Olympus Device 1: The Olympus Device (3 page)

Finding the file, she straighten
ed herself and then made for the living room.

“Durham, I finally found it. Take a moment and read through everything just to make sure. If it’s correct, I’ll run to the courthouse in a few days and register
the document with the county clerk.”

Dusty accepted the thin manila folder and began
his review. His last wishes hadn’t changed, with half of his worldly assets going to his son, the other to his brother. “It looks good,” he announced. “I was planning on leaving before first light in the morning. Is there any chance you’ll be heading into town this afternoon?”

“If that’s what my client wants, then that’s what I’ll do,” she replied with a nod. “More importantly though, I’ll do it for my friend.”

She wanted to say more, but the words didn’t come. He paused at the door, seeming to hesitate, acting as if he too had something on his mind.

Just like
that, he was gone. She watched his truck pull out of the driveway and then walked over to Roscoe. Gently rubbing the animal’s head, she contemplated, “Why is it I can’t find my tongue when he’s here? Why do the words come after he’s left? I feel like a schoolgirl - a silly, shy thing who’s scared of her own feelings.”

Grace accelerated the Jeep beyond her comfort level, taking her eye from the road just
long enough to glance at the dashboard clock. “I can’t believe the alarm clock picked this morning to misbehave,” she grumbled.

Her stress level was already high – the result of driving on a strange road
, darkness still prevailing an hour before sunrise. Her discomfort was elevated further due to the fact that she wasn’t sure exactly what time Durham would be taking off. The fresh thermos of coffee beside her was an offering – a small comfort that she hoped would send a message to him, a message that she cared.

Something about his demeanor yesterday
kept troubling her - his stoic expression, the urgency to finish the Will, his resolve to have it filed with the county immediately. The look in his eyes had haunted her since he’d left. It was if he were saying goodbye.

Maybe she was overreacting,
perhaps misreading his mood. There was no way to be sure. Still, the entire episode had motivated her to rise early and brew the fresh roast. Her inner voice said it was worth venturing out in the dark and driving around the countryside at the strange hour. She wanted to see him again, to make sure he realized that he was important to her.

After he’d left, it occurred to her that
Durham was like a soldier preparing to ship out for war - too polite and honorable to expose his own fears, too conscious of her feelings to express any internal doubt. He seemed burdened with the uncertainty of the future. Grace didn’t know what battles he anticipated, but he evidently expected some sort of fight. He obviously wasn’t confident in the outcome.

Why is it so important that he knows I care?
She asked herself, the same question popping into her mind a dozen times since getting out of bed at a gawd-awful hour.

She’d never forget the kind, gentle gu
idance he’d offered when she first arrived in Fort Davis.
Maybe she simply wanted to return the favor to a troubled friend
. No, it was more than that.

Her mind drifted back as the Jeep negotiated the rural lanes.
The Barlow ranch had been unoccupied for over two years when she’d found it online. The heirs were trying to fatten the windfall of their inheritance by overcharging for the property. Compared to the corporate players back in Dallas, manipulating two spoiled brats into a fair settlement for the homestead had been child’s play. Acquiring the estate had been easy compared to the daunting task of making it livable.

In the big city, she’d simply hire the work
out. Plumbing, electrical, structure, roofing – whatever maintenance needed to be done, Grace sought and contracted professionals. Not so in Fort Davis. The few independents available locally had full schedules, sometimes months in advance. She later found that most locals did their own work, leaving the artisans for the really difficult jobs. Unfortunately, Grace didn’t have a clue how to do much more around a house than change a light bulb.

The other unanticipated issue was the town itself. A new, single woman moving to the small berg was one thing – a lady lawyer quite another. Durham had once commented,
“You’re too smart, too successful, too beautiful, and too much woman for the good folk of Fort Davis to swallow without choking. Let them accept you one bite at a time, little by little. They’re good people – they’ll come around.” And they had - with Durham’s guidance.

Eventually, the hard glances she received from the townsfolk faded into neutral expressions,
a short time later, honest smiles. The town’s women finally judged their men safe from Grace’s seduction - early rumors of her nymphomania, lack of morals, and trollop-like behavior proving unfounded.

In the big city, you lose
individuality
, she reasoned.
No one knows you or what you’re about. In a small town, everyone knows you and what you’re about.
It was a tradeoff, one she struggled with at first, but gladly accepted as time wore on.

Convincing the town’s gossip hounds that she wasn’t
an invading courtesan from the east had taken a deft, knowledgeable touch. Her respect for Durham Weathers had grown.

Making the final turn, the headlights pointed
at a small gravel lane. She knew it would lead to a barn where Durham kept his plane. She was relieved to see the craft still on the ground – she’d made it in time.

As she approached, the words she wanted
him to hear began to form.
I want to tell him that I’m not going to hurt him like Maria did. I want him to know that my feelings are stronger than I’ve let on.

She parked the Jeep beside the barn, picking up the thermos
while practicing her speech.

He’d seen the headlights coming ac
ross the pasture. Curious who would be out this time of the morning, he greeted her at the corner.

“Well, my, my, counselor – what brings you out this way at such an early hour?”

Smiling shyly, she offered the jug of coffee. “I wanted to bring this out so you’d stay awake while flying. I can’t have anything happening to my best paying client.”

His laugh was warm, his skin warmer as it brushed her hand accepting the thermos. “Really, Grace… I don’t know what to say. This was very kind of you.”

“I’ve not felt right since you left yesterday. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to nose into your business, but I can tell you’re worried about something. I didn’t want you to leave without my saying a few things.”

Motioning
for her to follow, he led them into the barn and gestured for her to sit on a bale of hay. “I can’t offer the same accommodations as those you extended yesterday, but they’re comfortable enough if you excuse the odor of the straw.”

Grace sat and pat
ted the bale beside her. Once Durham was seated, she looked him directly in the eyes. “That’s just the point I came out here to make. I don’t mind the smell – I like it. I’m happy here, Durham. This life isn’t just enough for me… it’s what I want. The only thing that would make it better is if I had someone like you to share it with.”

His eyes didn’t panic – such a reaction her worst fear. Instead, they remained gentle, a slight smile showing
at the corners of his mouth. “I know I’m not the most approachable fella around. Shoot, I might even be a little standoffish. But you’ve got to understand – I was deeply hurt when Maria left. The fact that she wasn’t leaving
me
so much as leaving
Fort Davis
made it worse. Then you come rolling in from the big city… a successful, sophisticated gal by any measure… it’s just confusing. My wife left me because she was bored, unchallenged, and longing for a faster pace in life. She wanted everything you had. Then you come into the picture, just the opposite, claiming you crave a slower rhythm – a more relaxed environment. I hope you can see how a man might not put it all together… how I might hesitate at opening up my insides again… exposing myself to the real possibility of hurt.”

He paused, looking down at his bo
ots as if trying to gather his thoughts. “I’m glad you said those words, Grace. They make me feel warm inside. I’ve been worried you were going to change your mind and decide this life wasn’t for you. If you’re here to stay, I’d like nothing more than to see if we’re a match.”

“That’s all I’m proposing, Mr. Weathers,” she replied with a smile.

“When I get back, I want you to come over first thing. I’ll fire up the grill and marinade some steaks. You can bring over some of that fancy wine, and we will sit and talk like a man and a woman, not a lawyer and a client or two friends.”

“That sounds absolutely wonderful. You’ve got a date.”
 

The concrete landing strip
s of Easterwood Regional Airport appeared out the starboard window, right where the GPS said they would be. Dusty adjusted the trim and radioed the ground controller for permission to land. The response was immediate, directing him to runway 04/22.

Touching down
on the wide, smooth pavement was a pleasure compared to his rough, dirt strip at home. The old crop duster seemed to appreciate the luxury as well, achieving wheels down without incident or complaint. A few minutes later, he rolled the Rockwell Thrush Commander to a numbered spot on the visitor’s tarmac, shut down the engine, and reflected on what had been a beautiful day of flying.

Climbing down from the small cockpit, Dusty stretched gingerly, lifting his arms and twisting at the hips. The first priority after securing the plane would be
a visit to the men’s room – a necessity after four straight hours in a vibrating cockpit and accented by a now empty thermos of coffee. His mind drifted back to Grace and her visit that morning, an omen of good luck and something to look forward to when he got back.

Stiffly w
alking around the small craft, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. The Thrush had been a part of his life for almost 20 years – as much a member of the family as any nonliving object could be. At one point, when it looked like he and Mitch were going to lose the ranch, the plane had provided financial salvation.

Years later, when times were better, Dusty could have afforded practically any private plane on the market, but wouldn’t hear of it. Instead, he’d set about restoring and updating the old crop sprayer – making her better than new. Now she was a classic, sporting a bright, canary yellow paint job accented with
coal-black lettering.

He decided to leave all of his belongings in the
cramped storage area behind the pilot’s seat, except one. Pulling a small, portfolio-sized, aluminum case from the back, Dusty made for the main building. He didn’t feel comfortable leaving the rail gun behind.

After visiting the facilities, he filed
the necessary paperwork, ordered gasoline, and called his brother to report his safe arrival. “Glad you’re safe, brother. I’ll be there in ten minutes,” responded an upbeat Mitch.

Dusty had two other bags stuffed inside the enclosed space of the Thrush.
One was a pull-along containing his personal clothing and toiletries, the other a shopping bag filled with gifts for his sister-in-law, niece and nephew. Retrieving his Resistol hat, he felt ready to face the day. 

A voice sounded across the tarmac, Mitch rounding the corner with a smile on his face. “I sure am glad to see the old Commander made
it down safely,” he teased. “Oh, and you too, brother.”

The two siblings embraced
and then sized each other up. “What’s it been, Mitch? Almost two years?”

“
Noooo,” replied the younger Weathers. “It was Christmas of …” his voice trailing off as he consulted his mental calendar. “Oh my gawd, Dusty. It
has
been two years.”

Patting his bro
ther on the shoulder, Dusty stated, “You don’t look like you’ve aged a day, young man. It must be Mrs. Weathers’ good cooking. How are the kids?”

“Oh, they’re fine… looking forward to seeing Uncle Dusty.
Come on,” Mitch waved, “let’s get going. You’ll see everybody tonight. We’ve got work to do.”

Mitch bent to help Dusty with his baggage, pausing as his brother reached first for the metal case. Looking up, he asked, “Is that the device?”

“Yes. I built it with a folding stock, so everything fits in this small case. I figured you wouldn’t want me walking around the campus of A&M carrying a full sized rifle bag.”

The two men
strolled across the lot in silence, Mitch leading them to a Honda Sedan parked nearby. Dusty’s bags went into the trunk, the weapon riding on his lap.

Entering the campus, Mitch nodded at the case in his brother’s
hands. “I scrutinized the video you emailed me over a dozen times. I’m really puzzled by the effect – a real mystery. Don’t worry though; we’ve got some of the world’s most sophisticated measuring equipment here. We’ll figure it out if anyone can.”

A short time later
, they pulled into a reserved parking spot, the sign indicating the space was assigned to “Department Head – Thermal Dynamics – Dr. Mitchell Weathers.”

Dusty glanced at his brother and let out a low wolf whistle.
“I always said you were the smart one of the bunch,
Doctor
Weathers. I wish dad could be here to see that.”