Summer in Rialto

By Stan Warner

Ranch life saps the good looks from a woman, and eighteen-year-old Summer Gorman has no intention of letting that happen to her. Looking to experience life and make her own way in the world, she leaves her parents, Herm and Sara, and their run-down 1,400-acre ranch.

Hitching a ride into Rialto, a small Tex-Mex town thirty miles from the ranch, Summer lands a job as a waitress at Caf Rialto, a diner owned by former boxer Sharkey Gallos. Looking for excitement and perhaps romance, Summer finds plenty of each. As her romance with Sharkey grows, so does her realization that Sharkeys passion for big money and his increasing involvement with the drug traffic are heading for big trouble.

Summer finds her ties with the ranch are not completely severed, as her former classmate Clay Burnside rediscovers her in Rialto and awakens old memories she had forgotten. Then, her mother promotes her own ambitions, as well as spiting Summer, by deeding the ranch to her church. Summer begins a season filled with periods of breathtaking beauty and moments of abject terror. She learns who she is and what love is really about while growing from a girl into a woman.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 14, 2011
• ISBN: 9781450284073

Stan Warner

Stan Warner attended Tulane University, New Orleans, Louisiana, majoring in engineering. He was the editor of The Bilge, a safe boating newsletter, and the district newsletter Can 15. Warner enjoys fishing and boating and lives along the Mississippi Gulf Coast in Gautier, Mississippi, with his wife, Dorothy.

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Copyright © 2011 by Stan Warner

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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4502-8406-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4502-8407-3 (ebook)

Printed in the United States of America

iUniverse rev. date: 01/10/2011

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

About the Author

To my loving wife, Dorothy, who encouraged me to spread my wings and fly.

Chapter One

The first signs of daylight were filtering through the window when Herm Gorman opened his eyes. Unconsciously, as he had for the last six mornings, he raised his hand to finger the bandage covering the long gunshot wound running upward from his throat to the baseline of his hair. He hoped to feel some signs of healing: perhaps a lessening of the skin’s tenderness around the wound, anything. He moved his head sideways, maybe an inch before the tightening of the skin pulling against the stitches caused his face to contort from the sharp pain. He sank back into his hospital bed, exhausted, his mind barely processing the busy sounds of a hospital coming to life outside his room. God, how he longed at this moment to be back at the ranch: smelling the fresh outdoors, handling things—he looked at his sinewy hands, still strong despite their forty-five years—and most of all, wanting to see his daughter again, wondering what she was doing at this very moment.

After a courtesy knock, the young, pretty nurse pushed the door open, interrupting Herm’s reverie.

She pulled a pair of elastic gloves over her hands as she approached, saying, I’m going to remove the dressing so the doctor can look at your wound, Mr. Gorman. After he’s finished, I’ll clean it and put on a fresh dressing. By the way, if you don’t mind me asking, how did you come to get shot?

Something in the young nurse’s voice reminded Herm so much of his daughter that all the pent-up emotions bottled up within him for the past week came boiling to the surface. His voice sounded almost defiant as he answered her. I guess you can say it all started the day my daughter ran away, and my wife—my late wife, that is—decided to deed the ranch to her damn holy-roller church. Herm closed his eyes and could picture the scene so vividly; it was almost as though he was seeing his daughter right before his eyes.

…

Summer Gorman stood alongside the corral, one foot on the lower wooden rail and her arm propped against the upper rail. She was bored, and the early morning sun was already hot. She dabbed at the droplets of sweat on her forehead and looked skyward. Overhead, crows were winging their way toward a distant cornfield. Their short, gossipy caws only emphasized the otherwise empty stillness. Ahead of her, beyond the outbuildings, the prairie landscape stretched endlessly toward the distant Oracle mountain range. And nowhere within her eyesight could she see another building or any form of human life. Summer shook her head. I’ve got to get away from this place before I go nuts, she thought.

She turned her attention away from the depressing scene, back to the sudden commotion going on behind her.

By the corral gate, Clay Burnside was struggling to unload an uncooperative cow from a horse trailer.

Summer had never liked Clay much. From what the other girls in her class reported, Clay thought he was God’s gift to women. He was tall and lanky, and he had an overload of curly hair that almost covered his eyes. His smile nearly always turned into a grin full of uneven teeth. Still, she had to admit, his flamboyance and outspokenness interested her.

Clay’s piercing, gray-flecked eyes locked briefly with hers just before the lunging cow yanked him off balance and knocked his crumpled Stetson into the air. His father had given him forty acres of pastureland when Clay graduated high school, and Clay was trying to stock it on a shoestring. This was the fourth cow he had purchased and brought over to breed with the Gorman’s’ bull.

Clay swung open the corral gate and unsnapped the tether line in one quick motion. The cow trotted inside the corral.

Summer turned to face him as Clay retrieved his hat and dusted it against his hip. He placed it carefully on his head and ambled over to the corral fence to greet her. You’re up early this morning, Summer, he said.

Summer shrugged. You’re the only dog-and-pony show in town, Clay, at least around here. Then, almost as an afterthought, she blurted out, How can you stand it, Clay? I mean you’re eighteen, same as me. We’ve been out of school a year now come June. Don’t you want more than pulling cows around by a rope and riding four-wheelers for the rest of your life?

Clay was surprised by the passion in Summer’s voice. He looked at her with a new interest. Sounds like you might be having a problem, girl. Maybe looking for a little action?

Not the kind you’re thinking of.

Well, sounds like you need something. What’s the problem?

It’s just that I get so bored. There’s nothing to do around here.

Maybe you just ain’t looking the right way. Take that cow I brought over here. She probably didn’t know what she wanted either, but she knew she wanted something. Your Pa’s bull is going to take care of what she wants.

You’re gross, Clay.

Could be. But I’m not the one sitting around here moping all day. Clay turned his attention back to his cow. She was standing over by the doorway of the barn. Each time she mooed, a resounding bellow ensued from within the barn, followed by the furious rattle of a restraining yoke. I guess they’re both ready, Clay said. By the way, where is your dad?

He took the guys down to the south end of the ranch to mend some fences. He said to tell you to turn the bull loose when he’s finished. He’ll find the rest of the herd.

Clay grinned. Just you and me here?

Yeah. Except Ma’s up at the house. Probably got her spy glass trained on you right now.

Clay glanced in that direction. You and your Ma don’t get along too well, I heard.

Well, she’s so wrapped up in her religion. Makes it kind of tough being around her sometimes. And she’s got other problems too. But she’s my Ma. I can’t forget that.

Clay became businesslike. I’m going in to turn Ferdie loose, he said. You’d better stay put out here. No telling which way that bull will go. With that, he went into the barn.

Summer watched Clay flip the catch on the yoke and then spread it so the bull was free to back out of it. All twelve hundred pounds of the magnificent animal tensed as he glared at Clay. The bull lowered his head and appeared ready to charge. Then, just as quickly, he changed his mind and backed out of the yoke. He snorted as he ambled down the restraining aisle leading to the corral and Clay’s cow.

Cool! Summer exclaimed. She had followed him into the barn and stood close behind Clay. His muscular body rippled beneath his tight shirt, and his slight smell of perspiration mingled with the omnipresent barnyard smell of hay and manure. A late rush of excitement swept over her after observing the bull’s fearsome stance. Clay’s nearness, the sense of isolation, and the minuscule particles of musk floating in the air, all created an aphrodisiac effect on her senses. Could Clay’s implication have been right? She involuntarily shivered at the prospect.

What the …? Clay exclaimed. I thought I told … He whipped around, his surprised face only inches away from hers. He grabbed her shoulders and started to shake her.

Told me what? Summer made no effort to move. Her eyes locked onto his, and her lips parted slightly.

Clay reluctantly pushed her away. Sorry! he said. You surprised me. Then he leaned forward. That look in your eyes … maybe I was right. Maybe you do need a man after all. He slid his hands from her shoulders to the nape of her neck, then cupped his warm fingers around her face, and pulled her toward him. When she did not resist, he kissed her.

This wasn’t Summer’s first kiss; there had been others: her prom date, little kisses during her senior year, some others. But this one was different; there was something about the smoldering desire in his dark eyes that dared her to follow him to where he was taking her. Summer trembled from the sheer excitement of tasting the moistness of his lips and, for a moment, followed him willingly. She hesitated with indecision as she felt his fingers fumbling at the buttons of her blouse.

Oh, there you two are. Her mother’s voice penetrated the sensual fog enveloping Summer. She opened her eyes to see her mother framed in the barn doorway. Embarrassed, Summer’s arms dropped to her side.

Clay broke the awkward silence. Sorry, Mrs. Gorman, Clay said. It just happened, that’s all.

That’s all right, Clay. I just wanted to tell you the bull has done his job. Your cow is ready. Sara Gorman turned to her daughter. I need you at the house, Summer. Please come with me.

Summer fell into step with her mother. As soon as they were out of earshot, Summer apologized. I’m sorry, Mother. He surprised me. It won’t happen again.

There’s nothing wrong with what you were doing, dear. It’s time you did some serious thinking about boys. And besides, Clay’s not a bad match. Her mother’s voice turned wistful. His father owns lots of land. Someday it will be Clay’s—and yours too, if you were to marry him.

Mother! I’m not going to marry Clay. And I’m especially not interested in land. I want to travel and do things before I settle down. Summer looked sideways at her mother to see if she was listening. She wasn’t. The look in her eyes suggested she was thinking of adding acres of the Burnsides’ land to her own ranch. With more land came more power. And with more power came more of everything.

Summer felt alienated. She looked at her mother’s blonde hair. It was long, stringy, and streaked with gray. In keeping with her religion, it was combed back, reaching almost to her waistline. Her skin, dried from years of the hot Texas sun and a stranger to lotions or makeup, made her appear older than her forty-five years, although her face still hinted that she might have been a very attractive woman in her younger days. Her waist was only slightly thickened from age, and her pointed breasts were still upright and youthful. But to Summer, her mother was living testimony as to how ranch life sapped the youth and good looks from a woman, and she certainly wasn’t going to let that happen to her.

They went up the steps onto the porch and stopped as they heard the crunching sound of tires on gravel and a friendly honk of the horn signaling Clay’s departure. Summer half-heartedly returned his wave.

We could have the Burnsides over for dinner, Summer’s mother mused, get to know them better. I’m sure they would like you, dear. And we’d make sure they brought Clay …

Stop it, Mother! Summer interrupted. I told you I’m not interested in Clay!

Well, he’s ambitious, got lots of get-up-and-go. You may not think so now but you could do a lot worse.

Mother! I’m telling you, Clay is a dork!

Oh, for heaven sakes, Summer! When are you going to quit talking like a juvenile and start acting like an adult?

Summer glared at her mother, her own frustration rising to the boiling point. We’ve been over this a hundred times, Mother, she said, and it never ends up anywhere. I’m sorry I can’t be what you want me to be, but I just can’t.

Well, you could try pulling your own weight around here. That would help. We’re barely getting by with what this ranch is producing. Summer’s mother yanked the door open and stormed into the house.

Summer hesitated, fighting the wave of resentment rising inside her. She already did the bulk of the housework while her mother spent most of her time in her room, praying and speaking in tongues. She resented her mother’s indifference to her contributions. Did her mother expect her to help with the ranch work too? Was it her fault that five of the cows had eaten the purple locoweed and died foaming at the mouth? Three days passed before the circling buzzards had led the hired hands to the scene.

Summer wiped the tears away with the knuckles of her hand. Never before had she felt so unappreciated. Worse yet, unwanted. Did her mother actually wish to get rid of her, or did she just want the gain that would come with it? She pondered this as she stared vacantly into space. Maybe her father would know the answer. She decided to ask him.

…

By now Herm was sitting upright in the bed, explaining, I had just got back from fixing fences …, when the pretty young nurse shushed him. Mr. Gorman, you’re going to have to lie down. I’m going to clean your wound now. The doctor has been delayed. Very efficiently and quickly, she checked the IV fluid slowly dripping into his vein and then pushed the stand out of her way. This is going to hurt some, she explained, gently turning his head slowly to one side until she could reach the bandage. I mean, when I start stripping the tape off.

You ever live on a ranch? Herm asked her.

She paused, surprised by the question. No. My father’s a contractor. We moved down here from Austin. Why?

My daughter’s a lot like you: healthy, strong, and I guess being her father, I can say, well filled out. Spunky too! I seen her stand not five feet away from a rattlesnake and kill it with a pistol. Never even flinched when she shot it. Trouble is, she hates the ranch: always wanted to travel: see those places they taught her about in school. Her mother didn’t help any either, being a Jesus freak.

You’re going to have to sit quietly, Mr. Gorman. I need to remove this bandage, the nurse said. She picked at the tape securing the bandage to his skin until she had loosened a portion of it. Then she started to loosen the tape. This is going to hurt some but I can’t help it, she said. I’ll try to be as easy as I can.

But she