Between the Rows

By Ann Barnett

David Wayne Russell is ready to feel young and free again. As he makes his way home to Kentucky from Vietnam, David knows his fiance, Libby, has already mapped out a life for him and worries he will not live up to her expectations. But as he makes a stop in Los Angeles to catch up with his army buddy, Doug Campbell, all of that could change with one risky proposition.

When Doug suggests that David could use his Kentucky family farm to get rich by growing marijuana, David shrugs it off as a crazy notion. As he reunites with Libby, who immediately begins pushing him to become the man both she and her judge father want him to be, David feels he has no choice but to marry her, manage her familys farm, and follow someone elses dreams for the rest of his life. But when the judge remarries and his attractive stepdaughter complicates things. Libby wants David to buy out her fathers interest in the farm now instead of waiting for her inheritance. Suddenly in need of big money, David rethinks Dougs offer and makes a decision that leads him down a different and much darker path.

Between the Rows is the compelling tale of one mans struggle to keep a secret as he faces the consequences of one fateful choice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Feb 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491723135

Ann Barnett

Ann Barnett worked for a major manufacturing company for over thirty years. Now retired, she resides with her husband, Ken, in Louisville, Kentucky, where she enjoys spending time with her children and grandchildren, golfing, reading, and volunteering. This is her debut novel.

Book preview

BETWEEN THE ROWS

Copyright © 2014 Ann Barnett.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

iUniverse books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

iUniverse

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.iuniverse.com

1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4917-2312-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-2314-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-2313-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014901574

iUniverse rev. date: 02/20/2014

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

To my husband and family, thank you for all the love and support. Special thanks to my daughter, Gina, and my sister Fran; without their help this book would not have been possible. I love you all.

Author Note

I grew up on a farm in Kentucky that has been in my family for five generations. Love of the land and the Catholic Church were central to my upbringing. Every community had its own church and school that defined who you were. Your loyalty to your community stuck with you for life.

The families were large, usually eight to ten children, and even though there were few material things, we didn’t know we were poor. I remember how hard everyone worked. It seemed that even the smallest children had chores. This built a very strong work ethic and, as my father said, character. People usually married within a two-county radius, and to this day everyone is kin, intertwined by blood or marriage. Our roots run deep.

That’s why what happened to many families in the early seventies and eighties was so unbelievable. The small world we had grown up in was changing. You could no longer make a living on the farm. There weren’t jobs for all those children, so the marijuana trade took root.

I hope you enjoy my story.

This work is fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Chapter 1

A s the plane approached the Los Angeles Airport, my thoughts of homecoming were overwhelming. I was making this one stopover, on my own dime, to see my army buddy Doug Cam pbell.

I, David Wayne Russell, had been drafted at twenty-one, and the last two years of army life had left me battle worn and bone tired. This was the final leg of my stint with Uncle Sam. I planned on stopping here for the weekend, then heading home to Kentucky. Back to my life that had been put on hold. Not that I had any plans of my own; my life was already mapped out. Libby had seen to that. Yes, Liberty Monroe in fifth grade had decided I was the one. From there, she had decided where we would live, how many children we would have, and where we would be buried. Yes, she had plans, the first being that she and I would marry as soon as possible. Me, I wanted to farm and raise the best cattle and tobacco in the county. My family had lived on the same farm for generations, and I was in a hurry to continue that tradition.

Libby had not wanted me to make this stopover. She was excited about my homecoming, but my army buddy was in Los Angeles, and he wanted to see me before I went home. Doug had been my savior in Vietnam. We had fought side by side, and I couldn’t count the times that he had covered my back. Doug was fearless and he had kept me alive. Before being drafted, I had never been outside of Kentucky. Doug was an army brat. He had been everywhere, and he was street smart. He taught me a lot during that year in Vietnam, and we had become good friends.

Doug had gotten out of the service two months ahead of me. He already had a job and was doing well. I was looking forward to seeing him because I doubted I’d ever be out here again. California was a long way from Kentucky.

As I made my way to the baggage claim, I saw the picketers were out in full force. Hippie types with long hair and beads, shouting antiwar slogans and vile comments to me and the other GIs as we left the baggage area. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Doug emerging out of the crowd. His lean six-foot frame wove easily around the picketers. He looked cool as ever wearing chinos, an open black polo shirt, and loafers with no socks. He hugged me and took my bag.

Don’t mind the locals, Kentucky. He grinned, using the familiar nickname he had pinned on me. They’re all draft-dodging motherfuckers, trying to piss off the government. They’ll get their pictures taken and go back to their dorms to get high. College kids are going to change the face of this war. We fought in ’Nam, but their protests are making the news. Hell, some people think they’re the true heroes of this war.

I couldn’t help smiling as Doug flipped them the bird and said, Have a nice day, assholes, as we left the airport.

I watched him pause and change direction, dismissing the crowd. How was your flight? he asked. Feels good, doesn’t it, to finally be free of Uncle Sam. Man, I’ve been busier than a dog in heat. I have a great job, a new apartment, and a nice piece of ass. Life is good.

I let him ramble on, just enjoying his excitement. We were finally free to live without death and danger threatening our every waking moment. I needed to put Vietnam behind me and get on with the rest of my life, as Doug had.

As we drove onto the freeway, I couldn’t help but notice all the fancy cars, new and expensive. What did these people do for a living? Maybe California was the land of the rich and famous and why Doug chose to live there. He liked expensive things.

He was telling me about his new job as an inspector in an import-export business. I was impressed. At twenty-four, it seemed to me Doug had his life in order, and it sounded great.

Hey, man, enough of me and my shit, he said as we stopped at a red light. Tonight we’re going to party LA style. I intend to show you a good time this weekend before you go back to the woods, away from civilization.

I didn’t argue. I just wanted to sit back in his car and feel young and free again, to enjoy this time with him before I faced the responsibility of home. Was I ready for the life Libby had already mapped out for me? Would I come home the man she expected me to be?

That night Doug took me to a trendy nightclub. I had never seen so many beautiful girls, golden haired with lean, tanned bodies. These girls were sexy; they dressed so differently from what I was used to back home. I felt uncomfortable around them. Later, Doug invited some friends over to his place, and the party really started. The pounding music and booze started taking a march across my forehead, so I slipped out to his balcony for some air.

I wondered if my Libby had become like one of these girls. These party girls, they had no worries about the future, with fathers who paid their way through college and gave them good jobs. Libby’s father, the Judge, had always given her everything she ever wanted. Libby’s brother, Justice, had already finished law school and was working at the Judge’s law firm. What the hell kind of job was waiting for me? I knew farming wasn’t going to support Libby, not in the way she was used to.

Hey, man, don’t jump. The party’s just started, Doug said as he joined me on the balcony.

I laughed. Doug had that way about him: when he saw me deep in thought, he knew just how to break the spell and lift me from that place of self-doubt.

I was just getting some air. I’ll be in soon, I said.

Doug lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out over the twinkling lights of the city below. Kentucky, I know this isn’t your thing, but this is how we live out here. It’s not frogs croaking and cows mooing, but try to enjoy yourself, man. Quit mooning over those brown-eyed calves and let one of those beauties inside help you get your groove on. You’re not married yet.

My groove is already screwed up after spending the last year with you. I closed my eyes, remembering some of the experiences we’d had. After a moment, I said, I’m going home to the reality that I have no job, no future, and I’m as scared as I was in that hellhole with you.

Doug hesitated for a second and then said, Well, I was going to wait till morning to talk to you about something, but now may be as good a time as any. Kentucky, that farm could be a gold mine.

Kentucky is not California. There is no gold in them there hills. And by the way, we call them knobs. I grinned.

No, but your land is perfect for growing a product that is in great demand. Isn’t that what farming is all about, supply and demand?

I don’t know what you mean, I said, scratching my chin.

I’m not talking about corn and cattle. I’m talking about marijuana, he said, looking at me to see how I would respond.

Doug. I shook my head. Are you nuts? You think my dad is going to sit back and let me grow pot? You’re higher than I thought, or crazy.

No, no, listen. I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. I did some research. It seems those knobs of yours are the perfect place to grow the stuff. Years ago people called it hemp. They used it to make rope. The Kentucky soil and climate are perfect. He flicked his cigarette off the balcony, took my shoulders, and faced me toward the living room. Look.

I watched as a joint was passed from one pretty woman’s lips to the next. David Wayne, pot is everywhere. Not just out here, not just for the hippies. It’s on every college campus in this country. Every draft-dodging motherfucker in the goddamn state is smoking pot. Mexico and California are the main sources, but the law is cracking down. Your area is more rural and not on their radar. With my import-export business, I have contacts with trucking and warehouses all over. David, I can make you rich.

Are you stoned? I was sure he was. He was talking nonsense.

I’m serious. He went on, The hippies will be running this country one day, and they will still be smoking marijuana. I remember those stories you told me about the moonshiners. What’s the difference? People are willing to pay big bucks for what they can’t get anywhere else. You and me, man, we can be the next chapter in bootlegging history. You grow, I sell, and we both get rich. What’s not to love?

I could tell Doug was pleased with himself and excited about his plan. I tried to talk some sense into him. I think you’re insane. Dad controls what’s grown on the farm. If he knew I smoked pot in Vietnam, he’d have a fit. That’s another world. I can’t bring that home to Kentucky. You think we don’t have the law in our county? I don’t aim to spend the rest of my life in the county jail.

The law is not the problem, Doug argued. They’ve got real criminals to deal with anyway. Where you come from, I bet you only have one cop, and I bet he’s never heard of pot, except one to pee in. They won’t be looking for it at their own back door. It’s a beautiful plan. I’m not asking you to rob a bank or cheat anyone. I’ll be dealing with all the shady characters who buy the stuff. Nobody has to know where I get it. He was becoming agitated.

Man. I shook my head. All this sunshine has made you loco. I’m going to enjoy this party and then I’m going home. Libby’s waiting for me, and I’m homesick for my mama’s cooking. I turned to go inside.

Just think about it, David Wayne. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime. The money’s there for the taking with little risk. I’m going into this with or without you. Promise me you’ll think about it, he pleaded.

Okay, Doug. I clapped a hand on his shoulder, and we turned to go inside. Which of these beautiful girls is your new honey? I’m going to tell her what a Casanova you are.

Doug laughed, but I knew he wasn’t going to let this go. He was serious, and I didn’t know how to discourage him.

The weekend flew by. He didn’t mention it again till we said our good-byes at the airport.

Thanks, man. I really enjoyed this weekend, I said, shaking his hand.

I’ll call you in a couple of days, he said. That should give you time to think on my suggestion. It would solve all your problems, buddy. You and that sweetheart of yours can’t live on love alone. The money you’d make could get you that farm you want so badly. He was giving me the hard sell.

Yeah, well, she’s tired of writing letters to me. I’m not about to have my address changed from US Army to San Quentin Prison. So give it up, I said, trying to make light of it.

I walked to the plane and took my seat. It had been a long time coming, but I was finally going home, and this plane couldn’t get