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  • Discovery at Little Hog Island,

    LHI Links

    Chapter 2, part 6 (13)

    *

    "I'm not used to carrying a passenger," Dana said apologetically. "I almost never do. Trusting me may not be smart."

    Buck tightened his arm around her waist. He snorted. Sounded just like Glenn.

    He directed her to the next park and had the camp reassembled exactly as she'd had it, with adjustments for the different site, almost immediately.

    "You've done this before," she said.

    "Yep. That I have. Want another beer?"

    "Not particularly. I’m not a big drinker. One was enough."

    "Coffee."

    "Nah, it's too late."

    “Ice Cream?”

    “I’m allergic to dairy products.”

    "Shit! Well, will you drive me back to my boat, then?"

    They hadn't gone a half-mile south toward the Hog Island campground when red lights started spinning and a cop pulled out behind them.

    *

    *

    Dana pulled over to the side of the road. Buck leaped off the bike and strode back to the cop car as it pulled up behind her. A moment later, he returned and told her to go ahead.

    “Are you sure?”

    “Absolutely.” So, with some trepidation, she pulled out on the road. The cop car pulled out behind her. She started to pull over again. “No, no,” Buck hollered, “he’s giving us an escort to the boat to assure my safety.”

    “You’re kidding, right?”

    “Not at all. I asked for the service, for emergency protection.”

    It was only a short ways, and when they turned into the campground, the cop continued down the shore highway. Dana breathed a sign of relief.

    “What on earth was that all about?” she inquired, when they stopped at her old campsite, now barren and dark. “I never heard of such a thing.”

    “That's Byron, my older brother.”

    “That was your brother? You have a brother named Byron?” Why, Dana wondered was she always repeating everything Buck said, like an imbecile.

    “Buck’s not my real name, of course.”

    “And?”

    “It’s Rudyard Kipling Dennison. That’s why they call me Buck."

    "Dennison? I thought you told me your name was Buck Skillin." Dana frowned.

    "That's what everyone calls me. It's a kind of joke, get it?"

    "No . . . no exactly. I guess Skillin goes with Buck. Kind of."

    "Yeah. Everyone calls me that and has for years. But it's not on my driver's license and so on. Can you imagine me on my first day of kindergarten introducing myself as Rudyard?”

    “You could have been Rudy. You weren’t Buck then, were you?”

    “Bucky. I caught a lot of flack for that, too. The relatives called me Rudy. When I was a teenager, some of my friends, my closest friends, just called me Rude.”

    “I can imagine.”

    “I was thinking about legally changing my name.”

    “To Buck?”

    “No, to Ross. Ross Robert Dennison. It has a nice ring to it. No bad connotations I can think of. Simple and easy.”

    “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?

    “Yeah, I am, I think. Pretty much. I go around about it, but I think I’ll do it. Buck makes me sound illiterate, like some backwoods hick in the Ozarks or something. I’m no Einstein. But I’m not a dunce, either."

    "I can see that. Were your parents really into poetry?”

    "Yeah, my parents like poetry. A lot.”

    “I guess that's a no-brainer. Well, Ross, or Buck, or whoever you are, it’s been a pleasure. Sort of.”

    “Are you sure you don’t want a beer?”

    *

    Notes:
    1)This is part 13 of my serial novel hopeful, Discovery at Little Hog Island
    2)The first section of the novel in cowbird is here:  Section 1
    3)The most recent previous section, section 12, is here: Section 12
    4)All the links to the published stories are here: LHI Links. Only, as of this moment, I am not caught posting them all, but I am working on it right now.
    5)Chapter 1, complete, without pictures, taken from the Cowbird installments, if you'd like to read it straight through, is located here: Chapter 1

    The illo is of me, on Raven, my 650 BMW single. I am sort of standing in for Dana, who is younger and thinner than I am. I do not have time every day to draw or paint a new picture.
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