Daybreak Again

By Maggie Hinton

Dillon Paxton once aspired to be an architect but an unforeseen tragedy put an end to his dreams. He is now a fourth generation New Mexico rancher, and is faced with the governments intentions to enforce its environmental laws. The small New Mexico town of Hayden is made up of logging and sawmill industries, along with other ranches like Dillons, and so the newest edicts of the Forest Service will drastically change the lives of most of its inhabitants. Dillons sister, Gabby, falls in love with Trey Sanders, the Forest Service agents son, further complicating the situation. Jayden Harte, world famous movie star, comes to town to make a film, causing Dillons life to become further tangled. When the Forest Service finally takes steps to impose its restrictions, Dillon is forced to make decisions which will affect both the Paxton land and the people he loves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Sep 18, 2013
• ISBN: 9781490711607

Maggie Hinton

Hinton is a retired public school English teacher. Growing up, she attended eleven different schools as her traveling-salesman father moved the family from California to Arizona to Utah. She graduated from a small high school in Fort Thomas, Arizona, and went on to graduate from Arizona State University. She has been a counselor for students traveling abroad, accompanying groups of teenagers through nineteen different countries. She was also a volleyball coach for over twenty years. Presently, she tutors English to homeschooled children and helps dropout students either reenter high school or get their GEDs. She lives with her husband, James (third generation Arizona cattle rancher, teacher, and coach) in the little Northern Arizona town of Show Low.

Book preview

© Copyright 2013 Maggie Hinton.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

isbn: 978-1-4907-1159-1 (sc)

isbn: 978-1-4907-1161-4 (hc)

isbn: 978-1-4907-1160-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013914360

Trafford rev. 09/12/2013

21097.png www.trafford.com

North America & international

toll-free: 1 888 232 4444 (USA & Canada)

fax: [phone]

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty-One

Chapter Sixty-Two

Chapter Sixty-Three

Chapter Sixty-Four

Chapter Sixty-Five

Chapter Sixty-Six

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Chapter Sixty-Nine

Chapter Seventy

Chapter Seventy-One

Chapter Seventy-Two

Chapter Seventy-Three

Chapter Seventy-Four

Chapter Seventy-Five

Chapter Seventy-Six

Chapter Seventy-Seven

Chapter Seventy-Eight

Chapter Seventy-Nine

Chapter Eighty

Chapter Eighty-One

Chapter Eighty-Two

For John Miera, Forest Service Supervisor

and Kitt Laney, Rancher

Prologue

D illon Paxton maneuvered the four-wheeler up the winding trail just as the sun was previewing its entrance over Jaramillo Mountains’ highest peaks. He usually made the trek up the hillside on horseback, but he’d been too lazy to saddle up High Behind this morning. He’d taken time to swipe half a dozen oatmeal-raisin cookies from the hoard that Lupe kept in an old gallon pickle jar hidden behind the pinto bean sack in the pantry. Then he’d caught up the key to the Honda ATV from the saucer on the counter and grabbed his Levi jacket from the back of a kitchen chair.

The weather was still mild during the day but chilly in the mornings. Fall had come early to the high country. The leaves on the oak trees were already turning brittle and orange around their edges. If the cold snap came in a few days as predicted by the TV weather expert on Channel 3—and the town’s own expert climate predictor, old-timer Jesse Hawkins—the quivery-leafed aspen trees would soon be turning gold on the mountain ridges to the west.

He drove close enough to the small stand of wild apple trees to stop and grab an apple from a tangled branch. The fruit was not yet ripe but—hard and crunchy—tasty enough. The strap of his water canteen hung from the handle bars. Covered with worn canvas, it had been his father’s canteen. And his grandfather’s before that.

When he reached the top of the ridge, he stopped the quad again and leaned back, looking out over his domain. He found a couple of forgotten pieces of thick venison jerky in the pocket of his jacket and chewed on them along with the cookies. This was Dillon’s favorite part of the day. He’d timed his ride so that he would make it to the bluffs that rose above the east pasture just after sunup. From the top of the straggly, grey knolls, he could look across most of the Three Drag acres.

He could see the ranch house below him, built on the grassy boundaries of a meadow, covered, for a few more weeks, with wild, late-summer flowers, all whites and yellows and pale pinks. The house itself had been built by his great-grandfather—before New Mexico had even become a state. Starting out as a one-room cabin, it now sprawled in three different directions, with a four-room upstairs addition over one section. Each generation of Paxtons had added its own wing until now there were six bedrooms, four bathrooms, as well as a small office for Dillon, the expansive, high-ceilinged living room, a den that boasted a full-wall stone fireplace, and the enlarged, modernized kitchen.

To the southwest, the town could be seen through the dawn’s haze. A small village, Hayden consisted of a single, three-block main street, with the high school laid out at one end and the Madero County Court House at the other.

Dillon got off the vehicle and stuck his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. He turned in a complete, slow circle, viewing the acres of pasture and forest belonging to him—good cattle country, with the Concho River twisting haphazardly through much of Paxton land. The sun was rising fast and hard now, its tree and boulder shadows quickly lengthening towards him as he watched. Near one of the numerous dirt roads that crisscrossed the ranch, the old windmill stood. It had been built almost a century ago, but it was still used to pump water into the rock and cement water tank nearby.

He took a deep breath of the new morning’s fresh air and turned again to look at the ranch buildings below. He could just make out Heck—Hector Romero, friend and ranch hand—coming out the front door of his own cabin. Lupe, Heck’s wife and Dillon’s housekeeper, would more than likely be up-and-about in the big house’s kitchen now, fixing her traditional Saturday breakfast for the females of the ranch—Dillon’s sister Gabby and her girls, Molly, Gracie, and Sadie, along with Dillon’s daughter, Ali. Turning the quad now in a tight circle at the top of the trail, he began the trip back down to the ranch house.

The bobtail stood in front of the barn, the hay bales in it waiting to be unloaded and stored for the winter months. He sighed. Dillon Paxton loved the land but found no pleasure in the actual working of it. He’d known when he was only a boy that the ranching business wasn’t for him. His passion had been for a different life. But due to circumstances no one had foreseen, his sister Gabrielle and he had inherited Three Drag, the Paxton place. And now, simply, this was what he was. Who he was. A fourth-generation New Mexican cattle rancher.

Heck had already started unloading the hay when Dillon parked the quad in front of the barn. Mornen’, Boss, Heck said in his still-thick Mexican accent, not even pausing between the lifting of a couple of bales. Dillon took leather gloves from a shelf, and pulling them on, moved to grab a bale. They stacked the hay in the front corner of the barn. Sweating, breathing hard from the exertion of their labor, they worked side by side without conversation. Hector Romero had been Dillon’s father’s foreman. He’d first come to Three Drag as a young Mexican wetback. He’d met his wife Lupe on a trip back to Mexico and brought her to Three Drag as his bride. Proud American citizens now, Heck and Lupe had been a part of the ranch as long as Dillon could remember. Heck had called Dillon’s father Boss. And had automatically transferred the name to the son after Matthew Paxton died.

They were just finishing up when Gabby showed up at the barn door. Hey, you two. Darn! I came out to help you and here you are… all finished without me.

Dillon wiped his face with a bandana from his jeans’ back pocket. He turned, breathing hard. Yeah. We can tell you’re real disappointed.

Gabby laughed and leaned against a saw horse. I will sweep the floor if you want.

We want. Dillon went to the corner of the building and brought her a commercial-sized broom.

Just then Ali came driving the ranch’s small, second four-wheeler right through the wide barn door. She’d taken the vehicle to the end of the ranch road to pick up the mail. There was less than a mile between the Paxton ranch house and the main road where the mail box was located. The Paxton ranch was the first, early-morning stop made by Marge Bowers in her green Hayden post office jeep.

Heck and Dillon were sitting on bales of hay, resting for a moment after their arduous hay-stacking. Ali pulled a small bundle of mail from where she’d stuck it under her jacket and handed it to her father.

Where’s your helmet, Ali? Dillon asked her.

I forgot it, she said, scrunching up her face, anticipating her father’s reaction.

Well, you can forget riding the four-wheeler for the rest of the day. You know the rules. No helmet, no four-wheeling.

Dad! she whined. I don’t need that dumb helmet. I won’t have a wreck!

Not today you won’t. Because you won’t be riding it. She turned her back, making a face he couldn’t see, and flounced into the house.

As he was leafing through the letters, one fell out of the stack onto the floor. Gabby, sweeping the loose hay into a pile near the barn door, said with little interest, No announcement that I’m a sweepstake winner? No invitation for me to the White House?

’Fraid not, Dillon told her. Just the usual advertisements and bills. And a couple of offers for zero-percent-interest-rate credit cards.

Uh… and I don’t suppose there’s a child-support check either.

Sorry. Not today. Maybe tomorrow.

Yeah. Right. Gabby knew she’d get the money… eventually. When Dolores got around to sending it.

And then Dillon looked down and saw the envelope that had fallen. He leaned over to pick it up. And his heart dropped. He hadn’t seen that handwriting for over twelve years. Yet he recognized it instantly. The first time he’d seen the writing had been on the back of a discarded envelope, propped between the salt and pepper shakers on the kitchen table. There’d been only three words, words that had, at the time, brought a sudden, jolting rush to his heart. "I love you," the note had said. It hadn’t been signed. Just a tiny, lopsided heart drawn under the words. There hadn’t been a need for a signature.

Now, twelve years later, he turned this square envelope over and muttered a curse under his breath. He thought for a minute about discarding the letter along with the junk mail. But he knew that would just be postponing the inevitable.

He had hoped he’d never have to see her handwriting again.

But here it was.

He sighed, dreading opening the letter. Instead, he stuffed it in the back pocket of his jeans. He walked out toward the corrals and finally, unable to put it off any longer, leaned against the white rails and opened the envelope, pulling out a single folded sheet of paper. He couldn’t believe that the scent of her… a fragrance he would have sworn he’d long forgotten… escaped with the letter.

He reached for his reading glasses in his shirt pocket and read the letter. Then he crumpled it up angrily. But before a minute had passed, he smoothed the paper and read the words again.

"Dillon, it said. I want to see her. I want to know her. I want her to know me. I’m going to be in Santa Fe on the 5th through the 10th of the month, shooting a couple of scenes for the movie I’m making. I’ll be at the La Fonda. Call me."

And it was signed Jayden. Her professional name was Jayden Harte. And she’d drawn her customary little trademark heart at the end of her first name.

Dillon walked back down the lane and through the yard. He crossed the porch and went into the kitchen. Ali and his three nieces, Gabby’s girls, were sitting around the table, devouring Lupe’s pancakes and sausage between outbursts of banter and giggles.

Calling Gabby outside, Dillon handed the wrinkled sheet of paper to her. She raised her eyebrows but he offered no comment. When her eyes swept first of all to the signature at the bottom of the note, they widened and she looked up at him in surprise. Read it, Dillon told her. When she’d finished reading, she handed the note back to him. So what are you going to do?

I don’t know. What can I do?

Gabby bit her bottom lip. Do you think it might be time? Maybe it’s time, Dillon.

The hell it is! Angrily, he swung away from her and walked to the end of the porch. "I don’t intend for it ever to be time!"

She followed him and put a hand on his shoulder. Dillon…

No, damn it! No! He shook off her hand and crumpled the letter in one hand. I’m going to call Mark. See if there’s anything I can do to prevent this legally.

Dillon, she reminded him quietly, you don’t have sole legal custody. That was never put in writing. Was it? He ignored her. Was it? she demanded.

I didn’t think that was necessary. Since I was the only one who even wanted her. He turned to his sister with resentment written all over his face. So she can just do this? Ignore… deny that Ali even existed all these years? And then now… heaven knows why now… all of a sudden she wants to be part of her life? I don’t think so! And he stomped off into the house to telephone the lawyer.

The I love you note on the back of the envelope had lain in the back of his sock drawer for years. Until one day he’d taken it out of its hiding place and ripped it to pieces, tossing the bits of paper into the flames of the fireplace.

Chapter One

Eleven and a half years earlier

T he top strand of barbed wire on the fence in the south meadow pasture was torn down in a half-dozen places. Again. Dillon had taken the pickup and worked for the most part of the morning stringing wire. As if it would keep the elk out of the pasture this time. When he’d finished the sweaty, no-doubt-futile job, he drove down the winding road to the ranch buildings. As he came around the end of the barn, he noticed an unfamiliar bottle-green Cherokee parked in front of the ranch house. Dillon climbed down from the cab of his dusty Silverado and slammed the door behind him. He could see Gabby now, sitting on one of the front porch’s wicker chairs, talking to some stranger. She and the man both had tall, frosty glasses of Lupe’s sun tea in their hands.

When the man saw Dillon come around the corner of the house, he stood, a genuine smile on his face. Gabby rose, too. Here he is now, she informed the newcomer. My brother, Dillon Paxton. Dillon, this is Arthur Brewer. She raised her eyebrows. From Hollywood.

The man crossed the porch to meet Dillon, putting out his hand for a firm shake. Dillon studied the man in the hand few seconds it took Brewer to reach him. His face was neatly mustached and bearded just around the jaw-line. His hair, long and slightly wavy around the collar of his shirt, was the same light brown as the color of his eyes. He was wearing jeans—designer men’s jeans, Dillon guessed. An obviously expensive, plain chambray blue shirt, and shiny brown, classy cowboy boots completed his attire.

He gripped Brewer’s hand. From Hollywood? Dillon was more than a little curious.

Mr. Paxton? I’m affiliated with Echo Valley Productions. I’m what they call a set locator.

It’s a movie production company, Gabby explained.

A set director?

Yeah. I go around the country scouting for sites where our movies will be filmed.

Sit back down, Mr. Brewer. Dillon sat across from him on the porch’s wide railing. Gabby, obviously excited, looked expectantly from Dillon to Arthur Brewer. And then back at Dillon again.

Well, Mr. Paxton, we’ve been looking at Hayden for several years. In fact, we’d pretty much decided to use it a couple of years ago. As the setting for a forties’ movie. But the deal fell through. Hayden is a great location. And the town being less than an hour from Santa Fe is another plus. We’ve got a new project almost ready to roll. The buildings in and around Hayden would be perfect for our film. He paused to cross one leg over his other knee. And in addition to the town, we’re looking for a ranch for the same film. A Mr. Duncan… at the feed store?

Dale?

Yeah. That’s him. He told me your ranch would be perfect for this new movie we’re making.

Surprised, Dillon said, Wait. You’re saying you want to make a movie here? Here on Three Drag?

Well, what I’d really like to do is take a little video of your place—send it to our producers. See if they agree. That is if you’re interested. Echo pays pretty good for set locations.

Dillon scratched the back of his neck. Well, you’re going to have to give me some time to think about this. But I have to be honest with you. My first inclination is to say no. This is a working ranch, Mr. Brewer. I’m not sure we could handle people around—getting in the way. It’s just about time for fall roundup. That’s a real busy time for us.

I understand. But I can assure you we’d respect whatever it is you need to be doing while we’re filming. We’d work around you. Stay out of your way. Or, hey, maybe use some of what you’re going to be doing around the ranch in the film. He could read Dillon’s lack of enthusiasm. He stood up and put his empty glass on the low wicker table. Best iced tea I’ve ever tasted. He stood. Well, I’ll just give you some time to mull this over. Can I call you on Friday? Would that give you enough time to decide?

After Brewer got in his Cherokee and started down the road leading to the highway, Dillon turned to Gabby. She looked at him hopefully. Well? she said excitedly. What do you think? A movie made here… on Three Drag?

You heard him. For right now he just wants to take a video of the ranch. The guys back in Hollywood might not even like what they see.

But if they do? Hey. Remember? I’m the one who keeps the books for the ranch. Mamie Sharpe, Gabby’s high school business teacher, was giving her a crash course in accounting. And I do have a pretty good idea about what’s going on around here as far as money is concerned. And it’s not really that good, is it? Didn’t you want to go buy those bulls out of Texas? Maybe you could afford to do that with the money the movie guys would pay us.

Well, we’ll see. I’ll think about it. I’ve got ’til Friday to decide.

But you’re going to say no, aren’t you? she moaned. I can see it in your face.

Come on, Gabby. We don’t want a lot of strangers running all over the ranch. Don’t we have enough trouble with the Forest Service breathing down our necks right now?

She stood up and put both hands in the air. Okay. Okay. It’s your call, not mine. But I’ve gotta tell you, it sounds really neat to me. A movie made on our ranch? Movie stars coming here? You know who’s gonna star in it? She paused for effect. Jayden Harte. Dillon raised his eyebrows. You don’t even know who she is, do you? He frowned. Only the most famous movie star in the world right now. And she’d be coming here!

Chapter Two

T he next day after school, Gabby stopped by the video store and paid for the three Jayden Harte movies which hadn’t already been rented. After supper she drug Dillon into the family room and sat him down in front of the TV. I’ve got some Jayden Harte movies. You’ve got to see her. She’s wonderful.

The first film was one of the first movies the star had made. It was a romantic comedy-mystery and started out with an aerial shot of a train moving through a Swiss mountainside. The camera shot zoomed in on the train until a face could be seen in one of its windows. Then the shot became a close-up of the face—Jayden Harte’s face. Dillon leaned forward, blinked once, and then, in spite of himself, became conscious of the beauty of the woman.

Isn’t she gorgeous? Gabby asked. Dillon didn’t answer. He hadn’t even heard her. He was fascinated by what he was seeing on the TV screen. Jayden Harte turned now, until she was looking directly out the window, and her face took his breath away. Blonde hair framed a perfect face. Flawless skin, a wide, sensuous mouth. Innocent eyes, a shade between blue and green. In spite of himself, Dillon was completely captivated by Jayden Harte’s face. Gabby went on gushing over the actress’s beauty. Dillon didn’t pay attention to her—he was watching the scene unfolding on the screen, concentrating on Jayden Harte. Throughout the movie, he was spell-bound by her. Her body matched her face. Slim, long legged, high-breasted, broad shouldered. Her laugh, her voice… husky yet completely feminine… her walk, her gestures—everything about her was compelling. She was beautiful by any standards. Yet she gave no indication that she considered herself attractive. She certainly didn’t flaunt her beauty. And it was more than beauty. She had that unmistakable appeal—a rare magnetic charisma that very few women possess.

The plot of the film was thin—the heroine was caught up in a mistaken identity intrigue and was eventually chased by international villains. The plot reminded Dillon of an old film starring Cary Grant. Of course there was the predictable male lead, played by… what was his name? Christian Blair… a debonair early-Sean Connery look-alik. And until the end of the movie, neither Jayden Harte’s character nor the movie audience knew if he was hero or villain. Of course he turned out to be a good guy in the end, and the woman could safely succumb to her love for him. The closing shot was of the same train as at the beginning of the film, but this time it was taking the man and woman to a romantic tryst.

Before Dillon loaded the second DVD, Gabby fell asleep on the floor, a couch pillow under her head, a furry throw pulled over her bare feet. Volleyball practice after school always wore her out and made her an early-to-bed candidate. She woke up once on the floor and lifted her head to look groggily at Dillon, whose eyes were still glued to the screen. She muttered something incomprehensible and then her head fell back on the pillow and she was asleep again.

Dillon watched all three Jayden Harte movies that night. In addition to the first film, there was a romantic comedy and, just as Dillon was convinced that the actress was a born comedienne, he watched a drama in which Jayden Harte was the wife of a mobster—beautiful to begin with but, by the end of the movie, her appearance had changed to that of a wasted, haggard-looking alcoholic. She presented a gut—wrenching, utterly believable portrayal. Dillon recalled that when Gabby had handed him the film she’d told him that a year ago Jayden Harte had been nominated for an academy award for that role.

When the last movie was finished, Dillon got up off the couch and stretched. His neck muscles hurt and his eyes burned. He’d never watched that much TV in one sitting before. He felt physically exhausted and emotionally drained. He turned off the television and bumped Gabby with one stockinged foot. Gabby. Gabby, go to bed. She sat up, brushed her hair out of her eyes and looked at her brother uncomprehendingly. Go upstairs and go to bed, he told her. She struggled to her feet, and still half-asleep, staggered up the stairs.

In the morning, Dillon felt a little ridiculous about the way he’d reacted to Jayden Harte. He couldn’t get over the feeling that she had somehow—what? Hypnotized him? He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table, trying to ignore Lupe’s bright chatter. He hadn’t slept well… hadn’t gone up to bed until after 2:00. And then he’d tossed and turned and grabbed only short snatches of sleep.

Gabby bounced into the kitchen, rushing as usual so she wouldn’t be late for school. She glanced at her brother as she grabbed a slice of toast and gulped a couple of swallows of apple juice. So? Did you watch all of those movies last night?

He grunted in the affirmative.

And… ?

And the first two were pretty silly. Women movies. He shrugged. The last one wasn’t bad. Kind of long. Slow-moving in places. But not too bad.

And Jayden Harte? What did you think of her?

Dillon rose and shrugged again, trying to remain noncommittal. She’s not a bad actress.

But don’t you think she’s beautiful?

I don’t know. She’s got kind of a big mouth.

Her mouth is gorgeous! Gabby protested. She moved around him until she could see his face. Wouldn’t it be something to have her here? Making a movie here?

Lupe turned from the stove. Who? Where? A movie? What are you talking about?

Gabby turned to the housekeeper. This big movie company wants to use the ranch for a movie. A Jayden Harte movie. They want to film the movie here.

What? Are you kidding me? Lupe dropped the spatula into the frying pan. Jayden Harte—the movie star? Here? At the ranch? Oh my god!

Maybe, Dillon interjected. Maybe make a movie here. They’re just thinking about it right now.

Jayden Harte here? Oh my god! I’ve got to call Lydia. Lydia was Lupe’s sister who lived in town. She rushed out of the room.

Dillon started to stop her, not wanting the gossip to get started around town that a movie company and movie stars were going to converge on Hayden. And maybe Three Drag Ranch. But he shrugged. The deal probably wasn’t even going to materialize. He rescued the abandoned spatula, burning his hand a little on its handle, and finished frying the eggs.

Chapter Three

G abby noticed the new boy in the hall before school started. He wasn’t tall. He wasn’t short. His brown hair was pulled back in a short, high pony tail. She couldn’t tell the color of his eyes but liked the rest of his face. He was definitely fine looking. His walk was confident, almost cocky. Gabby wasn’t the only one that looked at him with curiosity. New kids in Hayden were rare.

And then he appeared in first period English class. Coming in the door late with his admission’s slip. He handed it to Mrs. Caldwell and while she signed it, he surveyed the room with a disinterested expression. Mrs. Caldwell introduced her new student. Seniors. This is Treyson Sanders. He just transferred from Colorado.

Treyson quietly corrected her. Trey. It’s just Trey.

She looked up at him over her reading glasses. Okay, Trey. There’s an empty desk there—end of second row. Trey walked slowly back to the desk. There were obvious whispers all across the classroom. The words Forest Service were plainly audible. Gabby suddenly realized that this had to be the new Forest Service guy’s son. Forest Service was a bad word in Hayden. Especially now that the government agency was determined to enforce environmental laws which had been passed years ago. Hayden and the surrounding areas were definitely going to be adversely affected by those laws. Gabby knew that the new Forest Service kid wasn’t going to be too popular. She almost felt sorry for him. He wore his hair different than anyone else did in Hayden. And had a stud earring in one ear. But that was okay with her. She had always admired people who dared to be different.

In the cafeteria during lunch period, she passed the table where Trey sat by himself. He looked up and their eyes met. And then Gabby knew the color of his eyes. Brown. Melted Chocolate brown. They reminded her of a puppy dog’s eyes. Nice eyes. She and Skye Billings, her best friend, carried their trays to the senior table and sat down among their friends. A couple of the boys were loud in expressing their negative views about the new kid. Oh, grow up, you guys! Gabby said. What are you? Still in the seventh grade?"

You don’t even know him. Skye added. Give him a chance.

Hayden’s high school was small. Trey was in two more of Gabby’s classes. She tried to catch his eye several times, intending to give him an encouraging smile. But he kept his eyes on the book or the desk in front of him.

There was no football or volleyball practice after school because the coaches had gone to meetings in Santa Fe. Trent Martinez, Bryan Stewart, and Louie Aguerre waited until they saw Trey Sanders leave the school and head for his red Jeep. They caught up with him, one on each side, one walking behind him.

You’re the new Forest Service guy’s son, aren’t you? Trent asked in a hostile tone.

Yeah. Trey kept on walking.

It was Bryan’s turn. How does it feel having a father who makes a living out of putting people out of work?

Louie bumped his shoulder against Trey’s. How does it feel having a son-of-a-bitch for a father?

Trey sighed and stopped walking. He gave all three boys a measured look. Excuse me?

You heard me. Anybody who works for the Forest Service is a son-of-a-bitch. And I guess, as a son-of-a-bitch’s son, that would make you, what… ? A son of a son-of a bitch? Trent and Bryan laughed as if what Louie had said was hilarious.

When Trey punched Trent in the jaw, it was unexpected. And hard. He was used to fighting. He was good at it. Though he wasn’t as big as Trent, he had developed some muscle and some know-how. The blow stunned Trent, knocking him backwards a few feet. If it had been just the two of them, Trey could have taught Trey a lesson. As it was, he held his own against all three boys until Bryan managed to get behind Trey and grab his arms. He held him while Trent punched him in the stomach, in the kidneys. Louie took his turn, hitting Trey in the face a couple of times. When Bryan finally let him go, Trey fell to his knees and then to his stomach on the asphalt.

Trent was winded but managed to spit on the back of Trey’s head, aiming for the pony-tail. Okay, pretty boy. Now you can go tell your daddy how much we love the Forest Service around here.

Yeah, Bryan sneered. And tell him my mama cooks me up a spotted owl to eat every night.

Hey. Maybe she’d cook one up for his daddy to eat! The boys left Trey lying there, laughing as they went to where they were parked. As their pickups roared from the parking lot, they whooped and hollered out their windows at him.

He could see out of only one eye. He wiped the blood from the injured one. Slowly, painfully, he pulled himself up and stumbled to his feet. Then he groaned when he saw that they’d stopped on their way to their own vehicles to slit one of his Jeep’s tires.

Hey, someone said to him from close by. He turned to see Gabby Paxton leaning against the front fender of her own Toyota, which was as red as his jeep. He looked at her through one good and one swollen eye. Need a ride? she asked. He just grunted. Or better yet… got a spare tire? I wouldn’t leave your Jeep here if I were you.

He wiped the blood off his mouth with the back of his wrist. So. Were you just standing there enjoying the sight of me getting pulverized?

She walked toward him. Actually I got here just in time to see those three idiots driving away. Prouder than hell that the three of them could manage to take you on.

He painfully walked to the back of the Jeep to find his jack. Just who are those guys, anyway?

Oh, just three of Hayden’s finest.

Friends of yours?

Not anymore. Despite his protests, she helped him get the tire from the pull-out spare carrier.

He stood back and looked hard at her. I don’t want you to get into trouble with them over me.

Gabby snorted. You think I’m scared of those little shits? I could kick all three of their asses when we were in kindergarten. And I can sure as hell do it again. Then she studied his wounds. Hey. She moved to touch the cut above his eye with one finger. You think you better get that looked at?

And give those three assholes the satisfaction of seeing stitches tomorrow? No thanks.

Then let me at least clean it off for you. She turned. Wait right here. My brother makes me carry a first aid kit in my glove box. When she returned with the metal container, Trey was squatted down, pulling the ruined tire off the rim. Stand up here, She told him.

Naw. I’m all right.

Hey. Do you want another black eye? Stand up.

He rolled his eyes and reluctantly stood up. All right. All right. He turned and faced her.

She put her first aid box on the hood of his Jeep and rummaged through it. Aha! Neosporin.

He took a step backwards. Does it sting?

No. She moved to where he was. He jerked away. Don’t be such a baby! She spread it on the small gash over his eye. He started to move away. Wait. Might as well get ’em all. Quit moving! She rubbed cream on the edge of his mouth, over the abrasion on his cheekbone. She poked around in the box again. And here’s a butterfly band aid. I think it will maybe keep that cut above your eye closed together enough. She studied the cut. But I’d definitely advise stitches.

What are you? A doctor or something? The band aid will be fine. Gabby applied it gently. Trey pulled back and looked at her intently.

She bit her bottom lip as she returned his gaze. Your mom will probably want to fix you up better when you get home. She put things back in the box and snapped it closed. I’ll bet she’ll be pissed, huh? At what they did to you?

Trey grimaced. She’ll want to call the sheriff. But my dad will say no. That that will just make things worse. He studied her again. My Dad will say it’s all his fault. He’ll feel bad that his job caused this. He’ll try to make it up to me. Suddenly he smiled weakly. Hey. This might be good for a new video game.

"He’s the new Forest