Fuzz could stock his kitchenette with his favorite foods, buy personal supplies and maintain his pickup truck. Nate took care of everything else.
Although Fuzz had insisted on sharing a larger portion of the living expenses, Nate wouldn’t hear of it. This was his way of repaying a tremendous favor, and Fuzz just had to accept that.
The patter of canine feet on the kitchen ceramic tile prompted Fuzz to glance over his shoulder. He rolled his eyes as Taz trotted into the living room to shove his snout under Nate’s hand, demanding a pat on the head.
“I gotta tell ya, Nate. That is the ugliest mutt I’ve ever laid eyes on.” He regarded Nate shrewdly. “Is Taz the same kind of charity case I am?”
Nate stroked the affection-starved mongrel that was a cross between a blue heeler, border collie and German shepherd, but his full attention was riveted on Fuzz. “Let’s get one thing straight here,” he said firmly, directly. “You are not a charity case. You are, and always were, the only man in this Podunk town who gave a damn about me. When I was a kid, you saved me from a few beatings at my old man’s hands.”
“But there were times when I wasn’t around to stop them,” Fuzz murmured regretfully.
Nate didn’t particularly want to revisit those hellish memories. Living the nightmare was bad enough. Being knocked around, stepped on and locked out of the house for punishment was behind him now. His daddy hadn’t been anyone’s idea of a role-model parent, that was for sure. Gary Channing had done his stint in Vietnam, and the hell he’d endured screwed up his life royally. Nate wasn’t about to make excuses for his old man, who took his torment out on his kid, but the more he read about the trauma suffered by war veterans, the more he understood that Gary Channing was too busy battling his own demons to offer guidance to his son.
All Nate received from his father was a hefty life insurance policy that had been bought and paid for by his father’s parents. When Gary died in prison seven years earlier, Nate had acquired a financial base to invest in the oil industry, where he had been working for the previous three years.
It was Bud Thurston and Fuzz Havern, ex-marine sergeants, who had vouched for Nate when he applied for the job working endless hours on the oil rigs. Nate had been praised by his new employer for his hard work, respectfulness and cooperation.
Bud and Fuzz’s behavior modification program had worked like a charm. It was Bud who first employed Nate on the ranch west of Odessa and taught him to work and to be responsible for equipment and machinery. Fourteen-hour days, seven days a week on Bud’s ranch and on oil rigs was no picnic, but it left Nate no time to revert to his old ways. Nate had been too exhausted to do anything except plop his aching body into bed and sleep.
During those years on Thurston Ranch Nate had strung miles of barbed wire fences, had been launched off the backs of more ornery horses than he cared to count. He had been run down, kicked and stepped on by jittery cattle during roundup. But he had always managed to hoist himself to his feet to face another exhausting day.
Oh, yeah, Bud was one hell of a taskmaster, but Bud had been fair, honest and straightforward. He hadn’t put up with any crap from Nate or the other boys delivered to his care, and Nate had every intention of repaying “Sarge.” The firstborn calves from Nate’s cattle herd, which was presently grazing in the surrounding pastures of the property he had purchased the previous year would become a gift to Bud Thurston.
Nate Channing fully intended to repay every kindness extended to him. Furthermore, he was going to find a way to turn Katy Bates’s life around. He couldn’t abide by what she had done to herself—or rather, what some maniacal beast had done to her.
Nate continued to stroke the mongrel’s broad head. “I ran into Katy Bates in town this morning.”
Fuzz winced. “Did you?”
Nate’s gaze narrowed on the retired sheriff. What caused that reaction? he wondered.
Fuzz stared out the bay window, which provided a panoramic view of cattle grazing in the pasture. “You, I managed to rescue in time. She, I couldn’t,” he said regretfully.
A knot of apprehension coiled in the pit of Nate’s belly. He really didn’t like the sound of that. “Tell me about Katy.”
Fuzz arched a thick brow and smiled knowingly. Nate figured he must have given himself away by the way he murmured her name.
“She’s another reason you came back to town, isn’t she?” Fuzz nodded thoughtfully. “I figured as much, but you didn’t mention her name when you gave me that sales pitch about how you wanted me to move into this palace with you and help you out by checking on your cattle herd while you were tied up with overseeing the construction of your local branch office for your Sunrise Oil Company.”
Fuzz flicked off the television and settled himself more comfortably in the easy chair. “You really had it bad for that girl when you were a kid, didn’t you? Not that I blame you. Katy was really a vision in those days. Cute as a button when she was in kindergarten, then blossomed into an eye-catching young woman.”
When Nate didn’t respond, Fuzz snickered. “Aw, come on, son. You think I didn’t know how you mooned over that girl? You think the judge didn’t trot into my office and demand that I slap a restraining order on you after he found out the two of you were meeting on the sly?”
Nate’s eyes widened in surprise. He’d had a few confrontations with old man Bates, none of them pleasant. Dave Bates had warned Nate to stay away from his precious daughter, threatened to blow him to smithereens if Nate so much as set foot on the front porch. According to old man Bates, Nate was the worst kind of white trash that ever drew breath and he wasn’t fit to breathe the same air as Katy. But Nate hadn’t known the influential Judge Bates had tried to twist Fuzz’s arm into taking legal action, in attempt to halt the blossoming romance.
“Oh, yeah,” Fuzz said, then chuckled. “Dave bent my ears all the damn time. He claimed you were stalking his daughter, insisted that she was terrified of you. But I knew better. While I was cruising around the school grounds, I saw the way Katy looked at you when the two of you were speaking privately.”
“But you didn’t knuckle under to the judge’s pressure,” Nate presumed.
“No, I told Dave there was no evidence of wrongdoing. I also told him that I had talked to Katy, and she confirmed that you had done nothing whatsoever to deserve a restraining order.” Fuzz grinned wryly. “But I did cruise through that residential section of town enough times to notice that rattletrap car you used to drive was often parked a few doors down the street from Katy’s house.”
Nate squirmed uncomfortably. He’d had it bad in those days. He couldn’t begin to count the nights he had driven to Katy’s neighborhood and sat there in his car, staring at that house, wishing he were welcome. He would sit there puffing on a cigarette, wishing he wasn’t a social pariah, wishing Katy wasn’t off-limits, wishing he had the right to escort her around town and let all the other boys know she belonged to him. Oh, yeah, and he’d also wished he could win the lottery so he could afford to take her out to fancy restaurants, like the kids of Coyote Flats’ high society did when they dated.
In those days Nate barely had enough pocket change to fuel his gas-guzzling, bucket-of-rust car and put food in his mouth. His ill-fitting clothes were hand-me-downs that the United Methodist Women’s Society donated to his family once a year, along with a Thanksgiving basket of food.
It had been humiliating to be dirt poor and to be head over boot heels
