Page 34 of Rocky Ride

“Yep. I did, son. I’m home. Just got here.”

“You’re home? Fantastic news. We’ll be there soon.”

“Looking forward to having a few beers with my boys, Harlan. Missed y’all so fuckin much, I couldn’t stand it no longer.”

“Missed you too, Dad. Virgie is gonna be so fuckin happy. He’s been foul-mouthed since you went up that fuckin mountain.”

Travis chuckled. Virge could be so funny. His boys were his treasure.

Sunday got the stove crackling, and the house began to warm up. She unloaded the truck then checked the fridge for what she needed and pulled everything out to make a big pot of stew.

“Smells good,” said Travis. “My boys can eat. Seems like they’re always hungry.”

“Decent food keeps them healthy, Dale.”

Virge parked the Jeep behind the house, and we ran in the back door. I could tell when I talked to Dad on the phone that he was fixed, and that was the best part. He’d been in a bad place after Olivia’s funeral.

Max and Sarge ran down the hall towards us barking and howling like a pack of wild dogs and it kind of surprised me to see they had a big dark brown Lab with them.

“Hey, we got us a new dog,” said Virge. “Smells like Dad has been cooking.”

We hustled into the kitchen and saw a blondie-red haired girl stirring a pot on the stove. Huh.

“Come over here and give me a hug,” hollered Travis. He wasn’t getting up to hug us and I noticed his leg was propped up on the wooden coffee table.

We both leaned down and hugged Dad and he said, “This is Sunday. She’s my neighbor from farther up the mountain.”

“Didn’t think there was no neighbors,” said Virge. “What happened to your leg?”

“Wolves got me when I was scoping out a good place for the ashes. Sunday came along and saved this old man’s life.”

“Thanks, Sunday,” said Virge. “We needed our Dad to come on home real bad.”

She smiled. “I can see that you did.”

“This is Billy,” said Travis. “He lives with me and the boys. We’re a family.”

“Hey, Billy,” said Sunday. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too, Sunday. That’s a nice name.” Billy looked at Sunday real hard.

“Whatever you’re cooking there on the stove smells good, Miss Sunday,” said Virge. “We been eating kind of sporadic since Dad went up the mountain.”

“Get us a beer, son. It’s time to celebrate.”

“Copy that, Dad. It’s Miller time.” Virge laughed at his own joke.

Music Row. Nashville. Tennessee.

Casey and Ardal continued their search of the bars on Music Row all day long. They heard a lot of great bands and singers and drank a lot of great beer while they showed the picture and asked questions all up and down the strip of music clubs.

Casey felt the search was going well. They had hit one club where the bartender recognized Bobby Prescott’s picture.

“Yep, I remember this guy. He sat here all one afternoon—that table right over there—while his partner peddled his songs to different music producers here in the city.”

“What did the songwriter guy look like? Can you remember?”

“Yep. Not too big. Dark hair to his shoulders. Regular looking musician.”

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