Ace left his clothes in the duffel he’d brought in. No use unpacking since he
didn’t know how long he’d be staying.  The room was luxurious by Ace Evans standards with a high double four-poster flanked by two night stands, a big window overlooking Pecan Street, and a door that opened onto the second story balcony.
           
He stepped out and looked down the street.  Some kids were playing on the sidewalk half a block down, jumping rope.  A guy was hosing suds off his car, another tinkering with a lawnmower in the driveway.  Small town America.  Quiet.  Anonymous.  Safe.
           
Ace took advantage of the bathroom down the hall and showered off road dirt and the pork-rind grime from Leets Store.  The water wouldn’t get full hot like he hoped, but after all, it was an old house and maybe Annie had just done some clothes or something.  No biggie.  It sure wasn’t a rooming house.  It was the Travers’ home and even though he was paying for the room he felt like a guest.
           
He wondered for a moment what Annie thought of his looks, seeing as how he’d given her the once over.  He kept his black hair cut short but not military short, not any more.  His brown eyes were so dark his wife told him when he got mad they almost looked black.  His thin nose matched his thin face.  His wife also told him he was a handsome devil more than once.  He didn’t miss the compliments but he missed her voice every damn day.
           
Ace turned his head to the side, looked in the mirror, marveling again at the job the doctors had done with the scarring. He lathered up, winced at the lukewarm shave, and dressed in his usual jeans and tee with a long tailed over-shirt.
           
The afternoon lay ahead.  Ace decided to track down Tubbs the next day and wanted to have supper with Annie and her kids that evening.  Something roasty and wonderful was drifting in the air.  He was looking forward to spending at least one evening in pleasant normal company; looked forward to an evening off the road.  Ace promised to be back by dinnertime and headed out on foot toward the downtown that Annie said was three blocks over and four blocks up.
           
 As usual he didn’t take a direct route.  He hoped anyone watching would think it curiosity, and in a way it was.  Only Ace knew it was reconnaissance, threat assessment, whatever.  It was habit.  He hoped it wasn’t necessary.
           
The Travers’ house sat on a rise with a large tree strewn yard all around.  Plenty of cover for an approach.  There was a two story garage at the rear of the oversized lot. He’d moved his truck back there earlier. The side and back windows on the second floor would be good sniping positions.  The house was wood construction.  Old.  A tinderbox.  Defensively, the house was worthless.
           
For a long minute Ace pondered checking out, gathering his duffel and moving somewhere else.  He didn’t want any trouble coming down on Annie and Val and Chaz.
He shook off the idea.  He hadn’t even had a tingle that anyone had been following him for weeks.  It was probably safe.  And he needed a rest.  Two years had taken its toll and obviously Tubbs’ place was out of the question.
           
While he strolled along the tree-lined sidewalks in the general direction of downtown Ferris’ Bluff it occurred to him that he could look for work, maybe stay on there for a while.  Sure, it was a dry county and he did enjoy a beer or a whiskey of an evening, but the town just had a sort of aura of being safe.  No interstates nearby.  Hot Springs was over a half hour, more like forty five minutes away, and it wasn’t much of a city.  Little Rock was almost two hours north and Little Rock was no LA or New York City.  Not by a long shot. 
           
The Dixie Mafia didn’t worry him.  He’d never pissed them off.  New York, now that was worth some worry.
           
He’d check out the town.  Maybe some shopkeeper had a sign in the window.  Wanted:  ex- navy seal/former undercover operative for general, small engine, mechanical, and electronic repair work.  Must be reliable and have own tools.  $5.25 hr.  Two small boys stared at him when he laughed out loud at the thought.
           
Ace stopped at the small park at the edge of downtown, a peaceful sprawl of green lawn with shaded benches along a small creek, home to several majestic trees. Pecans most likely.  He studied the brass plaque inset into a slab of stone proclaiming the park to be the site of the Civil War battle, Ferris’ Bluff.  The wording confused him.  Shouldn’t it read ‘the battle of Ferris’ Bluff’?
           
And something else nagged at him.  Ace turned a slow complete three-sixty, taking in the park, the downtown buildings, and the streets lined with houses.  The land here was almost pancake flat.  The foothills of the Ouachita Mountains began their climb a short distance away, sure, but the plaque said the park was the battle site.  There was no hill or bluff or mound or rocky outcropping of any sort in Ferris’ Bluff.
          
Huh.
           
The downtown proper was four blocks long.  Most of the buildings were brick, some reddish, a couple of them a buff color, and a few buildings were wood framed and sided.  The only steel and glass he saw was the façade of the Piggly Wiggly grocery store.
           
Piggly Wiggly?  Hadn’t there been a Piggly Wiggly near one of the naval bases the old man had dragged them to once?  Mobile, maybe?  Ace scratched his head.  Jacksonville?  Didn’t matter.  Hell, even as a kid he’d thought it was a dumb-ass name for a grocery.
           
 Most of the store fronts looked occupied and that surprised him.  He’d spent two-plus years riding blue highways through a hundred small towns across the country and damn few of them looked this prosperous.  Ferris’ Bluff had a sewing shop, two drugstores, and another, smaller grocery that looked more like a meat market.  A couple of cafes.  There was a dentist, two law offices, a storefront church, and wonder of wonders, a five-and dime.  Obviously not a chain store, the hand painted sign said Crosley’s Five & Dime, right there over the door.
           
Ace found Stover’s Book-N-Pawn and poked his head in to see if Dicky was there.  A woman looked up from the counter and snarled, “hep you?”  She was a good six feet tall and half again as wide, a frizzy redhead, and kind of mean looking.  Mrs. Dicky?  No wonder he hung out at Leets Store.
           
“Maybe later.”  Ace gave a small wave and backed out of the door.
           
And there it was, taking up half of the last block on the north side, Drury’s Hardware.  Not a big box home improvement store, not a self-serve fake lumberyard, a real honest-to-goodness hardware store.  Ace opened the door and stepped inside.  Yep, sawdust on the floor and yep, clutter and tools and smoke pipe and metal dust pans and tools, stacked and hung floor to ceiling.  The aroma of pipe smoke hung faintly in the air.  Ace loved hardware stores, real ones, the more cluttered and ancient the better. 
           
“Afternoon,” a slight gray haired man in a once-white button down shirt, perched on a stool behind the wooden counter said.  “Help you find something?”
           
Ace smiled for the third time that day, or was it the fourth?  It felt good not to be able to keep track.  “And steal all my fun?”
           
The man on the stool chuckled.  “I think I know what you mean.”  He stretched out a hand.  “Art Drury.”
           
“Ace.  Ace Evans” 
           
“You know, you buy this place and put your name on it, people will start thinkin’ this is some dang chain store.”  Drury laughed and they shook hands across the counter.     
           
“Never happen,” Ace assured him.
           
“Well, wander on then, sailor.  Never know what you might find in here.”  Drury was still chuckling but Ace stopped short.  Sailor?  How the hell did he know that?  He’d left the Hi-Power under the truck seat, locked up.  Drury was a little guy.  Ace could handle him with no problem.  And then what?
           
“How do you figure that?”  Ace asked.  Drury pointed to the tattoo peeking out from Ace’s t-shirt sleeve that had ridden up on his arm.  It was hot and he’d taken the over-shirt off and tied the long sleeves around his waist earlier.
           
“Hold Fast.”  Drury pointed at Ace’s arm then unbuttoned his cuff and rolled his own sleeve back to reveal a faded blue ‘fouled anchor’ tattoo.  “I did my tour in the brown water Navy in Nam.  Swift boats.  You?”
           
Ace sighed in relief but didn’t want to get into his long and complicated story.  Then again, Drury was a pleasant enough fellow, a non-threatening little old guy.  Nam plus forty years put him one side or the other of sixty.  And he ran a hardware store for cryin’ out loud.  Face it, Ace thought, it’s getting harder and harder keeping track of all the lies and stories.
           
“SEALS.  Team Six.” Ace shrugged.
           
“No shit?”  Drury looked impressed.  Hoo-ah! “
           
“Long retired,” Ace added.
           
“Welcome to Ferris’ Bluff, Ace.  SEALS, huh?  I did my hitch and got the hell out, y’know, but I gotta ask you something.”  Drury still had a pleasant look on his face.  Ace winced inside, waiting for the little guy to ask about the Sea Air and Land commando force, and their training and reputation or about his missions and all that happy crap.  “That tat, ‘Hold Fast’, that’s old school.”
           
Not what he was expecting. “My dad was a tin-can sailor,” Ace explained.
           
“There’s a fella out at the Shady Oaks name of Tubbs.  He was on destroyers, what, back in Korea, I think.  He’s got a tat like that.”
           
“I know.  Granny’s older ‘n that, Art.  Art, right?  Tubbs saw his first action at Leyte Gulf.  He was on the Hoel then.  My old man met him in ‘54.  I’m in town for a visit.”
           
Drury’s face fell. “Well good luck.  Word is he’s in pretty tough shape.  You know Tubbs, huh?  How about that?”  
           
Another customer came in and Drury turned away.  Ace escaped into the cluttered aisles.  After a good half hour wandering among the nuts and bolts and hooks and tools he went back to the front of the store, empty handed.
           
“Say Art, you don’t happen to have a bulletin board or something where folks are looking for some help do you?” Ace asked.
           
“Lookin’ for some work?”
           
“Well, you know how it is.”  Ace shrugged.  “I’m pretty good with my hands and I might be around for a few days.  Depends on Tubbs.”
           
“Naw, no bulletin board or anything like that but I’ll keep an ear out.  What sort of work?”
           
“I fix stuff.”
           
“What kind of stuff?”
           
“Pretty much anything mechanical.  Electronics too.”
           
“Computers?”
           
“Sure.”
           
Drury rubbed his jaw.  “You might become a right popular fella in this town.  I’ll keep an ear out.  How do I get a hold of you?”
           
“I’m staying over at Annie Travers’ place right now,” Ace said, which got him a raised eyebrow.  “But I’ll check in every day.  How would that be?”
           
“That’ll work.  What’re you doing later, Ace?  I sure would like the opportunity to buy a beer for a real live Navy SEAL.”
           
“Thought this was a dry county,” Ace said, puzzled.  Did he mean hop down to Leets Store?
           
Drury hooked his thumb toward Main Street.  “Three miles south is the county line.  There’s a joint out at the crossroad.  84 and 29.   Hard to miss.”
           
“Tomorrow might work.  Got somethin’ goin’ tonight.”
           
“With Annie Travers?”  Drury asked with a teasing look.
           
Ace turned at the door, amused, but with a stern look on his face.  “Tell me something Drury, you all got gossip in the water ‘round here or what?”
           
“Yep.”

Ace climbed the three steps to the back porch stoop and caught himself, not sure what to do again.  He felt like he should knock on the door, but he was renting a room.  Knock?  Just go in?  Knock?
           
He was rescued by Val.  He hadn’t seen her sitting inside the small screened back porch.
           
“You don’t have to knock.”  She sounded put out, like he’d interrupted something.  Ace eased the screen door open and went over to where she had her chair parked.  She was reading a book and hadn’t looked up, even when she’d spoken to him.
           
“Its, ah, confusing,” He confessed.
           
“No it isn’t.  You rent a room here.  You can come and go as you please.  If you’ll be out after nine, Mom will give you a key to use.”
           
Ace sat on the small wicker loveseat next to Val’s chair.  He noticed she tensed up when he did.  “Sorry, it’s just...I’ll get used to it.  Whatcha’ readin’?”
           
“T. R.”
           
“T. R. what?”
           
Val sighed theatrically and looked up at him with her eyes, not raising her head from the book in her lap.  “Theodore.  Roosevelt.  Biography.”
           
“Cool,” Ace said.
           
“Mom’s inside,” Val muttered and went back to Roosevelt. 
           
Ace sat there for a minute, trying to think of something else to say to the studious child.  His daughter had never been so serious, but then again, she hadn’t been stuck in a wheelchair. 
           
A familiar pain threatened to settle right behind his eyes.  He pushed the memory of Diana back into its compartment.  Shoved it in deep and locked the don’t-go-there box.  It was too nice a day, shotgun ambushes aside, to dredge it all up now.  He wanted to sleep through the night.  Should he go with a wheelchair question?  Would it piss her off?  She looked pretty pissed off already.
           
“She’s crying,” Val said, still not looking up. 
           
“What’s wrong?”  Ace asked.  Val shrugged.  “Maybe I should go see.”
           
“Maybe you should just leave.” 
           
Ace winced at the bitterness in Val’s voice.  “You don’t like having to take in boarders, do you?”  He wanted to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder but he was pretty sure she’d bite him if he did.
           
 “I shouldn’t have said that.”  Val turned the page quickly but not fast enough.  Ace saw the small tear drop.
           
He wished she would look up from the damn book. Valerie Travers wasn’t the only sad soul on the planet, or even on the damn porch for that matter.  “You know what, kid?  I don’t much like having to be a boarder.  I’m going in.”

Annie wasn’t crying anymore but her red eyes testified that it had been a pretty good jag.  Ace stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets and stood by the kitchen counter.  He didn’t know what the story was, why they were renting rooms in the first place.  Had to do with the husband’s death, for sure.  Maybe I should drink a big glass of that gossip water, he thought.
           
“Sure smells good.” He said.  Gotta start somewhere.
           
“Thanks,” she sniffed at a tissue.  “You’re not going to buy the chopping onions story, are you?” 
           
Ace really liked her sense of humor.  “Well, since I’ve been out for a couple of hours it can’t be anything that I did.”
           
“Here’s the deal.  The water heater crapped out, okay?  The guy from Mountain Home won’t even come out for less that seventy-five dollars, and that’s before he even looks at it, and he won’t come until tomorrow at the earliest.  I finally have a paying guest who’s doing nothing but paying for a busted damn water heater.”
           
“Is that all?” Ace deadpanned.
           
“You like cold showers?”
           
“Hate ‘em.  What I mean is...the water heater is what’s got you crying?”
           
“It’s enough.”
           
“Watch this.” 
           
 Ace headed out the door to his truck, pulled out a heavy steel toolbox and without any hesitation, marched in and asked where the damn water heater was.  A half hour later he emerged from the basement and announced, “Water should be hot in about twenty minutes. When’s dinner?”

Dinner proved awkward.  Really good...but awkward.  Val put her book away long enough to eat.  Ace couldn’t remember her saying anything that didn’t start with ‘please pass’.

Chaz, he of the horrible table manners, seemed to be trying to make his mother mad.  It worked pretty well.  Annie tried to apologize but Ace waved her off.
           
And then there was the required small talk.  Ace, leery of asking about Annie’s husband and why she was renting rooms for thirty bucks a night in this palace, steered clear of that.  School wasn’t in session so they couldn’t pester the kids with questions.  He only knew Leets and Dicky, and Art Drury down at the hardware store, so there wasn’t much common ground there.
           
And Ace was damn sure not going to get into his sorry story. 
           
So what he did was talk about his old friend, Granville Tubbs, and his dad who suddenly grew the last name Evans.  A small lie.  Granny Tubbs, Engineering Master Chief, a lifetime at sea in every kind of ship in the Navy, and his father, a Radioman first, and later in his career an electronic warfare officer, were inseparable.
           
When they were in port, Tubbs would get a small apartment to sleep in and otherwise live at their house.  Tubbs and Ace’s father, Ray, let young Ace tag along everywhere. On the destroyers and battleships and even aircraft carriers in port for refits, all over half the navy bases in the country.  They even took him to some of the dive bars they tended toward, which did not endear Master Chief Tubbs to his mother.  Ace told them he enlisted at eighteen and had been a SEAL.  He’d already told Art Drury so it would be common knowledge in a day or two.
           
Chaz didn’t seem impressed with that revelation but surprisingly, Val did, or at least Ace thought he noticed her paying closer attention.  Ace didn’t have to shift into evasive mode until dinner was all but over.  He politely refused coffee after the meal, desperately wanting to sleep soundly.  He was out of his pills and cold sober.  Not good odds.

Annie found Ace sitting in one of the rockers on the big front screen porch.  Both kids had gone to bed, well, at least to their rooms.  The street was late night quiet.  A few lights could be seen on in houses down the block.
           
“Paying customers don’t have to help with the dishes,” she said, settling into the chair beside Ace, drawing her legs up under her.  “And we have to talk about the heater thing.”
           
“No we don’t.”  Ace rocked slowly, his hands behind his head, fingers laced, relaxed.
           
“Yes we do.  I should give you your money back.”
           
He swiveled his head over toward her and said, “That’d be pretty dumb.”
           
Annie gave him a look.  “Did you just call me dumb?”
           
Ace couldn’t read her face in the shadows but her voice didn’t have any humor in it. 

“No.  Look, Annie.  The idea of a couple hundred bucks for a repair bill got you crying.  Obviously you need the money.  Glad I could help out.”
           
 “I was chopping onions.”
           
“And I hate cold showers.  Let’s leave it at that.”
           
Annie got up out of the chair and before she went inside said over her shoulder, “Fair enough, but you at least paid for a few extra days, I mean, if you’re staying around that long.”