Chapter 88

WEDNESDAY MORNING — SEPTEMBER 25

Jeff sat in the living room as the new day made its way onto the mountain. The snow had stopped earlier in the night, but the clouds were low and thick — and from his little experience with snow, looked to him like they might not be done with the white stuff.

By the time Little One finished with the Sheriff and his wife, there had been little point in trying to go back to bed. He had spent many nights combat-sleeping while on missions, and he seemed to require much less sleep now that Little One had enhanced his body, so he felt fine — well, had, until the treadmill. The treadmill had been... boring. And that was the best thing he could say about it. Of course, it beat busting his butt on the snow on the driveway and the mountain road. He knew that his wives had been using treadmills since he had started them jogging, but he marveled at their tenacity in apparently overcoming the boredom. He had used the stair machine for longer than he generally did — mostly to get away from the treadmill.

Sheriff Tate walked in carrying two cups of coffee. "Your, uh ... wives sent you this," he said, putting a cup down on the table next to Jeff. "Sorry about that," he said. "It just seems ... odd to say wives instead of wife. Hell, I don't know how you do it. Virginia gets her panties in a wad if she even thinks I may have looked at another woman. I swear the older I get, the more jealous she gets. Talking to her about it does absofuckinglutely no good."

Not sure how to respond to that, Jeff took a sip of the hot coffee as Tate sat down, then motioned to the view outside the glass wall. "Looks like the snow isn't done, yet."

"Yeah, you might be right," Tate said glancing out the window." He pushed the recliner back a little, then took a sip. "Damn, that's good. What kind of coffee is this?"

Jeff told him, but added, "Several people have asked about the coffee. It's not all the coffee, and it certainly isn't all that exotic; although, I do like the Breakfast Blend of the Marques De Paviva that we get at Sam's Wholesale, but I think the main thing is that the water is filtered so many times. I have a copy of the test that Frank had run on the well water when he built the place. The water is pure even before the filtering. The lack of chemicals in the water here probably goes a long way toward making coffee that is less bitter and has a better natural taste.

"If you think about it, most cities that get their water from a river are drinking the sewage from cities above them. Oh, it's 'processed' before returning it to the river, and then the next city processes it again, but any way you look at it, it's had feces and urine in it at some point. Then they dump in enough chlorine to, hopefully, kill any bacteria that are left."

Tate looked at his coffee for a moment. "Well, at least around here, the cities and towns generally get their water from wells, but yeah, I know what you're talking about. Much of the water in the US has some type of contaminate in it, if not what you mentioned, then chemicals from industry all over the country."

"I don't know what Frank managed to tap into when he had those wells drilled, but there's a whole column of things that the lab checked for. Other than a few minerals that are basically good for us, everything else is either zero or almost unbelievably low. Plus there's a guide of 'acceptable' amounts so you have a better awareness of what all the numbers mean. Just after we came here and I saw the test results, I got on the net and checked some of our major cities. What's in their drinking water will scare you."

Tate took another sip of his coffee, thinking, then. "If it's that pure, maybe I should talk to you about getting some from time to time for our drinking and cooking water." He had started his comment with the intention of making a joke, but realized that he meant it.

"You're welcome to it, anytime. And I would encourage you to do so. There's certainly enough of it. The driller's report on the wells is in the kitchen office with some ungodly amount of flow per hour. And there are two of the wells about a quarter of a mile apart. The water is ice-cold, even in the summer. The driller told Frank that the water was probably coming from very deep down; although, how it got up this far on a mountain is something I know nothing about. Frank tried to lecture me on folds and tectonic faults, but all I know about it is that rock folds are something that occur in the Rockies."

"So you wouldn't mind if I brought up some jugs on a regular basis?"

"Jugs? Heck, let's look on the internet and see if we can come up with something better than that. Maybe some stainless steel drums, or a tank that you can put on a pickup truck and use a winch to take it off when you get home, or maybe have it permanently mounted on a trailer."

Thinking a moment, he continued, "Helen is always coming up with practical research projects for the girls. I'll mention it to her. Chances are that in a couple of days they will have a system designed that will astonish you. It would give them an excuse to use a CAD program..."

"Uh, I don't want to get the 'girls' as you call them, aggravated at me. And that might just happen. Besides, all I need are a couple of fifty-five gallon drums and a winch..."

Jeff interrupted as he laughed. "You won't get anyone mad at you. You don't know my girls. They'll take it as a challenge, and the result might just surprise you."

"Okay. I'll sure truck a little water down the mountain to get coffee that tastes like this."

Momentarily running out of things to talk about, both men just sat looking out the window. Finally, "I want to thank you for what you did last night. I never expected you to do Elizabeth and me. I thought you had just picked the wrong bedroom when you came in this morning..."

"So how do you know that I did anything to you?" Jeff asked as he tried to keep his voice neutral.

Tate sniggered a little. "I think you know the answer to that. I saw you come in this morning. There was some kind of blue glow, then I woke up feeling like a million dollars. I feel better than I've felt since ... Hell, I don't know. But it's been a long time. I'm pushing fifty, but I feel damn good this morning. Virginia woke me trying to tickle me. She was giggling like a kid.

"I walked down the hall behind the two women, and Elizabeth was barely limping. She said that her hip and knee didn't hurt at all this morning, and were just a little stiff. Both of them were sure that it was the elevation and reduced air pressure that had something to do with Elizabeth's joints being better. I wonder what they're going to blame it on in the morning when we're at home," he finished, grinning.

"Remember, Quinton..."

"No need, Jeff. They don't have a clue, and I'll make sure it stays that way. Elizabeth started some new medicine last week for her autoimmune problems. She'll think that is the reason. Although it's going to be hard for me to keep my mouth shut about feeling better, I will. Thank you, Jeff. I never expected you to use your invention on Virginia and myself, but you know that I appreciate it. To see Elizabeth walking down that hall this morning..."

After another lull in the conversation, Jeff caught Tate's eye. "What do you know about Alpha Males, Quinton?"

Tate chuckled. "Well, I know a guy who sure thinks he's one, or at least thought so yesterday. Of course the little twerp might not think that this morning while he's sitting in that jail cell wishing for another crack rock."

"I would have thought that they would have made bond by now," Jeff said.

"Ah, they'll probably keep them for seventy-two hours or so. But the SAC and the Attorney General have both mentioned flight risks, so I expect the bond to be high when they get around to setting it."

"What about the guy who faked the tape?"

"The SAC called me before I left the DA's office last night and said that they had a warrant for him, but he must have gotten word, because he wasn't at his home. His wife claimed that he packed a bag for a hurried trip and left without telling her where he was going. If he's dumb enough to call his home, they'll have him. I suspect that he's headed for Mexico or some such."

"So it really is over?"

"Yeah, it is, but I hate to think what this has done to Deputy Cramer. Some of the old heads might have expected to be fucked over, but she's young and hasn't gone through anything like this before. This just plain blindsided her, and I hate that."

"Life's a bitch — then you die," Jeff said, only half joking.

"Coming from a guy with a half dozen wives and more money than he can count..." the Sheriff said with a grin, leaving the sentence hanging.

"Yeah, God has been good to me — to us. But we've had a bump or two. Now back to the Alpha Male. What do you know about the subject?"

Tate realized that Jeff was serious. "Well ... I guess it's someone who thinks he's better than everyone else for one reason or another. Maybe bigger, stronger. Things like that. Maybe smarter."

"My wife thinks you're an Alpha," Jeff said, looking Tate straight in the eye.

"She ... Shit, Jeff. I don't know what to say about that. I'm just a small-county Sheriff. There's nothing special about me. Hell, you could buy and sell me with your pocket change. County Sheriffs don't make a killing, even the rich counties like El Paso, Adams or Arapahoe. Why would she think I'm an Alpha? What the hell is an Alpha Male, anyway?"

Jeff just looked at Tate and grinned. "There's not an easy answer to that. But I think she's right." I know damned well she's right, he thought. "But since you mentioned the assistant DA, he's absolutely not one. An Alpha isn't someone full of bluster and pride. Far from it. An Alpha doesn't have to brag, nor try to convince everyone that he's the best..."

"Come and get it before we throw it out," Diana said over the PA.

"We'll talk more later," Jeff said, standing. Retrieving his cup, he motioned for Tate to precede him. "Let's get some food inside us. Plenty of time to talk about things later."

A confused Sheriff grabbed up his empty cup and headed for the kitchen.

After first sitting at the table to have the blessing, all began filling their plates at the breakfast bar/steam tables.

Quinton, Virginia and Elizabeth each acquired someone to make them feel welcome as they loaded their plates. Although it looked casual, it wasn't.

"Oh, quit being bashful," Jennie told Virginia. "That's not enough to keep a bird alive. Here, try a couple of these pancakes; they're small. Let's get you another plate so the topping won't mix with your eggs. What do you want? Strawberries, cherries, whipped cream, maple syrup..."

Virginia and Elizabeth, who had both been a little uptight about spending the night in such luxury, not to mention with people they didn't know very well, soon relaxed. By the time everyone was seated, even Virginia was smiling for real, despite the obvious harem that Jeff had. Somehow, it didn't bother her as much just then; she just felt too good this morning.

Elizabeth, for the first time in months, had gotten up and moved about without pain, sometimes excruciating, in her lower back and knee. She had automatically reached for her pain pills as soon as she awakened, then had stopped just after opening the bottle. Almost too good to believe, she moved her leg experimentally, then sat up on the side of the bed. No pain. No pain.

She had still expected it to hit as she carefully stood. When it still didn't, she stripped off the gown that had been hanging in the closet for her last night and walked slowly toward the most beautiful shower she had ever seen. By the time the shower was over, she caught herself quietly singing. I haven't sung in my morning shower since ... he died, she thought. Dear God, it feels good to not hurt.

When she had opened her door to go wake Virginia, both she and Quinton were on the couch in the sitting room waiting for her.

"My gosh, you look great this morning," Virginia greeted her.

Elizabeth had laughed aloud. Something else she seldom did since her husband had died and this autoimmune thing had kicked in. "I feel good, too," she acknowledged, hugging Virginia, then Quinton. "It must be the altitude. I know that old people used to say that they could tell when the weather was going to change by the way their arthritis began to hurt more. I've heard it speculated that the change in air pressure might have made it. But if that were it, it's helped mine instead of making it hurt worse. I don't hurt anywhere, and I didn't even take a pain pill this morning."