Page 1 of A Mile of Ocean (Pelican Pointe #19)

Tuesday, April 21, 1964

Green River, Wyoming

W hile drying his supper dishes, the rancher and widower Noble Colter hummed along to the radio. It was the same Silvertone model that had sat on the kitchen counter in the same corner since 1955, a Christmas present for his late wife, Crystal. Bought at Sears and Roebuck, he remembered carting it home in his 1949 Ford truck. The tunes were still country and western, still played out of Newcastle from station KASL 1240 AM, just as they had been back when Crystal was alive before the cancer took her. He could remember those good times on nights like tonight when the music had him longing for those days again.

While crooner Bobby Bare lamented about being five hundred miles away from home, Noble shuffled around the kitchen until he had all the plates stacked neatly on the shelves where they belonged, just like his wife had taught him.

Creeping up on eighty, Noble was considerably slower these days but could still take care of himself. So when the dogs started fussing, alerting him to something outside, he went to the front window to look out. A sharp bark from his oldest dog, Buck, a Blue Heeler, snapped him out of his melancholy reverie. Buck rarely barked unless something or someone threatened his space. On the other hand, Buck’s brother, Cutter, had a habit of yapping at anything that moved. Cutter seemed the most distressed as Noble tried to ignore the racket by telling himself it was probably a rabbit heading for the garden.

Noting the time approaching nine o’clock, Noble didn’t want to miss his favorite TV show, The Fugitive . After watching the program all season long, tonight was the finale. He flipped the knob on the woodgrain maple TV console, also bought at Sears, to ABC’s Channel 5 and settled back into his easy chair to watch the drama that was Dr. Richard Kimble in black and white.

He put the ruckus from the dogs on the back burner, deciding they had likely caught the scent of a coyote sniffing around the barn, desperate for anything to feed their young pups. They could be more aggressive this time of year, protecting their brood in spring than at any other time. But he hadn’t seen a coyote in weeks, let alone one bold enough to approach this close to the house.

The barking went on for ten more minutes. At the first commercial break, Noble decided he needed to take a look outside. He took down his shotgun from its place over the fireplace mantel and headed out the front door. He stood on his porch in the chilly night air, staring out into the blackness toward the barn. He didn’t see a thing out of place. But knowing his eyesight wasn’t what it used to be, he held the pump-action shotgun close to his side. A blast from a 12-gauge would stop anything if he got close enough to hit the target. And he wasn’t that blind.

Noble squinted into the darkness, his eyes straining to catch any movement. He descended the porch steps, his boots crunching on the gravel pathway, and began a slow shuffle toward the barn. As he got closer, the dogs grew more frantic and upset. Noble tightened his grip on the Winchester, ready for whatever might emerge from the shadows.

The barn’s silhouette stood steadfast against the faint glow of moonlight. He patted the 12-gauge, raising it slightly, ready to fire whenever the vermin made itself known. The sound might at least scare the critter off, even if his lousy eyesight hindered the situation.

In the dim light, he finally made out the shape of a figure lurking near the barn door. It wasn’t a coyote but a man. Noble didn’t recognize him. He called out, his voice firm and unwavering, “Who’s there? State your business now! I’m armed, and I don’t mind one bit sending you into the next world, whatever it is.”

The dogs circled the stranger, who froze, then slowly raised his hands in surrender. A young man’s voice responded, shaky and unsure. “Hey, there. I don’t mean any harm. No need to shoot me. I just needed a place to stay for the night. I’m going to turn around now so you can see my face. Is that okay?”

Noble lowered his shotgun slightly but kept his guard up. “Sure. Turn around. I want to see who’s arrogant enough to think they can upset my dogs this time of night. You’re trespassing on private property and sneaking around where you shouldn’t be.”

The man stepped into the moonlight, revealing a tall, gangly frame. He wore a green Army jacket with a 5th Special Forces patch prominently on the sleeve. His black combat boots clashed with his faded, threadbare blue jeans. A tri-colored baseball cap covered his mop of chestnut hair. He had a small gap between his front teeth and a scruffy beard. His steel blue eyes seemed wary of the situation but stayed trained on the older man. An olive-green backpack hung from his shoulder. “The name’s Barrett, Barrett Callum. I’ve been traveling and ran out of money. I saw your barn and thought I could rest here tonight.”

Noble’s face tightened as he hollered at the dogs, especially Cutter, to quiet down. A bit confused, he stared at the tri-colored baseball cap with the W insignia. “Without asking first? Where you from? That cap says you’re local. If that’s true, you should know better than wander up to a man’s house in the middle of the night with no warning. This is Wyoming, son. We shoot people like that and ask questions later. ”

Barrett’s demeanor changed. His face morphed into cold impatience, coupled with frustration. He took two steps closer, his blue eyes simmering in outrageous fury. “Look, old man, you don’t want to mess with me. I don’t want any trouble. Go back inside. Take your dogs with you. Pretend you never saw me. I’ll bunk here out of the cold with or without your say-so, anyway.”

Noble raised the shotgun and leveled it at the man’s chest. “Says who? I go back inside I’ll call the sheriff.”

“No, you won’t,” Barrett declared. “I cut your phone lines before your dogs could make a sound.”

It was that statement that made Noble realize he was in trouble. His slower reactions were no match for the younger man’s speed and agility. The man shocked him by dropping his Army pack on the ground, then lowering his head, charged, and tackled him to the ground. The two men tussled for control of the shotgun. But Callum had no problem overpowering the elderly man, twisting and jerking on the Winchester before finally wrenching it out of Noble’s arthritic hands.

Barrett shifted his weight on the old man’s chest, allowing him a chance to catch his breath. “See how the situation can change dramatically if you’re not careful?”

Growling, teeth bared, Buck and Cutter started to make their move. But Barrett, still sitting on Nobel’s chest, pumped the shotgun. “Call off your dogs. Now!”

“I can’t breathe.”

Barrett rolled off the older man, but he stood towering above Nobel’s head, aiming the shotgun at him. “Call off those dogs, or I swear I’ll kill them where they stand.”

“Buck! Cutter! Down. Stand down,” Noble whooshed out. Fear ran through him as he tried to get to his feet.

But the man planted his boot back on Noble’s chest. “Where are your people? Your family?”

“None of your beeswax,” Noble huffed in a ragged breath. “Don’t hurt my dogs.”

“All you had to do was offer me a place for the night. Would that have been so hard? Is everyone in Wyoming as unfriendly as you are?”

“I’m set in my ways. Sue me.”

“What’s your name?”

“Noble Colter. Pioneer stock, going all the way back to the 1700s. My great-granddaddy was a mountain man.”

“Good for you. Good to know you have all this land to yourself. Where’s your family? Why aren’t they around to help you with the cattle? I saw a sizeable herd grazing in the fields but not one ranch hand in sight.”

Noble decided that if this was his last night on earth, he might as well try to strike a bargain to save his life. His options were running out fast. “My wife and I never had kids. I got a nephew, though, my sister’s kid, lives in OKC. Never comes to visit, hates the ranch, hates the smell of cows. Has a hay allergy. I got two hundred head out there grazing. Got a high school kid who comes around and helps me out on the weekends. Otherwise, I’m on my own.”

Barrett lifted his foot off Noble’s chest. “I don’t want any trouble. I’m just passing through on my way to California. I swear to you I didn’t mean any harm. I thought I could sneak into your barn, grab some shuteye, spend the night, and then be on my way before sunrise before anyone knew I was here.”

Noble sat upright and rubbed a hand across his sore chest. “I get up every day at five-fifteen on the dot, rain or shine. And these dogs are loyal to a fault.”

Barrett reached out a hand to help Noble get to his feet. “Good to know. I’ll remember that for next time.”

“You keep showing up uninvited, and there won’t be a next time. You’ll get shot sooner or later,” the rancher advised. “Look, why don’t you stay the night? There are leftovers in the refrigerator. Mac and cheese casserole. It’s the only thing I know how to make.”

Barrett relinquished the shotgun to prove there were no hard feelings and handed it back to Noble. “Here. Take it. After eight years in the Army, I’ve had my fill of holding a gun.”

“That explains the jacket you’re wearing. Green beret. I might’ve taken you in my younger day.”

“You keep thinking that,” Barrett tossed back amicably.

“How long you been out?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“I haven’t seen a soul out here in four days. Nobody to talk to. How long you been traveling, son?”

“Almost two months.”

“What’d you do over there anyway?”

Barrett let out a sigh and resigned himself to having a conversation. “In ’62, they sent us to Vietnam to help train the South Vietnamese. But there was recon, direct action, combat missions against the insurgents, and ground force operations that didn’t go as planned. After spending fifteen months over there, I opted out when my enlistment popped up, even though they put pressure on me to stay.”

“I bet they did. I hear it’s a mess over there.”

“You have no idea.”

“I can feed a soldier,” Noble stated matter-of-factly, slapping Barrett on the back with his free hand while cradling the shotgun with the other. “My wife died five years ago. Cancer. Left me out here all alone. What’s in California? Is that where your people live?”

“I don’t have any people. I just wanted to see California, see the ocean.”

“Not in a rush to get there then,” Noble muttered as he lumbered toward the house. “Might as well spend the night here.”

“Thanks. I’ll stay in the barn and be gone by morning.”

Noble squeezed out a sigh. “Tonight, you made me miss seeing whether somebody turned in Richard Kimble. I’ve been waiting for that all season long. With that tussle, you just caused my life to flash before me, thinking I might see Crystal again sooner rather than later. You’ll sit at the table and eat a meal. Did you really cut my phone lines?”

“No, sir,” Barrett admitted. “But it was a good bluff, the only one I could think of at the time.”

“Damn straight. You had me believing it.”

“You gonna call the sheriff?” Barrett asked as Buck and Cutter trailed after him.

“Nah. I think I’ll put you to work moving hay around the south forty in exchange for room and board. Sound like a deal?”

“I guess tomorrow I could work off the scare I gave you tonight. But you were pointing a shotgun at me.”

“You were trying to sneak into my barn without asking. Scared us all half to death. Whaddya say we get out of the chilly night air? It’ll get forty before morning. I’ll heat up that casserole, crack us open a couple of cold beers. How does that sound? You can tell me about what you’ve been doing for the past two months. I might even be able to find a bag of Mallomars for a midnight snack.”

Barrett chuckled and rubbed his chin. “Mallomars, huh? I haven’t had those since I was a kid. And you don’t need to heat up the casserole. I can eat it cold.”

Noble made a face. Lines crinkled the corner of his mouth. “Really? I hate that stuff cold. I could fix eggs. I make a real good breakfast with pork sausage and biscuits.”

“You don’t have to fix me breakfast. I’m used to going without.”

“Nonsense,” Noble said as he watched how his dogs sniffed the newcomer and how they trotted after him. “You’re too skinny. A couple of months working for me, and I’ll have you bulked up and fit as a fiddle.”

Barrett followed Noble into the farmhouse with the dogs trailing behind, wondering what he had signed up for this time.