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Message-ID: <29619asstr$985867801@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: The Star <extar@hotmail.com>
Content-ID: <Pine.LNX.4.30.0103290043040.9608@sara.asstr-mirror.org>
Subject: {ASSM} Audry 07 - High Society
Date: Thu, 29 Mar 2001 07:10:01 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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<1st attachment, "Audry07.txt" begin>

					Audry
				Chapter 7 - High Society
				A Tale of Romance by The Star*


Hazel Parmentier Steele Lemmer looked over the ballroom--a look of distaste 
momentarily marred her patrician features.  She'd lots rather be shagging 
George out in the hayloft of the barn, on their Long Island estate.  But 
George's friends had insisted and he agreed that it might be good for 
business.
So here she was, guest of honor at a reception in Manhattan--that she and 
George had to pay for!

_'Quit bitching, Hazel!'_ she sternly told herself.  _'You knew that some of 
this went with the territory, when you decided to marry George.'_  A smile 
crossed her face.  She could have had George any way she wanted 
him--including a permanent shack-up, if that would have suited her.  
Amazingly though, she'd fallen in love with him; and he wanted to marry her. 
  Well, what's a girl to do?  If the man you love wants to get married, 
isn't that the natural response?
The immediate problem was that they'd invited all of George's really close 
friends to the wedding.  What tonight was all about was the myriad 'good 
acquaintances' that he worked with.  And their social climbing wives.  Plus 
a few genuine friends who hadn't been able to make it to the wedding.

From the day the announcement of their wedding at the ranch, with pictures, 
had appeared in the New York papers, George had been bombarded with a clamor 
to hold a reception, so 'everyone' could meet George's new wife.

George's story was well known: His first wife, whom he'd loved desperately, 
had died young.  He dated rarely and was not a womanizer, but rather threw 
himself into his work of investment banking, and his hobby, riding show 
horses.  He was very good at both his business, having moved from 'well off' 
to wealthy, and at riding, with an Olympic silver medal for the 3-day event.

It was through the Olympics that he met Hazel...and recognized in her a 
woman who could be a soul-mate--besides being able to not only turn him on, 
but fuck his brains out.

Hazel had to admit that George was good for her too:  Excellent in 
bed--though she wouldn't tell him that, directly--and an interesting, 
attentive companion.  They'd gone from lust to love and, along the way, had 
become best friends.


Although she'd grown up in the eastern branch of the family, Hazel spent 
most of her life on the ranch in Oregon.  She was a bit rusty on current 
relationships, but was conversant with the east coast 'aristocracy'.  
Frankly, she preferred the ranch and had stayed there even after her husband 
died.
Now she had a new husband and a new job to do--for him.  She'd do everything 
she could to promote George, without sacrificing what she believed or their 
essential privacy.  George came first.  She was not about to let herself be 
drawn into the 'social season' swirl of 'important' events.  They would go 
to things George wanted.  If that meant breaking an engagement, tough.

_George came first!_

Putting a smile on her face, Hazel retreated to the suite George maintained 
in the hotel, to put the finishing touches on her face and get into the new 
gown she'd ordered for the event.  That really put a smile on her face.  
She'd spent more on that dress than she usually spent on clothes in a year!  
And George suggested that she might want several.  When she'd protested 
about the cost, he smiled and said he wanted her to have them.

She remembered a lot about society, but was not used to living with this 
kind of wealth.  On the ranch, the money went into the ranch-a new prize 
bull, to improve the breeding stock of Angus cattle; or a new mare, to see 
if the colts would be as good as those already being bred there.

The ranch gave her another smile.  She was sixty--though she looked like a 
healthy and energetic forty--and had great-grandchildren growing up in the 
big old ranch headquarters where she'd spent most of her life.


George came into the room.  His eyes lit up at the sight of her, in bra and 
pantyhose, finishing her makeup.  Walking behind her, he gave her a hug and 
kiss on the cheek, to not smudge her face.  His hands caressed her breasts, 
too, causing her to give a little gasp of pleasure.

"You know, dear," she said, "I'd lots rather be trying to get you in bed 
than standing in a receiving line."

George laughed, "I would too.  But ya gotta do what ya gotta do."

"You know, darling, we haven't talked much about this.  How do you want me 
to play it?"

"Huh?"

"Do you want me to play the society woman, as if I'd always been here?  Or 
the newcomer, anxious to learn?  Or the rich bitch who doesn't give a damn?"

"How about you just be Hazel?  As long as you're only horny for me, just be 
yourself.  Anybody who doesn't like it can take his neuroses elsewhere.  
Most will love you for yourself.  Who knows?  You might even make some 
friends?"

She had to laugh.  He was right.  She'd just be herself and let the cowpies 
flop where they would.


With that reminder from her husband, she approached the evening as a job to 
do-and an opportunity to make new friends.

Soon enough, they were standing near the entrance to the ballroom, greeting 
their guests as they arrived.  A majority of those they met were business 
acquaintances of George's and their wives who wanted to say they'd met his 
new wife... 'And isn't she a _dear_?'

Some were real friends of his, who hadn't been able to come to the wedding.  
George had a special signal for Hazel for those and she made an extra effort 
to remember them.

There were even a few horse people, who knew the sport and the significance 
of the ranch.  Horses bred there, trained by Hazel's son and daughter in 
law, Martin and Ador  Steele, were becoming the standard for winning 
steeplechase and show jumping mounts.

That two of her grandchildren, Rob and Audry Steele--married to each other, 
too--were Olympic champions on ranch-bred horses helped a lot.  The two 
precocious brats won most events they cared to enter--with her George just 
about their only competition.

(Ador  had closer blood links to the family than most knew, too.  Her father 
was Hazel's cousin and her mother was a slightly more distant relative.)

To Hazel's great delight, a few members of the Knicks and the Suns dropped 
in.  They became friends with Rob and Audry at the Olympics and got to know 
Hazel during visits to the ranch.  She was genuinely delighted to see them, 
but also took a wicked glee from the reaction of their other guests to the 
young, rich, _black_ athletes, who were obviously good friends of hers.  She 
made a point of introducing the basketball players to the real horsemen in 
the crowd.  It sure made a dull event more interesting.


By the time the evening was done, Hazel had done her best to charm the socks 
off her two hundred plus guests--and mostly succeeded.  She'd answered the 
same inane questions many times, each time as if it were an interesting and 
novel thing to ask.

She'd been photographed for several newspapers and suffered a short TV 
interview, with George at her side.

Her favorite 'trick' was to ask questions of her questioners.  Usually, she 
asked the same types of things they wanted to know about her.  How long 
married, how many children, and so on.  To her amusement, no one asked about 
great-grandchildren, thinking her grandchildren must be only infants.
Finally the last guests left and George and Hazel returned to their suite, 
where they collapsed in each other's arms, laughing uproariously.

"Do you know," George choked out, between titters, "that most of the folks 
there think you're a 'trophy wife'?"

Hazel laughed so hard, she rolled on the bed.  Finally, clutching her sides, 
she pleaded, "Please.  Don't make me laugh any more.  It hurts."  George was 
hurting a bit himself and readily agreed.  "Do they really?" Hazel asked.  
He had a manic sense of humor and might be putting her on.

"Yeah.  Really.  I overheard more than one conversation about it."

"That's too precious.  I can't wait to share that with the kids.  They'll 
love it! ... How many know that I'm actually three years older than you are, 
George?"

"Besides family, I don't know of any.  Everybody thinks I'm younger than I 
am, too.  You did, as I recall, you cradle-robber."

Hazel punched him, gently.  "And don't you love it?  What a hoot! ... 
Besides that, and that alone makes the evening worth the trouble, how do you 
think it went?"

"Oh, it went just fine.  We'll have a big spread in the society pages.  
You'll get scads of invitations to all kinds of things.  Go to what you want 
to.  It's up to you."

"But don't you have lots of social obligations that you have to keep up?"

"Sure, but you can do what you want about it."

"George, darling, you've been a bachelor way too long.  You need to remember 
that I married you--all of you.  If you want, I'll start 'socializing' in a 
small way and work into it.  But everything will be with a very strong 
caveat that your plans come first.  I will not allow us to go to different 
events, or appear separately.  If you want me home at night, that's where 
I'll be.  Honey... _fuck_ society!  I'll only do what I have to, in order to 
help you.  I'm happy on Long Island with you and the horses."

"That's just what I wanted to hear.  Let's make that our pattern, if it 
suits you.  We live on Long Island and stay here only when we have to be in 
town late."

Hazel held him close and began removing the studs from his shirt.  "I like 
it.  Let's use each other as excuses to turn down most invitations, too.  
There are a few things we'll have to attend.  Other than that, let's just be 
ourselves, with occasional evenings with real friends for our 'social 
life'."

George kissed her.  It would work out just fine.

Hazel returned the kiss with interest and finished getting him out of his 
tux.  Reaching behind her back, in that motion only a woman can do, she 
unzipped her gown and popped the hooks on her bra.

While George stepped out of his shoes and trousers, Hazel removed the 
pantyhose and stood naked in the light of a bedside lamp.

"God, baby, you're so beautiful!" George breathed, as he embraced her.

"Not bad for a grandma, huh?"

"Not bad for a teenager, baby! ... Have I told you today, how much I love 
you?"

"As a matter of fact, you have.  But I really don't mind if you repeat 
yourself on that subject.  I'm kind of crazy about you, too, you know."

By then they were joined, Hazel rocking steadily above him, her breasts 
dangling in reach of his greedy lips.

Capturing a nipple, to their mutual enjoyment, George licked and sucked 
Hazel's offering.  "Your boobs are wonderful, baby.  So full, yet so firm.  
I love to bury my face in them."

She pressed her chest harder against him.

When she felt her body start to lose control and the orgasmic process was 
beyond stopping, she gasped, "Not bad, for a bimbo trophy wife, huh?"

George, just as he was starting to spray her womb, caught what she'd said 
and was overcome with laughter.

It was the most unique orgasm either of them had ever enjoyed.  Convulsing 
in laughter just as the body was spasming in climax...

"You witch! You did that on purpose!" George accused her, when he'd caught 
his breath.

"And you loved every bit of it!" Hazel shot back.

He held her and kissed her thoroughly.

Still locked together, he cradled her head to his chest and pulled a 
comforter over them.  They didn't move until the phone woke them in the 
morning.


George had a full day's work in the city.  Hazel said she'd stay at the 
hotel.  Maybe do a little shopping.  She'd wait for him and ride with him to 
Long Island when he was done for the day.

When he realized that she was serious about doing whatever she could to help 
him, but was not really concerned about making a place for herself in 
'society', he essentially gave her _carte blanc_ to organize their life.

One of her first decisions was whether or not to buy their own place in the 
city.  There was no doubt that they needed a place to sleep and do light 
entertaining or business in Manhattan.  The question she had was, would they 
be better off to keep the hotel suite, or get their own townhouse or 
condominium?
In the end, she decided to stay with the hotel.  The expense was a write-off 
and it was hassle-free.  They didn't have to worry about maids or plumbing 
or anything else.  Yet the space was theirs, exclusively, and the location 
was as good as they could find.

The other immediate concern was her social schedule.  The relationship with 
the Parmentiers of Virginia was well-known, after the reports of the 
reception in the society pages.  She had three invitations per day, for 
everything from tete-a-tete lunches to lavish charity balls...

She needed her own secretary.

For most of a week, she fretted about it, while correspondence piled up, 
awaiting response.

Finally, she consulted her husband.

George gathered her in his arms.  "Damn, I love you!  You wow society, then 
have trouble hiring a servant.  Hazel, don't ever change." He rang for the 
butler.  When that worthy appeared, "Fred, Mrs. Lemmer needs a social 
secretary--someone to handle her correspondence, keep her calendar straight 
with mine, and so on.  Get her some suitable candidates for the job to 
interview, would you?"

"Yes, sir... Ma'am, if I may...?" Hazel nodded for him to continue.  "One of 
the maids might be suitable.  She took the housekeeping job as an interim 
thing.  She's a graduate of the Smithson secretarial school in the city.  
Her references are very good.  I think maybe you should speak to her first?"

"Good idea, Fred.  Is she in the house?"

"Yes, ma'am.  She has several hours yet on her shift."

"Well, run her in.  We'll talk to her right now.  What's her name?"

"Gloria, ma'am."

"OK, thanks... Fred, would you do me a favor?"

"Anything, Mrs. Lemmer."

"When we're alone, call me 'Hazel'.  Please?"

"Ma'am... Hazel... Thank you.  It's hard for me to do that, because if I 
start to think of you by your given name, I am too likely to forget and 
refer to you that way in front of staff--or in front of guests.  So, thank 
you.  But forgive me if I cannot do what you ask."

"OK, Fred.  Whatever you're comfortable with.  But I want your thoughts and 
ideas.  I'll share a little secret--of course it's no secret at all: You 
know a lot more about living this way than I do.  So I'll be picking your 
brain regularly.  Will that be a problem?"

"No... Hazel.  I'm happy to provide whatever service I can."

"Great.  Let's see Gloria."

"At once, ma'am."


The young lady Fred brought to them was an attractive blonde, slightly 
overweight, and slightly coarse-featured.  Her eyes were blue, but a bit 
close together and 'squinty'.  So she missed beauty, but would attract men, 
nevertheless.

Interviewing her, Hazel, who despite living most of her life on a remote 
ranch was a lady instinctively, sensed that this woman was anything but a 
lady.  Though she tried, her attitude showed a coarseness that seemed 
offensive to Hazel.

Finally thanking her, she dismissed the girl to return to her work.

"Fred, she was a good idea.  Technically, she's well qualified, if she can 
do what she says she can.  But she won't do for me.  She's everything I'm 
not." A big grin at her husband, "About the only thing we have in common is 
we like men a lot."

"Thank you, madam, for sharing your thoughts on it with me.  I confess, I 
hadn't seen her that way.  I'll bring you some other candidates I think 
you'll like better."


Hazel was not sitting at home, vegetating.  She worked at helping George.  
And she took over the stables.  She rapidly discovered that she'd forgotten 
more about horses than the head groom had ever known.

Within a week, Hazel hired a social secretary.  The lady was named Theresa, 
called 'Terry'.  "And no, I don't know the Dragon Lady," she'd confided with 
a laugh.

Hazel liked her and trusted her to handle the 'regrets', which were her 
normal response to invitations.

Every morning, George looked over a list of the social invitations that had 
arrived the previous day.  He commented on the occasional one that he 
thought might be worthwhile.  Those women, Hazel invited to private lunches, 
to get to know them a bit.

Rarely, George would ask her to accept one.  Or would call to tell her of 
some function he thought they should attend.  She was always happy to go 
anywhere he wanted to take her.

One of the reasons she chose Terry was that the girl could ride.  She'd 
never be in the Olympics, but she was an adequate weekend foxhunter.  So 
Hazel made it a part of the job, that she assist with the horses.

Most afternoons, then, the two women, with the two grooms, could be found on 
the horses, making sure they were adequately exercised.  Hazel didn't 
neglect training Ginger and George's other jumper.  George rode Ginger 
himself at least three days a week.  On those occasions, Hazel took the role 
Ador  played at the ranch--coach and trainer.  She wasn't as good at it as 
her daughter-in-law, but was still much better than anybody else in the 
vicinity.


Terry found that there was indeed a Dragon Lady.  The maid, Gloria, who had 
been passed over for her job, turned spiteful and started doing little, mean 
things to her.  It culminated when she carefully poured a coke on the 
keyboard of Terry's computer, while Terry was at the stables with Hazel.  
Fred saw it and dismissed her summarily, ending her reign of terror before 
it got started.


A plus in the situation, besides George and Hazel becoming more besotted 
with each other as the weeks went by, was that Hazel's help was making both 
George and his horse much better than they'd ever been--and they'd been very 
good.  And her connection with the NBA players resulted in an additional 
source of cash for George--several of the really top stars wanted to invest 
substantial sums in some of the IPOs George put together.


~~  * * * * *  ~~


On the ranch, life was proceeding.  Audry was proud that she got pregnant 
just a few months after giving birth to Erin.  Regardless, she was 
determined to compete at Nationals, having missed the previous year.

I didn't care.  I liked the horses and working with them.  I'd won about 
everything I could and enjoyed the competitions.  But I just wasn't driven 
to win any more.

More and more, I found myself either doing mom's work, training the new 
colts, or critiquing what she was doing--why did she do _this_, and not 
_that_?

Mom is known to the world as Ador  Steele.  She's no dummy.  One afternoon, 
she sat beside me on the top rail of the training ring, watching dad train a 
foal to change leads.

"Robby, are you tired of riding?"

"No, mom.  Why?"

"You seem to be spending more time working with the young horses and less on 
keeping your own horse--and your own riding--sharp."

"I guess.  I enjoy the work.  But really, mom, what do I have left to win?"

"Well, I'd kind of like to see a few more Olympic golds in our trophy case."

"Sure, I enjoy the Olympics a lot.  It's a rush.  But Sam and I have 
dominated for so long, it's kind of stale."

"Well, let me see if I can provide a bit of motivation," mom said, with a 
smile.  "First, it's part of your job.  Winning gold medals makes what we do 
here on the ranch more valuable.  Every time you and Sam win, his stud fee 
goes up.  Winning is money in the bank, son."

"Yeah.  I know that, mom."

"There's another aspect.  Soon your kids will be competing.  Zach's old 
enough to ride at the county fair and weekend meets.  If he starts 
competing--and the girls will be right behind him, never fear--he'll need 
you and Audry as role models.  If you're still competing when he gets old 
enough to appreciate some of the fine points, he'll work even harder to do 
as well as you."

I had to think about that.  "I guess... Anyway, I'm good for the next 
Olympics.  Audry's got her heart set on it.  Damned if I'm going to let her 
compete without me and Sam there, pushing her."

"Well, Robbie, that was something else I wanted to talk to you about..."

"What, mom?" I hated it when she made me drag it out of her.

"I think it won't be you and Sam, pushing her."

"Huh?"

"Rob, how old is Sam?"

"Uh.  I don't really know.  Nine or ten?"

"He's twelve, and you know it.  It's past time he's put to stud, 
exclusively.  With lots of time to just run around the pasture.  Oh, once in 
a while, we'll take him on a trail ride.  And I'd like to use him some to 
train Zach and Moira."

"I suppose I knew this was coming.  I just thought it would be after the 
Olympics..."

"Rob, you're letting sentiment get in the way... just like you did with 
Shannon, before.  Sam might get you to the Olympics, but he wouldn't win for 
you there."

"I don't think Windy could do individual events and the 3-day like Sam."

"You're right.  Windy can do either, but not both.  With that strong 
Appaloosa coloring, he's so pretty and distinctive, I think you should ride 
him in the arena events.  Sheik could be your 3-day horse."

I was really surprised.  "I thought you were training him for that friend of 
the family in South Carolina?"

"I was.  But you come first.  He can have Mabel." (That was what we called 
'Marybelle of the Deschutes', a promising filly mom had been working with.)
Mom and dad were over for dinner that night and the conversation was 
continued at the table.

"I dunno, mom.  Sheik's got a nasty disposition.  What do you think of Mabel 
as a 3-day horse?"

Audry answered.  "No way.  She's got great form and heart, but not stamina.  
You'd kill her."

Mom nodded.

Dad said, "Sheik just needs a stronger bit.  Work him with a four-rein 
bridle for a while.  I'll bet he gets the message real quick."

Dad was right.  I was a good enough horseman that the temper of the mount 
didn't matter too much to my ability to make him perform.  I'd gotten lazy, 
with Sam and Windy; they both had so much to give and worked to please their 
rider.

Audry had put Shannon to stud the year before, leaving Clay as her only 
competition mount--we knew she couldn't do a 3-day for a couple of years 
anyway.


The next day, we saddled Sam and Shannon, putting Clay and Windy on leads, 
and set out for a couple of days in the mountains.  Zach and Moira wanted to 
go along, but we promised them a turn later in the summer.  "This is a time 
for mommy and daddy to be alone together," Audry told them, in a loving tone 
that still conveyed that there was no room for negotiation.

Shawna would care for the kids, with our parents nearby if they were needed.

We went first to the archeological site, to say hello to the Indian crew.  
There were only five of them there, doing mapping and plotting, in 
preparation for detailed work.  They welcomed us and took pleasure in 
showing us all they'd done and discussing their plans for future work.

It seemed to us that they had things well in hand, so we left after an hour 
or so and rode on toward the hills.  I had in mind an overnight camp in a 
sheltered little draw, just inside the border of the home ranch.

When we reached it, Audry said she'd never been there.  "Sure you have, 
honey.  When we were little, we came here with grandma that time."

Then she remembered.  "It was right after that, I told grandma I was going 
to marry you when we grew up..." Her face turned sad, briefly.  "I came real 
close to blowing that, didn't I?"

I wasn't about to let her turn weepy on me.

Gathering her in my arms, I said, "But you didn't.  We are married, and have 
three and a half wonderful kids to show for it.  I'm a happy husband, with a 
gorgeous wife.  Now get crackin', girl.  It's gettin' on to supper time!"

That did it.  Audry started laughing, even as she tried to hit me.  Kissing 
her soundly, I put her down and went out to check the horses.

Good thing I did.  Some rough-looking guy I'd never seen was just about to 
untie Shannon from the peg I'd staked him to.

"You lookin' for something, mister?" I hollered.  I hoped Audry would hear 
me and come to back me up.  I was unarmed.  Though we habitually carried 
rifles, I'd left mine at our camp.

He took one look at me and backed away from the peg.  "No.  Just admiring 
your horse, there.  He's a mighty fine one, isn't he?"

"Yeah.  My wife sets a lot of store by him.  Good thing you didn't get by 
that Arab over there.  He'd have taken your ears off.  That one there, now, 
he'd maybe let you get aboard, then wipe you off on a low tree limb or 
something... Where's your car, mister?"

"Well, ya see, my, ah, old truck kind of broke down, over to the road.  I 
was trying to find somebody to help."

I spotted Audry.  She had a rifle and was under cover, keeping this 
character in her sights.  GOOD girl, that Audry!

"OK, pal.  Down on the ground, flat on your face!"

"Huh?"

"I said, get on the ground, flat on your face, arms straight out to your 
sides.  DO IT NOW!"

Audry rocked the bolt of her rifle and the man dropped like she'd shot him.
Being careful to stay out of Audry's line of fire, I walked over and tied 
his hands together behind his back, using the rawhide thongs we always 
carried.  Then I searched him carefully.  He didn't have a gun, but was 
carrying two knives--and some needles and little pouches with strange 
substances in them.

"You ever go to school?"

"Sure.  Don't everybody?"

"They didn't teach you to read, though."

"I can read."

"Well, you sure can't read big words, like 'hunting' and 'trespassing', can 
you? Even with a little word, like 'no' in front of them."

A try at an 'aw shucks' grin.  "Well, I'm broke and I thought I'd see what I 
could see."

"Well, friend, you just 'broke' yourself some time in the county jail, when 
I get around to calling the sheriff."

His eyes got real big.  "Now, you wouldn't go and do that to a feller, would 
you?  I ain't done no harm."

"You are trespassing on clearly posted land and you were trying to steal a 
horse.  In a bit, I'll take a ride back on your trail.  I'll see how broke 
down your truck is... Why, if I can make it run, I'll bet I could use it to 
take you to the sheriff, now couldn't I?"

"Come on, mister.  I didn't hurt nothin'.  Just turn me loose, and I'll be 
on my way clear out of this country."

"Well, I don't see trying to steal one of my horses as not hurting anything. 
  You got caught before you succeeded, is all."

"I wasn't going to steal him.  I just wanted a ride to where I could get 
help."
I thought a minute.

"OK, lay back down, on your face.  Feet spread wide.  Audry, keep an eye on 
him.  Shoot him if he moves.  I'll saddle us up and we'll go have a look at 
this guy's truck."

Our unwanted visitor started to protest, until I kicked him in the side with 
my boot.

"Next time, I break a rib."

I soon had us packed and Audry and I were in the saddle.  Our visitor led 
the way to the road--with his hands firmly tied behind him.  The contents of 
his pockets, including a billfold with almost a thousand dollars in cash, 
were in a saddlebag.

When we got near the road, he became a bit too eager.  I halted him and 
placed a rope around his neck, giving Audry the end--suggesting she tie it 
to her saddlehorn.  "My wife is going to stay right here with you, mate.  If 
anything should happen to spook her horse, why it might just take off 
running.  Of course, that would be too bad for you, since that rope's around 
your neck.  Maybe you'd survive, though."  Audry knew to keep the rope tight 
on him and not let him walk toward her.

"Is there anything I need to know about your truck?  Friends waiting for 
you, maybe?"

He was sweating heavily and licking his lips.  He didn't like it at all.

"You know, if there's shots, that would be certain to spook my wife's horse. 
  Why, he'd break into a dead run in an instant.  Probably leaping over 
stumps and going right through the juniper brush.  Until your body caught on 
a log or something and stopped him."

"Hold on, Mister," he said.  "Uh...yeah... I have a couple partners waiting 
for me at the truck.  There's a rifle and a pistol under the seat.  Charlie 
would use them, if he felt like it.  Kind of sudden, Charlie is."

"Well, that's real thoughtful of you, to tell me all that.  Tell you how 
we'll do it.  You just walk over to that big pine over there and stand 
there, facing the tree."

"What you goin' to do?"

"You'll see in just a minute."

I tied him securely to the tree.  I had him sit and put his legs on either 
side of the tree.  After I'd tied his ankles tightly together, legs around 
the tree, I repeated the process with his arms.  There was no way this 
character was getting loose without someone turning him loose.

"You're not going to leave me here, are you?"

"Oh, just for a little while.  We'll take care of your friends and then come 
back for you.  At least, you'd better hope we take care of your friends.  
They'd never find you, on their own."

He didn't like that.  He liked the gag I put in his mouth, to keep him from 
yelling, even less.

Audry and I rode near the road, then dismounted and tied the horses where 
they couldn't be seen and were unlikely to be heard.  We walked to a point 
where we could see the road.  On the shoulder was a large stake-bed truck, 
with a half-dozen of our Angus cattle in it.  Two guys leaned against the 
hood, smoking.
We'd found us some rustlers.

I didn't like it.  They were too far away, with open ground between us and 
them.  We couldn't take them cleanly.  I could probably shoot them down 
where they stood, but if one of them got behind the truck and started 
shooting, we'd have a standoff.

Audry had a better idea.

"How about we take the horses and go around the bend, then ride right up to 
them on the road?  We can look like recreational riders, staying off the 
posted ranch?"

"Not only beautiful, but smart.  We'll do it."

It worked just like she said.  When they heard our horses approaching, the 
guys opened the hood of the truck, as if they had a breakdown.  We stopped 
to ask if they needed us to go for help.

"Nah.  Thanks anyway.  Our partner got a ride with a guy about an hour ago.  
He should be back soon."

Shucking my rifle, I cocked it and said, "Nope.  He's all tied up at the 
moment.  Now you two get on your faces in the road... NOW!"

One...I guess sudden Charlie...tried to pull a pistol from his belt.  He 
wasn't even a beginner fast draw.  I put a bullet in his thigh and suggested 
the next one would be a body shot.  They both got down in a hurry.

While Audry covered them, I tied the one who hadn't been shot, hands and 
feet.  Then I looked at the wounded guy.

"Well Charlie, this isn't your lucky day, is it?"

He moaned.  "Help me."

"Oh, I will.  I'll put a pressure bandage on this.  Let's hope that isn't a 
major artery or something, shall we?"

"Get me to a doctor."

"Why, Charlie, a man would think you didn't appreciate what I'm doing for 
you.  Here I put a bandage on your leg...and you stealing my cows and all.  
Why your friend was even stealing my horses--except he got caught.  And now 
you got caught."

Audry and I cut a gate in the fence and let our cows out of the truck, using 
its hinged ramp.  Then we put our captives in the bed of the truck, tied as 
securely as we could manage it.  We didn't want them able to undo the knots 
on hands or ankles, so they ended up in a fairly tight hog-tie.

We rode back to where we'd left the first guy and unceremoniously dumped him 
over a horse, to carry him back to the truck.  Once there, I fixed the 
fence, while Audry loaded the horses.  We didn't concern ourselves if they 
stepped on our 'visitors'.

I searched each man thoroughly and found more drug paraphernalia, as well as 
more knives.  The only firearms were the rifle and pistol we'd already 
found.  The other two had several thousand dollars in their wallets, too.

Audry was all for taking them right to Bend, to deliver them to the sheriff. 
  I had another idea.

"Let's stop at the ranch, first.  Maybe our folks will have some thoughts."

When we got to the ranch, we unloaded our horses and explained what we had 
caught to our parents.  The kids were interested spectators, too.

"So, dad," I concluded, "we can take them to the sheriff and then have to 
testify.  And they'll say we can't prove that they stole anything, because 
we got our cows and horses back."

Dad and Rick nodded.

"Or, we can just take care of them ourselves."

Dad caught on immediately and took over.

"Son, I thought I taught you that we don't do things that way anymore.  We 
won't hang these critters until they get a fair trial.  Now you go put them 
in the barn, where they won't be in the weather, until we get the sheriff 
out here to take care of them proper."

Grumbling all the time--for the benefit of the rustlers; it was all an 
act--I backed their truck up to the barn and took them one at a time to 
where I could tie them to supporting beams.  They ended up sitting on the 
floor, arms around a post behind them, wrists securely tied with rawhide 
thongs.

They hadn't had anything to eat or drink, so we set large drink containers 
with built-in plastic straws near each.  These were filled with fresh water 
and were placed so they could drink by moving their heads.

Then we left them for the night.

In the house, dad called the sheriff, apologizing for disturbing his dinner. 
  The sheriff called us back in about fifteen minutes and asked what was 
going on.

Dad explained about the rustlers and told him how we'd arranged them for the 
night.  Then he described what he had in mind for the next morning.  The 
sheriff thought it was a likely plan and said he'd go along, after having a 
good laugh at the plight of our prisoners.


After breakfast, we made sure the stock was cared for, and then went to 
visit our prisoners.  They were a surly bunch.

"Dad, I still think a trial would be a waste of time on these worthless 
skunks.  Let's just string them up and be done with them."

"Son, I know you're a grown man now, but you got to learn that there's right 
ways and wrong ways.  We got to let the judge and the sheriff have their 
crack at them."

"You say that, but what if they just let them go?"

"Well, next time, you shoot first, when somebody is stealing a horse or cow 
of ours.  When you brought them in, we didn't have any choice.  Now, the 
sheriff will be here soon.  You bring him right over, so he can arrest these 
polecats proper."

We deliberately slipped into 'country idiom'.  It was part of the role we 
were playing for this audience.

Another part of our plan had worked to perfection.  Keeping them tied like 
we had, but giving them plenty of water, each had wet himself--they couldn't 
help it.  They smelled awful!  And the one I'd shot was in serious pain, 
though not, unfortunately, in danger of dying.

They were all three hollering at us, wanting this or that.  We didn't 
violate their 'rights' any, since we didn't question them any.  We just held 
them as best we could until the proper authority could take charge of them.

The sheriff arrived with a deputy and a judge of the district court.  We 
spent some time with these gentlemen over a cup of coffee and outlined what 
we had in mind.  They thought it was a workable plan and only offered a 
couple of suggestions.

The day was sunny and warm, so we set up a table under a really big oak that 
shades the ranch house.  The judge put on his black robe and sat behind it.
The sheriff, with his deputy, went into the barn and took charge of the 
prisoners, formally arresting them for rustling and drug offenses, as well 
as Charlie for aggravated assault, when he drew on me.  They were released 
from the posts and handcuffed to each other.

Their rights were read to them.

Each demanded a lawyer.

They were marched in front of the judge, who repeated the charges against 
them and asked how they pleaded.

They demanded a lawyer.

"Very well," the judge said.  "You have refused to enter pleas to the 
charges.  I will enter pleas of 'not guilty' on your behalf.  The court 
notes that the defendants have requested legal counsel.  Counsel will be 
provided.  The court finds that the evidence presented is sufficient to show 
that a crime has been committed and that a probability exists that the 
defendants committed it.  The defendants are therefore bound over for trial 
in the Circuit Court as soon as a trial date can be set.  The sheriff has 
shown that the defendants are a risk to flee the jurisdiction of this court. 
  Therefore, under the Oregon rules, I set bail at one million dollars, 
each.  Are there any questions?"

There was a clamor from the three.  The judge calmly held up his hand.  When 
they were quiet, he commented, "Threats and demands of this court will 
result in contempt citations, for which I have the authority to decree 
sentences on the spot.

"You were held under lawful citizens' arrest and were provided adequate care 
and facilities.  Gentlemen, the victims of a crime are not obliged to offer 
their attackers their beds and tables.  You were housed out of the rain and 
cold, and given water to keep you alive.  These people were not obliged to 
feed you.  They could have kept you out in the elements.

"The one with the wound--your wound was treated with the best care 
available.  A doctor will look at it when you reach the county jail.  But 
you need to know that when you try to shoot someone, he might shoot back.

"The sheriff will talk to you in a few minutes.  He will not ask you 
anything, beyond confirmation of your names and addresses.  Pay attention.  
He will tell you how things work here in Oregon--and especially in Deschutes 
County.
"This court is adjourned."

The judge rose and marched into the house--where he removed his robes and 
commented that he'd have his clerk 'make it all legal' when he got back to 
Bend.

The sheriff took the three and had them sit under the other oak in the yard. 
  "You boys should, by now, be getting the idea that you're in deep shit.  
Maybe this isn't such a big thing where you come from, but out here, we take 
rustling and trying to shoot somebody seriously.  Those cattle you tried to 
steal are worth somewhere around $50,000 each, or more--of course, you knew 
that when you stole them.  The horse you tried for can't be sold.  He's too 
famous.  But if you could sell him, I'd guess a half-million dollars might 
be about right.  So you see, boys, you tried to steal close to a million 
dollars worth of property.  Now we may be backwoods here, but that's a 
felony anywhere.

"Plus old Charlie here tried to shoot it out with Mr. Steele.  That makes 
all of you guilty of Charlie's folly, since you're all accessories in the 
felony you were committing.  Attempted murder, which is what I'll have the 
D.A. charge you with, is a life-sentence offense.  Sure, you might get 
parole after twenty years or so.  But then there's the felony grand theft 
charge...

"So, boys, you're in it up to your eyeballs... I've got you cold.  As far as 
I'm concerned, you have only one way out." He paused, to let that sink in.

Of course, these rustlers weren't too swift and were druggies besides.  
"What's that?" they all wanted to know.

"Well, if you help me, I can talk to the D.A..."

"How?  What?"

"How did you know about the cattle and horses on this ranch?  Who buys such 
stock from you?  And, are you willing to cut a deal?  I get these people as 
cold as I have you, in return for a better deal?"

They couldn't talk fast enough.

The sheriff stopped them.  "Remember, you all demanded lawyers.  Are you 
changing your minds?"

They assured him that they would tell him everything they knew, if he'd try 
to help with the DA.  He called his deputy over to witness that.  Then he 
sat down to listen.

"You gotta believe us!  We've picked up a few cows here and there.  And a 
horse or two... It was this guy we met in Denver, at a livestock auction, 
who told us that we could make a really big score in Oregon."

Another picked it up.  "Yeah.  He told us there was this one special ranch, 
that didn't raise beef for eating, they raised beef for breeding.  And the 
horses, he said, were the Ferraris of the horse world.  One little swing by 
that ranch... why, we'd be set."

"Yeah.  Well, you see where that got you," the deputy commented.

"Well, we've told you the story.  Will you let us go?"

"Not a chance.  Our deal was to talk to the DA.  You haven't given us a 
thing, except that you thought you could sell anything you stole.  We 
already knew that.  Big fuckin' deal!"

"But, we'll give you the guys' names!"

The sheriff picked up on that quickly.  "Guys?  There was more than one?"

"Yeah.  There was two.  Looked like they'd been real shit-hot.  But kind of 
raggedy, you know?"

"No, I don't know?  What do you mean?"

"Well, they looked like they had lots of money, you know?  But there was 
something missing.  Like they'd lost some of it.  Or just didn't care.  They 
were worn and ... not dirty... just... not clean, either."

"OK, I'm getting a picture.  Are you going to tell us who these guys are, or 
are we just supposed to recognize them?"

"We don't know if their names are real, you know?  But they said they were 
Claude Valkenberg and George Olsen.  I don't know if that helps or not."

"What did they offer you for stock from this ranch?"

"Four times what we'd get for them at beef prices."

"Yeah, that would make the trip worth it," the sheriff agreed.  "You're 
willing to testify?"

"Yeah, sure, if it gets us off."

"I don't promise that.  All I promised was to see what I could do.  You guys 
keep forgetting that."

"Yeah, right.  Anything you say, sheriff.  Can you get me to a doctor, now?"

"You'll live, more's the pity.  OK, deputy, get them in the car and book 
'em."  The deputy left with the prisoners and the sheriff left with the 
judge a bit later.

We still had to deal with 'the unholy three'.  Damn, we were tired of that 
bunch!


~~  * * * * *  ~~


In New York, Hazel was fast becoming a player in the social scene.

The reasons were many.  Among them was the fact that her social activity was 
minimal.  She accepted only very few carefully chosen 
invitations--preferring to spend most evenings quietly with her husband.  
She absolutely did not accept the 'hierarchy' of New York society...and just 
couldn't be bothered about what others thought.  No matter: Her patrician 
lineage guaranteed her standing.


Before long, those who were allowed to get to know her realized that Hazel 
could be a gregarious woman, but also was used to having no one but her 
family around her for long periods.  She liked people, in other words--but 
was perfectly happy with her husband's company.

She felt no need to become a 'mover and shaker' in society and refused to 
play the game.  Oh, she'd charm anybody, if she felt that it would do George 
some good, but she wasn't willing to do what most of the 'society' matrons 
did, to work their way up the pecking order.

Unimpressed by either wealth or social standing, Hazel made friends the way 
she always had--she looked for quality and integrity.

She accompanied George into the city about once a week.  While he worked, 
she shopped and entertained friends at lunch.  In the evening, they might 
attend someone's party--if the hosts were friends.  Just as often, they 
attended a play or even a new movie.

On weekends, they often had friends out to the Long Island estate--enjoying 
the horses and bridge games, good food and excellent conversation.  Few 
turned down a weekend invitation to their home.

On rare occasions, they would host a dinner party at the hotel in 
Manhattan--as a 'payback' for invitations accepted, as much as anything.  
Even these events were kept small and intimate.

Before she knew it, any invitation from Hazel generated automatic 
acceptance.  When she realized that, she laughed and jokingly compared 
herself to the White House.

In the spring, George rode in some regional equestrian competitions.  His 
riding was better than it ever had been and Ginger performed beyond his 
expectations.  George quickly concluded that the improvement was a result of 
Hazel's work with the horse and coaching of them both.

"I'll probably beat Audry this year," he confided with a chuckle.

"Well, maybe.  She's pregnant again and only doing arena events.  Rob is the 
one to watch for this year."

"They're both formidable at any time.  I'll watch out for them both... And 
who will you be rooting for, love?"

"My husband, of course," Hazel said, eyes twinkling.  "I love those kids, 
sure.  But you are my husband and my one true love.  I'd be thrilled to see 
you beat both of them."


At Nationals, we saw Hazel and George for the first time since their 
wedding, though we talked a lot on the phone.

The event was held at Hilton Head, down the coast from Charleston, South 
Carolina.

The horses had taken the air trip to Charleston just fine.  Neither they nor 
we enjoyed the heat and humidity we encountered very much.  Temperature and 
humidity both above 90 make for pretty tough conditions.  The arena was 
air-conditioned, which helped.  But I expected the 3-day to be a bitch.  I 
wasn't disappointed.

Our reunion with grandma was joyous.  George was never allowed to feel left 
out.  Even the kids swarmed over him.  And he and Hazel both got their turns 
feeding Erin.

To our amusement, Hazel made him change her, when she wet or pooped while he 
was holding her.  He took it well, saying it was part of being a 
grandpa--and he took the role seriously.

Hazel warned us, too, that George was improved and was out to eat our lunch 
at the Nationals.  We'd seen his scores in the monthly equestrian papers, 
and believed her.

When we saw him practice, there was no doubt that he and Ginger were far 
better than they had been.  Audry just got determined.  Clay was a better 
and stronger horse than Shannon had been, but maybe not quite as elegant.  
Windy was the best arena horse I'd ever ridden.  I wasn't worried.  The 
judges would determine the outcome.

For the 3-day, I was worried.  Sheik could do it, but I didn't know if he 
_would_.  He was by far the most cantankerous horse I'd ever ridden at that 
level.  Just when I thought I had him in hand, he'd throw a bucking fit, or 
deliberately balk at a gate.  For the first time as a rider, I carried a 
crop.  Sheik needed it.

In the qualifying round of dressage, Audry and I both made the finals 
easily.  George was in the second day and qualified easily, too.

The final round was a much closer contest than I had endured in a long time. 
  I was used to Audry beating me, but with Windy, I had a better horse than 
her Clay--in my admittedly biased opinion.  And I was not willing to say she 
was a better rider than I.

George and Ginger were a formidable combination.

It was a three-way dogfight, as far as I could tell.

Grandma said George would win.  Mom predicted that I would.  Dad said Audry 
would prevail one more time.

In the end, I won dressage, beating Audry for the first time in years.  And 
George was second.  Audry was pleased with third, but was not happy that we 
had both beaten her.

She vowed that we'd never beat her over the jumps.  Well...we'd see.

George was the favorite in the jumping event, so he rode last.  Since we 
were on new mounts, Audry and I were in the middle of the pack.

Clay turned in a clean round, in a very fast time.  Another horse and rider 
followed them, and then it was my turn.

Windy was flawless!  He was so smooth, he made it seem effortless.  And his 
time was a scorcher!  We were three seconds ahead of Audry.  Our time stood 
until George took his turn.  I couldn't believe my eyes.  Ginger flowed 
through the course and seemed to take the whole thing, including the gates, 
at a full gallop.  George ended up more than two seconds ahead of me.

Audry was not amused.

In the second turn, we were the last to ride.  Audry and Clay really turned 
it on and her time was better than mine had been in the first round, but not 
quite as good as George's.  Her only hope was that he would slow down.
I put Windy to it and we turned in our best performance ever.  Our time for 
the second round was three seconds faster than George's time in the first.  
I was a second ahead.

Grandma Hazel gave George a big kiss--and pointedly told him to 'show the 
kids how it was done.' He did...beating my time by a half second, winning 
the event.
Audry and I did not like losing, even to a friend riding one of our horses.
Mom smiled quietly to herself and whispered to Elin, who always seemed to 
know something we didn't.


George arranged a private room in an excellent restaurant for a big family 
dinner that night.  We loved having them with us again and the only ones who 
seemed at all put out that George had won were Audry and I.  Our folks were 
happy for the family 1-2-3 sweep.  I felt they were betraying their own 
kids.
But we did our best to have a good time and mostly succeeded.   George was 
very gracious and didn't rub our noses in it.

He did surprise us, though, when he said he was going to ride Ginger in the 
3-day, too.  We never suspected she'd have the stamina to do it after the 
arena competition.

"Does she have that much in her?" I blurted.

"I think so," George answered.  "This isn't an Olympic year, so it's a good 
time to find out.  She's a funny personality.  Maybe it's just attention she 
craves.  It seems, the more work she gets, the more she wants.  Anyway, I 
want to try.  If she runs out of gas, oh well."

Mom just nodded.  She'd always thought of Ginger more as a 3-day mount than 
an arena horse anyway.


In the 3-day, George ate my lunch.  Sheik got fractious in dressage and we 
ended that stage in fifth.  He did well in the strength and endurance stage, 
taking second, in good enough time to make us second overall, going into the 
jumping day.

Then he got cantankerous again and balked at a fence--putting us out of it.

George, on the other hand, was right about Ginger.  She was a tired animal 
at the end, but had enough to win the event.  She'd never be a dominant 
horse, like Sam, but she was the best in the country that year.


After hugs and kisses, George and Hazel promised to come out to the ranch in 
a couple weeks.  We returned to Oregon and they to New York.


~~  * * * * *  ~~


The DA came out personally, to tell us about our rustlers.  They were wanted 
on various charges in a number of states.  Charlie was wanted for murder in 
Ohio.  The information they'd given the U.S. Attorney was not enough to do 
anything about Valkenberg or Olsen.

The three would be charged with various felonies in Oregon, but would be 
released to other jurisdictions that had more serious charges pending 
against them.  If they were released from those, Oregon could have them 
back, to try for rustling and assault and so on.

He thought that these guys were small potatoes, really, and that the state 
could save money and effort by turning them over to others who really wanted 
them.

We agreed, as long as the sheriff was allowed to have a little 'talk' with 
them, first.

The DA, a good friend of Rick and Elin's, grinned.  "Already done.  Those 
guys can't wait to get out of our jail and into some nice friendly place 
that only wants to put them on trial for murder, armed robbery and the other 
usual mayhem.  They thought that they'd walk, if they pleased the US 
Attorney.  But they didn't have anything useful for him.  The sheriff spread 
the word in the county jail that they were being held for trying to 
gang-rape a 6-year-old girl... Then he threw them in the tank for a 
night..."

We all laughed.

"They can't get out of Oregon soon enough.  It will be as prisoners, when 
they go."

We were satisfied, as far as it went.

"You know, Kent, that the guys that put them up to it won't stop there."

"Yeah.  I know.  The sheriff and I discussed that, too.  I don't know that I 
can do much to help, though."

Dad spoke for us all.  "I guess if you know what we are up against and will 
stand by us, we'll do what we have to, to protect our families and our 
ranch."

"Works for me, Marty.  Neal and I agree that we'll back you up.  And Neal 
said he'll send a deputy out this way more often."

"OK.  We'll handle whatever comes along."

"Yeah.  You seem to do that."


					~ ~  * * * * *  ~ ~


Not much later, George and Hazel arrived--in a rented helicopter.  George 
just couldn't resist giving Hazel an aerial tour of the range and mountains 
where she'd lived so long.

To say we were happy to see them would be like calling the Tetons, hills.  
The kids swarmed over Hazel, pulling her this way and that, talking a mile a 
minute--trying to tell her all about everything all at once.  My folks and 
Audry's--and Audry and I--wanted to hug them and welcome them, too.

We finally got everyone straightened out and into the big house.  In the 
living room, Audry and I poured drinks for everyone.  (Of course, the kids 
were included.  They got cokes--except Erin, who was still on a bottle.)

We filled them in on all the details about our rustlers and the fact that 
there was nothing real we could do about Olsen and Valkenberg.

George said, "Let me think on that a bit.  Maybe I have an idea..."

"What, George?"

"It's not quite there, yet.  I won't forget."

"OK... How long can you stay?"

"Hazel wanted a month.  I only have a week... So about 10 days or so."

"Great.  Do you have anything specific you want to do?"

"Mostly, look at the spot Hazel wants to build our 'vacation hideaway'."

"Works for us," Uncle Rick said.  "Whistle if you need anything."

Grandma Hazel said, "I assume my horse is in good shape?  And there will be 
something decent for George to ride?"

"After what he did to us at Nationals, George should walk.  But we're a 
forgiving sort."  A big grin from my wife, "I'll personally make sure 
there's something suitable for him, if you want to ride."

Hazel said, "Now Audry, I don't mean that 20 year old, broken-down gelding 
of yours..."

We all laughed.  The gelding grandma was referring to died a year before.


Late the next morning, while Audry and I were working with the horses--Audry 
from the top rail of the ring, since she was too far along in her pregnancy 
to ride any more (Nationals had been the end of her riding, until the next 
baby made its appearance.)--George and Hazel rode out to the ridge where 
Hazel thought they could have a nice 'retreat' cabin.

She had chosen well.  The spot had a lovely view over meadow and pasture 
into the Cascades across the way.  There was a good creek, providing 
plentiful water, and it was not so far that stringing power lines would be a 
problem.
As soon as he had looked around, George said, "Hazel, honey, this is a 
perfect place.  The only thing I can see wrong with it is that I'll want to 
spend all my time here and not in New York, where I need to be."

Her grin showed her dimples.  "That's just what I had in mind, sweetheart.  
And you know damn well that most of what you do is done by phone and FAX 
anyway--why not from here?"

"Because my clients expect the personal touch and access to me, personally.  
And because a lot of the leads on new deals come from lunch or a drink in 
some club or bar in Manhattan--as you know perfectly well."

"But you have to admit, you could do a lot of your work here, if you wanted 
to?"

"Yeah, Hazel.  I could.  And I suspect I will.  But I can't spend as much 
time here as either of us would like me to."

Hazel hugged him.  "I know, darling.  And I'll be beside you, wherever you 
are.  You know that... I do think that this place would be the perfect 
hide-out spot for us, though."

George hugged her back.  "Damn, I'm glad I married you!"  Then he chuckled, 
"Yeah.  It's a good job you insisted on this when you gave the kids the big 
house."

"I may be old--that doesn't mean 'stupid'."

"Yeah.  Right.  Granny."

Hazel hit him for that.  It had been too many years since she'd been in love 
like she was with this man.

"So, Hazel, should I go ahead and have a place for us built here?"

"Sure.  Why not?"

"I thought maybe you'd want to 'supervise' it all?"

"Nah.  That's man's work.  I just want to approve the kitchen layout.  I do 
insist on indoor plumbing, though."

George laughed again.  "Yes, love.  We'll have indoor plumbing.  Maybe even 
running water...?"


In the time--way too short--they could spend with us, George and Hazel 
managed to ride up to the little canyon, to see how the Indians were coming 
with their work.  They also checked out all the young horses on the place... 
We didn't really mind that.  George confided that Ginger was his last 
competition horse.  He would retire when she could no longer compete.

On their last night with us, we had the whole family together.  George said 
he'd get going on building a place on the site grandma had selected, and 
asked if one of us would consent to be the local representative of the owner 
for dealing with contractors and so on.

Dad and Uncle Rick looked at me simultaneously, so I was elected.

George said, "I'll send a set of plans out FedEx, as soon as we've got them. 
  I need to meet with an architect, first.  You may have one of them out 
here soon, to look at the spot."


As it turned out, three different architects arrived at three different 
times, to look over the site.  George ended up making it a kind of 
competition.  He paid each a flat fee, to come up with a concept and basic 
plan.  Then he and Hazel would select the one they liked best and refine the 
details from there.
It was most of a year, and after the birth of my third daughter, Julie, that 
grandma told George to quit screwing around.  THAT one was the one they 
would choose!

George chose to build a log house.  We all liked that.  It would blend into 
the scenery nicely.

His 'log cabin' vacation retreat was a 6,500 square foot mansion!  And I was 
the guy who was expected to supervise?

Not to worry, Hazel told me.  The architect would be out often during the 
construction, to make sure his plan was followed.

Before I knew it, I was meeting the architect again and being introduced to 
the general contractor, a guy from Portland who mostly did commercial 
buildings.  His biggest industrial customer owed George big time, for a 
financing package George had put together for him; he convinced the 
contractor that it would pay off in the long run to do this big house--and 
do it right, down to the last detail!

Next thing we knew, the county was out to approve site, sewer and water.  
Then heavy excavation equipment arrived, along with the electric company, to 
string power and phone to the site.  In no time, a septic system was 
installed and the foundations of the house excavated.

An enormous amount, it seemed to me, of cement was poured.  Not just for 
foundations, but for deck and floors for the barns and shop.

Next, asphalt was laid from the county road to the ranch house.  And from 
there, on out to George's 'retreat'.  That was nice--we'd often complained 
about the dust from the drive and the open space around the house in the 
summer.  But we'd always felt that the expense didn't justify the solution.

It did to George.  He didn't want dust from his coming and going--or that of 
his guests or people making deliveries--to disturb us.

(Grandma confided, with a grin, "He can afford it--what else is he going to 
spend his money on?  Just thank him when he comes out.  He'll say, 'Aw, 
shucks', but be pleased." ... She was right.)

Within three months, the construction crews were gone, and the house was 
ready.
Wow!  What a house!  It was twice as large as the old ranch house we lived 
in and it sure had all the comforts money could buy, while maintaining the 
rustic ambiance.

It also had its own stable--stalls for six horses, as well as a large corral 
and fenced pasture--and a combination shop and garage, with four bays.

There were five well-appointed guestrooms and a small suite for a live-in 
cook-housekeeper.  They considered a swimming pool, but decided that it was 
probably too cold much of the year--unless they wanted to put it indoors.  
Besides, they were mostly interested in riding when they were on the ranch.  
Naturally, there was a helicopter pad.


As soon as the spring weather was warm enough, George--actually it was 
grandma--had a housewarming.  It was a small event, with a half-dozen 
couples from the east invited, as well as some of grandma's friends from the 
local area.
Grandma called to get us to help set it up.  "You know I can't do it from 
here without your help.  And there are too many details that have to be done 
from your end.  I'll mail invitations, but would you make the follow-up 
calls?  I'll FAX you the list." Audry agreed readily enough.

"And, would you especially make sure the people on the list from Warm 
Springs come?  I don't want anybody to think it's too 'high-brow' an event.  
We want to have some fun with our friends."

"OK, grandma," Audry agreed.  "We'll keep the lid on it, until you can get 
here yourself... When will that be?"

"Next week, dear.  Lord willin'."


Only one couple had to cancel, due to a severe illness.  Everyone else came. 
  We had guests coming out our ears and some creativity was needed to find 
places to put them all.  We used our motorhome and had a couple of friends 
from Bend come out in motorhomes of their own, just to help with housing.  
The guests from the east stayed in the new house.  The rest stayed in our 
houses, or the motorhomes.

We ate steaks and corn on the cob and the kids had all the ice cream they 
could stuff down.

"Well, mom," dad asked, "now that you've built it, what will you do with 
it?"

Grandma laughed.  "Why Martin... We'll open a cat-house.  I'm surprised you 
had to ask."

That increased the level of merriment.

Rick looked at George.  "Why would you want to do that?  I thought Hazel was 
all you could handle?"

"Well, she's all she'll let me handle..." George hollered across the group 
to Tom, the tribal elder, who'd come with Gary Butler and his family.  "Hey, 
Tom.  How do you folks handle smart aleck kids?  Mine are getting a little 
uppity."

"We smack 'em on the backside, George.  Until they get big enough to smack 
back.  Then we pretty much stay out of their way... Nice party, by the way, 
but the new teepee is a bit much, isn't it?"

"Nah.  I need a big place, so I can have lots of bathrooms.  That way, 
there's always sure to be at least one that Hazel isn't in when I need to 
take a leak!"


A bit later in the evening, Tom asked dad about the rustlers.  George 
overheard, and asked for a moment from everyone there.

"Friends, a lot of you know about the trouble the family had some years ago, 
with a group who were trying to force their way into eastern society at Rob 
and Audry's expense."

Heads nodded.  Most everyone had heard the story.  Hazel promised to tell 
those who hadn't, later.

"They managed to put them out of business and all was well--until one of the 
Schwartz boys decided to take revenge.  He was killing stock on the ranch.  
Then shot one of the Indian girls who was helping patrol the place.  Anyway, 
he's dead and not a problem.

"But we just learned that Olsen and Valkenberg are behind the rustling that 
happened last year.  That attempt wasn't successful, but we expect they'll 
try again.  Unless we can prevent it.

"It seems that they're trying to recover their fortune, at least in part, 
through the cattle business.  Of course, that was Olsen's specialty...

"I kind of thought that, with all the talent and the contacts of the people 
here, we can find out where these people are nowadays and what they're up 
to.  And when we find that out, we can set them running... I'm thinking a 
long-term program to keep us all informed of where they are, wherever they 
light and set up shop.  We could also quietly let our friends in those 
places know all about them, and the dangers of doing business with them."

Heads nodded.  It would be done.

"I kind of think they'll never get on their feet again, if we see to it.  We 
have to be careful not to cross the line, ourselves.  No threats, no 
intimidation.  But if you folks, who are my friends, will use your 
influence, as I'll use mine, I'm sure we can find out what we need to know 
and take appropriate action."

George's eastern guests were couples who were genuine friends--and moved in 
similar social and business circles.  Hazel's local friends were influential 
people, too.  Of course, the Indians had contacts with all the other tribes 
and bands in the country--a pretty incredible network that most people 
seldom saw, or thought of.

Harry Jameson, horseman, and CEO of a major conglomerate, had a suggestion.  
"If these people are behind the rustling, why don't we make sure that they 
get a message--that for every dollar you lose to rustlers, they will lose an 
equivalent amount, in ways they can't protect against?"

"Sounds OK," another guest agreed, "but how would you do it?"

"Lots of ways.  Investments go sour.  Cattle they buy at top prices turn out 
to be low grade.  Real estate deals can't get the permits they need.  It's 
not too hard."

It was agreed.

They would make an effort to find out all they could about the three 
families and their current locations and activities.  George and Hazel would 
coordinate.

Audry and I were not vindictive.  As far as we knew, we'd stopped them every 
time they'd tried to hurt us; although they had done us harm, in dead stock 
and injured friends.  Two dead Schwartz's--one still unburied--were more 
than enough revenge.  We'd picked up a few rifles and a couple of trucks out 
of it.

Our goal in the whole thing was to get these people to just leave us alone.  
It seemed that they had formed a habit of taking a swipe at us from time to 
time, when it didn't cost them anything and they thought they could get away 
with it--like with the rustlers.

My concern--the fear that made me wake in a cold sweat--was that one time, 
it would be Zach, or Moira who would be in the way.  They'd proven they were 
completely ruthless.  There was no reason to think they'd spare our 
children, if they felt they could get away clean.

Dad and Uncle Rick agreed--and so did George, when I asked him.

We'd try to smoke them out, so we could dispose of them.


~~  * * * * *  ~~


Audry asked me, "Do you really think we can do anything?"

"Well, that's a pretty high-powered group Hazel gathered.  If anything can 
be done, that bunch can do it."

"I'd just like to be able to quit worrying all the time.  Every time we 
leave this part of the ranch, I feel I have to watch over my shoulder for 
some crazy with a gun.  I'm real tired of it.  I'd rather we didn't have to 
carry rifles all the time, too."

"Darlin', I love you... I wish, with all my heart, that I could make it that 
way for you.  And for the kids.  But you know, this is the way the first 
Steeles on this ranch had to live every day of their lives.  The Indians 
were friendly, mostly.  But you never knew when a rogue band of young bucks 
might break loose in the area.  And the white men who passed through were 
notorious for picking up anything that wasn't fastened down.

"We're blessed to live in a more civilized, peaceful time.  We enjoyed that 
during our growing up years.  Now we have enemies, through no fault of our 
own.  We have to be careful, to keep what is ours--including especially our 
lives and the lives of our children."

My wife snuggled her exciting shape against me.  Four children-and her body 
still turns me on instantly.

"I know that, Rob.  But I'd love to be able to give our children the same 
peaceful childhood we had."

"Well, look at it.  They already have more playmates than we had..."

My hand, gently passing over her firm breast elicited an enchanting giggle.

"Yeah.  And you keep that up and they'll have even more."

"Well, I do what I can..."

Audry giggled and wriggled underneath me, steering it in.

"Quit talking and get to doing then!" she said, her voice trailing off into 
a contented sigh, as I penetrated her soft, hot core.


When we were lying side by side, kissing and stroking and cooling down, I 
took it up again.

"I don't see what we could do, darling, except hunt them all down and kill 
them.  This bunch has decided that we're responsible for their 
troubles--even though they began it and we've not pursued them, after their 
various attacks.  I think that living 'on our toes' might be a good thing, 
in the sense that the kids will grow up aware that there are evil people out 
there, as well as good ones.  I hope they'll grow up alert and aware of 
what's going on around them--and better able to survive as a result."

"That's all well and good, Rob.  But I want peace.  I don't want to have to 
scan the horizon and the corral fence every time before I step out of the 
house, like I do now."

"Audry, honey, I'm not arguing with you.  I'd like that, too.  But we have a 
situation that we have to live with.  And we have to accept that it may go 
on for years.  We could probably behave normally, in perfect safety, for a 
long time.  Years maybe.  But those people are out there and they do want to 
hurt us any way they can.  We have to remain alert all the time, if we're 
going to catch them before they do one or more of us in."

Reluctantly, she agreed.


In New York, Hazel and George had the same conversation.  But with a bit of 
a twist.

"Hazel, I'm really tired of the way that bunch operates.  They've been after 
your family for years--for no reason except malice."

"Darling, we're all tired of them.  But we don't know what we can do until 
they attack.  We can handle them if we can catch them.  How can we do 
anything to them if we don't even know where they are?  And even then, the 
law won't touch them, unless they can catch them in some criminal act."

"Well, I think they need a lesson in manners.  Your sons and grandson have 
done an amazing job on them, all things considered.  But, though I operate 
in a strictly ethical manner, I know every trick of the sharks... I think 
they'll find I'm the biggest shark of all."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Ask me in a couple of days.  I need to check a couple of things first."
Hazel smiled and kissed him hard.


It turned out not to be too difficult to locate the three families.  Their 
wives' social pretensions made them appear on the 'radar screen' George and 
his friends set up.  They were in the Dallas, Texas area, where they were 
speculating in cattle and oil.

Without much effort, George was able to get a pretty complete picture of 
their activities from a customer, whose company was now traded on the 
NYSE--and who had gotten his initial financing through George.

"Don't know why you'd want anything to do with that bunch, George.  They're 
not your kind of people at all.  They've got a little money, I think, and 
their wives like to play it big in the social whirl--though they're not 
really very well liked.  But you deal with honest people.  Hell, you've 
loaned millions on a handshake.  These guys?  George, I wouldn't trust their 
contract, unless I had their balls in my safe for collateral."

"I know what they are, Dan.  They've been causing some trouble for my 
family.  I intend to put a stop to it.  But I need to know all I can find 
out about them, in order to do it."

"That makes it different.  Want me to nose around a bit?"

"Please.  If it's not too much trouble."

"For you?  No trouble at all.  When are you going to bring that babe you 
married down here to Texas?"

"I don't want her associating with you clowns!"  They shared a laugh.
"Actually, we may come down there to take a look at those people 
ourselves... Lemme know what you dig up."

"Any time, George.  I'll call you in a few days."


Another friend called to tell George that Olsen had borrowed the money they 
were operating on.  There was some speculation that it was drug money he was 
trying to launder.  If true, he was playing a dangerous game.  Speculating 
in cattle and oil was not for the faint of heart or weak of stomach.  And 
speculating with drug money, from someone who would want his investment 
back, clean and with interest, was really risky.


Harry Jameson spoke with George daily and kept abreast of the investigation 
too.  One of his friends told him that Valkenberg's wife had just spent a 
million dollars on a new townhouse for them.  And the other two women were 
spending lots of cash, too.

"Where's it coming from, Harry?" George asked him.

"I don't know.  The guy who told me said he couldn't figure it out, since 
they didn't seem to be doing that well in the oil and cattle business."

"Could they have found some investors and be skimming the deal?"

"Possible.  I'll see what I can dig up."


Hazel checked with the Parmentiers in Virginia.  Her cousin, Alan, said, 
"Funny you should call... I thought those names were the same as the group 
that were after the kids--that thing about rigging the equestrian contests?"

"Yep.  That's them.  What have you heard, Alan?"

"Well, my nephew, Gary, says the women in that group are social climbers 
like you wouldn't believe.  He also says they're really heavily leveraged 
right now on some deals--both in cattle and oil.  I guess they bought some 
breeding stock on credit, then used them as the collateral for the margin on 
an oil deal."

"So any 'correction' in either deal would wipe them out?"

"Yes.  That's what Gary says, anyway."

"Can you find out more of the details about these scams?" Hazel asked.

"Sure.  I'll call Gary and get back to you in a day or two."

"Thanks, Alan.  I knew I could count on you."

"Any time, Hazel... I have to say, from a purely selfish point of view, you 
were more fun before you got married.  But George is a good guy and all of 
us down here are happy for both of you."

"Thanks twice, then, Alan.  I'll look forward to hearing from you."


In a couple of days, they had the details.  The three families were indeed 
highly leveraged and were living on credit, with very little to back it up.
The cattle deal involved some very expensive breeding stock they bought and 
were trying to syndicate, just like one would a champion racehorse.  Turns 
out the breed involved was Black Angus.

Hazel's grin got wolfish at that.

She called Rick at the ranch immediately.  He was out, but was carrying a 
cell phone.  Hazel reached him in his jeep.

"Rick, does the ranch have any excess bulls right now?"

"One or two--and a couple of young ones we haven't proven yet.  Why?"

Hazel outlined her plan.  Rick thought it was an excellent idea and said 
he'd ship the animals within the week.


Breeding stock from the Steele Ranch was well known across the country, 
among serious breeders of Black Angus.  The sudden availability of two 
proven and two young bulls and three champion cows from the herd 
dramatically reduced the value of the animals Olsen, Valkenberg and Schwartz 
had bought.

Since they had used the full amount that they expected to get for the 
animals in their margin on the oil deal, their suddenly reduced value caused 
the bank that was underwriting the venture to issue a margin call on them.

Very quietly, the bank was made aware that George knew something about these 
people.  Having done business with him before, the bank president called 
George for a confidential report, knowing he'd get George's honest opinion 
in a straightforward manner.

"You know, Brad, I have a personal issue with those people.  Olsen and 
Schwartz especially, but Valkenberg, too."

"How's that, George?  I hadn't heard that you'd done anything with them."

"I didn't.  But they've carried on a vendetta against my wife's kids for 
years.  Some pretty low stuff, too."

"George, thanks.  I'll keep that in mind.  But you know, telling me that up 
front just confirms your integrity, as far as I'm concerned--as if it needed 
it.  How about filling me in?"

"OK, Brad... They've always been skaters right on the edge.  Mostly they 
haven't gotten caught.  When they have, it's usually been a matter of the 
case not being strong enough to convict them, or the crime not quite serious 
enough to be worth the effort to secure a conviction...

"They did deliberately mess up my grand-kids' registration at the national 
horse show several years ago, so one of their sons could win.  They bribed 
and intimidated judges too.  When it was proven, the results of that year's 
competition were thrown out.  You may remember: Audry was on the cover of 
_Sports Illustrated_?"

Brad had a vague recollection.  But it must have been quite a scandal back 
then to make that much splash.

"Then," George continued, "they hired a guy--actually, he already worked for 
Olsen--to kill stock on the ranch.  The guy got caught, and told all.  That 
resulted in them losing their existing businesses--they relied on social 
contacts.  When they were exposed for the crooks they were, no one would do 
business with them.

"Later, one of the Schwartz boys, John, tried to kill some stock again.  
He'd drive out to the ranch from time to time and shoot a few head.  He's 
dead, now.  And a year ago, they talked some guys into trying to rustle 
stock from the ranch.  One of them pulled a gun on Hazel's grandson.  Not a 
good idea...

"Anyway, Brad, you get the idea.  They are amoral at best and shameless 
social climbers.  Their biggest problem of all is they have no class.  A 
little patina maybe, but really crude characters--the women, too.  My best 
advice is, recover what you can, if you have any exposure with them.  And 
don't let any of your friends get involved with them."

"OK, George.  Thanks for your help.  I really do appreciate it."

"Any time, Brad.  Sorry I couldn't give you good news."

"Oh, you did.  Weren't you behind those bulls from the ranch showing up 
here?"

"Purely coincidence, Brad.  Purely coincidence."

"Sure, George... And somewhere on that ranch, you really do have a pig that 
knows how to whistle."

"See you, Brad."


Since all three families, including the wives, had personally guaranteed the 
balance on the oil deal, the bank swooped in and confiscated all their 
assets that it could find.  Surprisingly, this included several million 
dollars in cash, in relatively small bills, found in Valkenberg's bedroom, 
in their expensive townhouse... which was also seized.

The cattle Olsen had bought for them were really pretty good--just not as 
good as those from the ranch.  The guy who'd bought our bulls ended up 
buying them, too--at half of what Olsen had paid.  (Olsen still owed the 
remainder to a bank.)  He kept only one of our proven bulls and one of the 
young ones and shipped the other animals back to the ranch.

We didn't care.  The two bulls he kept brought in more money than the family 
really wanted to make that year, even with income averaging.


Valkenberg's wife almost left him over the debacle.  He'd promised her that 
he'd make it big and she would have the social standing she demanded.  In 
the end, she didn't have anyplace else to go and followed along to the next 
scam.


The banker, Brad, made sure that all three were quietly informed--but not 
from him--that it was not a good idea to carry grudges.  Compared to the 
people they wanted to swim with, they were small fish, indeed.  And a couple 
of really big sharks had taken the Oregon ranch as a special project--those 
three should lay off.  Or else.


We enjoyed real peace and tranquility for the next two years.

Well... as much as parents of four small, active children can.




* 'High Society' is the seventh in the series of Audry stories.  (c) 1997, 
2001, Extar International, Ltd. All rights reserved. Single copies for 
personal, non-commercial use may be downloaded or printed. Any other uses, 
including reposting, or posting on an archive site, must have prior 
permission from Extar International. Comments always welcome.  
<extar@hotmail.com>

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