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Nine
Two days of snow, three movies, popcorn, an endless game of Catan, homemade pizza, and a Saturday afternoon of Iris yelling at the television, calling penalties of various college football games, and Hud felt like he might be a legitimate Marshall. Especially when he and Fraser made a run out to the store in the late afternoon for jalapeños so his mother could make poppers.
Fraser had apologized for the fight with Iris, which Hudson had mostly forgotten—or rather, wanted to thank Fraser for not letting her get pummeled so many years ago. Which felt like a weird betrayal to Iris, so he said nothing.
But he got it.
“Any luck with the phone?” Hud asked.
“I dropped it off at Coco’s place yesterday, so she’s working on it,” Fraser had said.
“And who is Coco?”
“Our cousin and hacker—or rather, the hacker that works for the Caleb Group. It’s who Ziggy works for, and Roy, who you met in Paris.”
He remembered Roy. Tall, dark, a bit of a black-ops feel about the guy.
“She’s the one who pinged Iris’s phone in Paris, got us into GPS distance. She’s married to my cousin, Wyatt, and they have a little boy. He had leukemia, but he’s in remission. Wyatt plays goalie for the Minnesota Blue Ox, so they moved to Minneapolis after his treatment.”
“I’d like to know who is behind all this,” Hudson said. “But really, I just want Iris to be safe.”
“You and me both,” Fraser said and gave him a smile.
Sort of reminded him, right then, of Harry, his older brother. Who he should call, probably. He hadn’t talked to him since before the craziness with Iris.
In fact, being with the Marshalls made him miss Harry a little. The brothers had a camaraderie that reminded him of the days back on the station, when he and Harry rode horses and helped their father with the cattle. Back then, he’d had small, perfect dreams that included his own family running the station.
Funny how life could blow apart those dreams.
They bought every jalapeño in the two grocery stores in the town of Chester and brought them back in time for the University of Minnesota Golden Gophers night game.
The sun had settled over the trees, and outside, Garrett was in the vineyard. From the den, sounds of laughter drifted, along with gaming shots and explosions.
Jonas had gone to the airport to pick up his girlfriend, and Pippa sat in the office, monitoring the cameras.
Iris was on her feet, staring at the television.
“What’s up?”
“Snap infraction. The Ohio State center dropped the ball on the snap, and it rolled and Penn State jumped on it. Except the officials ruled that it wasn’t a real snap, so it wasn’t a turnover but a penalty. They keep replaying it, and I agree with the officials. It needs to be an actual snap, which means it needs to be passed to the QB. And if it’s not a legal snap, then it’s not in play. Good call.”
She picked up the pillow she’d thrown on the floor.
“You can’t sit with her in a live game,” said Jenny from the kitchen, washing the peppers. “She’ll yell penalties from the stands.”
“I still think Jonas made it over the goal line in the conference championship.” She looked at Hud. “Terrible call.”
He laughed. “What’s your dad doing?”
She glanced out the window. “Pruning the spurs.”
Interesting. He grabbed his jacket and headed outside, pulling on a wool hat as he went. The Marshalls had loaned him a pair of boots from their massive supply, and now he left prints in the yard as he crunched through the snow.
Garrett stood in the vineyard, standing above a plant, inspecting thick branches off the vine that extended like ropy arms along a guide wire between the trunks of the vine. He wore his glasses down on his nose, his breath puffing out in the chill. He held a small pruner in his gloved hand and looked over at the sound of Hud’s crunching. “Hudson.”
“Sir. Can I help?”
He pushed his glasses up. “I wish, but this is the job of the viticulturist. I have to find the healthiest canes and then prune the canes back to two buds at the base. I try and select upward-facing buds. And then I prune off all other growth. That way, only the healthiest canes survive to produce fruit.”
