“You think I’m about to stick my spoon in the wall?”
“Does that mean die? No, probably not. But someday you’re going to. And if Randall hasn’t lived, who can tell what he might do with the Stanton legacy, with all those ‘burdens’ and ‘responsibilities’ you keep loading on him. He might just throw it all away!”
Earl’s face turned bright red. “Randall would never-!”
“How do you know? Have you ever let him out past ten o’clock? Except on business?”
Gabe never heard the answer to that question because the next moment the library door opened and Randall returned. A satisfied smile lit his often sober face. “We’ve done it. We’ve got the Gazette!”
“Another Gazette?” Gabe groaned. “How many Gazettes, Echoes, Advertisers, Recorders and whatever else does that make?”
Stanton Publishing specialized in local newspapers, and owned eighty, all over the country.
“This is the Buckworthy Gazette,” Randall said triumphantly. “We’ve been after it for years.”
“Ah.” Gabe nodded in comprehension. The family seat was situated near the little town of Buckworthy, right down south in the county of Devon. It had always galled the Stantons that they couldn’t get their hands on the paper for their own locality. Now, at long last, Randall had triumphed.
Earl, of course, was over the moon. He leapt from his chair, rejuvenated, and slapped his grandson on the back, hollering his delight. “About time! Another few months and it would have gone right down the drain. Now you can turn it around, make it shine.” He glanced at his watch. “If you leave early enough tomorrow you can be down there by midday. It’s a Thursday paper. You’ll be in time to have some input on this week’s issue. No time like the present to begin putting things to rights. Sales haven’t been what they should be. You can start up an advertising campaign, too. And some sort of weekly contest. The one you did in Thrush-by-the-Marsh worked like a charm. Something like that!” Earl rubbed his hands together in glee.
But as Gabe watched, the enthusiasm seemed to drain right out of Randall, as if it were being choked off. As it probably was-by the added tug on the noose of even greater responsibilities.
“Whoa. Hey, hold up. You’ll choke him!” He looked at Randall and slid a finger around the inside of his collar.
Randall hesitated. His hand crept up and loosened his tie. His mouth opened. And closed again. He didn’t say a word.
Idiot! Gabe glared at him. Was he going to let the old man run him into the ground? Randall glared back.
Earl looked from one to the other of them. He frowned. “What’s the problem?”
“No problem,” Randall said at the same moment Gabe said, “Big problem! Here you go pushing more work off on him! I just told you, he needs a break!”
“And I told you there’s work to be done!”
“Get someone else!”
“Someone else?” Earl sounded as if he couldn’t believe his ears. He was working himself up, breathing hard and going red in the face. “The Buckworthy Gazette is the Stanton paper,” he roared. “Ours by right. And failing badly. It’s going to take a Stanton to turn it around.”
“But why does it have to be this Stanton?” Gabe demanded.
“Because Martha is on the other side of the world.”
“Martha is not the only other Stanton!”
“Well, no, there’s you,” Earl said witheringly, “I’d as soon ask a fourteen-year-old to run a bank as send you to turn the Gazette around!”
“You don’t think I can do it?”
“It’s work,” Earl pointed out.
“You don’t think it’s work to raise cattle? You don’t think it’s work to sort and ship and doctor a herd?”
“Your father worked hard,” Earl allowed.
Big of him! Gabe gritted his teeth. “I worked with him!”
“You lent a hand when you passed by.”
“Who do you think did it since Dad died last year?”
“You?” Earl almost seemed to chuckle. “I thought that’s why your mother hired Frank as foreman. Or maybe Martha did it or that little orphan girl, Claire. Your mother says she lives in jeans and does the work of three men. Who needs you?”
Gabe’s teeth came together with a snap. “Think again.”
“You don’t say you’re actually good for a job of work, surely?” Earl regarded him with tolerant amusement.
“I’m good for anything he’s good for,” Gabe snapped, indicating Randall.
“Ho, ho, ho!” Earl scoffed.
“Don’t ho-ho me, old man-”
“And don’t call me old man-”
“Look-” Randall ventured.
As one, the other two turned on him. “YOU KEEP OUT OF IT!”
“Whatever needs to be done, I’ll do it,” Gabe said defiantly. “And you-” to Randall “-give me the details of this paper, and go take a vacation. Or ‘a holiday,’ I suppose you’d call it.”
“What I’d call it is madness.” Randall shook his head fiercely. “You’ll bankrupt us.”
Gabe slammed his glass down on the table. “Sez who? You think I can’t run things? I’ll show you. I’m off to Devon in the morning!”
There was silence.
Randall and Earl looked at each other. Then at Gabe.
Gabe glared back at them. And then, just as the adrenaline rush carried him through an eight-second bull ride mindless of aches, pains and common sense, before it drained away, so did the red mist of fury disperse and the cold clear light of reality set in.
And he thought, oh hell, what have I done?
Slowly, unconsciously, he raised a hand and ran his finger around the inside of the collar of his own shirt.
Much later the cousins put Earl to bed, then supported each other as far as Gabe’s room, where he produced a bottle of Jack Daniel’s.
“Seriously,” Randall said, “it’s a crazy idea…”
“Yep, it is.” Gabe poured them each a glass and lifted his. “To the Buckworthy Gazette!”
“You don’t have to do-”
“Yes,” Gabe said flatly. “I do.” He downed the whisky in one gulp, then set the glass down with a thump and threw himself down onto his bed to lie there and stare up at his cousin. Randall looked a little fuzzy.
Gabe felt a little fuzzy, but determined. “Seriously,” he echoed his cousin. “Remember when we were kids and you came to Montana for the first time. We became blood brothers, swearing to defend and protect each other against all comers. Well, that’s exactly what I’m doing.”
Randall shook his head. “I don’t need protecting!”
Gabe wasn’t convinced, but he wasn’t going to argue. He shoved himself up against the headboard of the bed and reached for the bottle again. Carefully he poured himself another glass, aware of Randall’s tight jaw, his cousin’s years of hard work and legendary determination.
“There’s another thing, too. You’re not the only Stanton,” he muttered.
Randall blinked. “What?”
Gabe looked up and met his cousin’s gaze. “I can do this.” Though, as he said the words, Gabe wondered if he was saying them for Randall’s ears or for his own. “It will be fun,” he added after a moment with a return of his customary bravado.
“But you don’t know what you’re getting into.”