Post Fifteen - Secrets

Post Fifteen - Secrets - Estacado Heart - (c) 2013 J. Scott Vernon DRAFT


School was buzzing with stories from Kaci's 18th birthday party. The girls were giddy with praise about the southwestern veggie salad, the decorations, the white twinkle lights that streamed from the large beams over the patio and the little chocolate party favors wrapped in colorful mesh Jaylene had prepared for Kaci to give to her guests. They gushed of "how sweet" it was to be part of such a joyous occasion and how they would all be best friends forever. Kaci smiled and accepted the compliments with grace but privately thought, "it was just a party and once I graduate, I'm out of here, friends or no friends." She wasn't one to get caught up in the adolescent hyperbole. She loved her friends but had greater ambitions than to live and die in Llano working as an insurance clerk for Dr. Jasper or whatever the other girls aspired to in school.

The boys had different stories from the party. They talked of tits and ass in ways only known to high school boys. The guys were crude. Each girl was rated on a scale of one to ten. Desperate as they were, the boys scored all the girls pretty generously. Except for poor Amelia. Her flat chest and skinny legs left little for the boys to judge. She scored a four. Hector Gomez called "bullchit" and gave her a nine. He liked her.

Kaci scored well. Her mother Jaylene scored a ten. She was the standard by which the boys judged. The boys' imaginations ran wild. They had visions of being with a supermodel, however, their courage dissipated when Jaylene would offer them more sweet tea or lemonade. They would get tongue tied, avert their eyes from her chest and manage a meager, "yes ma'am."

As the school day progressed Kaci would learn more about her party than she expected. Katy Jo confessed that her and Hank, had hooked up behind the pool house. She giggled and told Kaci that Hank was "all man" and fumbled for several minutes with the knot on the back of her bikini. Once he liberated her ample bosom he acted like a newborn calf to its mother's udder. He rooted around and his lips smacked with pure joy. Katy Jo wasn't certain how it was supposed to feel, so she closed her eyes and run her fingers through his black hair. She was ready to go to the next level when she heard everybody begin to sing happy birthday. Hurriedly she and Hank dressed, straightened their hair and got back to the party. They had remnants of grass and gravel stuck to their knees.  Their lust would have to express itself another time.

In fifth period Yearbook class,  Mr. Jackson teased Kaci about her party. He had overheard some of the boys talking in the quad area during lunch. They were bragging about having beer hidden in the toolboxes across the bed of their trucks. During the party the would sneak out and shotgun a beer or two. By the end of the party they were buzzed. Hector was drunk and tried to fondle Amelia in the jacuzzi. She did not resist, she had little to protect. Izzy made sure to get Hector home after the party. They were cousins and having a beer or two wasn't frowned upon in their families. Cerveza was to them what wine would be to Italians, it was a part of their culture. His dad and uncles would drink lots of beer at the end of a hard day at work. At times they would get into fist fights and the sheriff would be called out. Nothing ever came of their squabbles.

Kaci wasn't surprised at this revelation and told Mr. Jackson, "I know, I had a couple of shots of my parent's Bacardi rum myself. It was a good time! You should of been there!"

Mr. Jackson said, "Yes, that could have been fun. You are legally an adult now Kaci. Life is just beginning and you have much to learn. Explore. Be brave. Let your spirit shine." She liked how Mr. Jackson could excite her inner thoughts, her dreams, her emotions. She too wanted to blossom and experience life untethered. For a young woman in a small town she felt constricted. She had a more global perspective of what was possible. She did not share the rigors of conservative thoughts. Though not a flaming liberal, she was well grounded by her rural environment, she had a free spirit and a willingness to be her own person. She would chart her own path no matter how rocky or twisted it might become. Springtime germinated the seeds of her desires. Her soul was irrigated with occasional contraband wine from her parent's abundant wine cellar. Mr. Jackson's weed would bring her world into a hazy, euphoric focus.

She hadn't intended on staying so late working on the yearbook. She wanted to finish a few more ads so she could keep on deadline. Katy Jo and her were the only ones left as the sun went down. The other students had left at 5:00 o'clock. Mr. Jackson remained at his desk reading copy. Katy Jo fretted about picture placement and the spelling of names. Kaci - hunched over, her eyes squinting, her right hand moving the mouse around - was designing ads and staring at the little screen on the MacIntosh. Uncertain of how to place a graphic, she called Mr. Jackson over....
 

Post Fourteen - Dixie Chicken - Estacado Heart

Dixie Chicken - Estacado Heart (c) 2013 J. Scott Vernon DRAFT

A military man in uniform will get your attention, especially when that man is an Army general standing in your doorway. Tom Chandler, the legendary Aggie coach welcomed General Schroeder into his cramped office at Olsen Field.

The two had met before when the university's Athletic Oversight Committee welcomed all the Aggie coaches to share information about their respective programs. It was a brief and cordial meeting on a chilly winter day and coach Chandler wore a suit to the meeting. He was uncomfortable and the knot of his tie was a bit big. Its length too short. He preferred wearing a baseball cap and his coach's uniform. The coach didn't often wear a suit and tie. The general struck a commanding presence in his fitted Army Green uniform. His left chest was full of service medals that told the story of his 39 year military experience. It had been years since he was a foot soldier, but he maintained an active exercise regime. He stayed Army ready. He favored a flat top haircut. Schroeder was quick to put civilians at ease with a firm handshake and a big toothy smile. His Texas drawl was smooth, deep and inviting.

On this day the coach was at ease in his practice baseball uniform. His Aggie baseball cap sat on his desk atop a pile of papers. Along the bill were white sweat stains that were inescapable in the oppressive heat and humidity of College Station. Coach Chandler's face was tan from his cheeks to his chin. The crow's feet  around his eyes evident. His white forehead was in sharp contrast to the rest of his tanned face. He spend his days in the sun.

The general was dressed in a more relaxed fashion as well. He had on his Battle Dress Uniform (BDU) - camouflaged fatigues. He too was more comfortable in his BDUs than in his dress uniform, particularly on the sultry days of a Texas spring. The Corp Cadets enjoyed seeing their Commandant dressed in his fatigues.

Schroeder got right to the point. He told the coach about his friend Mace's son Tucker in California. The general didn't expect any special treatment, but asked if the coach had any room for Tucker on his roster if he could get him in to A&M. It was a shot in the dark this late in the process. National signing day had come and gone and the coach had awarded all of his scholarship spots. Coach knew about Tucker. He told Herman they scouted him last year and considered sending him a recruiting letter but changed their minds when they heard UT was after him. Plus, they found a kid in Georgia who was a great shortstop with a big bat. Besides, Austin had more to offer a California kid - bigger city, more bars, faster women and live music - stuff guys liked. He didn't think College Station would be exciting enough for one of those liberals from the west coast. Frankly, the coach was surprised nobody picked up Tucker and that he didn't go any higher in the draft.

"If I recall he was a top prospect and a decent student," said Coach. "Yep, 3.5, 3.6 something like that, put all his marbles in the draft," said Herman, "he'll probably major in farming or ag stuff, he is a farm kid."

"Ok, I'll take a look at him," said Coach, "but no promises."

He was willing to let him walk-on and tryout in the fall if he got into school. There would be no scholarship nor guarantee and he'd like to meet Tucker in person. It would have to happen soon. The championship  playoffs were coming up soon. The prospect of making the College World Series demands the attention of every program in the country during the spring.

Herman said "fair enough."

When Herman returned to his office on the other side of campus,  he gave Mace a call. "Mace, get your ass on a plane and bring Tucker with you. Coach Chandler wants to meet him. He may have a shot." Mace was excited, at least Tucker would be in college and if he'd play to his potential he could earn a scholarship. It was better than going to the West Hills Community College in God forsaken Coalinga. Well almost, it was, afterall, College Station.

Tucker had known his dad was going to call his friend at Texas A&M, but he didn't expect things to happen so quickly. He was just looking forward to the end of the school year. His dad booked tickets on Delta Airlines out of Fresno for the following Thursday.

They flew into Houston Intercontinental Airport arriving in the late afternoon. Years later the airport would be renamed George Bush Intercontinental Airport after the first Bush president, H.W. Bush. They rented a car and drove the 100 miles through Conroe, Montgomery and Navasota. It was a nice drive with lots of trees on the two lane road until they reached Texas Highway 6, a smooth road that would lead them into College Station.

They stayed on the south edge of town and ate BBQ at C&J Barbeque. Mace and Tucker both enjoyed the tender, smokey brisket, a hunk of cheddar cheese and fried okra. The tea was really sweet. There wasn't anything quite like it in California and the BBQ sauce was unique. They were used to dry rubbed tri-tip beef. No sauce.

The next morning they walked around campus until their 11:00 o'clock meeting with the coach. They bought some Aggie ball caps in the bookstore at the Memorial Student Union. It was a warm day and Tucker was dressed in his starched Wrangler 13mwz jeans, brown lizard roper boots and a close fitting white Locoste polo shirt. His athletic shoulders looked wider, his biceps more pronounced. He had a fresh haircut, but his wavy brown hair still touched the back of his shirt collar. A tad long for Texas. His sideburns stretched to the tip of his earlobe. He didn't care for the pearl snap button shirts with the western yokes favored by the "wannabe cowboys" back home at school.  He thought the snuff can ring in their back pockets looked ridiculous. So did the tips of their colorful nylon braided belts hanging down their leg. He figured they were overcompensating for their "smallness." He didn't have the same problem. He wore a three-piece silver and gold western belt set on a brown hand carved leather belt. He dipped Copenhagen when he played baseball, but he didn't want the girls to know. You would not find a snuff can ring in Tucker's back pockets.

The A&M campus was big and Mace was awed by the tradition, history and size of the school. Tucker was more wild-eyed. The Texas girls looked hot and they all said "howdy" to him. He felt more confident as more girls passed. He put his shoulders back a little further each time. Even the guys said "howdy" and he thought to himself, "they don't look like homosexuals." That threw him off a bit. Maybe they were just friendlier in Texas. Tucker knew it was a military school but he was surprised at how many guys were walking around in uniform. The Corp Cadets seemed to be everywhere.

When they got to the Coach's office there were a couple of guys hanging around in the hallway. Coach Chandler greeted Mace and Tucker with a firm handshake and a "howdy." Tucker wondered, "do they all say this?" It wouldn't be until later when he found out that saying "howdy" to folks was an Aggie tradition. They had lots of traditions in Aggieland. The coach talked a while about the baseball program and offered no assurances Tucker would make the team, although he did say since talking to the General, he took another look at their old scouting report. He was impressed with Tucker's numbers.

The Coach called out to the guys in the hallway to come in his office. "Guys, this is Tucker, the shortstop from California.  "Tucker this is Vondale Wilson our leftfielder and Jimbo Collins one of our catchers." They offered a non-committal handshake. Jimbo said, "You can call me Cooter." Again Tucker thought to himself, "And I thought Jimbo as a redneck name, but Cooter takes the cake." The coach had asked them to take Tucker to lunch while he visited with Mace.

Vondale was a big black guy from the Ninth Ward in New Orleans. He had muscles on top of muscles. He was raised by his grandmother and she was elated her "grandbaby" was getting out of the projects. She worried about all the drugs and violence he was subjected to growing up poor. His bat and his SAT score were his ticket out of the hell hole of the Big Easy. Vondale was a smart, polite manchild. He was a junior, majored in Finance with a 3.4 gpa and a .328 batting average. This season he already had 14 dingers, including one 460 feet long. Dressed in black basketball like shorts with "Aggie Baseball" embroidered on the left leg and a black sleeveless workout shirt, he made Tucker look small. He was certain to play pro ball. He would get to "the show." To him baseball was a means to an end, ultimately he wanted to be a land developer back home Louisiana and knew his degree in Finance would come in handy if he signed a big contract in the pros. Vondale was no man's fool.

Cooter was a piece. He had green bug eyes, curly red hair, freckles, a crooked smile and big ears. He was quick to laugh and tell off color jokes. He looked small for a catcher. His Aggie ballcap was pulled down tight and it made his ears stick out even more. He had on grey sweatpants, a wrinkled maroon t-shirt with "Aggie Football" silkscreened on the front in white. It was well worn and the seams were tattered. Cooter was from Mason, Texas and majored in Natural Resource Management. The only resource management he knew was to chum deer with a sack of corn and then shoot 'em from his deer stand tied up in a tree. He liked to deer hunt and hunting was easy in the Hill Country. There wasn't a need to entice the deer with extra feed, but Cooter wasn't the most ambitious of hunters. He liked to laugh and say "I'm a shooter, rhymes with Cooter, I kill 'em, you chill 'em." He had a 2.3 gpa and limited playing time. He was used mostly to catch the relief pitchers in the bullpen. Now in his third year, his prospects of becoming a starting catcher were slim. He didn't really mind. He knew he was going back to Mason after college. He was having fun. His family had a big ranch and conducted expensive guided hunts for legislators out of Austin and bankers from Dallas. In fact, it was a former Aggie in the governor's office that helped get him into A&M to begin with. Aggies help Aggies.

Vondale and Cooter took Tucker to the iconic Dixie Chicken restaurant across the street from campus for lunch. Calling it a restaurant was stretch. It was another Aggie tradition. It smelled of stale beer, urine and grease. It had pool tables and most of the students were playing "bones" - dominoes and drinking Lonestar beer by the pitcher. Jerry Jeff Walker music was blaring through the speakers. They cooked greasy burgers in the back and had a live rattlesnake behind a glass case in the wall.

There they...

Post Thirteen - Estacado Heart - Awakening

Post Twelve -  Estacado Heart - Awakening

A Capricorn, Kaci's 18th birthday was early in January. She deferred having a birthday party until the infinity pool her parents were having installed was finished in the spring. The salt water pool made of granite, that was plentiful on the Edwards Plateau in West Texas, created a dramatic effect that would include a waterfall and a diving platform. When lit by the pool lights and reflected off the sparkling water the Precambrian rock of pink and copper colors came to life. All that was left to do was to install the surrounding deck and native landscaping.

In the meantime her dad asked if she would like a new car for her ascent into the adult world. One of his attorney friends was upgrading and had a like-new candy apple red BMW 325i convertible for sale. With only 9,000 miles on the two-year old car he thought it would be perfect for Kaci.

Again, she deferred. For the past year and a half she was completely satisfied to drive one of the old ranch trucks, a 1976 Ford F-250. She did not mind the huge brush grill that wrapped around the front, nor did the big crease in the tailgate, from a dropped bale of hay, bother her. Green shoots of oat hay were growing in the bed from the remnant oat seeds left behind from feeding cows out of the back of the truck. She didn't care. Although she wished the ripped seats were in a little better shape. Jumping in and out of the truck with side-cutters in his back pockets, her dad ripped the clothe seats often. Kaci installed a saddle blanket seat cover to hide the carnage. The truck was beat to hell, but she felt safe driving it anywhere she wanted to go - on the ranch or in town.

Spring break was fun and the pace quickened as the end of the school year approached. TheYellow Jacket yearbook was coming together but Mr. Jackson's ambitious goal was beginning to weigh on the class. They were worried they would run out of time and not make the deadlines set by Jostens to get it published. Afterschool sessions became commonplace. A core group of students, including Kaci and Katy Jo, worked diligently yet they were having fun. The environment was much looser than during the school day and Mr. Jackson seemed even more laid back than he was in 5th period Yearbook. He spent more time talking about his eccentric personal life and sharing crazy stories of his days (and nights) at UT.  He was no saint.

Kaci had her birthday party by the pool on May Day weekend. Two dozen of her friends, guys and girls, showed up. Izzy, John Allen and the rest of the guys spent most of their time doing flips off the rock diving platform. Each dive was a competition. The girls their time laying around, working on their tans and reading gossip magazines. 

Jaylyn fretted over the decorations, food and a big batch of sweet tea she made for the occasion. Harold fretted over the sight of his daughter and her friends  in their skimpy bikinis. He wondered aloud to Jaylyn, "Good God, do these kids have no modesty? The swimsuits barely cover their asses!" Jaylyn laughed and said relax, they were just being girls. 

Jaylyn had more liberal views of a woman's sexuality than Harold. Her worldly experiences taught her that America was a pretty uptight country. She favored a more European view of sex. Her relationship with Kaci was very open, they could talk about anything. As Kaci matured, Jaylyn talked freely about what to expect from her changing body. And about men.  Jaylyn told Kaci how she had lost her virginity on the a beach in the Cayman Islands when she was there on a modeling job. His name was Javier. She could not remember his last name. He was a photographer's grip from Spain. While he fancied himself a lover, Jaylyn told Kaci her first time was far from the fantasy she expected. It was messy and gritty. It hurt. Jaylyn harbors no guilt from the experience but she warned Kaci to be patient with her body. 

Harold's approach to having "the talk" with Kaci's younger brother Cameron was to put everything in cow breeding terms. Cameron understood the basics. He got the rest of "the facts" from his buddies at jr. high school and those damn corny filmstrips Mr. Larkin showed in health class. There was lots of suppressed laughter.

Kaci wore a bikini that resembled the Texas state flag. The Lonestar on the top was strategically placed over her right breast. There was another star at her crotch. It was tiny and creeped up the crack of her cellulite free ass. Her legs look longer than normal. Her breast were ample, firm.

The boys could not help but sneak peaks and swore their allegiance to the flag. They, by God, were proud of Texas. Seeing Kaci wear the flag so well, the boys would have gladly reenacted the Alamo to protect Her from any assault on her independence. 

The other girls, by all measures, were cute, their nubile young bodies hard and fit. Katy Jo was an exception, but that did not prevent her from wearing her little bikini. She was, to the extent any high school girl could be, secure with her body. Overweight, her belly covered the top of her bikini bottoms. She had the classic muffin top. Her butt could not be contained by the limited fabric that struggled against its seams. Her large, round breast poured over the top of her bikini and escaped out of the sides.

The boys didn't mind. Any view of female flesh in Llano was a welcome sight to these country boys. They would have to jump in the pool from time-to-time to disguise their excitement that grew at random times throughout the day. Hell, Katy Jo could of had three tits and a hammer toe and the boys would not care. They were enjoying the side boob shots and the occasional full ass wedgey the girls would pick out each time they got up from the lounge chairs to get more tea.

Life was good and Kaci was excited her friends had such a great time at her party. That night she laid in bed tired and reflective. She thought to herself, "I am 18 now. An adult. Wow" She wondered what it would be like to be with a man.  Her hands slowly explored  her womanhood. Her pulse quickened. Her back began to arch. She closed her eyes and let out a quiet moan. She was a woman.

Post Twelve - Aggieland

General Schroeder recognized Mace's voice on the phone immediately. His deep southern baritone bark was not a sound you soon forgot. Like old friends catching up, they shared a laugh about their last weeks in Vietnam. Herman had taken Mace, an enlisted man, with him to the officer's club at the base in DaNang on several occasions. The bourbon wasn't that good, but they enjoyed their conversations about returning to their life stateside. Mace recalled how he appreciated the privilege of being among the officers he aspired to be someday. Those lasting experiences in 'Nam gave him a glimpse into his future as a Naval Officer.

On the phone they talked briefly about their wives and kids. Herman had two daughters. Mace had Tucker, Kate and Samantha. Their families got together one time at Disneyland a few years after they returned from the war. Herman remembered the athletic Tucker very well-  his youngest daughter Melinda was giddy around the hunk of a boy. Lola Marie, his other daughter, could care less.

Not knowing exactly what it took to get into college, Mace shared Tucker's dilemma about the draft and ignoring the scholarship offers. He figured the Commandant of Aggieland had to carry some weight on a campus full of corp cadets.

In an era before higher education went all politically correct, Herman, did in fact have some power to make things happen; academically. He had little sway over any of the coaches, but was on the Athletic Oversight Council and enjoyed his special seating at Kyle Field and Olsen Field during the football and baseball games. He, like  most other Texans at the time, didn't go to basketball games; much less an Aggie basketball game. They were awful. 

He knew the coaches and promised Mace he would talk to the baseball staff. He made no promises about Tucker's chances, but felt confident he could get him into school over in the agriculture college.  Mace didn't expect any more than that and was grateful to Herman for putting in a good word. The bonds of war ran deep between the two men.

Post Eleven – Walter and Gabriel

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Post Eleven – Walter and Gabriel

Rarely did Kaci wear make-up, especially outside on the ranch. Typically she wore a cotton tank-top and Levi 501 jeans that fit tight around her narrow waist and shapely ass she thought was too big. The boys at school did not agree with her lowly self-assessment. They would stare in unison as she walked passed them on the way to class. At home she would pull her hair back in a ponytail and thread it through the opening on the back of a blue and white King Ropes trucker cap. She wore her pant legs inside her boots with custom made Garcia spurs her dad bought her one Christmas from J.M. Capriola’s in Elko, Nevada. The spurs were a constant attachment to her dusty, dirty boots even when she removed them on the back porch at the end of the day.

The only time Kaci ever wore make-up was when she had a date for the school formal or when her mom’s old friends from her modeling days in New York would visit the ranch. Jaylyn didn’t keep up with the other models after she left the business-they were too self-centered. She did, however, maintain lifelong friendships with some phenomenal photographers and eccentric gay make-up artists.

Walter and Gabriel were especially flamboyant. They were an old couple. They would cackle, laugh and flitter around like teenage school-girls when they got together with Jaylyn. They didn’t care who made fun of them. They were secure in who they were and had been out of the closet their whole lives. In the modeling industry around the world it was easy, accepted. In Llano, Texas it was a different story. Folks looked at them funny when they would go to town. Some would make snarky comments about “them fags from the city.” Jaylyn would always apologize to Walter and Gabriel.

Kaci’s dad Harold never really understood how a man could have those kinds of feelings for another man, but he accepted them completely as friends of his wife.  He genuinely liked Walter and Gabriel because they cared so deeply for Jaylyn. They were harmless. Walter and Gabriel would tease Jaylyn, in front of Harold, that if she wasn’t careful, they would steal her handsome Harold away. They all laughed deep belly laughs and drank several bottles of Llano Estacado Winery’s Muscat Canelli as they sat on the back patio overlooking the river.

These days Walter and Gabriel no longer worked in the modeling business. As middle- aged men they could not compete with the sexier, thinner and more hip young gay men in the fast paced world of high fashion. Their bigger girths, lack of tattoos and dated ways put them at odds with the new breed. They loved to talk smack and gossip about those pretty boys who pushed them out. Today they made their living as hair, make-up and fashion consultants for young women competing in beauty pageants around the country. They were in high demand.

Kaci loved Walter and Gabriel. They were like uncles to her. They in-turn loved Kaci. They marveled at how much she looked like her mom when her mom was her age. They showered her with compliments and had fun working their make-up magic on her flawless canvas. When they finished, Kaci no longer looked seventeen and innocent, instead she too looked like she belonged on the cover of Cosmo. The sexual transformation was stunning if only temporary. Kaci had fun listening to them carry on with their ooohs and aahhs, but she never left the ranch looking like a cover girl. She wore jeans and loose fitting baby-doll tops to school. That was enough to send the country boys of Llano into testosterone overload.

Post Ten Rancho Estancia

Rancho Estancia was like heaven on earth for Tucker. Small by Argentina standards, the 950 acre place was big enough to maintain a small herd of Brahman cattle. The Zebu cows were well suited to the tropical climate. Tucker saw an opportunity to crossbreed them with an English breed -most likely Angus, maybe Hereford- to capitalize on the trend in South America to finish cattle on grain to satisfy the hearty beef loving country's evolving palate.  Oh how Tucker wished the meat loving sentiment were still true in the United States. Somehow Americans had lost their way and meat consumption suffered under constant attack of whacked out vegans and corrupt lobbying groups like PETA and the fundraising factory at the Humane Society of the United States.

If you listen to the press and the leftist animal rights freaks you would think Tucker and his ilk in the cattle business were scum of the earth. Selfish bastards who don't care about their cows and even less about the environment. Science and evidence have demonstrated the myths in the zealots' charges, but few seem to want the truth. Tucker does what he can to shed light on his beef production, but at times he thinks, "screw it, I got cows to feed."

That is what he loves about Argentina. He can escape the bullshit, enjoy a good steak guilt-free, drink a fine Cab and occasionally share his bed with Congetta Menendez. The firey hot Congetta, is the news anchor for Cablevison which is owned by Grupo Clarin, the largest newspaper in Argentina, and his pleasant distraction on his trips south. She was also a former beauty queen with a voluptuous set of assets that were required of South American women on television. 

The two of them met in '99 when she was a young reporter starting out at the Buenos Aires cable channel run by Multicanal. Tucker had bought Rancho Estancia a year earlier. To call her a reporter was to stretch the truth, she was Portuguese eye-candy with a set of killer hips, big brown eyes and a mane of shiney brown hair past her shoulders. She spoke Spanish, but was bi-lingual in several ways.  She also hosted a cheesy afternoon game show that resembled "The Price is Right." She was no Bob Barker, she oozed sexy fun. It was a highly rated show.

She had been assigned  to do a story on the American cowboy who was making a splash in Magdalena. Tucker didn't mind and thought it would help endear him to the locals. He was used to doing interviews back in the States. Her accent, flawless olive skin and television smile caught Tucker off guard. They connected almost immediately. He could not wait for the interview to be over and she stumbled on her words trying to be professional. She too felt something stirring. In an afternoon of passion, Tucker felt a release he hadn't felt in the past year. For a second  he thought of Kaci. He always thought of Kaci when he was uncertain. She was his safe place. At this moment, Congetta was anything but safe and Tucker's uncertainty passed quickly as their afternoon smoldered into the evening. 

It was to be this way for years. Congetta held on to her beauty with ease and continued to anchor the news even as Multicanel merged with Cablevision. She enjoyed the wealthy American cowboy when he was at Rancho Estancia. She did not sit alone at home when he was gone.

Tucker understood. He too had his share of company in his travels. On this trip, there would be no Congetta. He has too much on his mind.

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.