Estacado Heart (UGLY ROUGH DRAFT)

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Estacado Heart (ROUGH DRAFT)

© 2013 J. Scott Vernon

Post One

She stood in the gentle warmth of the Sunday morning light through an open window. Her skin was softer than his white cotton shirt she wore unbutton to her navel. Her golden hair cascaded off her slender shoulders. The smell of fresh coffee drifted through his groggy senses. It wasn't supposed to be this way. He didn't mean to stay. His boots were across the room, his mind another place. He reached and pulled her closer, he whispered in her ear, "Good morning, I'm sorry I never told you..."

For a moment her knees weakened with his confession. She had always been the strong one, her independent streak well known, but now her mind raced. What was happening? How could she have not seen this coming? Could this really be true? Why? Why now? Who is he? The answers escaped her. Her throat was dry. Her pulse quickened.

There was so much to do. The morning sun turned harsh. The glare was beginning to blind her, she knew she must do something, now.

Post Two

Tucker knew he was a long way from the dusty fields of his youth spent on the farm in the Valley. At times he missed the long hot summers hauling hay and breaking horses. The smell of fresh cut alfalfa and grain molasses always made him smile.

He always liked to smile and in time learned just how far a quick grin and easy laugh could take him in the world of making deals. His strong jaw, wavy brown hair and chiseled frame conspired to make his pursuits effortless. His hazel green eyes didn't hurt his chances. He learned quickly how to leverage his gifts.

Somehow the simple life got away from him as he raced around the world accumulating riches, women and cattle ranches on three continents. They were all just pawns in his never ending quest to win. To be the best. Tucker always wanted more, but now he felt so empty. Defeated. He found a opponent he could not defeat. One money could not deter. He had to come clean, his secret choked him like a hangman's noose around his neck. One more day he thought to himself. I will tell her tomorrow, but tomorrow may not come. The time was now. He could not wait. "God dammit," he thought, I can't do this to her.

When he opened his eyes and saw her silhouette against the large window in her bedroom he knew she must know. Kaci's tender way and soft touch had brought him back from the brink of oblivion before. He had passed her way often. She was always available to him. Her aqua blue eyes and perfect smile had a way of making him want her more. He knew he couldn't hurt her, but he knew that she, of all people, could care for him, she would help him through this, Kaci would know just what to do. He took a deep breath, the aroma of the coffee awoke his thinking. He had agonized over this moment for the past five months. "Now" he said to himself. I must tell her now.

Post Three

At 42, Kaci knew she had little time for boys. As an advertising executive at a Hollywood power agency, she had seen her share of overhyped, tatted-up party animals with a penchant for fast cars and nose candy. Coming up in the business she dabbled in them when she was young. It was always thoughtless, exuberant fun. Nothing serious, just a means to an end. She helped them become over saturated celebrities, they made sure the senior partners at Kimbro, Kelly and Cox kept her around. She herself had movie star looks, but even more, she was very good at her job. Kaci could have worked anywhere in LaLa land.

She had graduated at the top of her class at Southern Methodist University. A small town girl from Llano, she couldn't wait to escape the confining banks of the Llano River, even though she spent her high school years on the river's edge in cut off shorts and drinking beer with her best friend Katy Jo Carmichael, Izzy Rodrigues and John Allen Cooper. The four of them had promised each other they'd always be friends no matter where life would take them. Kaci was the only one who made it out. Katy Jo married the sheriff's son Hank, she has three kids and works at the Llano Public Works. Izzy became a fireman and died trying to save a kid who was caught is a house fire. John Allen still talks about the 3A football championship when he was the quarterback at Llano High School. He is a cowboy for day wages for ranchers in the county. He never married.

Kaci was engaged to Keith Austin when she was 28. He was an A-lister in Hollywood and liked to be seen with Kaci on his arm. He has been nominated for an Oscar for his role in "Sargent Jacobs Alibi," but didn't win. She loved him almost as much as he loved himself. They never married. She swore never to date an actor again, especially those who played cops.

Post Four

It was sticky the evening Tucker arrived at the airport in Buenos Aires on his way to Rancho Estancia 75 miles south in Magdalena. The breeze coming off the estuary of Rio de la Plata offered little comfort from the humidity that hung wet in the evening air. His ranch in Argentina was one of his favorite places but he always enjoyed the colorful nightlife of the city during his visits. The rhythmic sensuality of the music, the beautiful dark haired women and the machismo of the South American men had always made him feel welcome despite his fair skin and American citizenship. He was gregarious and his generosity was not lost on the natives. His money flowed like Pisco through a village drunk.

Raul Silva greeted him with open arms and a hearty embrace. It was good to see his boss. It had been months since Tucker last came to the ranch to host members of the United States Congress on a "trade mission" to the province. U.S. Senator Adam Taylor, the chair of the senate foreign relations committee, was also with the group. His deep voice and southern twang could be heard for miles. He was a flip-flopping populist Democrat, but his "people" in Alabama loved him and had elected him each time for the past 14 elections. Truth be told it was a junket paid for by the American taxpayers. They were there to hunt doves and eat like kings. Raul, the ranch foreman, always took care of the details. He and his wife, Salina had lived on the ranch for more than twenty years. They stayed when Tucker bought the ranch from Senor Camilio Santos in '98. Salina could cook a feast.

Post Five

By all measures Tucker leads a charmed life. He has a craftsman house overlooking the Pacific Ocean on the rugged coast just south of Carmel. His farm in the Central Valley boasts 1,800 acres of class-one soil, the mostly productive in the world. For most of his life he has grown cotton and alfalfa, but in the past five years he has transitioned much of his farm to almonds, walnuts and a few acres of pistachios. An astute businessman, he knows the global demand will continue to grow.

At the turn of the Century, he partnered with his old college roommate, Jack Crandell, on a vineyard in Australia. Jack had struck gold in the dot com boom and needed to diversify his investments. He knew Tucker had connections in Melbourne. Their investment paid off and now they produce some of the world's best Shiraz, Cabernet Sauvignon.

Life for Tucker was good. It hadn't always been that way. Growing up he worked hard on his family's small cattle and horse ranch. His dad, an officer in the Navy, retired and bought the ranch when Tucker was just a boy. Together with his two sisters, Kate and Samantha, they spent every waking hour outside feeding cows, riding horses and fixing fence.

When he wasn't driving a tractor or roping steers, he spent his afternoons in the winter and spring playing shortstop on the varsity baseball team at the high school. He had a rifle for an arm and at 6'1", 185 he had the physical tools to be a  major league prospect.

It wasn't uncommon to see two or three pro scouts at the Tiger's games. They all knew about this good looking country kid with great hands and excellent footwork. His batting was decent for high school. He was hitting .328 early in his senior season. Good, but not good enough for the next level. He spent weekends in the batting cage.

The Tigers made it to the Valley Championships and lost 4-3 to the Drillers from Bakersfield High School in the bottom of the ninth on a sacrifice fly with a man on third. Tucker went 3 for four with an RBI and a triple at to right field.

The San Francisco Giants drafted him in the sixth round and told him he would play for their Triple A farm team the Fresno Grizzles. The thought of playing near home in the Pacific Coast League was intriguing, but Tucker had other plans.

Post Six

Growing up in the Hill Country of Texas, Kaci enjoyed life spent outdoors. A tomboy of sorts, she was athletic. Her long legs seemed tan year-around. Her long blonde hair had a natural curl and was highlighted by the Llano sun. Together with her younger brother Cameron, she would ride horses until dusk on most summer days. The Llano River dissected her family's purebred Hereford ranch and they had a spot on the river's edge where they could tie their horses and swing from a rope into the refreshing waters. With summer temperatures often reaching 100 degrees and humidity that would steal your energy, the river was an oasis of the young.

Her dad, Harold, was a big shot attorney and spent most of his week in Austin lobbying for the oil barons of west Texas. On the weekends he like to ride through his cowherd and entertain guests at the ranch. Her mom, Jaylyn, was content to keep a beautiful home and care for Kaci and Cameron. She had had enough of the hectic pace of a model. In her youth she was a Ford Agency girl and traveled all over the world and appeared on every major magazine cover, including a record eight times on Vogue. She commanded six figure modeling fees and was often listed as one of People Magazine's "Most Beautiful People."

Jaylyn met Harold at a charity event when he was on a trip to New York to litigate a Canadian oil lease for one of his clients. His royal blue eyes, Texas charm and gentleman ways attracted her to him right away. For months they kept in contact and she, at his constant request, eventually visited him in Llano. She never returned to New York. Kaci was born nine months later.

Post Seven

Though never consider studious, high school came easy to Kaci. She muddled through math with mostly B's, the curiosity of science intrigued her and she picked up Spanish quickly – she conversed regularly with her dad's hired ranch hand Alejandro - but,  she excelled in English and had a way with words.

There was something about the way Mr. Jackson, the new English teacher, taught the courses. She loved the way he made words and stories come alive. The fact that his sandy brown hair was a little long, had a stubbled beard and was the youngest teacher on campus made his after lunch class even more bearable. All the coeds loved Mr. Jackson. The guys thought he was a tea-sipping hippy from UT, but they too had to admit he was pretty cool. He was also the advisor for the Yellow Jacket yearbook.

Kaci never really understood why all the boys showered her with attention. She wasn't a cheerleader and seemed to have little in common with those girls who had big hair, wore their makeup just a little too thick and their necklines way too low. She had freckles and always thought of herself as skinny with no boobs and at 5'9" too tall. Her genes had conspired to make her a late bloomer.

Her senior year, Kaci joined the staff of the yearbook at the suggestion of her best friend Katy Jo. It wasn't a hard sell considering Mr. Jackson's enthusiasm and his desire to take the yearbook to a new level of school pride. He wanted to expand the yearbook to 200 pages, big for a a high school of 500 students. To do this he knew he would have to find the funds in the community. Llano ISD offered little in the budget for this activity, football was king and had a never-ending supply of financial support. He put Kaci in charge of selling ads in the community.

Reluctant at first, Kaci's confidence grew when she sold her first ad to Emma Jean at the Lone Star Bar-B-Q Restaurant. Sure, it was a business card size ad, but it was a start.  She sold a full-page ad to Mr. Carter over at the at Llano Feed and Supply. In time, she sold ads to just about every business in town, including one to the well-known tightwad, Dr. Johnson, the only chiropractor in town. She was good and the merchants liked her soft sell technique and her attention to detail. She had found her niche. It didn't hurt that by now her genetic potential was beginning to express itself full force. Her skinny frame filled out to become a stunning young woman. Her breasts had grown full and supple, her cleavage noticeable under her v-neck t-shirts. Her 501 jeans fit nicely over her shapely hips. Her belly was almost flat except for that faint little pooch left over from adolescence. She worried these days that she was too fat.

Mr. Jackson was amazed. Each day Kaci would return to class with hand full of new ads. She enjoyed Mr. Jackson's compliments. She worked hard to please him. She felt a special bond with his free spirit and personality that was different than the other teachers on campus. He got her in a way the others did not.

Post Eight

With graduation and summer fast approaching, Tucker wasn’t sure what to do next. The truth be told, he was tired. Baseball season had taken its toll on his arm and the Giants dented his psyche. Losing the championship the way they did left a sour taste in his mouth. On one hand he wanted so much to prove he was a better player than the outcome, but on the other he was sick of the grind baseball required. With his dad pushing him hard, he had been competing at a high level ever since he was 12 years-old. A shortstop now, when he played Little League and Babe Ruth ball he was scaring the shit out of the other less athletic little boys as a pitcher. His fastball left them standing like frozen statues too afraid to swing. His nasty curve had them bailing out of the batter’s box dazed and confused. Each season he was an all-star.

Now that the season over, all he wanted to do was hang out with his buddies drinking beer and listening to Hank Williams, Jr., Jerry Jeff Walker, Marshal Tucker Band and George Thorogood cranked up loud. As the sun set on springtime Saturdays and the feeding chores done on the farm, they would gather at Harter’s Slough north of town, sit on the tailgates of their pick-up trucks, pound ice cold Budweisers and brag of their exploits with Sarah Snyder, the loosest girl in school. Tucker abstained. He never had a girlfriend in high school, much less a night with Sarah. He did, however, go to the Prom with Alyn Monroe his junior and senior year. They were good friends, more like brother and sister, except Alyn had long had a secret crush on Tucker. She never acted on her feelings and Tucker was oblivious to her desires.

Post Nine

Tucker's dad Mace was upset. Not so much that he had given his son poor advice about the draft, but more so that the scouts had blown sunshine up his ass about Tucker's prospects. It wasn't the first time he had received bad intelligence. 

The last time someone gave him less than accurate information it nearly got him killed. 'Nam, 1967. He remembers well his days in the jungles of Vietnam as an enlisted man in Admiral McDonald's Navy. Crisscrossing the rivers of the Mekong Delta on swift boats he helped keep the Viet Cong off guard or so he thought. One sweltering morning as he and the other sailors were on patrol deep into the tentacles of the brown water Delta, they were ambushed by a sneaky, quiet band of  North Vietnamese gooks the US troops had come to despise at a level deeper than the war. They had relied on communication from Rear Admiral Zumwalt's commanders indicating the enemy was in retreat along the Cambodian border.

In a fierce firefight, the sailors- not prone to the same combat engagement of the Army soldiers and the Marines - held their ground and killed eight of the nine gooks who opened fire. Two of their detail were wounded, but would survive. The ninth bastard they captured.  They were surprised at how young, scared and ill-equipped the little communist was once they got him in the boat. In some ways they felt pity on him. He was probably just a rice farmer in his village before the civil war in Indochina broke out. Even so, this little son of a bitch, could kill you in ways unimaginable to a trained military man.

Mace wasn't ready to give up on Tucker's future in baseball. He had an idea. Having served alongside officers from Annapolis, West Point and a few fly boys from the Academy, he always liked the down home common sense of the cadets commissioned out of Texas A&M University. Those fearless boys were truly "fightin' Texas Aggies." They had a bond that bordered on cultish. Anytime two Aggies would get together they were always yelling whoop and Gig'em. This irritated the shit out of the graduates of the other military institutions. 

Mace found it humorous. 

Having never attended college, he came up through the ranks of service and never had a real affinity for all the school allegiance crap. In Vietnam he became good friends with Herman Schroeder, an Aggie from Throckmorton, Texas who was a commissioned officer in the Army. Herman was a straight shooter, a great solider and a respected leader. Mace and him shared an interest in good hunting dogs, bourbon and fine cigars. They got along well in spite of their military differences and rank.

After Vietnam,  Herman went to the Pentagon in Washington, D.C. and served in a variety of capacities with the Joint Chiefs of Staff. He continued to rise in rank. All the while, him and Mace had kept in touch. At the twilight of his career, now General Schroeder,  got his dream appointment- Commandant of the Texas A&M Corp Cadets. Once an Aggie, always an Aggie. 

Mace gave him a call.