Rock Creek

 

After the flight back from Hailey, Idaho, and the quick commute from Laramie to the ranch’s sod strip, Griff taxied up to find Ben at the hangar when he shut down the Aeronca Chief.

“You got a visitor,” Ben said, as he grabbed the horizontal stabilizer on the passenger side of the plane and helped Griff pull it into the hangar. “Pretty one, too. Blonde. Blue eyes.”

Griff shook his head. “Her name’s Helena.”

Ben nodded sagely. “Dropped out of the sky in a helo, just like a Greek goddess. The woman has style.”

“And a boatload of money.”

“But that’s not why she’s here…Or why you got that smile on your face.”

“Shows that bad, huh?”

Ben chuckled as they set the empennage down. “She’s out on the back deck. I’ll close up here.”

“Thanks.”

Griff walked around to the backside of the ranch house and stepped up on the deck. He savored Helena’s profile in the sunset as she leaned on the rail gazing towards the Medicine Bow Mountains. Barefoot, she wore only a gauzy dress like the morning at Angel Fire. He went and stood next to her, with his elbows on the railing.

Helena leaned her head against Griff’s shoulder.

“Made yourself at home, I see,” he said.

She nodded against his arm.

Griff looked at her, then off to the west, wondering at the absence of a snarky comeback.

“Donnie’s dead,” she said softly.

“Huh?”

“Donald Wallace. You met with him at my father’s company.”

“Yeah, I know. What—When? How?”

“He was assaulted in the parking garage. Working late. They found his body yesterday morning, so a couple of days ago. The police think it was probably a carjacking, ‘cause his BMW is missing.” She stifled a sniffle and cleared her throat. “I liked him. And he was Daddy’s best friend.”

“I know.” Griff put his arm around Helena. “He seemed like a stand-up guy.”

“I didn’t really have anywhere else to go…or anyone else I wanted to be with right now.” Helena sighed. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Thank you.”

“Sure. You want me to get you set up in a bedroom?”

“Why? You got other company?”

Griff smiled. “No. Of course not.”

“Good,” she said wearily. “Do you still have any of that scotch I bought you?”

“I do. On the rocks?”

“Neat, please.”

Griff went inside to get glasses and the Balvenie. Before he came back out, he texted Lance, “Donald Wallace Dead. WTF?”

He left his phone on the kitchen counter.

Griff and Helena sat and drank scotch on the deck in the cold moon shadows of the Medicine Bow Mountains. Rodya came wandering up out of the darkness, sniffed around their chairs, then lay at Helena’s feet.

Around midnight, a reply from Lance dinged on Griff’s phone: “I guess JR is in charge now.”

But by then, Helena and Griff were upstairs in bed.

 

***~~~***

 

In the morning, Griff saddled up Winston for Helena and his second favorite quarter horse, Hannibal, for himself.

They rode north, walking and trotting casually across the high plains, moving deep into the Crowe ranch land with Rodya alongside. The calm, crisp morning air faintly seized their breaths for an instant, then set them free again until the sun rose high enough to warm the thin atmosphere.

Griff noted Helena’s ease in the saddle, then recalled she spent her summers at the family ranch in Montana. He tried to hold on to pleasant thoughts of Helena, the morning and riding, but his mind was roped back to Lance’s message about JR and gnawing questions about the coincidence of Donald Wallace’s death just days after their meeting.

Griff turned Hannibal to climb the path up to a ridgeline looking down on Rock Creek. Helena and Winston followed. A small clump of cattle grazed and drank in and along the water. Griff reflexively counted and mentally logged the location.

Suddenly, Helena galloped past Griff, charging ahead along the ridge with Rodya chasing to catch up.

Griff spurred Hannibal after her.

Once past the herd, Helena turned down off the ridge towards Rock Creek, where the stream spread out. She guided Winston into the shallow water and galloped up the rocky bed, splashing up water that glittered in the sun.

Griff followed at a pace to keep a hundred feet behind her.

Rodya ran along the shoreline.

Helena reined Winston to a stop beneath a stand of cottonwood trees. She turned to watch Griff, who slowed Hannibal to a walk as he approached. She patted Winston’s neck and let him drink.

“You must be the new school marm, ma’am,” Griff drawled out as he came towards her. “Might not be safe to be out here all on your lonesome and such. Injuns, you know.”

Rodya ran through the creek between them to the other side to chase a jack rabbit.

“Why, Marshall, so kind of you to notice…and care,” Helena breathlessly teased back. “But I hear tell you’re part Injun yerself.”

Griff grinned and motioned upstream with a nod. “Come on.”

Helena turned Winston to fall in beside him and walk on in the middle of the rocky creek bed. “Do you believe in coincidences?”

Griff squinted at the horizon. “Not particularly.”

“What about divine intervention?”

Griff shrugged.

“Karma?”

“Maybe.”

“And Donnie?”

“JR’s in charge now, right? At least that’s what Lance thinks.”

“We each own forty-two and a half percent of the voting stock. Donnie held the other fifteen.”

“And now the tie breaker is dead.”

“He wasn’t married. Never was. I honestly don’t know about any family he might have had.”

“So, where does that fifteen percent go?”

Helena shook her head. She watched Rodya race ahead of them along the shoreline. “What’s going on, Griff?”

“I don’t know.”

Up ahead, Ben, Johnny Eagle and Shep were working strays their way to join up with the small herd upstream. Griff waved then turned west up out of the creek bed towards the foothills. Helena waved at Ben and followed.

Griff and Helena spent the balance of the morning exploring the trails that led in and out of stands of aspen trees and lodge pole pines and along the lacework of unnamed rivulets, which formed the runoff capillary system that fed Rock Creek. As they rose higher into the foothills, the western wind brushed the tops of the trees in an arid imitation of ocean waves. Their ride ended at the familiar rock outcropping which overlooked the ranch and beyond.

“Oh my God, it’s been years—too, too many years,” Helena said as she dismounted Winston. She bent over, stretching her back and legs. “I’ll be sore. But it’ll be worth every Advil. Thank you.”

“Montana summers?” Griff took Winston’s reins and tied him and Hannibal off.

“I’ll be damned. You do pay attention when I speak.”

Griff dug in his saddle bags for sandwiches and his canteen. He waved her on to the lip of the overlook. “Hungry?”

“Famished.”

“They're not aged Kobe Delmonicos, but your sandwich has a name.”

Helena grinned and followed him out to the edge. “As in: Mayer-comma-Oscar?”

“All beef. Only the best for you, ma’am.” He handed her a sandwich.

“I love it.” She sat down shoulder-to-shoulder beside Griff near the edge with a huge boulder of granite for their backrest. “You know bologna was officially frowned upon in 9-0-2-1-0.”

“Well…not here.” After a few bites, he offered her the canteen. “We bottle our own water and swap spit, too.”

“How positively barbaric of you.” She took the canteen and drank. “I get the feeling you come here often.”

Griff shrugged, took a bite of bologna sandwich and peered out over the plains.

“So…do you?”

“Yup. Ever since Ben’s dad taught me to ride and I could head out on my own.”

“And what do you call this place?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, your sandwich has a name. Seems like your favorite place should have one, too.”

“Huh. Never gave it much thought.”

“Thoreau had Walden Pond. Superman had his Fortress of Solitude—and he’s a stupid cartoon character for crying out loud.”

“I guess I’ve always been busy thinking of other things.”

“Typical…Men.” Helena ate another bite of sandwich. “Do you at least get good reception up here?”

“Don’t know. Never tried.”

“But I should let my flyboys know what’s going on. They’re parked down in Denver.”

“Oh, I think they’ll find something to keep themselves occupied. Us pilots tend to be somewhat resourceful types. Besides, we got dinner plans tonight at Ben’s.”

“You don’t even have your phone, do you.”

Griff shook his head. “Nope.”

“Wow. So, not even any Facebook posts from the top of the world? It really is like living two centuries back around here.”

“Yeah. I kind of like it.”

They finished their sandwiches in silence.

“Well, I must admit, it does have its charms.” Helena yawned, stretched, laid down, and rested her head on Griff’s lap. Moments later she nodded off.

Griff softly stroked her hair and wondered if he should name this place.

 

***~~~***

 

The third Thursday of every month, Ben invited Griff, the hands, and a few friends from the reservation who were occasional day laborers on the ranch over to his house for dinner. He lived with his wife, Swan, on a plot in the southeast corner of the ranch which had been willed to him by Griff’s father, along with their house and the couple of nearby cabins where Johnny Eagle and Shep lived. Their three children had grown and moved away—the daughter to Denver, one son to Cheyenne and the other to Washington DC—so the third Thursday filled the homestead with family again.

Griff drove Helena the three miles to Ben’s place in his father’s antique Willys MB he continued to keep in pristine condition as if it had just rolled onto Normandy Beach on D-Day. With the top off and the windshield down, he couldn’t help noticing Helena’s blonde hair blowing back like a palomino’s mane as the Jeep bucked down the unpaved road. She held on tight, but smiled at Griff, as if careening across the plains was a thrill ride at Elitch Gardens. When they got there, Ben was stoking the fire pit out back and tending to the dozen T-bones sizzling on the grate over the open fire under Johnny Eagle’s and Shep’s watchful eyes. Allison, one of Johnny Eagle’s many girlfriends, sat at a row of three picnic tables pushed together talking with Swan, while the men from the res milled about drinking beer out of long-neck bottles.

Helena bounded out of the Jeep when it skid to a stop and headed for the fire pit.

Griff went to grab a beer out of the washtub filled with ice then waded into the huddle of men from the res. Their talk wandered aimlessly about the Broncos, the Rockies, and the National Stock Show and which of the men might try to ride or work the rodeo. Griff watched Helena talk with the boys, showing the usually bashful Shep some flattering female attention. He could tell even from across the way it made the young ranch hand blush.

When Ben turned the steaks and called out to Swan, who got up to set the table with Johnny Eagle’s girlfriend, Helena went to help bring out the side dishes served family style, chatting with Swan as they went in and out of the house carrying bowls and plates full of food. It was as if she had been coming to Ben’s third Thursdays for years, which made Griff smile.

The chow line started with the men from the reservation, cycling past the fire pit to have their plates filled with a huge T-bone. They settled together at the far end of the picnic tables. Then came Johnny Eagle next to Allison with Shep across from them in the middle. Helena sat down beside Shep. Griff slid in by Swan opposite Helena. Ben parked next to Helena at the end.

After the chaotic choreography of passing dishes had filled everyone’s plate with baked beans, corn, coleslaw and potatoes, the feasting began in quiet earnest. Halfway through her steak, Helena smirked at Griff, then nudged Ben with her shoulder and asked, “What was it you called Griff when he was a kid?”

Ben looked over at Griff, who shook his head. He answered anyway, “Geronimo Crowe.”

“Yeah. That’s it.” Helena winked at Griff. “And that was because, what, he was some kind of wild half-breed?”

“He was a handful and a half, for sure,” Swan said. “I’m just glad he wasn’t one of mine to raise. Maggie was a saint.”

“I’ve met kinder and gentler drill sergeants,” Griff said.

“Shame on you talking about your mother that way,” Swan scolded. “What did you expect? You boys were the worst.”

“You boys?” Helena asked. “You mean there’s more than one of you?”

“Used to be,” Griff said.

“Car accident,” Ben said. “Wil’s senior year in Boulder.”

“Sorry.” Helena looked across at Griff.

“Yeah. Me, too.”

“But this one here was more than enough trouble for three,” Swan said. “The stories I could tell.”

“Oh, I love stories.”

Griff cut hard into his steak and scowled at Helena.

She grinned back. “Do tell.”

“Oh, just boys being boys,” Swan said, looking back and forth between Helena and Griff.

“I like boys, too.” Helena’s comment drew stares from the other end of the table. She got up and walked around the table. Leaning over between Swan and Griff so he could hear, she half-whispered in Swan’s ear, “We’ll talk later.”

Griff watched Helena work the table like a good hostess at a high society soirée, pausing to talk with Johnny Eagle and Allison, then each of the men from the reservation until she got back around to Shep, who she cajoled into joining her by the fire pit.

“You are in some serious trouble, my friend,” Ben said to Griff as he followed Helena around the table and over to the fire with his eyes.

“I know it.” Griff pushed away his empty plate.

Ben stood up. “I think I need to stoke the fire.”

“I’d say she’s got an ornery Maggie streak running through her that’ll keep you in your place right proper,” Swan said. “You are in trouble.”

“I know. I know.”

All the boys from the reservation—and even Johnny Eagle, too, with his girlfriend beside him—watched Helena walk arm-in-arm with Shep to the fire pit, then turned their envy towards Griff before getting up to head over to the washtub for a beer, then to gather around Shep and Helena.

“There, there. It was bound to happen sooner or later.” Swan patted Griff on the arm.

The erratic glow and shadows of the stoked-up flames danced on Helena, and Griff could not take his eyes off her either.

 

***~~~***

 

In the morning, Griff sat in the overstuffed chair angled to look both out his bedroom window and, with a slight sideways glance, at Helena still sleeping naked tangled in the bedsheets.

She snored softly.

Griff smiled as he sipped his second cup of coffee, trying to decide if his little experiment of taking Helena to Ben’s had been a surprising success or a dangerous failure by not giving him an easy out exposing her as an elitist snob. Either way it was quite a performance.

I am in trouble.

He checked email with his iPad and read the police report on Donald Wallace’s murder attached to Lance’s email. He followed the link to the Los Angeles Times story from the day before, but it was equally cryptic in terms of assigning a motive for the crime beyond Wallace’s missing BMW.

Junior may be a jerk, Griff thought, but I bet he’s more bark than bite.

Griff petted Rodya laying on the floor beside him.

Helena stirred. The Husky raised his head to stare at her.

Besides, a voting deadlock between the two of them while Wallace’s estate is settled will probably be even more frustrating for him.

Helena rolled towards Griff and gave him a sleepy-eyed smile. “Morning…”

“Sleep well?”

“I did.”

Griff smiled. “You’re leaving today, aren’t you?”

She nodded.

“Where to?”

“New York, I think.”

Tribeca, Griff thought.

“I need to get away—not from you. I mean, you know, Donnie.”

“I know what you mean. Besides, I’ve got work to do.”

Helena threw back the sheet to reveal her naked body. “But first…”

Griff smiled. He rose and moved back towards the bed.

Rodya growled lowly, which made Helena roll on her back and laugh.

And made Griff want her more. He put Rodya out and closed the door.

They made love.

After, Griff fixed breakfast of pepperoni and eggs, then took Helena to the Laramie airport in the Aeronca Chief. He stood on the tarmac and watched the Learjet 31 fly her away.

“Who was that?” Bones asked as he meandered up next to Griff.

Griff sighed. “A client.”

“Huh.” Bones took a sip of coffee from his Cowboy Aviation coffee mug. “Where do I get a job like yours?”

 

***~~~***