"I have plenty of concentration. You insist on breaking it." I step back and close my robe, then move into the bathroom to apply my make-up. "So do you think it’s going to be safe to stick a camera in his face?"

"Maybe not right away. I’m going to hang back in the truck with Olson until you get his permission." She pauses, then calls loudly. "I’ll be drinking coffee and eating Twinkies."

I hear her laugh and poke my head out of the bathroom. "You save your Twinkie eating for when you’re with me, Tabloid."

"Right." She winks at me. "Anyhow, I’ll be right there once you get him to agree."

"And if he won’t?"

She shrugs. "Then you get your cute, little ass out of there and we’ll figure something else out."

I spin around and present the body part in question. "You really think it’s cute?"

"Don’t start what you won’t finish, Kels," she warns. "But, yeah, I do. It’s delicious."

I laugh at that description and get back to work. "There’s a good chance he won’t agree, you know. Henry says he’s a really odd duck, something straight out of the 1860’s. A true Texas gentleman."

"Oh, well, this I gotta see."

"Okay, but can I offer you one piece of advice?" I step back into our room to see how she’s gonna handle this.

"Sure." She crosses her arms and gives me her ‘look’. She about the roll her eyes. I know it.

I start anyway. "If he’s really as odd as Henry says, he’s going to see us as women. You know, the ‘breeding’ type. So, take my word for it, around here they’ll shoot you before you get past the ‘s’ in the word lesbian. They even look suspiciously at women named Leslie."

"Oh, I get it. I should be seen and not heard, huh?"

"Not if you’re going to expound the pleasures of being with another woman."

"Nah, don’t worry about it, Little Roo." She grins, an evil little grin. "I wouldn’t tell on you like that."

I return to the bathroom. Now I’m grinning. Tell on me like that, huh? Oh, I like that.


* * *

Kels seems to be relaxed and in her element now. I’ve even noticed a little Texas drawl slipping out. It’s cute, it really is.

"What are you smiling about?" she asks out of the side of her mouth.

"Who me? I’m not doing nothing." Damn, she caught me.

"Right," she laughs at me. "And you’re not doing anything." She crosses her denim clad legs and rests her hands on her knee. "So you think the new clothes will get him to talk?"

I glance her way trying not to look interested. I already took in a complete eyeful of the boots, denim skirt and white blouse with the intricate black stitching along her shoulders. Very Texan, and, surprisingly, very sexy. "I guess you look okay." God, I’m so bad a feigning disinterest.

"Thanks, Tabloid, I’ll keep that in mind later tonight."

"Now, there’s no need to go saying stuff like that," I protest.

She laughs at me. She points to the road I need to turn down. Christ, could we get any further into Texas?

"By the way, I like your shirt," she offers with a smile.

"Only because it snaps and no buttons. Easy access." I look down at the shirt she bought for me this morning. It’s black with white piping and has snaps up one side of it. The cut and design allow you to lower one side so that it folds down the front at an angle. I am also the proud owner of a new belt buckle that has my initials engraved in it. It gold and silver inlayed, very well carved. Ugly as hell, though, and I’ll probably never wear it again. Kels says the look is important out here. Since I absolutely refused to wear a skirt, she decided I may as well go with the cowboy look. I absolutely drew the line at a hat and she wouldn’t let me get a six-shooter.

She looks at a rough, hand-drawn map, pointing again, which puts us on a road that hasn’t been graded since the 1800’s. Bumpy is a polite word for this road.

"Damn, Harper!" Jims yells, from the back, along with a thud. "Try not to kill the crew!"

"Shut up, kid," I growl. "I can kill you if I want. It’s in my contract."

Once we finally make it to the ranch, not only am I relieved, but every internal organ I have is as well.

"Ready, partner?"

"Oh yeah," I groan, turning my neck from side to side to get a very satisfying pop in each direction.

"Remind me to adjust your back when we get back to the hotel," Kels offers as she climbs out of the truck, smoothing her skirt down.

My back and a few other things, Little Roo.

I watch her as she walks to the front door of the sprawling ranch house. It really is like being back in time here. There’s the ‘big house’ (where Ben, Little Joe, Adam and Hoss would live), to the right is the requisite red barn, and to the left is a smaller house for the ranch hands. I don’t see any vehicles here, so we might just be shit outta luck on the whole deal anyway.

Kels is singing softly as she approaches the house. I’ve never heard her sing before. She’s not bad. Of course, she’s not going to get a recording contract anytime soon, but she can sing to me anytime she wants. Just not this song.

"This frog has a song to be sung;

"This frog isn’t gonna spend his life in a swamp, catchin’ flies with his tongue;

"This frog may slip and stumble, but this frog tries again;

"This frog never will grumble, but fall to rise again;

"This frog is staying with it, like a tick sticks to a dog;

"I’m gonna win!

"You’re gonna love this frog!"

I look at Jims, who is laughing in the back of the truck, having been listening along with me. "What in the hell is she singing?"

Between laughs, he replies, "It’s a Kermit the Frog song."

The woman needs help. Professional help.

She stops singing, mercifully, when she knocks on the front door. We all wait to see whether Professor Dale Sams is home. She’s starting to turn around, give up, when the door swings open and the professor stands before her.

Even from my vantage point, I can tell he’s from a different era. He’s tall and lean, as you imagine a cowboy being, and weathered from being out in the sun the majority of his life. His hair is jet black, like the oil in the ground beneath most of Texas, and he has a handlebar mustache that I could use on my Harley. The fact that I can see it from the truck is scary.

"Hello, Professor Sams?" Kelsey asks, opening up the screen door to shake his hand. I love it. Kels has done well as a reporter because she instantly breaks down barriers between herself and her subjects.

He takes her hand and nods. "Yes, that’s me. What can I do for you, Miss?"

She indicates the truck. "My name is Kelsey Stanton, I’m an old friend of Henry Richardson, and I’m with a television station out west."

I snicker. California is certainly out west. In fact, if you don’t stop there, your ass is in the Pacific. I’m pretty sure the professor thinks the west ends right around El Paso.

"Henry and Clay Jackson were telling me about the help you’ve been giving Clay down on his ranch. I was wondering I could impose on you for a few minutes for an interview. I am hoping to draw attention to this health crisis and get ya’ll some help down here."

The professor shrugs. "I don’t reckon we need much help from the government, Miss, they’re probably the ones who got Clay’s cattle infected in the first place. Damn anthrax – pardon my language – is actually more a sheep disease than cattle. But, once the government starts monkeying around with the virus, well, then it can go just about anywhere."

"Would you mind if I got my crew, so I can record what you’re saying? I’d really love to get you on camera, given your expertise in this field."

He hesitates, but finally agrees. I slap Olson on the back as I gather up my camera, mike, light pole and assorted other equipment. It takes a few minutes, but soon we’re ready to shoot. The professor and Kelsey are sitting on the front porch, both wired for sound – though I just clipped the mike on his shirt lapel – and I’m checking the lighting. I give Kels a little nod and begin rolling the tape.

"Professor Sams, you’re a professor at the University of Texas, San Antonio, in the biology department, correct?"

"Yes, Miss. I’ve been there for nearly fifteen years now. My focus is on environmental science."

"And how is that different from biology, Professor?"

"Well, it’s more a subset of it. My concern has been, and continues to be, the need for what I call a Caretakers’ Movement in today’s society to counteract the pollution and destruction of our environment. Most people in this world don’t have a caretaker’s heart for the environment. They use and abuse it and then expect everything to remain the same. It’s insanity, really. People like that don’t deserve the beautiful earth we’ve been given."

Kels pauses and checks her notes, keeping her expression neutral. He just concerned me with that comment too. "So, Professor, what should we, as responsible users of the environment, be aware of or sensitive to? I mean, I recycle and try not to waste resources, but it sounds like you have a deeper concern. Can you explain the real issues here?"

"Part of the problem is exactly in how you phrased the question, Miss. We aren’t supposed to be ‘users’ of the environment. If you read any of my publications, you’ll find that I have consistently advocated a Caretaker role. We borrow the earth from future generations. We may have the power to ‘use’ the environment, but we have no right."

The last four words come out harsh, staccato. This appears to be a sore point with the good professor.