Stone Cold

Rottweiler

COPYRIGHT

STONE COLD

Copyright © 2023, renewed 2024 by Rottweiler

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the publisher's express written permission except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited.

Disclaimer: The persons and events depicted in this novel were created by the author’s imagination; no resemblance to actual persons or events is intended. Product names, brands, and other trademarks referred to within this book are the property of the respective trademark holders. Unless otherwise specified, no association between the author and any trademark holder is expressed or implied. Nor does the use of such trademarks indicate an endorsement of the products, trademarks, or trademark holders unless so stated. Use of a term in this book should not be regarded as affecting the validity of any trademark, registered trademark, or service mark.

DEDICATION

To Merlin and Happy for showing me how to live my best life.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I want to offer special thanks to several SOL readers: guns97, ferdelance901, Relaxed_Muscle, MrBent, bigguy13, burka_oz, mtravellerh, and dls914 for their tireless, gentle editing and advice. Because of them, my writing has improved so much over the years. As always, I welcome any comments, suggestions, and critiques. I strive to make corrections to my work as soon as possible.

Cover Art by Kayode James O (@james_ghdesign) https://fiverr.com

{1}

Chapter One
Tragedy

The loud shriek of the aged sawmill could be felt as it reduced timber into rough-cut lumber, one slow pass at a time. Vince stood opposite the operator, Carl, ready to pull the slab clear while the log was repositioned. Disaster struck three-quarters of the way down the log. He sensed the blade's pitch change before it hit something and shattered. Had he been anywhere else, he would have been struck by the whirling shards. The carriage shuddered and bucked before Carl smashed the kill switch, engaging the clutch brake and halting the blade. A second later, the engine shut down.

Vince instinctively ducked at the first sparks from the cutting track. He straightened, pulled down his hearing muffs, and heard the older man yell, “Goddammit!” He raised his face shield and examined the damage. Carl snatched his hearing protectors off and threw them aside as he stomped forward. “You alright, boy?”

“Yeah, I’m good!” Vince replied, “What the hell happened?”

“Them goddamn eco-terrorists is what happened!” The sawmill operator snarled. He examined the vertical slice where the circular blade had disintegrated. A chunk of the blade was missing. “Son of a bitch!” He inspected the log’s side, running his hand over a subtle demarcation in the bark. “Damn spike!”

“Someone drove a nail into the tree?” the 23-year-old gasped.

“More like a railroad spike,” the old man growled as he returned to the control pit. “Goddamn tree hugger’s way of protesting the ‘exploitation of forests’.” He adjusted a lever and cranked a wheel, lifting the saw housing above the log until the destroyed blade was clear. He restarted the engine, reversed the carriage, and killed the engine once more before wiping his face with a rag.

Vincent peered into the 3/8th inch kerf and saw the metallic reflection of the embedded spike. “That’s sick!” he exclaimed, “That could’ve killed someone!”

“Them fuckers don’t care,” the old man grumbled as he opened a job box and rummaged for the tools to remove the blade. “They were big into tree spiking in the 80s and 90s until they started prosecuting and imprisoning them. Those who escaped the loggers anyway.”

“How can I help?” he asked.

The old man lifted his cap and scratched his scalp. “Might as well go home, Bud. It’ll take me the rest of the afternoon to change that blade,” he sighed.

“You sure, Mr. Finley?” he asked. “I don’t mind helping.”

“Nah, I got this,” the man replied. Then he glanced back at his young assistant. “There’s a black paddle metal detector in the shed. You can use it to go over the rest of that pile we got in with this one,” he slapped the log. “Take the skidder and pull this fucker off the carriage and set it over there,” he indicated a corner. “You can cut it up for firewood.”

‘Hell yes,’ the younger man thought as he tackled his new task with renewed eagerness-anything to stay busy. Heading back to the trailer this early was not something he relished. At least now, he could continue earning meager pay, trading labor for rough-cut lumber to construct his tiny cabin. More importantly, he could keep busy and not dwell on the past-namely...her.

~~~

23-year-old Vincent Elliot Hargrove was 6’2” and 198 pounds, maintaining an athlete’s build long after high school football. He graduated three years ahead of his younger brother Phillip and sister Cassidy, who lived at home with their parents, Roger and Janet Hargrove, outside of Salem.

He was 19 when he met Kelly Johnson and fell hopelessly in love for the first time. She was a year older and studying for her bachelor's degree in nursing. They met at a beach party and quickly became inseparable. His parents also fell in love with her and pushed them toward marriage, even though they both wanted to complete their career goals first. So, they settled for an elaborate engagement party, and he proposed during a planned event with friends, family, and a photographer.

During her third year of studies, they moved into a small studio apartment and lived like a married couple without getting married. Vince was 20 when fate turned his life upside-down. He received a note in the field while working with a CBC (Columbia Basin Cooperative) Line crew, erecting a 980-foot steel transmission tower for the interstate power grid. His parents insisted he return home immediately. He used his foreman’s cell phone to call them, and when his mother answered, he could tell something was wrong-but she wouldn’t elaborate over the phone other than to say it was about his little brother, Phil.

A sense of dread washed over him as he returned the phone to his boss. Painful memories boiled forth, and he felt helpless outrage over the events that had destroyed his family four years earlier. Philip was born with autism and struggled with school and social acceptance. Vince loved and protected his little brother fiercely-often facing discipline when his protectiveness turned physical. He was 16, in his junior year, when their 13-year-old cousin, Cindy Hargrove, accused 14-year-old Phil of sexually assaulting her when she was nine. Phil was ten then but had the mental capacity of a first-grader. When confronted, Phil wilted. He froze and couldn’t defend or deny the allegations. Her father was a Secretary with the Washington State Department of Agriculture, and her mother, a Green Peace member, reacted as expected. Before an investigation, Phil was removed from home and placed in a juvenile detention facility. The scandal destroyed Vince’s family, making them pariahs in the community. His parents considered relocation to escape the hostile blowback. Vince was kicked off the football team and lost hope of his athletic scholarship at OSU, so he turned to the Job Corps to study electrical engineering and heavy equipment operation.

Returning to Salem on short notice was difficult, but the foreman respected the hardworking young man and arranged a ride back to Portland, where his fiancée met him and drove him home. It was early evening when they arrived at his parent’s home to find nearly a dozen vehicles parked out front. His father met them at the door, looking pale. When he stepped into the main room, he was surprised to find their family pastor and familiar faces from church. There were also two police officers, and most surprising of all…his stomach lurched as he saw Cindy, with both of her parents, who looked worse than anyone else in attendance. The girl was seated between them on a loveseat, hugging herself. It was clear that she had been crying hard for some time.

He never believed his brother could do the atrocious things she described three years ago. His support and outrage were ignored, and he wasn’t privy to the investigation details that led to Phillip being committed as a juvenile sex offender. When he was informed that she confessed to lying about the abuse, he lost his sanity. She made up the entire thing-describing how her older cousin coaxed her into his room, exposed his penis to her, and made her hold it while he ‘diddled’ her with his fingers. Over the years, she stuck to the story, adding more details. Because of her father’s influence and Phillip’s lack of denial, he was deemed a threat to society and branded a sexual deviant. Cindy’s mother overheard her discussing the incident on the phone with a friend. She changed key details, and when confronted by her parents, she confessed to the deceitful fabrication.

Vince hated the witch who destroyed his family and his brother. He charged across the room, intent on unleashing years of anguish. He was void of rational thought as he glared at her shocked face. He swore he would kill her. It took both officers, his father, and the pastor to tackle him and pin him down as he screamed at his target. Cindy screamed in terror and jumped into her father’s arms while they pulled him away. He continued to struggle until an officer knocked him unconscious.

He woke up with Kelly sitting in his lap, crying and kissing his face.

“Don’t make me haul you away, son!” one of the cops warned as he began hyperventilating.

“Vince!” Kelly cried, holding his face in her hands. “Please, baby! I get it,” she sniffled. “We all get it! This is horrible! But you must control yourself. Phil is going to need you more than ever now!”

He felt a pain in his chest as the gravity of the situation sank in. “Where is my brother?”

“He was released by court order two hours ago,” his dad explained. “They’re bringing him here so Cindy can apologize to him directly.”

“You can’t be serious!” Vince retorted. His anger flared, and Kelly pressed against him. “Hasn’t that little cunt done enough damage?” he yelled.

“Watch your mouth, boy!” his uncle snapped from the doorway.

He spun in the chair where they sat him, nearly knocking his fiancée to the floor. “FUCK YOU! You mother fucking piece of shit!” he screamed. The officer who had warned him to behave stepped forward while his partner shoved the girl’s father back into the living room.

“One more outburst, and I’m taking you in!” the cop growled.

“Go ahead!” Vince screamed, “Take me in! Make up shit and lock me away forever!” He nearly knocked Kelly out of his lap, but she clung to him, trying to quell his temper.

“That’s enough!” the pastor interjected, raising his hands placatingly. “Greg, I think it would be best if you and Joe left,” he told the officers. “Your presence is inflaming the situation, and there are too many people here.”

With a glance back at him, the officer turned and retreated to the living room to collect his partner.

The pastor turned back to him, “Vincent, listen. Kelly is right. Be bigger than this, for your brother’s sake. He can’t fathom the stress; you’ve always been his protector. He will need your support.”

An hour later, only Vince’s family (minus his little sister), the pastor, and Kelly remained in the household. They kept him away from his aunt, uncle, and cousin to avoid another outburst. He saw headlights as a sedan pulled up front and joined everyone in the living room. The tension was palpable as they waited, with his parents by the door, to welcome their youngest son back.

Despite visiting his younger brother monthly, he barely recognized the pale young man escorted through the door by a middle-aged woman and a portly man in JDOC blazers. Phillip stood shorter than his parents and seemed vacant as they hugged him. He wore loose gray sweatpants and a green and gold Oregon Ducks hoody with his hands hidden inside the front pouch. He briefly recognized Vince but turned away. He didn’t acknowledge his aunt, uncle, or his deceitful cousin. He stood blankly before glancing at the woman who accompanied him. “Fancy?” he asked with a deadpan voice.

The woman shook her head and gave him a thin smile, “No, Phillip. Fancy is back at the center, probably sleeping in her box by the mantel.” Vince remembered the gray and white cat who favored the common room.

His brother turned and looked around the room without noticing anyone.

Uncle Gordon cleared his throat, earning a frown from the pastor. “Phil,” he mumbled. “You look well, son. Remember your cousin, Cindy?” he asked, gesturing at the terrified girl beside her mother. “She has something to say.” He glanced at his daughter, but she was frozen. “Cindy!” he barked.

Phillip flinched at his harsh tone, and the girl whimpered with teary eyes. He backed away fearfully when she tried to speak and looked around the room. Then he brushed past them, stepping into the hallway. Vince moved to follow, but the woman halted him with a shake of her head.

“No,” she said softly. “Let him explore on his own for a bit. Maybe some familiarity will help calm him.” She turned and glared at Vince’s uncle. “Don’t force the narrative!” she demanded. “You have no idea how fragile he is right now.” She nodded at the pastor, “I’m not certain their presence is ideal right now.”

“Fancy?” he called as he opened Cassidy’s room and stepped inside. His steps could be felt as he walked around her room before returning to the hallway. He entered Vince’s old room and repeated himself, calling for the familiar animal.

Vince’s mother sobbed as she held her husband’s arm by the front door.

“Let’s give him space to get familiar with his surroundings and let his memories of home return,” the woman repeated softly.

He felt Kelly squeeze his hand as his little brother reappeared in front of their parents’ old room. After a brief pause, he stepped into the master suite. When he didn’t immediately reappear, Vince’s dad stepped forward, but the corrections woman stopped him.

“Please,” she stated calmly, “allow me.” She stepped down the hallway to their bedroom and knocked on the door before opening it. “Phillip? May I come in?” She led him back out a few seconds later, closing the door behind her. Phil seemed withdrawn as he was led back to the living room, his eyes downcast. “It’s okay, buddy,” she assured with a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You are home now.”

The next two minutes were forever imprinted on Vincent's mind and would haunt him for life.

When they returned to the main living room, the woman fondly squeezed the 14-year-old’s shoulder before joining her partner by the front door, leaving him in the center of the room gazing despondently at the floor.

Uncle Gordon drew attention with an impatient “Ahem.”

Phillip glanced nervously at him and then at his wife, who sat miserably next to... His eyes widened with recognition, and he trembled as he shook his head in despair and mumbled, “N…no! I didn’t…" his voice was full of pain and fear as he stepped back from the girl. He clenched and unclenched his hands inside his hoody. His mental state regressed to that of a frightened toddler as he stammered.

“Sweetheart,” his mother called, “It’s okay, we know that now!”

“I didn’t!” he wailed, making everyone cringe. “I’m not bad!”

“No, honey,” she assured him, taking a tentative step forward. “You’re not bad at all! This was just a...”

“I’M NOT BAD!” he screamed, stepping away from her.

His mom froze with tearful eyes and reached out to him.

Phillip shook violently and freed his hands from the hoody’s pouch pocket.

Vince would never forget the icy horror he felt as he recognized the dark handgun in his grip. It was their father’s .45 caliber Colt M1911. He had taken them to the Four Corners Rod and Gun Club to shoot it years before. Time seemed to freeze, and he felt paralyzed as his little brother raised the weapon toward the terrified child seated between her parents. He didn’t hesitate and continued to lift the gun until the barrel touched the soft tissue beneath his chin.

“I’m not…” he sobbed.

A loud bang shattered the stillness in the living room, and the 230-grain hollow point bullet went through the boy’s head at over 800 feet per second. The blast lifted his body off the ground while his skull was blown apart-sending bone, brains, and bloody strips of hair across the room-splattering his parents and the officers.

Horrified screams erupted as the gunshot faded and the boy’s lifeless body hit the floor.

~~~

Despite their busy lives, Vince and Kelly remained committed, planning to marry that summer after she completed her BSN and started working at the hospital. Vince excelled at his apprenticeship and was pulled from the entry-level pool to work on side projects, allowing him to clock hours toward his journeyman license. It paid better than the union wage for apprentices, and he became eligible for bi-annual profit-sharing bonuses and energy stock options with a handsome quarterly dividend. He reinvested to avoid tax penalties and grow his portfolio. The drawback was increased demand for his time, with on-call commitments and mandatory overtime during power outages.

Due to the tragedy, his parents became less subtle about their desire for grandchildren. Vince and Kelly were eager but agreed to wait until they got married, established in their careers, and living in their own home. Vince would later recognize the irony. When they began house hunting, it became clear that, at 21, he had no established credit, never having had a checking account or a debit card. So, when he and Kelly purchased their new home, he wasn’t allowed on the purchase agreement. She turned to her father to co-sign the loan. Because he worked as an apprentice electrician/lineman, he was paid weekly by check and cashed them at the Fred Meyer superstore in town. He gave her the cash for rent and left her to make the payments.

He paid in cash while she had a checking/savings account, maintaining separate finances. When payroll pressured him to switch to direct deposit, they helped him set up a personal account through the union employees’ Credit Union. He continued withdrawing cash for their mortgage, utilities, and insurance, giving it to his fiancée.

After moving into their quaint house, they renovated and furnished it. Later that summer, they exchanged vows overlooking the Hood River. They kept their honeymoon short due to their new careers. Kelly had no PTO, so time off was unpaid. During their first winter, they worked hard. Vince picked up over time, and Kelly worked nights for the shift differential and easier workload.

He began to suspect something was wrong when she got called in one evening to fill in for a sick call, which was a common occurrence. Even though it interfered with their time together, they accepted it, knowing they were working toward a better future. Shortly after she left, his pager went off. There was a multi-vehicle accident with fatalities on the highway, knocking out a substation. The remaining grid couldn’t compensate for the partial outage. Vince received the call at eleven o’clock and grabbed his gear to respond. On the way to the substation, he called the hospital to inform his wife.

“Two East, this is Marcia,” a night nurse answered.

“Hey Marcia, Vince here,” he began.

“Hi Vince, how are you, sweetheart?”

“Not sure yet, but I think you’ll be getting some business,” he replied.

“Oh?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said, explaining the callout and the accident. As he spoke, a fire truck with lights and sirens passed.

“I’ll go to the ER and see if they need help,” she decided.

“Cool,” he replied as an ambulance screamed past in the opposite direction. “Can you let Kel know I’ll be out on this job and not to expect me at home when she gets off?”

He noticed a long pause.

“Vince, Kelly’s not working tonight,” Marcia said. “She’s not scheduled until Monday.”

He blinked in confusion as he drove through the night. ‘Huh?’ he thought. “Are you sure?” he said, “She told me she got called in for a sick call.”

“Nope, sorry. We’re all here.”

“That’s weird,” he thought out loud, “Maybe she’s filling in on a different floor.”

Another pause: “Nope. I just came back from the bed meeting, and we are all staffed. There is only one mom on the labor deck, so they wouldn’t have called her in.”

What the hell? He wondered.

“Everything okay between you two?” she joked.

Yeah, until ten seconds ago, he thought. Shit! I gotta quell the gossip fast… “You know what?” he said aloud, “My birthday is coming up,” he lied. “I bet she is off plotting something for the occasion.”

“Yeah...sounds like her for sure.”

“Can we keep this on the down low?” he asked softly. “I don’t want to ruin her surprise.”

“Yeah, sure, Vince,” she replied, matching his tone. Then she spoke even softer, “Hey, if you ever need to check in again, let me give you my cell...”

He grimaced at her insinuation but appreciated the gesture. “Yeah, that would be great. Can you text it to this number? I’m driving.”

“Sure. Stay safe.”

He dragged himself into their home 18 hours later, exhausted and covered in dirt, smoke, and grease. He tossed his turnout gear in the laundry room, stripped out of his coveralls, and tossed everything in the wash before walking to the bathroom.

Kelly was in bed, snoring. She woke up as he padded to the bathroom. “Hey,” she mumbled. “I heard about the wreck at Salt Creek. Were you there?”

“Yeah,” he replied wearily. “Go back to sleep. Sorry for waking you. I’m just gonna take a long bath.”

“You should’ve called,” she replied, sitting up and setting aside the covers. She wore thin silk panties and a tank top. “I would’ve run it for you.”

He shrugged as he entered the bathroom and turned on the tap to the large jacuzzi tub. “I hit the ground running when I got on scene, and my phone died in the truck by the time I got out of there.” That was the truth, at least.

“I figured,” she replied. “I left you a couple of messages.”

“I didn’t want to bother you at work,” he replied quickly. “I figured you guys would be up to your asses in alligators with all the ambulances.”

“It was crazy,” she agreed.

“I didn’t expect you to be home tonight with all the new patients.”

“They asked,” she replied, sitting on the toilet as he undressed and stepped into the tub. He dumped Epsom salts into the water as it filled and sighed as he leaned back. “But I wanted to be home when you got back.” She knelt beside the large tub, grabbing a washcloth. “Let me get your back.”

The next morning, he got up early, dressed quietly, grabbed her phone from the nightstand, and checked her call and text logs while waiting for the coffee maker. He found nothing, not even the texts she’d sent him the night before. She had erased everything before bed. He turned on her iPhone locator app before slipping it back beside her.

After getting coffee, he retrieved his phone from his Ford Excursion and plugged it into the kitchen counter charger. It took ten minutes to power it up. He read her texts and listened to the messages. One voicemail was from her, and another from his supervisor, Clint.

“Vinnie, Clint. Call me.” Short and to the point, just like the man himself...minus the sweet part. The gruff tone was enough to make most first-year apprentices wet themselves, but Vince had known him long enough to recognize the subtle variations that clued you into whether you had time to relieve yourself-before you soiled your britches. He dialed the number and sat at the breakfast bar, drinking his coffee.

“Done fuckin’ already?” the man growled.

“No fucking done, boss,” he replied casually. “What’s up?” He knew it was a casual call by the man’s tone.

“What’s up is that you dumb, retard, cunt-faced, motherfuckers made me look bad last night!”

Clint was in a cheerful mood this morning.

“That’s part of our job, dude.”

“Don’t ‘dude’ me, you pencil dick!” he growled. “That substation was hotter than a four-peckered goat in a pepper field-and it’s a miracle none of you puss-nut fuckwits didn’t get seriously fucked up.”

“That’s why we got you, boss,” he smirked, sipping his drink.

“Fuck you! I don’t babysit little cock-breath pubes like you! Pack your shit for a two-day circle jerk next weekend.”

“What’s up?” he asked, curious now.

“Sending you, Smiley, One-Nut, and that pimpled-faced Indian fuck-head, to North Bend for a Burn to Learn class. Then maybe you won’t look like a bunch of stupid cunts the next time some fucking hippy drives his fucking van through a substation.”

“You paying us to sit around all weekend? Sounds great!” he grinned.

“Oh yeah, total vacation. You’ll be doing a lot of sitting around...”

He suddenly suspected the opposite. Glancing up as he killed the connection, he saw Kelly behind him, stretching.

“Where are you going to sit around?” she asked casually as she took out the blender and began making an iced coffee protein smoothie.

“Half the substation was on fire last night, and we had to wait for the fire department before we could start repairs,” he explained. “Clint wants to send a group of us to North Bend next weekend for a firefighting class.”

She pouted while slicing a banana into the blender. “Well, that blows any plans for next weekend,” she sighed. “I’m working Friday and Saturday, so we couldn’t have done much.”

“True,” he replied, suppressing his feelings.

She paused, stepped around the breakfast bar, and wrapped her arms around his neck. She kissed him deeply and gazed into his blue eyes. “I love you,” she stated.

He reached around and cupped her nearly naked ass cheek. “I love you too.”

“Wanna fuck?” she murmured as she mounted his leg suggestively.

“Oh yeah.”

Her smoothie was forgotten, along with any reservations about her fidelity, as they removed their clothes and attacked each other. She teased him orally before riding him to her orgasm. They finished with him atop her in missionary. She loved feeling helpless as he crushed her, beneath his powerful body. He had incredible stamina, and she was left exhausted and gasping.

“Oh God!” she exclaimed breathlessly. “You always wreck me.”

He gasped for breath beside her, covered in sweat.

Moments later, she asked, “How do you feel about me stopping the pill?”

His uncertainty resurfaced as he considered her unknown whereabouts the evening before. Was he being paranoid, or was her behavior worthy of concern? What could he do besides track her iPhone?

“Hello?” she pressed, resting her chin on his sweaty shoulder. “You in there, baby?”

He blinked and focused on her pretty face. “Yeah,” he replied.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, sitting up with her legs crossed. “We’ve talked about this.”

“I know,” he replied, “It’s just that when you put it like that... all of a sudden, I just went back... there. It caught me off guard, is all.”

She touched his face sympathetically. “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I know Phillip’s death will be something you wrestle with for the rest of your life,” she smiled thinly. “Maybe having a baby will help us move on.”

“Maybe,” he replied, unconvinced.

{1}

Chapter TwoBetrayal

They did little sitting during their weekend training at the North Bend Fire Academy. The class was in a concrete tower, and before they ‘burned & learned,’ they had to transport heavy pallets to the top floor. It took hours of sweating and grumbling as they carried the oak frames up the never-ending stairs, one at a time.

The following Monday, Vince felt beaten and weak, which was unusual since he was used to hard labor and was in peak physical condition. After arriving at work, he noticed an unsettling ache in his groin. He dismissed it, thinking he had probably strained something. He occasionally felt sore after intense sex with Kelly. After eating lunch in his Ford, he stepped away to urinate. A sharp pain lanced through his testicles. He winced and, after several minutes, released a small amount of pee with an odd smell and a stringy fluid from the tip of his penis. He forced a more substantial flow to drain his bladder, but the sharp ache persisted as he returned to his truck and put on his safety harness.

He doubled over in pain while preparing to climb the fledgling tower due to the pressure in his scrotum.

“What the fuck’s your problem, Vin?” One-Nut exclaimed as he prepared to join him. “Gonna puke?”

“Nah, man, just don’t feel right.”

“Safety first, dude,” his friend replied. “You ain’t working topside if you aren’t on your game.” He patted the man on the shoulder and turned him toward the foreman’s trailer. “Go see Clit,” he ordered, intentionally using the derogatory name for their boss, a practice they never made to his face.

Vincent grumbled as he limped to the trailer, wincing as the discomfort worsened with every step.

Clint saw him approaching through the window and met him on the porch, “You okay, Vinnie?” he asked with a serious tone that may have carried a trace of concern.

“Dude, I don’t know!” he replied. “My balls are hurting like hell, and I thought I was pissing fire after lunch.”

“You don’t look too good,” the man replied. “Did your bitch give you herpes?”

He couldn’t offer a poignant retort, which bothered him the most. “Fuck, something ain’t right. I remember my dad had kidney stones, and they treated him for a urinary tract infection before he started pissing bloody sand,” he winced. “God, I hope this ain’t that!”

“Can you drive, or do you need a ride?”

“I can drive myself,” he replied.

“Go on then,” Clint ordered. “I’ll clock you out when we knock off. Call me if you can’t make it tomorrow.”

~~~

“Chlamydia?” He exclaimed to the nurse practitioner. She had just reviewed his lab work and urine sample. “But that’s an STD for women, right?”

“A common misconception, Mr. Hargrove,” she replied as she sat beside the exam table, typing into her laptop. “Both partners are equally at risk from unprotected sex.”

How? She couldn’t have gotten it from me. He remembered the thorough physical he underwent before joining CBC. They made him redo half his immunizations because they were too old, or some blood test said he was at risk of shingles, tetanus, or cavities. He was tested for syphilis, HIV, and other disorders.

“Mr. Hargrove?” she pressed.

“Hmm?” he blinked.

“I asked, how many partners have you had unprotected sex with?”

He felt angry and embarrassed, “My wife is the only woman I’ve ever had sex with, Doc,” he exclaimed. “And we’ve been talking about starting a family.”

“Is she having symptoms?”

“I dunno!” he replied angrily. “How the hell would I know?” He slumped his shoulders and winced as his balls continued to ache. “Look, is this treatable, ma’am?” he asked. “My balls feel like they’re being drilled from the inside, and my dick is on fire!”

“It’s treatable. You should start feeling better quickly,” she replied. “I’ll give you a gram of Azithromycin before you leave and a steroid pack for the inflammation. The disease should clear up in seven to ten days. Until then, I recommend you remain abstinent,” she stated confidently. “It’d be prudent to speak with your wife about her previous sexual partners. Symptoms can take days, weeks, or months to manifest after exposure. How long have you been together?”

A cold feeling settled in his gut, “Four years.”

“Oh.”

~~~

Two days later, he returned to an empty house late at night. After stripping down and tossing his clothes into the wash, he went to the kitchen for food. The large pile of dishes in the sink caught his attention, giving him a cold sense of resignation. Raised by a mother obsessed with cleanliness, he would never leave a dirty dish. By the number of plates, bowls, and cutlery, Kelly couldn’t have eaten that many meals in 18 hours. Oddly, the cookware was still in the cupboards, so he stepped on the pedal of the waste bin and saw a new liner.

Two minutes later, he was rummaging outside in the 50-gallon waste management container. They had enjoyed Italian food from Mario’s, one of her favorite restaurants. He recognized the tin foil take-out containers of penne alfredo, leftover mussels, and clam shells from her usual Frutti di mare. They even shared tiramisu for dessert. Knowing his allergies, she would never have ordered the seafood dish with him.

Fresh sheets and blankets were on the bed, and the bedroom was spotless to ensure he wouldn’t become suspicious.

Maybe Loverboy was supposed to do the dishes and blew it off.

He never mentioned his clinic visit or STD treatment, but he requested treatment records and the NP’s notes, organizing them chronologically. This alone proved his newlywed bride was cheating. He started recording every disparity in their relationship, no matter how insignificant.

He put on jeans and a T-shirt before driving to Fred Meyer. He bought a Nokia digital camera and a binder for records. His hunger led him to grab a frozen pizza. Back home, he took pictures of the messy sink and meal remains and made a sardonic video with a date and time stamp. He checked her iPhone tracker app and saw her phone at the hospital. A quick text to Marcia confirmed she was at work.

~~~

He left the house early the following morning. He tried to assess his feelings as he drove but felt numb. Perhaps his brain was too scarred from previous tragedies, but he couldn’t feel sadness or regret over his ended marriage and relationship. The recurring thought was, Why? He knew he came with baggage, but she knew it too-hell, she was there for the worst of it! What drove her away? And why the fuck was she being careless about hiding it? She wasn’t stupid. Why not just come clean and end it?

The thoughts weighed heavily on his mind as he pulled up to the construction site and parked next to the trailer. He was the first there, beside Clint, who he suspected of sleeping on site. Come to think of it-he had plenty of room in the back of the Excursion.

The Foreman didn’t look up as he stepped into the trailer. A radiant heater in the corner stifled the small space, but Vince ignored it and made a fresh pot of coffee.

“What?” He turned to find the crusty bearded man gazing at him with his typical stern gaze.

“What?” he replied.

Clint was never accused of being talkative. He could speak volumes without opening his mouth. He did so then, staring back at the young man. Finally, Vince sighed and turned to regard his boss with familiar body language. “I…um,” he stammered. Usually, the foreman would insult him and mock his stutter. “Can I ask you something?” This was another opportunity to be reminded that he had just asked something.

The foreman leaned back in his rickety chair and remained silent. This was foreign territory to the senior apprentice. He cleared his throat and took a dramatic breath, “My wife is fucking around on me!” he blurted. He waited as the silence grew between them. Then Clint returned with a phrase he had heard a million times before, “You think-or you know?”

“I have proof,” Vince replied, “And a shit load of ‘what the fuck shit’ as well.”

“Like what?”

“She says she’s at work when she’s not-a coworker told me. She clears her texts and calls before she comes home. Finding the sink full of dishes and take-out for two in the garbage-”

“That’s suspicious,” the foreman agreed. “But it ain’t proof! Did you catch them fucking?”

“Not yet.”

“Son,” he replied with a low croaking voice (He never called anyone ‘son’). “All you got right now is a head full of bullshit that’s-”

“She gave me the Clap.”

Clint snapped his mouth shut and lifted an eyebrow at him. This gesture was monumental. The last time he saw a similar reaction was when Smiley and he showed him the five-inch tip from a Northern Pacific rattlesnake’s tail. Vince saw the gears turning in his head as he remembered leaving early the day before. “That was gonorrhea?”

“Chlamydia.”

Clint got up and went to the coffee maker with his cup. He returned with another Styrofoam cup for Vince. His gesture was unsettling. He remained standing behind his desk as he took a sip. “First off, numbnuts,” he growled. His slur put Vince at ease. “The ‘Clap’ is gonorrhea. Chlamydia is the ‘clam.’” He pointed at him. “And don’t fucking ask how I know!”

He set his cup on the filthy desk, spilling a bit.

The trailer door opened, admitting Preston and Cherry-a new team member. She was a short but solid young woman with bright red hair cropped close to her scalp. Her name was Lisa Ngyuen, half-Vietnamese. Everyone called her Cherry-not because of her hair.

“Morning, Boss!” they greeted simultaneously. They froze seeing Vince standing across from their leader, holding a cup of coffee-their expressions bewildered.

“I’m sorry?” the foreman bellowed angrily. “When did this become a fucking spectator sport?”

They blinked and opened and closed their mouths awkwardly.

“CLOCK THE FUCK IN AND GET YOUR SORRY ASSES TO WORK!”

“Yes, boss!” they replied quickly and tripped over each other stamping their timecards. They cursed as they collided, trying to flee the trailer simultaneously. Smiley and One-Nut were standing outside as they burst from the structure.

“CHERRY!” Clint called as the other two tentatively stepped inside to punch in.

“Yes, boss?” she replied from a safe distance.

“You’re lead today! I want the Insulators finished by lunch!”

“Yes, boss!” they heard as the door shut.

Vince felt the tension as he glanced at Smiley. He wasn’t smiling.

“What the fuck, Clint?” the apprentice griped. Vince would have guessed his life expectancy to be mere seconds for that remark. Smiley realized his error but stood his ground, “I’ve been here for two fucking years!”

“And she came to us as a third year!” the foreman replied calmly. All three men blanched at their foreman. “Now, why don’t you stop being a whiny little…BITCH AND GET THE FUCK TO WORK!” The windows rattled. One-Nut punched his card and departed like Wile E. Coyote, leaving a vapor trail. Smiley left more slowly, slamming the trailer door.

Vince turned and opened his mouth to protest his removal from the project.

Clint stabbed a finger back at him, shutting him up. He watched as the foreman grabbed his coffee and waited for the group to get out of earshot.

“Just shut the fuck up!” he grumbled and set the cup down roughly. “I’m not having my best fucking lineman up on that tower with his head full of distractions over some cum guzzling, whore-faced, low-clearance clit-slut, cheating, fucking, cunt...”

Vince stood frozen in astonishment-not by the insults-but by the unexpected compliment. He jumped as he slammed his fist into his opposite hand.

“Fuck!” Clint cursed as he paced behind his desk, kicking the old chair for blocking his path. “Shit!”

After pacing, he returned to his desk and dropped heavily into his seat. He stabbed a blunt finger into the metal surface as he looked back at the young man.

“All right!” he growled. “This is what we’ll do.”

We?

“Until we get a PI involved, I want you to track her every fucking move-from the moment she gets up until she pecks you on the cheek good night,” the foreman ordered. “Write down everything! Take screenshots and pictures, copy texts, and try to get her call and message records.”

“What about work?” Vince asked hesitantly, sipping his cold Styrofoam cup of coffee.

“I’m putting you on call,” the foreman replied. “You need to start studying for your Journeyman exams. So, you’ll have time to travel between Beaverton and Medford.” He got up and refilled his cup. “We can arrange a union lay-off package for unemployment. Plus, you’re entitled to a union stipend while preparing for your exams.” He returned to his desk and pulled out a folder of forms. “I got a buddy who knows all kinds of shit about spying, GPS tracking, and electronic surveillance.” He retrieved Vince’s red employee folder, made notes, and slid it to him. He filled out several blocks on another form titled Employee Transfer Summary. “Take this to the Brick and give it to Elaine. I will call ahead, and she’ll have a transitional Union Card ready for you.”

Vince felt overwhelmed by everything happening at once.

Clint set the form in his red folder and looked back at him with an unexpectedly sympathetic expression.

“We’ll get you through this, son,” he said, standing up. “And you’ll come out even better.” He clapped the man on the shoulder. “I’ll contact you before the end of the day.”

~~~

Vince felt out of place in the clean, brightly lit IBEW Local 125 offices. Everyone wore business casual while he shuffled past the cubicles in a grease-stained field jacket, carrying his red folder and scratched-up Pyramex hard hat. Over the years, a lineman accrued stickers denoting special training, certifications (Firefighting, Safety Officer, First Aid, Forklift operator, etc.), and job-specific accomplishments like the 40-tower project at the Cascade-Bonneville plant. His hard hat was covered with them, except for the reflective yellow bands, which was a strict no-no.

Elaine Hoffmeyer sat behind her desk typing when he approached her doorway.

“Come in and have a seat, Vincent,” she greeted. She continued working on her screen. “Close the door.”

He complied and sat across from her, conscious of his work clothes and her comfortable seat. She showed no indication that his attire bothered her as she continued to click on her keyboard for a full minute before pausing to click on something. Then she turned and smiled.

“It’s great to see you again!” she said eagerly as he set his red folder and the form before her. “How have you been? It feels like forever since your intake.”

“Good morning, Ms. Hoffmeyer,” he replied. “Great to see you. You look well.” He chose his words carefully as she had presided over half a dozen sexual harassment and personal conduct lectures over the years.

“Oh please, Vincent,” She glanced at the form and clicked her mouse on the large monitor. “You’ve come a long way from the wet-nosed apprentice,” she said. “We’re colleagues now, so you’ll call me Elaine.”

He felt uncomfortable with her instructions, “Um…yes, ma’am.”

“Excellent,” she beamed as she continued typing. Even though her hands were a blur, he found her gazing at him expectantly. Her soft brown eyes were penetrating. “Now, fill me in on what the hell is going on with you and this cheating bitch!”

He felt relieved when he left the building an hour later. He always knew working for the Union was a no-brainer. They cared for you as long as you earned your pay, paid dues, and lived by the code. Elaine assured him they had his back, setting him up with an extended leave of absence under Journeyman certification training, completing his unemployment application, and taking care of his ongoing benefits. There were loopholes in the state program that benefited the powerful unions. He would continue to accrue seniority and had full medical and dental. He had money in his credit union account and could borrow from his DBDC retirement plan for a new home or legal expenses. He left her office with perfume in his nose after she hugged him and instructed him to call her if he needed anything.

~~~

“I don’t understand how this will affect her job,” Vince told the private investigator, Gary Slocomb. “I can’t say for sure, but I don’t think adultery is covered in the Employee handbook.”

“Unless she’s banging a coworker,” the PI replied flatly. “That’s covered under alienation of affection clauses, and if her partner is in a supervisory or administrative position-”

“They would be liable,” a voice from a speaker atop the desk said. It was a Lawyer friend of the PI. “It’s conjecture at this point because we don’t know for certain that she’s involved with a coworker.”

It turned out that she was.

{1}

Chapter Three
Into Thin Air

When Kelly Hargrove returned home after her swing shift, she found the door ajar and the house empty. Her voice echoed in the main room when she called for her husband. She found a large binder on the kitchen table titled: ‘Exhibit A-Copy One (of six),’ and what she saw made her scream hysterically. Her world imploded with the realization that her infidelity had been discovered and captured in high-resolution video. She stumbled into their empty bedroom with tear-filled eyes and turned toward the corner where her betrayal had been captured. She spotted the camera and shrieked in dismay. The binder contained all the evidence he had collected against her with the help of his private investigator.

Transcripts of calls and texts from the wireless company covered several months of salacious content between her and her affair partner. Date and time-stamped texts between her and her husband assured him she’d be in one place. At the same time, her iPhone tracker and GPS screenshots showed her elsewhere-often the Ecolodge off I-5 in North Lancaster-where digital photographs with matching tags showed her red Toyota Corolla parked before a guest room. In over a dozen instances, she was seen leaving the room and getting in her car, always several minutes before her lover. A legend would accompany images or texts referring to a mylar page in the binder where co-labeled thumb drives were placed in protective sleeves to corroborate with audio or video files.

The PI discovered the mysterious man’s identity when he caught him leaving a shared hotel room and climbing into a newer Prius with California tags. It was registered to a radiology technician hired by the hospital less than a year ago. His name was Brian Oakley from Stockton. His unique face and comical expressions were captured digitally as he tumbled in Vince and Kelly’s bed with his estranged wife.

The last two 64 MB thumb drives had explicit bedroom videos with enhanced clarity. The audio was filled with moans, grunts, and slurps as they explored each other imaginatively.

Earlier, Vince removed all his belongings from their home, including his tools, clothes, and the laptop used for evidence. He left her the furniture and everything they bought. He left his cell phone on the nightstand and disappeared.

He stored excess items in a temporary storage unit, including a welder, work benches, power tools like his table saw, drill press, sanders, lathes, mills, and a crossbow he bought himself as a birthday present. Since Phil’s death, he developed a disdain for guns but still intended to hunt. So, he purchased an Excalibur Twin Strike crossbow, capable of loading and firing two arrows from upper and lower rails with separate triggers. He practiced shooting until he consistently placed both arrows within ½ inch of each other at 50 yards.

~~~

“Why not divorce?” Clint asked.

“What’s the point?” he replied. “I gain nothing but a long, expensive legal battle. It’s a no-fault state, so her fucking around means nothing to the courts.”

“But you’ll still be legally tied to the bitch. What if you find a good woman?”

“Not happening, boss!” he retorted. “No way I’ll repeat that mistake!” He grinned. “And now she can’t either unless she files for divorce. And it won’t cost me shit.”

The foreman momentarily considered his words, “So now what?”

“I’m gonna disappear for a while,” he replied. “My grandparents left me a piece of land in the middle of nowhere. We used to camp, hunt, and fish there as kids. There are no phones, utilities, and barely a road. I’m going to park a trailer there while I build a cabin. Don’t expect I’ll be back for a while.”

“Don’t forget us, boy!” the man said. “Keep those union dues paid-”

“Ms. Hoffmeyer set up automatic deductions from my account.”

“Good,” he paused. “Stay frosty. I don’t want to see no more fucked up news about you. We’ll be here when you’re ready.”

“Copy that.”

~~~

The 13-acre plot in the Cascade foothills, 20 miles southeast of Mount Hood, straddled Robinhood Creek and was accessible via NF-3520 off Highway 35. During camping trips with his grandparents, he remembered fishing, swimming, hunting, skiing, and hiking in the surrounding NF property.

Even a mediocre PI could’ve tracked him through the probate records of his late grandparent’s estate. But he doubted his ex had the audacity or foresight. After he disclosed her infidelity, she had zero chance to speak to his parents. He maintained a minimal social footprint, having vanished and intending to remain that way. He sent copies of the binder to her divorced parents, grandparents, and the hospital’s HR Director. The PI set up a fake Facebook account, tricked her into friending him, and destroyed her social media status with images, videos, and screenshots. She was in a nightmarish tailspin, and all he felt was a rough bump as he turned onto the old dirt road from his childhood.

The snow was deep as he navigated the treacherous route. The further he went, the less likely he’d find help if he slid off the icy forest service road. By the time he reached Robinhood Creek, he was gripping the wheel of his Excursion tightly. Three-quarters of a mile ‘til The Peanut, he told himself as he crept through the unplowed snow drifts. The Peanut was a peculiar stack of boulders resembling the Planters Nut brand identifier. The undeveloped drive onto his property was behind The Peanut, but it was a scary maneuver under normal conditions, and he wasn’t sure he could make it in this beast, in the snow, at night. Only one way to find out-

He drove to the camping spot and packed the snow by circling until the truck faced the road. He planned to sleep in the back of the Excursion, but first, he moved his stuff to fit the air mattress and sleeping bag, taking over an hour to clear and refill the job box. Cold, wet, and exhausted, he stacked plastic totes with clothes, camping supplies, and ‘bug-out’ gear nearby. At sunrise, he inflated the mattress and rolled out his sleeping bag. Inside the Ford, he started the motor to warm up while changing out of wet clothes, then climbed into his sleeping bag, stretching out to reach the ignition if needed.

At 4 pm, he woke up needing to pee. He wore wool socks and boots and left the truck in the crisp, clear air. After peeing on a tree, he stretched, wandered around the clearing, and felt a strong sense of belonging. He shivered but skipped his field jacket as he retrieved a propane burner, an aluminum coffee pot, and a bag of Elliott Bay Fog Cutter, which he had bought the day before.

While the coffee brewed, he used his heavy-duty snow shovel to clear a 20-by-30-foot area for the small trailer. It wasn’t level or packed, but it was suitable. As he worked, he warmed up and felt at peace, free from the past four months of turmoil. He visualized bringing in the 24-foot Coleman LT and setting it up.

Navigating The Peanut would be difficult. It involved detaching, dragging, sliding, and turning, but he moved building supplies into remote areas without helicopters. You could move anything with dunnage, skids, a come-along (or the power winch on his Excursion), and stubbornness. Hell, look what the Egyptians did.

The first cup of hot coffee in his clearing, surrounded by snow-covered trees, eased his mind. He used the steel job box with a folding canvas chair as a table, clearing the old fire ring where they cooked hot dogs, burgers, and S’mores. A rusty grate leaned against a tree, and a trail to Robinhood Creek was behind it. He could hear the water. Years ago, he, his grandfather, and Phil widened the creek and circled it with large rocks, creating a shallow pool for fishing and splashing. Vince wasn’t much of an angler, but it didn’t matter. He used a simple spool of monofilament line, a couple of split shots, and a small hook with a red egg or a kernel of corn to catch trout. He bought a folding rod and reel, only 15 inches when deployed. He hadn’t tried it yet but looked forward to some pan-fried trout.

After breakfast, he surveyed the clearing, imagining the trailer layout. He planned to build a shelter with a metal roof over the trailer and a semi-permanent timber and metal roof tool shed over the job box, which could be repurposed as a woodshed. While pondering, he began creating a materials list.

The nearest town was Odell, with Hood River to the north for supplies. Portland was an hour northwest. The 24-foot Coleman belonged to a coworker's friend who bought it new four years ago and renovated it. He replaced the water heater with a marine tankless heater, enlarged the fridge, converted the small head to an indoor shower, and rewired the main panel, adding a bigger transformer and two deep-cycle batteries for continuous power. It was wired for external power and utilities. Vince was quoted $22,000 and gave the man $5,000 and a handshake to hold it. Among his gear, he had a 5000-Watt Harbor Freight generator for his tools and to recharge his batteries.

The forecast didn’t predict new snow; the sun was melting the thin layer. He cleared a wide area for the Coleman next to the job box and his totes. The chosen spot was sloped, so he spent the rest of the day grading and tamping the site with a pick, shovel, and laser level. At dusk, he used a chainsaw to cut fallen trees for firewood.

By the campfire, he felt peaceful for the first time. He cherished memories with his grandparents, Phil and his baby sister, Cassidy, without regret. He could finally set aside heavy emotions and enjoy the solitude.

The next morning, after his coffee, he widened the hairpin around The Peanut. He cleared low bushes and a rhododendron, expanding the bend around the rocky formation that partially concealed his narrow road. He would eventually grade it for better access, but for now, he had to use his axe and saw.

In Odell, he remembered the Red Apple Diner from his childhood. He stopped for breakfast and recognized the long-time staff before heading to the local hardware store.

It took him two hours to tow the Coleman to his property and the rest of the day to maneuver it around the sharp bend and onto its semi-permanent site. The former owner gave him the cinder blocks it was set on, and Vince used them to ensure a sturdy and level foundation. The two 30 lb. propane tanks on the towing bar were enough for weeks, but he planned to buy a bigger 100 lb. tank for winter. The trailer also had a silent-running Honda generator that ran for 12 hours on a single tank, powering everything and charging the batteries.

In a week, he completed the metal roof shelter over the Coleman and the lean-to for his job box. While drafting a floor plan for his cabin, he looked into locally milled lumber, leading him to Carl Finely’s small sawmill. After paying and offering to help with cutting, Vince secured a material source. They agreed to spend every other day-Monday, Wednesday, and Friday-sourcing and cutting logs, giving Vince time to transport and stage materials and clear a wider area for construction.

He paid for a perk test and septic permit but insisted on doing the tank and drain field himself. Thanks to Job Corps, he was proficient with heavy equipment and used his connections to arrange and use the needed machines. When he couldn’t do the task or had too many projects, he contracted the work. Widening and graveling his road was one job he outsourced because the D9 and Grader owner hesitated to loan his equipment. He rented a smaller skid steer with a bucket and digger attachment to excavate the organic material from his building site and revise the ‘bend’ around The Peanut.

Vince worked all day and every night preparing the lot for his cabin and cutting and hauling lumber for his permanent home. He went to bed exhausted but fulfilled and woke eager to continue. The 1000 sq. ft. cabin had a simple floor plan featuring an entry great room with an open kitchen on the left, two bedrooms, and a full bathroom on the right. A single staircase led to a 300 sq. ft. loft. It had a wood stove for heating/cooking, a gas range, an oven, and a refrigerator.

The first step was to dig and inspect the septic field. His construction connections helped. Less than a month after moving, he began preparing his foundation.

After his separation, he kept distant contact with his parents but needed time apart until he felt better. They respected his wishes, but he found old messages on his phone. This was also how he received updates about Kelly, who left the state in shame to follow her boyfriend Brian to California, where she spent months getting her state nursing license.

By mid-summer, his cabin had square beam walls almost reaching the eave level. He framed, wired, and plumbed the interior, then insulated and paneled the walls after installing the loft’s timber floor. Elaine asked him to pretend to pursue his journeyman certification to justify the training stipend she had arranged. It wasn’t his salary as a senior Apprentice, but enough. He re-evaluated and drove to the trade school, obtaining the texts and training materials for the required exams. He realized he felt lonely during quiet evenings, studying under lamp light. Still anti-social, it wasn’t human company he sought. He was never allowed a pet because of his mother’s germophobic mentality.

{1}

Chapter FourBandi

There was a no-kill animal shelter off Cemetery Road that he passed every time he went into town. The sign said they were open for adoptions on Mondays and Wednesdays and for Intakes by appointment only. On Monday afternoon, he returned home with a flat trailer full of truss materials, so he turned down the road to check it out.

He heard barks from an outdoor fenced yard behind the large building. With few cars in the lot, he parked along the perimeter. Inside, he found a lobby with a long counter and cubicles. A tall woman was helping a middle-aged couple. They had a Pitbull mix on a leash. The lobby had shelves and kiosks with wet and dry foods for different species and accessories like collars, leashes, muzzles, and harnesses.

He spotted a man at a nearby desk working on a computer. Approaching, he noticed the man wearing a thick sweater with a badge embroidered on the left breast and the initials C. Mann. The man glanced up briefly, “Dropping off?” he mumbled.

“Uh…no,” Vince replied. “I just dropped in to see the animals. Can I-”

“I only do intakes,” the man replied gruffly, pointing at the Animal Control ball cap on the desk. “Talk to Shannon when she’s done with those guys. Just take a seat, and she’ll be with you soon.”

Vince nodded, found some seats along the front wall, and looked around briefly. The couple was wrapping up their adoption and led the pup outside.

“Can I help you?”

His first impression of the woman was that she was tall and ‘hippie-ish,’ from her tie-dyed t-shirt, stained and faded blue jean cut-offs, and Birkenstocks with wool ankle-high socks. She had long dark dreadlocks, butterscotch eyes, and multiple facial piercings on her left eyebrow, septum, and lower lip. He noticed her European all-natural culture vibe from her stubbly legs and hairy pits spilling out of her short sleeves. She was also built like a bodybuilder.

He cleared his throat awkwardly and stood. “Hi,” he greeted, holding out his hand. “I’m Vince. I came to see about taking an animal off your hands.”

She briefly clasped his hand and released it as she asked, “By taking, you mean adopting, right?”

“Uh…yeah, sure,” he stammered, feeling her first impression was less genial than his.

“Hmph,” she replied, turning to the desk where she’d been when he entered. She waved at a swivel chair. “Let’s complete some paperwork and see what we can do.” She grabbed a stack of paper-clipped forms from an organizer. “Interested in a cat or a dog?”

“Definitely not a cat,” he replied quickly.

“Not a cat person,” she asked wryly, handing him a pen.

“Not a cat ‘litter’ person,” he replied.

“Fair enough,” she replied. “I need a copy of your driver’s license and a non-refundable check for $85.”

“I don’t have a checkbook,” he said, taking out his wallet. He produced his license and a hundred-dollar bill. “Can you take cash?”

She glanced at him, narrowed her eyes, took his license, and stepped over to a photocopier. “You can pay with a credit card, but there’s a 15% convenience fee.”

He shook his head at the first form. “No credit card either.” He didn’t look up, sensing her disbelief.

“I’ll check if I have change,” she said, returning his license. “Complete the top of this yellow form and check all the boxes on the red affidavit for your background check.”

“Background check?” He looked up, surprised. “Why?”

“We do background checks for all adoptions, like with kids, to ensure our rescues go to the right family.”

“Huh,” he replied as he studied the form. He held and twirled the pen while pondering the required information.

“Problem?” she asked guardedly.

“Huh?” He looked up, then shook his head. “No, I’m just trying to figure out the address.”

“That would be where you live,” she replied gruffly, her tone growing more sarcastic.

“I know, but I don’t have a physical address.”

She stared at him briefly and then glanced at his license. “3120 Horton Place sounds like a-”

“Yeah, I don’t live there anymore,” he interrupted.

“Where do you get your mail?”

“General Delivery in Odell,” he answered. “I’m on the waiting list for a box.”

“You just moved?”

He nodded. Frequent dog barks came from behind closed doors.

“We need to know where the pet will stay,” she frowned.

He nodded thoughtfully, flipped the form over, and began drawing on the back.

“Um…what are you doing?”

“I’m drawing you a map,” he replied. “I’m off-grid in the Cascade foothills.” He began drawing lines. “You know where the Nordic Alpine Park is, right?” He didn’t await her answer. “Take 35 just north of the ski resort and head west on NF 44 about here. It turns into 3540, and you follow it-” he glanced up to find her staring at him with her arms crossed.

“You’re gonna be one of those guys, huh?”

“What do you mean?”

“You make everything difficult.”

His face warmed from her chiding, and he stammered awkwardly. A part of him wanted to leave. “Look, Ms… I never got your name.”

“Presley,” she replied. “Shannon Presley.”

“Ms. Presley-”

“Call me Shannon,” she interrupted.

He blinked, “I’m not trying to make this difficult for you, I swear.” He tried to sound sincere without being insulted. “I just have unique circumstances-”

She studied him briefly as the background barking got louder and faded. “Finish your map and put ‘see back’ in the address blocks.” She watched him do so and flipped the form back over, pausing. She raised an eyebrow, “Do you have a phone number?”

He hesitated and nodded. “I have a Nokia pay-as-you-go,” he admitted. “But there’s no signal out there, so I only turn it on in town.”

“Of course you do,” she sighed. “Just put the number down.”

She shook her head incredulously as he frowned. “What now?”

He glanced up sheepishly, “Marital status?”

“Pretty simple,” she snorted. “Y or N, circle one.”

“Um…it’s complicated,” he grimaced apologetically.

“You don’t know if you’re married?” she balked. “Seriously?”

“Well,” he hesitated, feeling his cheeks warm. “You see… I was married. But now… it’s complicated.”

She exhaled exasperatedly, “I don’t… even care! Just circle them both! Or leave it blank-”

He was sure his application would be shredded as soon as he left. A canine uproar and an angry female voice came from the back. The swinging doors behind Shannon burst outward, and she spun around at the commotion.

Vince saw a girl running into the lobby, glaring at something out of his vision. He heard nails scraping on linoleum.

“Get back here, you little wench!” she exclaimed.

A black and white blur darted around the desk like a furry missile, corrected its course, and flew toward him. He saw a pink tongue, mismatched eyes, and a furry body before the creature bounded into his lap.

“Oof!” he gasped. The dog was lighter than expected, but she collided with enough velocity to stagger him in his seat. “Well, hello there!” he stammered.

“Bandi!” the girl cried in disbelief as she rounded the desk. The black and white pup turned and barked defiantly before dropping to her haunches and panting excitedly.

“I’m so sorry!” the girl exclaimed before looking at Shannon with a shameful expression.

“Got loose again, eh?” the tall woman tsked.

“She chewed through the zip tie this time,” she replied, glaring at the target of her frustration.

The pup shrank back into him, then turned and buried her face in his side, pushing her wet nose between his arm and ribs and tucking her bushy tail.

Shannon saw Vince’s expression and raised her hand, halting the girl. “I guess Introductions are in order,” she smirked. “Meet Bandi, short for Bandit. She’s a year old and too smart for her own good.”

The man at the other desk snorted, “She should pay you to take that menace!”

Once the pup realized she wasn’t being dragged back to her cage, her tail thumped against his leg, and her curious face reappeared. She began panting and sneaked a quick lick against his whiskered jaw.

“Seriously,” the younger girl agreed. “I’d pay her adoption fees for you,” she blurted, gazing at her boss, “If I got paid around here.”

The taller woman regarded her with an arched eyebrow.

“What?” the girl added defiantly. “It took me an hour to catch all the animals she freed this morning.”

“Bandi is a gifted escape artist,” Shannon explained, turning to regard him across her desk. “She’s out of her kennel every morning when we arrive. And she often released several 'friends’ to play with.” She observed as he scratched and patted the unapologetic pup.

“What breed is she?” he asked, fingering her thick coat.

“She has the coat, face, and heterochromia of an Australian Shepherd,” Shannon replied. “But the white paws, chest, and build of a Bernese.” She asked, “What do you think, Craig?”

He glanced up, “I’d agree. Smart as hell and full of mischief, too.”

“She’s vaccinated and spayed,” the stout hippie added.

“How much is the adoption fee?” Vince asked, gazing into the pup’s eyes-one pale blue, the other golden yellow. She seemed to communicate with him as she panted.

“$85.”

He slipped another hundred from his wallet and said, “Keep the change.”

~~~

Bandi’s need for freedom and autonomy quickly became a point of contention. Vince was worried about her safety and purchased a harness at Shannon’s suggestion. Despite her fuss, she couldn’t escape, making walking her a comical display of insubordination. Yet when released, she became affectionate and stayed close.

It became a battle whenever he put the leash on her. She’d twist and tug even at night before resigning to the shameful confinement. The day after the adoption, he secured her to a tree at the clearing’s edge. He spent an hour unloading and staging his lumber while she barked defiantly. When he took a break and sat in his chair, she jumped into his lap, licked him, sighed, and collapsed under his patting hands. He shook his head and spoke to her like a petulant child. She, in turn, regarded him with an uncanny and intelligent expression.

He created a plywood jig to make the trusses for the roof of his cabin. After cutting and assembling the timbers, he set them aside until he had enough for the roof. He worked steadily until midday when he broke for lunch. He didn’t realize his companion had stopped trying to distract him until he found her leash near his chair. His heart skipped a beat when he realized she was missing.

“BANDI!” he called, glancing around the clearing. He shut down his generator. “BANDI!” he called again. There was no response as he stepped into the open trailer. She was nowhere to be seen, and he felt apprehensive. He tried to recall when he last saw her and realized she could have been gone for an hour or more.

“Fuck!” he muttered as he stepped into the woods and circled the clearing. Disheartened, he couldn’t find her when he returned to the trailer. He had already failed as a pet owner, and it hadn’t been two days. She could have gone anywhere, but he was limited to the road in the Excursion. He made a quick sandwich and mulled over the problem. He decided to drive to the FS road, hoping she would hear the vehicle and run for it, but feared she had taken off for good.

He grabbed his keys and left the trailer open in case she returned. He froze as he climbed into the truck, key in the ignition. Maybe he heard a sound muffled by the door or his body settling. He cocked his head and heard a clear bark nearby. Relief flooded him, and he climbed out, whistling, “Bandi!” He turned, trying to sense the direction, then heard her bark again. He spun around, facing the trail between the tool shed and the trailer. “Here, girl!” he called. He isolated the creek’s sound and noted splashes that didn’t fit. “What the-” he mumbled, striding quickly along the trail. Another bark sounded, and he sensed no distress. He followed the trail about 25 yards before it turned sharply, dropping toward the lively creek glittering beyond the trees.

He found her standing near the bank, up to her belly. Oblivious, she jumped into the pool, splashing when it got too deep. He watched, bewildered, as she paddled back to the bank and barked at the water. She’s trying to catch a fish! He recognized the shadowy forms flitting beneath the surface. She pounced at another target, sending water splashing. He observed as she charged a fish and stabbed her snout into the water. She nearly had it before it wriggled through her paws and darted away. She splashed after it and then noticed him. She wagged her tail and barked excitedly as if to say, Don’t just stand there, idiot! Help me!

“Come here, girl,” he called, pleased when she leaped out of the creek, creating a brief rainbow as she shook herself. He squatted, and she plopped onto her side at his knees, rolling onto her back as he rubbed her belly. “You had me worried, sweetheart,” he muttered as she returned his caresses with kisses from her darting tongue. He stood, and she rolled to her feet. “Let’s get lunch and put this behind us, all right? All is forgiven.”

She followed him back to the trail, leading him to the clearing. He smirked when she sneezed disdainfully at the leash before dashing into the trailer. Curious, he checked the rope, finding no bite marks-yet she undid his bowline with an extra back hitch. He glanced back at the trailer holding the rope's end and saw her duck into the shadowy interior. He chuckled and dropped the leash to follow her inside.

After feeding her, he made a second sandwich and enjoyed it before returning to work. She returned his confidence by finding a sunny spot and lying down for a long nap.

The heavy pre-assembled trusses were raised along the exterior wall with a block and tackle. The back half of the cabin was easier to assemble because he had the loft decking to work from as he secured the frames. As he approached the great room with its vaulted ceiling, he moved part of his scaffold inside to work aloft. It took him most of the day to fabricate and secure all the frames atop the cabin. With an hour of light left, he decided to fish in the creek for dinner.

That was a preview of Stone Cold. To read the rest purchase the book.

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