Tap the Hard Rock
Copyright© 2026 by Sonarflash2026
Chapter 5
Brad stared into the distance, biting off a piece of crisp molasses gingersnap. Francine Jarvis, elderly widow, regarded him cooly, poured lemonade over ice and pushed the tumbler at him, certain he wasn’t tasting the cookie or hearing a word she spoke.
“Want a shot of my white lightning in this? You’re lookin’ in serious need.”
He blinked, furrowed brows, then slowly shook his head. He picked up the glass and sipped.
“What happened?” the widow asked. “You sent me a text with a picture of that lovely girl, then you show up here looking like a man what got kicked in the Huevos.”
“That’s about the shape of it,” he said, taking another bite from the spicey cookie. “She’s a prickly, independent woman. Booted me out when I said something stupid.”
“Stupid like?” Francine prompted.
“That I was worrying about consequences. Complications. She was coming on to me. Hell Francine, she wanted to take me to bed! We just met and she was already willing!” We hardly knew each other.
Francine’s white brows arched. “That’s serious. Of course, you weren’t interested in bedding this woman, were you?”
He blushed, drew a breath and sighed. “Thought crossed my mind,” he admitted. “I was fighting the urge. I’ve learned to do that. Exercising self-control and all that.”
“Been eight years since Jeanette passed on,” she observed quietly. “Long time for any man to be without sex, or love. Long time for those girls to be without a momma.” He started to protest but she silenced him with a look and waggling forefinger. “I know Jeanette’s momma has been a great help and loving grandma, but those girls need a younger woman taking them in hand. Especially at their age. Lord, Brad, they’re already tweens! Be young women ‘fore you know it!”
He sighed again. “I don’t think Bonnie is the motherly type. Besides, I really screwed the pooch on that score.”
“Actually, it sounds like history repeatin’ itself,” she mused aloud. “As I recall, that first time with Jeanette, you werren’t much thinkin’ ‘bout consequences. Just went with your gut. That seems to work best for you in this kind of situation. Hell, it’s what made you succeed in most all of your business ventures.”
He blinked, spearing her with an intense look. “You saying she’s like Jeanette? It isn’t the same! Not even close!”
Francine slowly shook her head, narrowing her eyes at him. “How in hell do you know? Sounds like you weren’t actually doing much thinking. I saw something in that picture. That’s one fine western girl. What really happened? Your text message said you shot a big rattler that was fixin’ to strike her?”
He snorted, then nodded. “Two rattlers. We had more words and I was set to come here, but she stopped me, and then while she was apologizing, well, she kissed me. She looked shocked. Scared both of us I guess.”
“You sitting way up on Tango and she kissed you?” she said with a wry smirk. “She must be tall, and downright forward.”
He snorted. “Well, she is tall. About five nine. But, I was bent way over, nose to nose, telling her she had a gorgeous smile. That’s when she kissed me, looking right into my eyes the whole time. Then, she jumped back like a scared jack rabbit, all embarrassed and afraid.”
“So, she kissed you first, then got scared?”
He nodded. “But she took me up on an offer of a ride back to her trailer ... She jumped on behind, then got all sexy.” He blew out a breath. “Later, my bringing up about her divorces set her off. That and finding out my security people had investigated her. She blew up and kicked me out.”
“No shit!’ Francine made a soft whistle. “Boy, you sure did make a fool of yourself. I don’t think chocolates and flowers will patch that up. Like gettin’ tangled in barb wire.”
He bit off more cookie, trying to sort jumbled thoughts, mind adrift in a chaos of regrets, confusion and twisted emotions. He sipped lemonade, wondering if a good belt of Francine’s moonshine would help quell the roiling conflict and settle his mind.
“I’ll just leave this one alone,” he said, finishing off the gingersnap. No end of other issues to deal with. Got to get home.” He shuddered, remembering his attempts to wrangle a business deal with Lady Elaine Roth. “Probably a stack of messages to sort through, and I’ve got that other woman to deal with.”
“That English aristocrat still trying to snare you into marriage?”
“Exactly,” he said, gulping down the last of his lemonade. “I’ve got to ride. Be near dark before I get home. I’ll be lucky to snatch a couple hours sleep tonight.”
He rose, leaning over her. Francine offered him a wrinkled, dusky bronze cheek. He kissed her, mindful of the soft, aged flesh, loving the contact, sensing the depth of affection between them.
Francine sighed. Still sitting at the porch table, she watched as Brad swung into the saddle, waved and galloped away. After several minutes consideration, the elderly woman rolled her eyes and blew out a breath. She took out her cell phone, bringing up the photograph of Bonnie McWilliam, once again studying the girl’s eyes.
“Men are such idiots,” she muttered, shaking her head. “She’s got Jeanettes eyes. No wonder he’s runnin’ like a skairt’ rabbit!”
Bonnie puzzled over the text message on her cell, set it aside and stared out the living room picture window, seeing but not really taking notice of the Garry drill rig.
Two days after blowing up, ordering a billionaire from her trailer, two women and a suited man were at her door. Dressed to the nine’s, a woman introduced herself as the senior manager of Garry Drilling. With deference, the woman told her that Brad Garry had given his word, so his drilling subsidiary would replace Donell’s crew and equipment in a few days. When she protested, the manager showed her a contract authorized and signed by the billionaire, cost at par with Donell’s bid. Not about to look a fool, Bonnie signed. Within days, the drilling resumed.
New trailers and modern equipment had replaced Donell’s shabby outfit. Even though Brad hadn’t shown his face around the site, drilling had gone on steadily for the past week without a problem. Additionally, not one of the Garry men dared more than a quick glance her way. None had been rude to her or been suggestive.
Bonnie thoughtfully turned a foot-long section of core sample in her hand, examining traces of rare earth elements. There was even a tiny pocket of black and orange that made her Geiger counter go wild, the radioactive inclusions hardly worth notice.
“Still no veins. No substantial mineral deposits,” she muttered, laying the core sample in a wood tray on the coffee table.
She picked up her cell, reading the text for a third time.
“Soul mates are rare. Even good men can act like idiot children. He may not realize that you have Jeanette’s eyes. He’s probably as scared as you.”
“Why should I care?” she asked aloud, sighing, wondering, ‘why is some old woman I haven’t hadn’t even met bothering? Why text me For that matter? Why in hell is she concerned? This Francine a busybody? Or worse, a matchmaker?’
She pushed off the sofa and put on her Stetson. Wearing sandals, she left the trailer. For a few minutes, she just stood next to the steps, taking in dusty, alkali breezes, becoming lost in regrets, unable to shake off a lingering depression. Francine’s text hadn’t helped. Reminders of Brad Garry didn’t help. Nothing helped. Her insides were in a turmoil. She turned and started ambling towards the drilling rig, trying to not think of Brad Garry.
A loud yell from the drill foreman snapped Bonnie out of her reverie. Suddenly, everything stopped. Bonnie glanced over to the platform, wondering if something had broken again, or worse, if somebody had been injured. She touched her pocket, making certain she had her cell and keys to her SUV. Then, the rig’s Diesel stopped. Everything fell silent. The clanking of chain and machinery ceased. Then, Men were scattering. Two riggers jumped off the platform, bolting up the hill towards her. A low rumbling reached Bonnie, shivering up from the ground through her sandals. A hissing of air built in volume and pitch. Within seconds, the noise had risen to a shrill whistling.
“Open blowout valves!” the head engineer bellowed.
“Oh lord, no!” Bonnie groaned. “It can’t be gas! There isn’t supposed to be any natural gas!”
There was an explosive blast of air. A gyser of dark, muddy liquid burst into sight. The brown column rose and spread, enveloping the gantry. Burping and belching, drilling mud pulsed into the air, mushrooming out in a filthy rain. Seconds later, Bonnie felt it splattering on her white Stetson and blouse. Sloppy blobs of drilling muck were splattering down everywhere. Along with the hissing rush, a pulsing, surging jet of liquid began to clear. After a minute, the whole area was being showered by a rain of clear, icy cold water.
Men started laughing and slapping each other on the back. The drill forman came over to her, cheeks looking flushed.
“We finally busted through that hard rock ma’am. Got you an artesian well.”
Bonnie moved closer to the mobile derrik, lifting her face to the misty shower. Soon, the frigid spray made her hat limp. She pulled it off and was quickly Soaked to the skin. Clean water ran down her cheeks, masking her tears.
“Ah, Mizz McWilliam,” the foreman said, touching the peak of his hard hat. “Not safe for you to be this close, ma’am. Might spit out bits of rock or pipe. if you’ll pardon my saying, your soaked and the guys can’t help but stare.”.” He tried to suppress a grin. “You sure would win any wet T-shirt contest.”
Bonnie glanced down at her chest, gasped and blushed furiously. Her silk blouse and lace bra were all but transparent. stiff from the cold spray, pink nipples were showing.
Bonnie didn’t wait to hear more. She bolted for her trailer. For the first time in two weeks, she heard wolf whistles and a few appreciative cat-calls before reaching sanctuary. After making her escape, she relaxed in the shower, wondering what to do next.
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