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The late August early morning sun slowly evaporated the low coastal overcast hanging over the Ventura estuary, already heating the day as Neal loaded his reliable old 1955 Dodge pickup to head up the coast for his final year at UCSP. He carefully placed his beloved stereo record player on the floorboard in his pickup. The last thing he loaded was his eclectic collection of long play vinyl records, stacking them next to the player where they couldn't slide around.

Closing the pickup door, he stared at the house he had been born and raised in, wondering if there was anything else he might have forgotten? He walked back through the house double-checking. Well, if he had forgotten something, he could get it when he came home for a weekend.

Having said goodbye to his mother before she left for work, Neal climbed in and started the engine that he'd rebuilt with a little help from his older brothers before they joined up and got shipped off to Nam. He loved the new paint job he'd gotten this summer and the re-upholstered bench seat.

He drove down the street toward the Ojai Hiway feeling a bit nostalgic as he looked around the neighborhood where he had grown up. There were no concrete sidewalks in this part of town, only trails through the scraggly grass growing on each side of the pavement. Three huge oil storage tanks overshadowed the little houses with their little fenced-in, eucalyptus shaded yards, and the scattered oil well pumps looking like tired old grasshoppers flexing their back legs.

Neal tried not to think about his father who had been killed in an accident on one of the oil drilling rigs when he was seven. Sixteen years later the pain was still strong. He still missed his dad coming home every evening covered with grease and oil, and half an hour later coming out of the bathroom in clean clothes, his still wet, shiny black hair slicked back. Neal especially missed the hugs his dad would give each of his four sons and his kisses on their foreheads. He wondered if his brothers did.

He turned up the on ramp onto 101 - the Coast Highway - heading north. This was his favorite drive with the ocean on his left and high cliffs on the right. Soon the cliffs would give way to the Montecito Plain and then Santa Barbara and Goleta where UCSB is located. He could easily have gone to school there, but he'd wanted to get completely away from his mother's apron strings. UCSP was just far enough away to do that.

Two and a half hours later, the San Patricio Valley spread out before him as he crested the last hill. He let out a whoosh, when he realized he had been holding his breath. It was like coming home. He'd spent the last three years here except for the two months each summer spent working in the office at the Getty Oil Company back in Ventura.

He had even applied for employment with a company that was headquartered in this little town. If they didn't hire him after he graduated… well, he hadn't really thought that far in advance.

His heart skipped a beat as he thought about seeing Betsy again. They had been apart the whole summer. Neal loved the vivacious red head, and greatly admired her independence. Except for a week at home, she'd spent the entire summer working. Neal headed to the café where she worked, hoping she was there.

* * *

The hot early October air was strong with the slightly acrid scent of the sycamore trees that shaded the dusty street. Buzz ignored the heat as he studied the old store front occupied by the Campus Café. It had a plate glass window on each side of an inset door. Each window contained a table with four chairs.

One of Buzz's companies, the one he'd inherited, O&S Realty, owned the old brick building that the café occupied. He'd inherited it from his father along with most of the buildings in downtown San Patricio. This building had been earthquake proofed a few years back, but since it was on a side street, it had never been renovated. The café could afford to be there because the rent was so low. Buzz felt it was better to have a building occupied by a low rent tenant, than to have it standing empty.

He pulled a clean, white handkerchief from his left rear pocket and wiped the nervous perspiration from his forehead. Feeling feverish and almost giddy, he took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Then with determination, he clamped down on his emotions, strode across the street, took a newspaper from the sidewalk rack, and stepped through the door into a blast of noise.

His sensibilities were assaulted by the scent of patchouli, the unwashed body odors it was meant to hide, and the aroma of cooking food. He couldn't figure out why these young, longhaired kids didn't bathe daily and use deodorant. A fan mounted high on the wall, circulating the pungent air, did nothing to exacerbate the reek. A song blaring from the jukebox was one he'd heard his oldest son listening to - something about studying clouds upside down.

The paint was peeling on the high old molded-tin ceiling. The brick walls were hung with unframed, colorful, psychedelic, psychotic-looking paintings. Each had a big yellow price tag. He wondered why anyone would pay for something so garish.

The old linoleum floor was worn through to the black tar paper backing with the wood under-flooring showing through in some places. The tables and chairs were a mishmash - some wooden - some metal. Longhaired college kids, wearing headbands, beads, bright shirts and blouses, worn out jeans, long full skirts, and sandals, occupied most of the booths along the walls. Hippies he'd heard someone call them.

The young women turned to stare at him when he entered. The young men turned to see what the young women were looking at. Buzz ignored them all.

At thirty-four years old, six foot four with curly blonde hair and piercing brown eyes, dressed in an expensive business suit he looked the very successful businessman he was - a pillar of the community, and being at least fifteen years older than any of the kids in the room he was out of place in this little student café.

He chose to sit at the vacant table in one of the windows nooks facing the room with his back to the glass. He unfolded his newspaper and spread it out, then gazed around the room checking all the youthful faces. The information his people had said Neal Martin spent a lot of time here because his girlfriend worked here. Disappointed, he dropped his eyes back to the newspaper.

A young woman came up to his table. Her wavy auburn hair, cut short to lie around her face and neck, contrasted starkly with the long, stringy hippy girls' hair. She wore a short apron over a plain white blouse and a knee length blue skirt. Buzz assumed she was Neal's girlfriend.

"Hi, I'm Betsy," she pertly announced, offering him a handwritten menu card. Buzz smiled as he took it, noting the mischief dancing in her green eyes. He flashed her a flirty smile, and quickly studied the card. "I'd like a BLT with avocado, no sprouts, light on the mayo, white bread lightly toasted, and a cup of coffee - black. No potato chips."

"Cool," she said, giving him a bright smile before she whirled away.

Buzz watched her, thinking 'perky little pixy.' He picked up his paper and perused the headlines. The door opened; Neal walked in and Buzz's heart skipped a beat.

Slender and clean-shaven, Neal wore a freshly starched and pressed white dress shirt, sharply creased, beltless Levi 501's and polished black smooth-toed shoes starkly contrasting with the other young people. Buzz pictured Dagwood in the Sunday comics when he noted Neal's shiny blue-black hair - sides military short, parted in the middle with rakish strands hanging over each side of his forehead. A couple of rebellious stray spikes stuck up on the crown of his head.

Standing tall for only being five six, he walked up behind Betsy, grabbed her around her waist lifting her off her feet. He twirled her around as she squealed. When he set her down, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. He then walked to a small pedestal table at the back of the room and sat with his back to the wall. Despite his youth, he was as out of place here as Buzz.

Buzz watched as Betsy immediately joined him. As they talked, she stood close to him with her hand on his shoulder. Wetting her fingers on her tongue, she plastered down the errant spikes on the crown of his head and grinned when Neal slapped at her hand. She poured a cup of coffee and set it in front of him, then glancing at Buzz, quickly poured another cup and delivered it to him. "Sorry, Sir, I - I got distracted."

"That's okay." Buzz grinned and winked. "Who is that young fellow that distracts you so?"

Betsy blushed, glanced back at Neal and said offhandedly, "Oh, he's just a dear friend."

"Not your boyfriend?" He glanced at her and then looked at Neal.

She studied Buzz a moment; he was flirting with her, but seemed more interested in Neal. "No, he's just my best friend."

Buzz's heart skipped a beat as he thought about the implications. The dossier his security people had compiled after Neal had interviewed at the job fair on campus last year stated that Neal and Betsy were considered an item around the campus. Now he felt a little less guilty about what he wanted.

Buzz nodded, his eyes still on Neal. Feeling dismissed, she returned to the kitchen wondering why this man was so interested in Neal.

Buzz folded a section of the paper so he could hold it in one hand and peer past it at Neal, who was leaning back with his arms folded, balancing on the two hind legs of the chair. His piercing steel-grey eyes seemed to be looking right into Buzz's inner core. Buzz dropped his eyes back to the paper as he considered it. Then he realized with the bright sunlit window behind him, Neal could see no more than his silhouette. He glanced back up at Neal and thought, 'God, he's beautiful.'

Betsy delivered Buzz's sandwich, asked if he wanted anything more and returned to her station. Buzz pulled the crusts from around the sandwich and munched on it as he continually glanced at Neal, who had buried his head in a book. He caught the red head watching him with a slight frown and smiled at her. She nodded. Guilt washed over him like a splash of cold water. He shook his head, glanced at his watch as if he had just remembered an appointment, dropped the remnant of his sandwich on the plate, and wiped his mouth with the paper napkin as he stood up. Pulling out his wallet, he extracted a ten-dollar bill, tucked it under the edge of the coffee cup, and smiled again at the cute little redhead. Not looking again at Neal, he walked out.

Three minutes later, back in his office breathing deeply to relax his tense muscles, he leaned against the closed door. He glanced at Neal's dossier lying on his desk and sighed. Closing his eyes, he recalled the close-up in the dossier - his laughing grey eyes and his perpetual smile.

Crossing the room and collapsing into the high-backed desk chair, he scrutinized the room. The walls were covered with plaques and photographs commemorating the achievements of his career. He was bored with it all. It meant little to him anymore. This had been his life for the last fifteen-odd years and it had lost its meaning. Since Claire's death his dissatisfaction with his life had grown. Something had to change.

He lay back in his cushy executive desk chair. A photo of Neal poised on the edge of a pool in a small tight swimsuit appeared before his closed eyes. His wide muscular shoulders and narrow hips formed a 'V' torso. A 'T' of black hair trailed across his muscular chest and down his flat belly. He suddenly realized that it was this candid photo that had haunted his dreams before his wife had died two years ago. He opened his eyes to stop the daydream. Studying the paperwork on his desk, he attempted keep his mind occupied.

* * *

In the quiet little university town of San Patricio, life seldom varied from its day to day routine. Crime was seldom heard of - it was a safe place to live.

Sunday evening, Neal left the university library at closing time carrying a couple of texts and a notebook. He headed across the arched stone and concrete bridge spanning the river gorge that sliced through the town, separating the university from downtown. He often stopped in the middle of the bridge to enjoy the view up the valley, the old mission with its bell tower, the low adobe homes, the stately Victorian clapboards, and the grand old cottonwoods and sycamores. But as darkness approached, he hurried across it without slowing and headed toward the little two-room apartment he rented above a garage off the downtown area. During the day he would normally cut through the riverside park, but at night he always walked around it. Dusk was settling fast, so he stayed on the edge of the paved street.

Although the campus was well lit, the downtown area had old fashion pole lamps on each corner that left the middle of each block in darkness. A block from his apartment, next to an alley was a small bar. Every night for three semesters he'd passed the bar never considering it a dangerous place. As he passed the opened door he was assailed by the odor of stale beer and the twang of country music. He glanced through the door at the dark interior as he passed it. It was lit by neon beer signs. There were a couple of men at the pool table and a couple more hunched over the bar. As he started across the alley, a harsh voice grated out of the dark.

"Hey, perty boy."

Neal ignored it and continued walking. He heard footsteps behind him a moment before a rough hand grabbed his arm and yanked him around. His books scattered over the pavement. He got a lung full of stale alcohol laden breath as he felt strong rough arms embrace him.

An unshaven face rubbed the crook of Neal's neck as he heard a harsh whisper. "Bin watchin' yer perty li'l tight ass fer weeks, 'n' now I'm gonna git me sum of it."

A big hand grasped his butt and pulled him against a hard body. Neal struggled and could feel the man's hardness against his thigh. The nervous laughter of two other men barked out of the dark. "You college boys have such nice hot boy pussies," the man growled into his ear, one arm around his neck as he unbuttoned Neal's 501's with his other hand. "Git down on your knees and suck my cock, boy, git it good 'n' wet 'cause that's all the lube you're goin' t' git before I put it up your sweet li'l butt."

Filled with fear, Neal attempted to pull away. The large hand held him firmly by the back of his neck. "Behave like a good li'l queer and I won't hurt you."

Neal struggled, desperate to get loose. The man back handed him. Stunned and enraged, Neal kicked at the man, connecting with his crotch. The man grunted and hunched over, but didn't let go. "You goddam li'l faggot," he hissed through clinched teeth and flung Neal at the brick wall. Neal felt a sharp pain above his left eye as his nose crunched. He slid down the wall and toppled sideways. The man kicked him in his side. Barely conscious of the pain, he rolled into a fetal ball.

"Kicked me in the balls. I'll show you kickin'. I'll kill you, you son of a bitch," the man rasped, kicking Neal in the kidneys. Neal contorted in pain. The man kicked him again.

"Come on, Harry, you've had enough fun. You're goin' t' kill the kid," one of the man's companions whined.

The man stomped Neal hard in the stomach. Neal groaned and rolled back into a ball. He kicked at Neal again. The heavy boot missed connecting with his head, but the edge of the leather sole sliced open Neal's cheek from below his eye and up through his eyebrow. Neal rolled onto his back again, one arm flung out to the side. "Fuckin' faggot," the man mumbled still holding his balls with both hands, he stomped on Neal's hand and ground it into the dirt, as the two other men pulled Neal's attacker away. Neal screamed, but the loud country music inside the bar masked it.

Fading in and out of consciousness for several minutes, he finally attempted to get on his hands and knees. He gasped in pain and held his injured hand against his chest. The second attempt, using only his left hand, succeeded. He pulled up his jeans, but he couldn't button them with just one hand. He gathered his books and papers and managed to get them into a pile, but couldn't pick them up. He heard someone approaching and cringed when the man spoke. "What have we here? You drink too much, buddy? Here, let me help you up."

Neal pulled away. "I'm okay, leave me alone."

"Damn, man, you're hurt. Someone beat you up." Then seeing Neal's face, he yelled, "Damn man! You're really bleeding. Let me get help." The man ran back into the bar.

Neal tried to stand, but passed out and collapsed on top of his books. He came around as he was being lifted onto a gurney. "My books!" He could barely whisper through swollen lips.

"We've got them. Don't worry, we'll take care of everything," he heard someone say as he faded out again.

* * *

When he came to again, he was in a hospital bed. A pleasant matronly nurse was taking his pulse. "Ah, you're back with us. You took quite a beating, young man."

He couldn't breathe through his nose, or see out of his right eye. He had to turn his head to look at her. "My eye," he croaked. His mouth was dry, his lips felt like they were cracked.

"Yes, you're very lucky to still have it. We'll take the bandage off later and let the doctor check it."

"Pain. My hand."

"I know," she said, "the local anesthetics are wearing off, but until we know for certain that you don't have a concussion we can't give you anything for the pain. Now, is there someone we can call and let them know you're here?"

"Water, please," Neal croaked.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Of course… here. Can you sip though this straw?"

Neal raised his head and greedily sipped. He swirled the water around in his mouth and licked his lips. He lay back and sighed. "Betsy."

"Betsy?"

"Betsy Douglass." He recited the telephone numbers where she could be reached. The effort exhausted him.

"Okay, you just rest and we'll take care of everything. The doctor will be in to see you soon."

The doctor startled him awake with a cheerful, "Good morning," then kept up a running monologue on what he was doing as he proceeded to remove the bandage and peel the gauze and cotton padding off of his eye. The right side of his face was swollen and discolored. The doctor examined the stitches above and below his eye, then carefully attempted to separate the eyelids. Neal sucked air through his clinched teeth and the doctor stopped.

"I think we are going to have to wait until the swelling goes down to examine your eye. We'll put a cold compress on it and hopefully by this evening we will be able to open your eyelids to examine your eye. You're a very lucky young man. You nearly lost it. You're going to have some very sore ribs, but they weren't broken." He paused and smiled at Neal.

Filled with fear that he wasn't going to be able to see out of his eye, Neal didn't respond. The doctor continued, "Your right kidney is bruised. You'll be having a little blood in your urine, but that should clear up in a day or so. Your nose had to be set, which has given you two black eyes and the cuts above and below your eye had to be stitched.

"You hand will take a bit longer. The surgeon had to put a couple of pins in the crushed metacarpals. That's the bones in your palm. He feels you'll have complete use of it in six to eight weeks." The doctor took a big breath and let out an exaggerated sigh. "Other than that, you're in great shape, Mr. Martin." He chuckled at his own humor, as Neal tried to politely smile. The doctor stopped at the door and turned. "Oh, there's a sheriff's deputy outside waiting to question you. Are you up to it?" Neal nodded.

Neal attempted a smile when he saw that the deputy wasn't a paunchy old guy with prejudice and attitudes. This man looked like a Marine, but he was soft spoken and polite. He took an instant liking to him.

"Hi, I'm Deputy Jim Lewis. Feel like telling me what happened?"

Neal nodded, so the deputy pulled up a chair, sat down and started filling out the report form. Neal told him in detail what had happened and blushed when he repeated the nasty things the man had said to him. Deputy Lewis's countenance darkened, but he made no comments.

"Do you think you could identify this man if you saw him again?"

"Damn right I could. It may have been dark in the alley, but there was enough light to see his face. I don't think I'll ever forget it."

"Is there anything that would make it stand out in a crowd?"

"His nose, it looked like it had been squashed. There is a scar across it and his left cheek. He has dark hair. I can't tell you the color, or his eye color. One of the other men watching called him Harry. I would say he was at least six inches taller than me. Overweight. You know… a beer belly.

The deputy asked a few more questions, then said, "We'll do our best to catch the ass, Neal. It's okay to call you Neal, isn't it?"

Neal smiled and nodded.

The deputy grinned. "I'm Jim. I'll be in touch with you soon as we get the bastard."

Even in Neal's condition his sense of humor was still strong. "I thought you guys called them perps, Jim."

Jim laughed. "TV cops. We just call 'em as we see 'em. An ass is an ass. A bastard's just that."

Neal grimaced in pain as he laughed. "Keep in touch, Jim."

Jim gave him a smart salute and took his leave.

A nurse came in and gave him a pain pill for his headache and throbbing hand, and a mild sedative to help him relax and sleep.

He was awakened a little later by someone holding his hand. He turned his head and opened his unbandaged eye. Betsy was smiling at him. "Damn, you look like you ran into a brick wall" she said.

Neal grinned. "I did… literally. Then I was kicked and stomped."

"Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah, I'm not badly hurt. Bruised and sore mostly. Couple of bones in my hand are broken. I'll probably have a couple of scars on my face. Don't know about my eye yet. I'm scared, Bets. What if I can't see out of it?"

"Hey, that's why you were given two. You'll just have to use your spare."

"You're so full of it, Lady."

"That's why you love me, isn't it?"

"Yeah." He grinned.

Betsy turned serious and said, "I called your mom. She'll be here about six."

"You shouldn't have. I'm okay."

"Bull. She'd have my skin if I didn't."

They stared at each other a moment.

"So, you going to tell me what happened, or do I have to read the police report?"

Neal told the whole story again, this time leaving out the things the man had said and the reason for the attack.

He thought about the names he'd been called. He closed his eye as a tear trickle from it, and turned his head away so Betsy wouldn't see it.

Since his mother was head nurse at the Ventura County hospital she needed to be back ASAP, she stayed only long enough to make certain that he wasn't badly hurt. She kissed his undamaged cheek, admonished Betsy to look after him and left. Neal sighed with relief, joking that he was thankful she hadn't taken over to make sure he got the proper care.

* * *

Four days after his visit to the café, the dossier still lay untouched on the far edge of Buzz's desk. He dolefully stared at it. He'd resisted looking through it again - up 'til now. With a sigh, he reached for it. Opening it, he studied the close-up where a photographer had caught Neal smiling at someone. Buzz studied his wide set eyes, straight aquiline nose, generous mouth with a full lower lip and slightly cleft squared chin. He was beautiful, in a very masculine way.

He had to have this young man in his life. Feeling that this was meant to be, he didn't even consider that the young man might not be interested. Devising a plan, he implemented it as efficiently as if it was a business matter. First, he called the town newspaper to place an ad, then returned to the Campus Café to talk to Betsy.

When he entered, she was sitting at the table Neal had occupied four days earlier. She stood up and watched him look around the vacant room; it was almost too quiet. "Please, sit back down," he said, as he walked back to her table. "May I sit?" he asked.

Betsy nodded, looking uncomfortable, but sat back down.

"My name is Buzz Ogden. I am the president of Ogden Enterprises."

"Yes, just around the corner," she said. Her eyes held a hint of impishness mixed with concern and curiosity. "You're the exorbitant tipper."

Buzz blushed at the memory.

Something about this big imposing man blushing eased Betsy's hesitancy. He wasn't as invincible as he'd appeared. She smiled at him.

Ignoring his embarrassment, he told her, "My company occasionally hires graduates from the university. Neal Martin's file and job application were placed on my desk last week. I am most impressed with him, and I've noted that he has to work to fund his education. Does he have a job this semester?

"No. He was just released from the hospital this morning."

Startled, Buzz asked, "Has he been ill?"

"No. He was attacked and beaten on his way home from the library two nights ago."

"Damn! Is he okay?"

"Well, he may be blind in one eye. He'll have a couple of scars on his face and his hand will be in a cast for a while, but he'll be okay."

"Did they catch the man that did this to him?"

"They arrested him last night at the bar where it happened. Neal's supposed to go identify him this morning."

"Well, that's good to hear. I hope his eye is going to be okay."

Buzz paused and took a deep breath.

"Betsy, I intend to hire him at O.E. when he graduates. In the mean time, I figure I can help him financially by hiring him to tutor my young ones. Since their mother died their grades have declined. I don't want him to think I have singled him out, even though I obviously have. So…," he paused, "here's my plan. Tomorrow's paper will print an ad for the position. I need you to make sure he sees it and acts on it? Will you help me to help him?" He gave her his 'little boy begging' look that had always gotten women to do what he asked.

"I'd be delighted to, Mr. Ogden! This is wonderful."

"This is strictly on the Q. T."

"On the Q.T.," she agreed, grinning at him. Feeling comfortable in his presence, she decided that she liked this man. There was something about him that made her want to help him help Neal.

* * *

Buzz had never understood how one human being could so callously abuse another, especially one as handsome as Neal. Once back in his office, he fumed for a few minutes before he picked up his phone and called the Sheriff's office to inquire about what time Neal Martin was scheduled to identify his attacker. The deputy, knowing that Buzz and the sheriff were buddies, informed him that it was scheduled for 11:30. Buzz looked at his watch. It was ten after eleven. He put on his jacket and informed Martha that he was leaving for lunch.

He went directly to the Sheriff's office to see George. After a warm, welcoming hug, he explained that he wanted to be there when young Martin made the identification.

The sheriff studied his old buddy a moment, then asked, "What's your interest in this case, Buzz?"

Buzz shrugged. "I'm planning on hiring Martin as soon as he graduates. I also want to see what kind of animal can beat a young kid."

George accepted what Buzz said at face value and agreed to allow him to sit at the back of the room and observe.

George sat with Buzz, quietly visiting until the line up started. He candidly watched Buzz, noting his flared nostrils and heightened awareness when Neal Martin was led into the darkened room and seated in front of the mirrored window. He began to suspect there was more to it than what Buzz had stated.

"Damn, he is a good looking young man, Buzz, even with all those bandages on his head," George commented, watching Buzz. Buzz glanced at him, curtly nodded, and turned his eyes back to watching Neal.

Neal hesitated as he entered the room. He knew the sheriff by sight, and wondered about the man who was sitting with him at the back of the room. The room was too dimly lit to see him well. The deputy accompanying him directed him to sit in front of a darkened window. When the light came up on the other side of the pane, Neal gasped, feeling like he was on display. The deputy leaned over and whispered, "Don't worry, this is a two-way mirror. We can see them, but on the other side they can only see their own reflection.

When the line of prisoners filed in, Neal cringed when Harry seemed to look right at him with a disdainful sneer. Neal pointed at him and said. "That's him. The third on the left. I'll never forget that ugly face."

After Neal had positively identified the man who had attacked him and left, Buzz and George went back to his office. George sat down behind his desk and motioned for Buzz to take a seat, but Buzz stood staring at the carpet with his hands stuffed in his trouser pockets. "What's on your mind, Buddy?" George asked.

Buzz glanced up sharply at him. "You think he's good looking, do you?"

"Yeah. I do. So what's the problem?" George leaned back in his desk chair, interlacing his fingers behind his head.

Buzz sighed and collapsed into a high-backed chair in front of the big desk. "I do, too. I want that animal that beat him prosecuted to the full extent of the law."

"You're gonna have to talk to the D.A. on that one," George said, as he riffled through the file on the man. "The guy has got a record a mile long; all for assault and battery. It appears that his victims are all young men. None would press charges." He turned another sheet. "Shit, Buzz, after going over the guy's record, he's not even going to get bail before his trial. He's jumped twice. I don't think any judge would give him a chance to do it again. No… hold on. He has skipped out on bail three times. He's definitely here to rot until he goes to trial."

"Good. I'll make sure that Martin presses charges. We'll put the son of a bitch away." Buzz turned to go. "Thanks, George. I'll talk to you soon."

The sheriff leaned back in his high-backed desk chair and wondered what was going on with his ol' pal.

* * *

Buzz headed home to talk to Maria. When he walked in she immediately noticed a difference in his bearing. She had helped his mother raise him from a newborn baby and loved him as her own. She could read him as well as any natural mother.

"Buzzy, what has happened to you?" she asked, smiling up at him. "You look more happy."

"Mamacita, I need your help."

"Anything for mi hijito."

Buzz smiled at her endearment. He also loved her as though she were his mother. "I am hiring a young man to help my young ones with their school work. I placed an ad in the paper. If anyone calls about it, you tell them the job has been filled... except for Neal Martin."

"And Neal Martin? I tell este joven to come see you?

"You are a smart lady, Mamacita." He kissed her cheek.