Free Sweet Water by Anna Jeffrey Page B

thirty-seven. He had handed well over a million dollars worth of real and personal property to two women. These facts only added fuel to the notorious Ledger distrust of the female of the species.
    “After the smoke cleared, where’d you land?” Terry wanted to know.
    “Weatherford. Found a place with a few acres. Gotta have grazing for my horses. And a place for Clay to come. His mother’s gonna fuck up one time too many and God as my witness, I’m gonna end up with custody of that kid.”
    Clay. Chick’s eight-year-old son. To hear Chick tell it, the only good thing that had come of his first marriage.
    “What’s it look like out in the Wild West?” Chick asked. “As if I didn’t know.”
    “Looks good. That’s why I want you to come on out and be a part of this. It’s gonna be great, Chick. Honest. Hell, I might even build a golf course.”
    “Out of what, Astro-Turf? You couldn’t grow a blade of real grass in Cabell County if you needed it to eat.”
    “I’m spending some time out there, Chick, starting the end of the week. If everything comes together, I want to get something on the ground before the year’s out. I want the houses to take on the flavor of the area, like what we’re doing in Rancho Casero, only smaller.”
    His good friend nodded and stared at his boot toes. “Well, what the hell. Those are easy houses to build. Yeah, I’ll go. But not permanent-like. I don’t want to get that far away from the kid.” Chick pointed at a blue-lined square on the plat across the state highway from a cluster of other blue-lined squares. “What’s this?”
    “An old service station.”
    “And you don’t own it. Well, a Larson’s will put him out of business in a hurry.”
    Terry had confided in Chick months back that he had his eye on a Larson’s Truck & Travel Stop. The Oklahoma company had yet to make an inroad into Texas, but they were excited at the prospect of building a discount gasoline and diesel full service station and convenience store on one of the few north/south routes out of West Texas. Inside their convenience stores, Larson’s usually placed at least one nationally-known fast-food restaurant. Nothing like a Larson’s Truck & Travel Stop existed between Odessa and El Paso.
    “Kim’s been researching all the properties and the ownerships,” Terry said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the service station’s already in trouble. It was built in the forties. The state’s bound to be after it for storage tank clean-up.”
    Chick dragged his finger across the highway to a smaller cluster of squares on property that had a common boundary with the town of Agua Dulce. “And this is?”
    “A motel. Ten units. I slept there a couple of nights while I was scoping out the area.”
    “But you don’t own it, either?”
    “Right. The owner’s some strange little character who believes in flying saucers.”
    Chick looked up from under an arched brow. “For real?”
    Terry answered with a shrug. “That’s what he told me.”
    “Hm. Takes all kinds I guess. With a new motel opening, I doubt he’ll stay in business.”
    “That’s up to him.”
    “And the water?” Chick tapped a finger on the blue lined square labeled WELL.
    “Good water and plenty of it, as far as I know now. Looks like it has a good storage tank. Too small for my plans, but that’s not a problem. I’ll have to put in a water system to state standards anyway.”
    “When I go out, is the motel fit to stay in?”
    “Sure, but half the mobiles in the trailer park are vacant. You know you’re welcome to stay in one. They’re furnished. You just need to take some bedding. If you don’t want to cook, I’ll foot the bill for you to eat at the café. Not bad food.”
    Terry reached inside his truck for a notepad and wrote the name, Gordon Tubbs. He tore the note from a pad and handed it to his foreman. “Keep this name. This guy’s the manager of the trailer park. He’s an employee who came along with the