somebody was watchinâ us, too.â
âLike maybe the IRS?â
âI canât see any reason why they would,â G. W. said with a frown. âBut at the same time, you canât really put anything past those olâ boys. They play fast and loose with the truth and the rules, and theyâve been doinâ that ever since somebody decided workinâ for the government means workinâ for the Democratic Party.â
âStill, skulking around a ranch doesnât seem like something the IRS would do,â Kyle said. âDo you have any other enemies?â
âNot that I know of, but Iâve always been plainspoken enough that thereâs no tellinâ who might have me on a list somewhere.â
Kyle knew that was true. Growing up in a suburb of Dallas, heâd been surrounded by liberal attitudes all his life, and naturally he had accepted most of them. When he was young, his grandfatherâs opinionated personality had rubbed him the wrong way on many occasions.
It had taken being out in the real world and seeing how things actually worked to open Kyleâs eyes to the facts. He had worked construction during the summers while he was in high school, and that had taught him as much as any classroom ever could.
âYou think itâs safe for me to go back out and get my duffel bag from the truck?â he asked.
âYeah, whoever it was, theyâre gone.â
âBut theyâll be back?â Kyle guessed.
âMore than likely.â G.W. had a thoughtful look on his face as he went on. âBut now that youâre here, maybe whateverâs goinâ on, we can put a stop to it.â
Chapter 12
T he rest of the day passed uneventfully. G. W. didnât press Kyle for details about what heâd been doing since heâd seen him last, and Kyle didnât volunteer any. He just told his grandfather that heâd been drifting around, seeing the country.
Basically, that was the truth. When he was in a city big enough to have a day labor center, he picked up odd jobs that way, and when he had enough money for a bus ticket and to take care of his other needs for a while, he moved on.
Several times he had been approached by guys who wanted him to stand on a street corner with a sign saying he was a homeless veteranâwhich was technically true, Kyle supposedâand beg money from people who drove by.
Kyle had turned down every one of those invitations, and none too politely, as well. Whatever he had, even though it wasnât much, he worked for it. And when he couldnât get enough work, he did without.
He was perfectly willing to accept G.W.âs hospitality, though. Family was family, after all. And Kyle was willing to do whatever he could to help out around the place, too, and pay his grandfather back that way.
That evening G. W. fired up the grill on the back porch, and when he had the bed of coals the right shade of red, he wrapped two potatoes in aluminum foil and put them down in the coals, under the rack. Then two thick steaks from the refrigerator went on the grill, too.
Kyle thought it all smelled wonderful.
âI donât suppose weâre going to have a salad with that,â he said.
G. W. snorted and said, âIf you want rabbit food, thereâs the makinâs for it in the icebox. Help yourself.â
Kyle had to laugh.
âYouâre a living, breathing time warp, you know that, G.W.?â
âNot sure what you mean by that, so I reckon Iâll take it as a compliment.â
âThatâs fine. Thatâs pretty much the way I meant it.â
When the food was ready, they sat on the back porch with their plates in their laps and longnecks on the floor beside them. The mountains rose before them, with a rosy glow from the fading sunset behind them.
The scene was such a peaceful one that it made Kyle angry to think that the government wanted to force G. W. off his land. His
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