Silverbow

Silverbow

By: Shannon Simmons

Dedication

I’d like to dedicate this book to my son, Connor. You keep my imagination young and strong. I’d also like to thank Darren for staying on my heels and chasing me towards my dreams.

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© 2013 by Shannon Simmons

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the author.

The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, events or locales is coincidental.

 
CHAPTER 1

It was the last day of my sanity. It was the day that everything as I knew it would start to crumble away beneath me as if I were standing in the top of an hourglass. Grain by grain, reality would escape me and leave me treading on weak ground until I was finally pulled under. Darkness would consume me and the only light I would ever see again would be one that blazed for him. The flame that I would pray be blown out… even if that meant my life had to fade away in the smoke with it.

The sound of metal tapping metal began to annoy me. With only eight steps into the bar, I wasn’t a fan and I didn’t even know him. A silver buckle swung from his abused black leather jacket and tapped the key ring that hung from his belt. I lifted my half empty bottle to my lips and watched as a big hand rose to scratch his five o’clock shadow and completely ignore the ridiculous big black sunglasses that rested on the bridge of his slightly crooked nose.

With a jet black pompadour and thick angled sideburns, he reminded me of something out of American Graffiti. I examined him from my seat in the back corner of the bar with my feet propped up in the chair across from me. His stride was that of a man with confidence and a carelessness that told the room they could fuck off if they didn’t like him. I actually admired that. He shrugged out of his jacket and dropped it onto a vacant stool as he took his seat across the room from me. A black t-shirt strained across his big shoulders as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on the bar.

I peeled my eyes away from the stranger, unlike the bartender and the only other patron, drunken Mr. Yates. We don’t get many visitors here in Silverbow and if we do there is an eighty percent chance that they are trouble. Silverbow was mostly known as Trash Town but to those who knew it well it was more like Hell’s doorstep.

Once upon a time, Silverbow was booming with goldmines. Once the mines dried up in the 1920’s, the population died out and a ghost town was left to the deserts unforgiving sand. A few buildings remained but nothing more than wildlife rattled within. When the 1940’s came around a few ex-convicts and misfits rolled into town and staked the unclaimed land. Looking for a place to go without judgmental eyes, they worked the nightmare graveyard shifts in Tonopah and other surrounding towns; funneling their funds into Silverbow.

My great grandfather was one of the first men to shed blood, sweat and tears for this place I now call home. He had robbed a bank in Reno, served his time and made a few close friends along the way. Teaming up with the other society rejects and their families, the dedication and determination that rained from their pores coursed through the veins of Silverbow and once more, gave it a pulse.

The ground shook when the military began using the land just south of Silverbow for bomb testing during WWII. Then in 1951 the testing site turned into dollar signs for the men of the town. The United States Department of Energy fenced off the testing and training grounds for their nuclear toys. They found that it was cheap to hire the bad boys of Nevada to block, secure and defend the north side of their little private playground, which today is now the Nellis Air Force Base and Gunnery Range. That’s right, Area 51.

The pay and free medical care was much more than they were getting from Tonopah and it allowed them to easily support their families. Along with the fancy pay and benefits, the government turned a cheek to their pasts
and
futures. A convict ridden town with little law is one scary place. Though, this was not granted without a favor expected in return: secrecy. Luckily for the U.S. Military, confidentiality seemed to be bred into the DNA of those who inhabit Silverbow. 

A gravelly voice reclaimed my attention and with a tilt of my head, I watched Laney pull a cold one from the tap and slide it down to the new arrival. Laney had been the owner of the Watering Hole for four years now. Her grandfather had willed it to her after his death. That seemed to be a concrete tradition here. Laney was slim and dainty, the kind of girl who was extremely cute but not really the sexy type. Her infectious smile and innocent flirting forced you to adore her. Dressed in a tight white tee, hip hugging jeans and a bold red lap apron she buzzed around behind the counter making sure everything was clean and stocked.

The newcomer had finally removed his cheap sunglasses. He plucked a cigarette from a crushed box of Marlboro Reds and a Zippo clinked to life in is other hand. I watched the flame dance before the end of his cancer stick for a moment…or six and then realized he was stalling. Shifting my gaze, my eyes met his. Busted. His eyes were an unnatural grey and carried deep crow’s feet at their corners. He arched a thick black brow and winked at me before I could tear my eyes away from him once more. I heard his gritty chuckle as I rested my sight, not my attention, on the door.

Outside I heard the approaching roar of a familiar Harley. Thanks to the tall jagged red rock walls that littered the Nevada desert like bloody teeth, one could hear another coming from a mile away. A minute or two passed and I heard the gravel in the parking lot crunch beneath the Hog and its rider. I waited patiently for footsteps on the porch.

Reaching up, I tugged my dark blonde ponytail tight and tucked my long bangs behind my ear.  I’d cut it all off if I had the desire or time to spend on it everyday. A mechanic had little time to worry about his or her hair. My daily hair products usually consisted of Pennzoil and grease that happened to get splashed or smeared into it. My hands fell to my lap where I found the most recently patched hole in my favorite work jeans. My clothes line hung heavy with newer pairs of jeans but this pair had always fit me
just
right. I hadn’t ever bothered to buy a dryer. I was still using the same line my great grandfather had strung for his wife. My house had seen four generations and sadly, at this rate, I was its last.

Finally, heavy boots crossed the sandy wooden porch and the front door swung open. What golden light the sun had left to offer that evening poured in behind him and made his shoulder length blonde hair and tan skin glow. Dark blue eyes darted over the bar’s scarce occupants and a satisfied smirk curled the corner of his full lips when he spotted me. Worn jeans hid away all but the toes of the military issued boots that guided him to my table. He offered a quick wave to Laney and then tucked his hair behind his ears.

“There’s my girl,” rolled his baritone voice. A smile played at the corner of my mouth as I nodded in return. I watched with hungry eyes as his strong frame sunk into a free chair and his keys hit my table. He reached out and rested his hand on the toe of my worn boot that rested in the chair beside him. Leaning back with a heavy sigh, “Long ass day,” he grumbled.

“Looking for a pity party,” I asked with a smirk and shook his hand off my foot. He rubbed the light stubble on his face and shook his head with a smile. He was used to my bullshit. I’ve known Greyden since we were old enough to drool but we had only been swapping spit for seven months. He had started moving in a month ago but he was hardly ever home and still had the trailer that he and his father had lived in before he passed away. He worked the fence line most days and bartended here at the Watering Hole most nights. Laney gave him the job when her big brother was killed in Iraq and she was still in need of a little muscle for the rowdier crowds. Everyone loved him more than they were scared of him though, so out of respect they kept the brawls limited. He was the work hard, play harder type. I liked that.

I, on the other hand, spent Mondays through Thursdays working on old pickup trucks, Cadillac clunkers and anything else this town could scrape up to keep it on two to four wheels. Silverbow wasn’t a wealthy town so I didn’t see many foreign cars. All the men in my family had been grease monkeys. I was the first girl in a long chain of strong, good looking, timeless macho men and wound up being an only child on top of that. So my pops had no choice but to pass on the knowledge and the shop to me. He had been shot three years ago. My mom was a fling who dropped me off on his doorstep and got the fuck out of town. I hoped the deserting bitch was dead.

Someone at the bar cleared their throat and by the rough sound of it I didn’t have to look to figure out who it was. I watched as my company turned his head and arched a brow as he glanced over Mr. Rockabilly at the bar, “New guy?”

“Rolled in about twenty minutes ago,” I replied and sat up in my chair, lowering my heavy boots to the ground. I straightened my grey tee and crossed my legs. Reaching down to pick at something on my boot, I casted my eyes up towards the stranger to spy him give Greyden the once-over and then return his attention to the television behind the bar. Laney always kept the news on. It was pretty much the only clear channel we received out here.

“Must be his blue ’69 Chevelle outside,” he added and nodded his head towards the door. He knew I was a sucker for old cars. I offered a slight shrug and looked away causing him to issue his first concerned look.

“Did you eat already,” he asked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the tabletop. I shook my head “no”. I honestly hadn’t eaten since the night before. It was a Thursday and Thursdays were usually flooded with people getting their transportation in gear for long weekend trips. There sure wasn’t shit to do in Silverbow.

My idea of a vacation was working on my 1962 Chevy pickup. If I wasn’t under my truck I was shooting up the red rocks with my Smith and Wesson 9mm , aimlessly driving through the flat desert or reminding Greyden why most of the young men of Silverbow hated him. Take a confident woman, grease her up and bend her over under the hood of a car and you’ve got a hot commodity. Honestly, I’m not that hung up on myself but I will use what I have to my advantage when I need to. In a place like this, everyone does.