Remembering Red Thunder. Sylvie Kurtz

Texas. Fifteen years ago.

      She was late.

      He’d known she’d be too chicken to show. Playing games wasn’t Ellen Paxton’s style. Still, he’d hoped she’d help spice up what was shaping up to be an otherwise dull evening.

      Trespassing was the only thing that made this outing any fun. But even that bit of adventure was growing old in the buggy humidity of these backwoods.

      All these trees made him claustrophobic. Heat suffused his every pore, glistened his skin with sweat and rendered his mind slug slow. Any second now, all this nature was going to drive him plumb crazy.

      What they needed was a bit of excitement. And on this hot and sticky late-May evening, excitement wasn’t likely to find them unless they met it halfway.

      Garth Ramsey glanced at his companions. The Makepeace twins looked as contented as dogs who’d found a cool spot under a porch. Kent, he knew, could stay here all night and be happy. Kyle would be easier to prod along.

      “Turkey tracks,” Kent said, pointing at the three-fingered prints where the wild birds had followed the sandy riverbank then veered into the brush.

      Who cares? Garth thought and swiped Kyle’s Coke from the cardboard tray between them on the ground.

      “And here we are nowhere near Thanksgiving,” Kyle mocked.

      Kent shot Kyle a narrowed gaze, then turned his attention to his burger. The jitter of his knee said he wanted to add something, but realized it wasn’t wise when Kyle was in one of his moods.

      And Kyle was in the mother of all moods. He’d had some burr under his saddle for the past three days. For once he hadn’t bothered Garth with all the details—which only made him more curious and more determined to view the outcome. Too bad Ellen hadn’t shown. Garth slurped the last of the Coke and batted away at the mosquitoes determined to eat him alive.

      In a week, high school would be over and reality would kick in, but for now, he, Kent and Kyle were still free. Garth wanted to make the most of his time and not waste a precious evening vegetating along the river.

      “I hear there’s goin’ to be a drag race out by the reservoir tonight,” Garth said, feeling out his chances of seeing action any time soon. He hated depending on Kent for transportation.

      “Who’s gonna be there?” Kyle asked as he squeezed a second packet of ketchup onto his burger.

      “Mac Renfro and his souped up Chevy for one.”

      Kyle snorted. With an overhand hook, he tossed the empty ketchup packet toward the fast-food bag and missed. “If he drives that thing like he rides, I’ll put my money on whoever he’s racing.”

      Undeterred, Garth tried another tack. “Shannon Blake’s havin’ a party. Her parents are out of town for the weekend and I hear she’s goin’ to have a keg.”

      “Yeah?” Kyle flattened the top bun over the other half of his burger. Ketchup oozed out one side and plopped onto the ground. “Might be worth checking out.”

      “Sounds like trouble,” Kent said. He tipped his cap to shade his eyes, crossed his arms over his chest and leaned deeper into the oak behind him.

      Garth silently groaned. He wanted to cruise around town and find some sort of life. The curse of having two of his four older sisters still living at home was that one of them always had dibs on the family car before he did. Even his mother sided with them. Work came before pleasure. Like slaving at the local supermarket was worth the hassle.

      “You don’t have to stay.” Garth poked the straw of his drink through the lid. “You can just drop Kyle and me off. We can get a ride back.”

      “Kyle can’t go. He can’t afford another run-in with Sheriff Paxton.”

      “I can decide for myself.”

      “It’s a party—” Garth started.

      “A party that sounds like it’ll get out of hand.”

      Garth shrugged. “So we leave when it does.”

      “John Henry—”

      “Won’t care,” Garth said.

      When it came down to the doing, John Henry Makepeace couldn’t always be counted on. Garth figured that was why Kent was such a pain in the butt at times. Someone had to be responsible. Since his grandfather and his brother weren’t, Kent had appointed himself conscience to both.

      “He’ll care if he’s called down to the sheriff’s office one more time to explain why he can’t keep Kyle in line,” Kent said.

      “And he’ll get over it just as quick.”

      Bull’s-eye, Garth thought when Kent’s eyes opened and his glare was cold enough to cool the stuffy air around them.

      “We’ll all go, then,” Kent said after a while. “First hint of trouble and we leave.”

      Garth and Kyle shared a conspiratorial look over Kent’s head.

      “Fine.”

      “Sure.” Garth picked up his carton of fries and started munching on them. Promises were made to be revised. He glanced at his watch. Half an hour to kill before he had to prod old Kent along.

      The only thing around with any energy was Red Thunder. As its name implied, the river was never quiet. Unlike its meandering sisters, the Neches to the west and the Sabine to the east, Red Thunder ran straight and fast. And today, swollen by a week of rain, it seemed in a mighty hurry. Like him, Garth thought. He was in a hurry to get out of this one-stoplight town.

      He had plans, big plans, and he’d set goals to reach them. Like a road on a map, he knew exactly where he was going and couldn’t wait to get started on his trip to the top. And his drive was as powerful as the river’s. Nothing was going to stop him.

      Footsteps muffled by the thick padding of leaf litter drew nearer. A branch cracked. A pine bough swished. None of them stirred. The arrival was much too hesitant to belong to the forest ranger assigned to patrol the Woodhaven Preserve.

      When the footsteps reached the clearing, Garth smiled. Well, well, look who’s here. He might have drawn a pat hand from a stacked deck after all. He plucked another fry from the carton he was holding and glanced over at Kyle, wondering how his friend would react.

      Kyle tossed his burger to one side and shot up, then busied himself with picking up rocks along the riverbank.

      Pine bough in hand, Ellen Paxton hesitated before walking into the clearing. Her blond hair hung in a long braid down her back. Garth had told her to let it hang loose. He liked the way the gold glinted in the light, and often fantasized about running his hands through the silken strands.

      She hadn’t listened to his other advice, either. Her denim cutoffs were too short and her red T-shirt too tight. Not that the outfit looked bad on her. Watching her move, he was getting hotter by the second. She didn’t have much to fill the top, but those firm, long legs of hers could give any man a hard-on. Thing was that neither the short shorts nor the tight shirt were her nature, and she didn’t look comfortable playing the role of temptress she was striving for. Fresh innocence and loose, gauzy fabrics suited her more. He’d told her so.

      Her gaze, with its anxious gray-green eyes, sought out Kyle, then swept quickly away to fixate on Kent. So that’s how she was going to play it. He’d told her to use him to win Kyle over again. She was doing this all wrong.

      The empty fry container collapsed in his fist. One day, he’d get to her, if only to prove to himself he could.

      She sank next to Kent, swiveled the straw from his drink in her direction and sipped. A kiss of red lipstick branded the white straw. She looked better in pink. He’d told her so.

      Kyle’s jaw worked overtime as he pretended not to care.

      “I saw your truck by the