Free Rockinghorse by William W. Johnstone Page A

’cause I ain’t givin’ you no charity. This here will solve my firewood problem for this winter.” He grinned hugely.
    Lucas shared the grin. “It’s a deal.”
    They shook on it.
    Jim and Lucas spent an hour behind the service station, in a thicket of scrub trees, going over the fine points of handling a chain saw. And it wasn’t as easy as it looked, Lucas was forced to admit. But he caught on quickly and Jim said so. He taught him how to refuel; how much gas and oil; showed him how to change the chain. And how to properly use the saw to avoid kickbacks.
    Finally, after the din of noise (damn things were loud), Jim smiled and said, “You’ll do, ol’ son. Ain’t no timber-cuttin’ outfit gonna break down your door to hire you on. But you’ll do. Surprised me. Just be careful. And don’t let the kids get too close to you while you’re workin’.”
    * * *
    â€œWhat in God’s name are you up to now?” Tracy asked, eyeballing the chain saw, the cans of oil and gas, and the machetes in the back of the station wagon.
    â€œNobody is going to keep me out of woods that rightfully belong to me,” Lucas said. “So while you and Jackie work on the house, Johnny and I will spend some time working in the timber.”
    â€œAll right!” Johnny said.
    â€œWhat about me ?” Jackie squalled, hands on hips in protest.
    â€œYou can’t help us,” her brother told her, a haughty tone to his voice.
    â€œWhy not?” she demanded.
    â€œ ’Cause you’re a girl. Yeahyayeahyayeahya! ”
    â€œAll right!” Lucas said, settling them down. “Just knock it off.”
    Tracy had a very doubtful look in her eyes. “I don’t know, Lucas. Your head. . . .”
    â€œMy head is fine. I don’t even have a headache. And that’s a miracle after working with a chain saw for an hour. I’m only going to look the situation over today. See where I want to begin.”
    Tracy sighed, shrugged, then looked at her daughter. “Bear all this in mind before you start contemplating marriage, dear.”
    â€œMarriage?” Jackie said. “Be yukk !”
    * * *
    The Bowers family soon settled into an easy but highly productive routine, both inside and outside the house. The interior of the old mansion and the grounds of the sprawling estate surrounding it soon began to take shape into a semblance of what had once symbolized the arrogance of southern slave owners.
    Lige kept Ol’ Baby penned, and Ol’ Baby never growled whenever Lucas came around. Ol’ Baby remembered the sound and fury of that shotgun and the buckshot zinging and pinging around her—she wanted no more of that. Lucas didn’t trust the animal, but never showed any fear when around her.
    On the Monday that marked their first week in Edmund County, Georgia, State Trooper Kyle Cartier returned to the scene.
    â€œYou’ve lost some weight, Mr. Bowers,” the trooper observed. “And you’re losin’ that city pallor pretty quick: ’ He smiled. “Nose is peelin’ some.”
    Lucas laughed and hefted the chain saw. “I have the utmost respect for men who work these things for a living.”
    â€œFor a fact, they will surely work their butt off. Can I speak to you privately, Mr. Bowers?”
    â€œSurely. How about a glass of iced tea?”
    â€œSounds good to me. Shapin’ up to be a hot one. And it’s early for this kind of heat, too.”
    The men sat on the east veranda, sipping tall glasses of iced tea. “Good,” Kyle said. “This tea hasn’t been boiled.”
    â€œTracy followed the directions on the side of the box and placed it out in the sun.” He laughed. “First time she did she forgot to cover the jug.”
    Kyle grinned. “Filled up with bugs, did it?”
    â€œI’ll say”.
    â€œAh, Mr. Bowers. About that blood on your