Free Trouble at the Red Pueblo by Liz Adair Page B

the pitcher on the table and followed Amy into the kitchen.
    Watching Jack as he pulled hamburger patties out of a drawer in a stainless refrigerator built into the cooking area, Spider searched for some polite comment that wouldn’t engender verse. Karam came to his rescue.
    “I am not sure I understand about what is a straw bale house. Is it really made of straw?”
    Jack closed the stainless lid over the sizzling burgers. “Why sure it is. Come on in here, and let me show you.” He opened one of the doors to the living room and held it for Karam to pass through. “You, too, Spencer,” he said.
    Spider obediently stood and followed.
    Jack stepped through and pointed to the casing around the door. “See how thick the walls are? Ever seen a straw bale? That’s how thick they are. And lookie here.” He lifted a picture off the wall. Underneath, a framed Plexiglas sheet formed a window, allowing a glimpse through the plaster to golden stems packed together.
    “That is amazing,” Karam said. He stepped back, surveying the wall. “But why?”
    Jack frowned. “Why what?”
    “Why use straw instead of bricks?” Karam asked. “Will it not fall down?”
    “Heck no. The house has a framework of massive beams. The straw bales just fill in the area between.”
    “It’s for insulation,” Spider added. “Keeps the house cool in summer, warm in winter.”
    Karam smiled. “You Americans. You are so inventive. In my country we can build houses that are cool in summer, warm in winter, but we build them out of mud brick. We’ve been doing it that way for thousands of years.”
    “Where is your country?” Jack asked. “You from Mexico?” He put one foot forward, held up his hand, and launched in.
    Way down across the border
    Beyond the Rio Grande—
    “Karam’s from Gaza,” Spider interrupted. Could a guy with that much education be that clueless?
    Jack dropped his hand. “Where?”
    “Gaza.”
    Jack looked from Spider to Karam. “Where’s that?”
    Karam answered. “Right next door to Israel.”
    “Oh.” Jack blinked. “I don’t know any poems about that.”
    “That’s all right,” Spider assured him, opening the door to the patio. “Those burgers sure smell good.”
    “That’s because it’s Braces beef.” Jack hurried out, lifted the lid, and shouted, “Amy. I’m turning the burgers.”
    Spider and Karam sat at the table, and a few moments later Laurie appeared with a tray of condiments followed by Amy with the dishes. By the time the burgers came off the grill, the table was set, and a platter of golden corn steamed in the middle.
    All through lunch, Jack retold the story of building the house. Karam ate only corn and cantaloupe, but he listened politely. Now that he had seen the house, Spider listened with more interest and a grudging admiration for all Jack had accomplished.
    “You’ve done a great job,” he said as he finished the last of his melon. “The house, the way it’s landscaped, your fields, they all look first rate.”
    Jack’s cheeks got rosy, and he looked down at his hands. “Thanks. I’ve been working at it for a long time.
    Buildin’ up a little place
    That I can call my home,
    A place to hang my Stetson—
    Jack broke off in the middle of his own verse. “You know, someone else musta liked the looks of it ‘cause I got a letter in the mail offering to buy it.”
    “Is that so?” Spider tried to sound casual. “I don’t suppose you were inclined to sell.”
    Jack snorted. “Shoot, no.”
    Spider’s hand went to his shirt pocket, checking for his notebook. Dang. He really needed to get it back from Laurie. “Do you remember who wrote the letter?”
    Jack shook his head. “Tossed it in the garbage. It was no interest to me.”
    “Huh,” Spider grunted. “By the way, where do you get your water?”
    “There’s a spring up where this canyon intersects with the next one over. That’s Martin Taylor’s place. We share the water rights.”
    “I read about