Homeward Bound. Marin Thomas

she left for college. She’d known the car was safer in the barn than on campus.

      “Luke, I don’t have time to worry about Heather and her plans. I’ve got enough troubles with the town’s sewer system deteriorating as we speak.”

      “Heard anything from the governor?”

      “His aide called.” Royce carried the bushel of vegetables out of the barn, opened the tailgate and set them in the truck bed next to the hay bales. He pulled a bandana from his back pocket and mopped his brow. At ten in the morning, the temperature hovered near eighty degrees. The above-normal temperature for late May promised a long, hot Texas summer. “To a certain extent the governor is sympathetic.”

      “Sympathetic how?”

      “If Nowhere turns in a sizable campaign donation, the governor may be able to pull some strings and move us up on the list for government funding for a new sewer.”

      “Aw, let him blow it out his ear. There ain’t enough money in this town to build a meetin’ hall, let alone throw away on a politician who don’t give a rat’s turd about our little map dot.”

      “Amen. I refuse to use our five hundred and fifteen citizens’ tax dollars to finance the governor’s reelection campaign, when I can’t stand the guy in the first place.” Royce shut the tailgate.

      His face puckering like a withered apple, Luke asked, “What’ll you do ’bout the sewer?”

      Royce wished that every business in town had its own septic system. But during the 1940s the federal government had laid down sewer pipe as part of a work program to improve the quality of life in rural areas. As far as Royce was concerned, his town’s quality of life was disappearing faster than the water flushed down the toilets. “With a little luck, the system should hold out another year.”

      He hopped into the truck, then shut the door before his foreman decided to ride along. “By next spring, I’ll figure out something.” And he would. He’d never before let down the citizens of Nowhere. One way or another he’d find the money to at least repair the sewer. He turned the key and gunned the motor. “Don’t expect me back anytime soon. After I meet with the Realtor, I plan to drop off the hay and vegetables at the Wilkinsons’ place.”

      Another brown glob of tobacco flew past the truck window and landed with a splat near the front tire. “When you gonna stop givin’ everybody handouts?”

      “I’m the mayor, Luke. I won’t stand by and watch four kids starve because their father’s out of work with a broken back and their mother’s run off to God-knows-where with who-knows-whom.” Right then, Heather’s mother came to mind, making Royce wonder what it was about Nowhere that had women running off in the middle of the night.

      “Broken back, my ass.”

      Royce would have to call Martha later and thank her for twisting her brother’s undershorts in a knot this morning. “Kenny will be over next week to help with chores.” Kenny, the eldest Wilkinson boy, helped Luke around the ranch in exchange for hay for his rodeo horse.

      “Just what I need. A snot-nosed brat followin’ me ’round.” Luke called for Bandit, then shuffled toward the house.

      Grinning, Royce drove off. His foreman did a lot of complaining about the smart-mouthed teen, but Luke appreciated the kid’s company. It was a win-win situation. The boy was good company for Luke, and Luke was good company for Kenny, who needed a swift kick in the butt from time to time—something Luke had perfected on Royce over the years.

      At the end of the ranch drive, Royce took the county road south. Tall pines bordered the asphalt, some as high as one hundred and twenty feet. Most of the trees were second-generation. The area had been gutted by the lumber industry at the turn of the twentieth century. The once-dense pine forests were now broken up with large sections of ranch land. Sprinkled in among the yellow pines were clusters of southern red oak, sweetgum and water oak. This part of East Texas received enough rainfall to be classified as an upper wetland area, which meant that spring put on a pretty impressive display. His favorite tree was the flowering dogwood, with its abundant white blooms.

      The area boasted a great fishing lake. During the summer months, campers took advantage of the wilderness that surrounded Nowhere and Lake Wright several miles to the northeast. The town’s small business owners relied heavily on summer tourism to keep afloat. That was one of Royce’s goals as mayor—to find a way to bring more tourists to the area.

      Pressing the gas pedal until the speedometer hovered near seventy, he switched his thoughts to the feed store. Over the years, the local ranchers had begun purchasing the bulk of their supplies from big discount chains along the interstate. But in emergencies, or to save time, they shopped at Henderson Feed for smaller items. For the past two days the business had remained closed. Royce needed to find someone to work in the store until the building sold.

      Fifteen minutes later, he swung the truck into a parking spot outside the dilapidated redbrick building. Frank Telmon waited by the door, briefcase in hand, jowls sagging two inches lower than usual. The Realtor must have bad news.

      “Frank.” Royce greeted him as he climbed the steps and unlocked the door with the key he’d confiscated from the store register yesterday. He’d had to enter the stockroom through a broken window to get inside. He’d ransacked the place, searching for bookkeeping records or any paperwork that would show what kind of financial shape the business was in. All he’d found were old tax documents, a few bank statements and the store ledger with the names and numbers of suppliers and bookies. He’d handed the ledger over to Telmon before heading down to the university.

      Telmon, who doubled as an accountant, followed Royce inside. “I’m afraid I have unpleasant news.”

      “Figured as much.” Royce walked to the back of the store, then leaned against the checkout counter next to the outdated cash register.

      “Henderson wasn’t much of a businessman.” Frank set his briefcase on the counter. “I went over the papers you dropped off at the office.” He removed a file folder from inside.

      “And…”

      Shaking his head, Frank pursed his lips so hard the corners of his mouth disappeared into his cheeks. “I don’t understand how he stayed in business as long as he did.”

      “Give me the bare facts.” Royce should have figured selling the store wouldn’t be as easy as he’d hoped.

      “The business is two years in arrears on taxes. The building needs a major overhaul, and inventory is basically nonexistent. Nothing short of a miracle and a hell of a lot of cash will put this business back in the black.”

      Great. Just great. He’d hoped there would be enough money left over from the sale of the store for Heather to live on until she found a job and an apartment after graduation. “What do you suggest putting the place on the market for?”

      A harsh bark fired from Telmon’s mouth, the sound smacking off the rotting brick walls like a rifle shot. “Sell? You won’t be able to give the place away.”

      As Royce glanced around, he was hard put to disagree. Swirls of yellowish brown water stains covered the ceiling—a leaky roof. A musty, damp smell saturated the air inside the building—mold. The plank floor groaned, creaked and popped—wood rot. The mortar in the brick walls had all but crumbled away, leaving holes big enough to shove a fist into. Oh, hell. The building needed a wrecking ball, not a For Sale sign. “Heather doesn’t want anything to do with the feed store. The place will have to go on the market as is.”

      Nodding, Telmon returned the file to his briefcase. “First smart decision the girl’s made in a long time.”

      Royce bristled at the insult to Heather. He himself could talk about her that way, but he sure didn’t approve of others criticizing her. Heather was smarter than most people realized. Although she’d skipped a lot of classes and had driven her teachers nuts with her rebellious behavior, she’d scored higher on her college entrance exams—Scholastic Aptitude Test—than