and neither of them noticed her lying there.
Sam set Laura’s bag down, then waved a hand through the air. “Welcome to my humble abode. Mi casa es su casa.”
“Nice,” she said. Then she cast her eyes about the room, taking in the fireplace, oriental rugs, tastefully framed landscapes, leather furniture. She was about to say how cozy it
was, too, when she saw Kristin sprawled on the couch, a copy of World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War perched on her chest.
“Mrs. Rainsford, I presume?” Laura said, pointing at the couch.
Sam glanced over and saw Kristin. His eyes widened and he looked skyward. How could he have forgotten!
“Ah, I can explain that. That’s Kristin, she—”
On hearing her name, Kristin’s eyes opened and she sat up, sending the zombie novel tumbling to the floor.
She stared at Laura. What was she doing here?
“Kristin, I’d like you to meet, Laura,” Sam said, motioning towards her. “She’s going to be staying here for the night. Oh—and she’s going to need the spare bedroom—so you’ll be bunking on the couch.”
“What?!” said Kristin, swinging her feet onto the floor. “Someone else is staying the night? She gave Sam a look, then: “What are you, some mac daddy, now? Some Charlie Sheen wannabe collecting strays?”
“Okay… this is interesting,” said Laura, taking in Kristin’s dead girl makeup and leather outfit.
“And why do I have to stay on the couch? That’s bullshit!”
Sam glanced at Laura and gave her an apologetic I can explain look.
“Because it’s my house, and I say so.”
“Authoritarian bullshit,” Kristin said, flatly.
“Yep. My place, my rules.”
“Oh, gawd…” Kristin stood, squinted at Sam, then stormed off to the bathroom.
* * *
Laura and Kristin sat at a table that divided the kitchen from the living room. Plates filled with chicken, mashed potatoes, asparagus and grilled vegetables sat before them. Sam opened a bottle of red wine, stepped up to Laura, and filled her glass.
“Sea Smoke Pinot. Santa Rita Hills. Great stuff.”
“Thank you,” she said, lifting the glass and taking a sip. “Mmm… that is great.” Laura looked at an empty place setting. “So, where’s Curley?”
Sam took a seat, filled his glass. “Curley… Well, Curley pretty much does his own thing. That rarely includes sit-down dinners. Too domesticated for him.”
“Um, hello.” Kristin pointed to her wine glass. “What about me? You forgot to fill my glass.”
“Oh, I didn’t think you’d want any,” said Sam, giving her a chilling look. “Something about… coming here and getting drunk.”
Kristin looked at him, frowned. He had her on that one. “I changed my mind. Safety in numbers.”
“And you’re twenty-one?”
“No. Twenty-two.”
“In that case, sure. You can have a glass of wine.”
Sam filled a glass and handed it to Kristin. Then he stopped and stared. Something was different about the way she looked. And then it struck him.
“So, what happened to the Transamerica Building?”
“What?” Kristin said, looking totally confused.
“Your lip? The stud thingy?”
Kristin self-consciously raised a hand and covered her mouth. “I don’t always wear it.”
“These are good,” Laura said, paging through a sketchpad that Kristin had left on the corner of the table, trying to bail her out of an awkward moment. “Really good.”
“Oh? What is it?” Sam looked at the pad. “What’s really good?”
“Kristin’s sketches.” Laura continued paging through the pad. “Detailed drawings of various buildings.”
“Architectural renderings,” Kristin corrected.
“Really,” Sam looked genuinely surprised. “Let me have a look. I’m a builder. Well, used to be.”
Laura handed him the sketchpad. Sam flipped through the pages, stopping on certain ones, then nodding. All of the drawings were expertly done and showed a definite style. Trapezoids, ellipses, and sweeping slabs of steel that would have done Frank Gehry proud.
“Wow. These are good.” Sam flipped through to the last page, then handed the pad to Kristin. “I could’ve used you on a few projects, believe me.”
“They’re okay,” she said, embarrassed by all the fuss. “I always liked drawing. Designing stuff. I used to think I would be an architect someday. I fantasized about going to CalArts.”
“But you still can.” Laura said, her voice filled with encouragement. “You’re really talented. Go for it!”
“Right,” said Kristin. “You know how much school costs?”
“Yes. It’s outrageous,” Laura agreed. “But there are programs, scholarships.”
“Where?” she said, sounding completely discouraged.
“I’d start with CalArts, see what they have to offer.”
“Hmm. Yeah, I guess.”
“Hey, how about a toast?” Sam raised his glass.
Laura and Kristin lifted their glasses.
“Here’s to new friends,” Sam said, staring at Laura. Then to Kristin, “And to hidden talents.”
They all clinked their glasses, then sipped the excellent garnet-colored wine.
Sam stood, went to the kitchen counter, grabbed his phone, and came back and faced the table. He selected the camera function and said, “Smile.”
Click.
There, he’d documented the event. The first real dinner party he’d had since moving to the ranch.
“Now, please dig in. The chicken’s getting cold.”
Chapter 31
At eight-thirty, the sun had been up for a few hours, and the day was already heating up.
Sam dropped the pickup into 4-wheel-drive and hit the gas as the Ford F-150 bucked up and onto the steep incline. Sand and gravel flew in all directions as Sam expertly worked the gas and wheel together, walking the truck up the hardscrabble slope.
Laura gripped the door handle and looked over at Sam. She’d been stealing glances at him all morning. She couldn’t help it.
Uh-oh.
As the pickup reached the top of the hill and leveled, Laura took a sip of coffee and looked at Sam. Again. There was something about him. A quiet confidence. A low-key Alpha thing that she found totally sexy.
“You’re a good cook. Last night’s dinner—and this morning, a Denver omelet.”
They had gotten up at first light. Showered. Had a quick breakfast, and with Kristin still sound asleep on the couch, set off for the Fletcher place.
“Thanks.” Sam looked over, smiled. He couldn’t help noticing how she was dressed. White cotton tank top, jeans, hair pulled back beneath a navy ball cap. Perfect, Sam thought, everything about her. And somehow she was here, with him, in the middle of nowhere.
“I was sort of forced into it,” said Sam. “Learning to cook. It’s not like there’s anyone around here to do it for me.”
“Another one of those hidden talents,” Laura said, giving him a smile.
Sam laughed. “Yeah, who knew…”
“Was there ever a Mrs. Rainsford?”
“Actually, yes. Briefly. Lasted exactly one year.”
“Oh?” Laura looked over, waiting for the details. No, wanting the details.
“I was building spec homes in Las Vegas. That’s where we met. I was commuting out there from Los Angeles every couple of weeks. It was perfect. We were always thrilled to see each other. It was fun. So we figured that being together full-time would be really fun. She ended moving to L.A. with me. The first couple of months were great. We decided to get married. And six months after that, we discovered the bliss of seeing each other every day was, well— not so blissful.”
“Oh…” Laura nodded, sounding sorry. “So, it was so traumatic you gave everything up—moved to the desert—and became a recluse.” She glanced at him. “Sounds lonely.”
They drove along in silence for a minute, Sam gathering his thoughts.
“Actually, my marriage had nothing to do with me moving here. My family—father, mother, sister—were all killed in a car accident. Happened a couple of years ago. Life stopped making sense to me. So I moved out here.”
“Sam…” Laura reached over, touched his am. “I’m so s
orry. I have a big mouth sometimes.”
“No,” Sam shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I’m glad you know.”
He looked over at her. She gave his arm a gentle squeeze. This was it. He didn’t want her to leave… ever.
Uh-oh.
The cab fell silent again.
Laura stared out through the windshield. “How much farther is it?”
“Not far. Couple more miles.”
Chapter 32
The pickup truck was stopped by the side of the road. Sam held a piece of splintered wood in his hand, a remnant of Fletcher’s gate.
Laura kicked a piece of the gate with her hiking boot, saw a glint of metal, bent down, and retrieved an emblem from a car. A Cadillac badge from the front grill.
“Look.” Laura walked over, handed it to Sam. “Off a Cadillac.”
Sam held the emblem, studied it. “Frank Desouza,” he said flatly. “Has to be.”
“Who’s that?”
“Vegas scumbag. He’s been after Doc to sell his land so he can build a casino.”
Laura studied Sam’s face. “But he won’t sell.”
“No way,” Sam said, turning the Escalade badge over in his hand. “Not in a million years.”
“You think he’s the one that smashed the gate?”
“Has to be. Like I said, the guy’s a scumbag.”
“You think he’s here now?” Laura asked, a little concern entering her voice.
Sam moved to the pickup, held her door open. “Let’s go find out.”
* * *
Sam braked and hauled the wheel over, narrowly missing a pile of debris, and lurched to a stop in front of Fletcher’s house.
Or what was left of it.
Sam and Laura stared out through the windshield, not believing or even comprehending what they were seeing.
The place had been transformed.
Half the main residence and the nursery had been engulfed by a Fletcher Creeper! It looked like a giant, chartreuse-colored octopus had been dropped on the entire place.
The green mass pulsed and throbbed as fleshy stalks, thick as a man’s arm, snaked out, searching for something, anything. Creepers swept through the air, deadly as patrolling Great Whites, their stalks covered with bony thorns shaped like shark’s teeth. And at the organism’s center, wispy medusa-like tendrils rose up, bristling in the morning light.
