* * *
I find my father in front of the house, sitting on the bench with a lamb sucking a bottle of milk on his lap. Beside him, Smoke is busy chewing on his bone but wags his tail as I approach. My father notices and looks up, our eyes meeting.
“Good morning,” I greet him, kissing the top of his head.
He looks away, turning back to his task. “Where were you?”
I pet Smoke’s head. “I was taking a walk.”
Well, I was now, after getting dressed. I decided it would be a little suspicious if I came back to the house right after my Dad paid Chase a visit.
“When did you arrive? I was waiting for you last night.”
“Sorry,” I mumble, placing my hands behind my back. “My friend and I lost track of time so I came home late.”
“You could have called.”
“I wasn’t sure if you had your phone turned on or if it was with you.”
“You would have found out if you had called.”
He lifts his head and there’s pain in his eyes. A thorn spears my chest and a lump forms in my throat.
I’ve lied to my father before. I’ve hurt him before. But not like this.
I’m a jerk for worrying him, needlessly.
I squat in front of him, placing my hand on his knee. “I’m really sorry, Dad.”
He doesn’t answer but the fact that he doesn’t say more lets me know I’m forgiven.
He’s never been able to stay mad at me.
I reach out to pet the lamb, fingers rubbing against the soft wool. “This is Martin, isn’t it?”
He nods.
“Hello, Martin. Hey, easy on that bottle, all right?”
The lamb keeps sucking enthusiastically, the bottle only about one-fifth full.
I pat him on the head. “He’s going to be a strong ram, this one.”
“He better,” my father says. “We don’t have too many good ones left.”
“Don’t you worry, Martin,” I talk to the lamb in my baby voice, rubbing between his ears. “Dad and I will take good care of you.”
“And Chase,” my Dad adds. “You forgot Chase. Something tells me he’ll be around for a long time.”
I say nothing, simply nodding.
Wheels rumble up behind me. I rise and turn my head. A maroon Tahoe pulls into the driveway.
Weird - yesterday, we got a visit from a patrol car. Now, this.
My father isn’t too pleased either. Not a long time ago, there were some people in fancy SUVs dropping by the ranch and trying to talk him into selling it. I hope these people aren’t like them.
The SUV stops and two men come out, one wearing a leather jacket over a white shirt and faded jeans, the other wearing sunglasses, a checkered red and black shirt and dark jeans with silver sneakers. They’re both tall and heavily built, almost six feet tall and maybe around 200 pounds each.
“Good day.” The guy in the checkered shirt removes his sunglasses as he stops a few feet away from me then holds up the tablet he’s holding. “We’re from the Census Bureau.”
Census Bureau? I throw my father a puzzled look.
“What do you want?” he asks them.
“We’re going to ask some questions,” the man with the leather jacket answers.
That’s what the detective said yesterday.
Still, I take a deep breath and force myself to relax. There’s no use being paranoid.
“I’ll let you deal with them,” my dad says, standing up beside me. “I’ve got to bring this lamb back to the flock and take care of a few more things.”
I lift my eyebrows. He’s leaving me to deal with these guys?
Then again, he’s never been the friendly kind of guy, which is why he’s spent most of his life cooped up here in this ranch.
“Okay,” I say as I watch him go.
It’s not like I have a choice.
I turn to the visitors. “So, what do you want to know?”
The man in the checkered shirt taps the screen of his tablet. “We want to know how many people live here along with the names and ages.”
“Well, there’s my father, Isaac Calver, the man who left. He’s fifty-four.”
“And you?” the man in the leather jacket asks.
I tuck some strands of hair behind my ear. “I’m twenty. I’m Lauren Calver. I’m not sure if you can still count me as living here, though, since I go to college.”
“Lauren Calver,” the man in the checkered shirt repeats as he types on his gadget. “What about your mother?”
“She’s been gone for a long time,” I answer.
“You mean dead?” the other man asks.
I nod, folding my arms over my chest.
I don’t really want to talk about it, not to a pair of strangers. Besides, if they’re from the Census Bureau, shouldn’t they know about it? They’re the ones who are supposed to be experts on births and deaths, right?
“Anyone else?” the man in the checkered shirt asks.
“Just a farmhand staying in an old barn. He hasn’t been around for long.”
“A farmhand?”
“Yeah. He’s…”
I pause, catching the glint of a gun beneath the leather jacket of the other man. Do the people who work for the Census Bureau normally carry firearms?
Something tells me no. Not just that. I’m beginning to think these guys may not be from the Census Bureau, after all.
Maybe I should have asked them for IDs.
“You were saying?” the guy with the tablet asks with raised eyebrows.
“Um…”
“What’s his name?” the other man asks.
“Jack, I think,” I answer. The fake name pops out, easy. “Or was it Jake? Jake Brown or something. I can’t remember.”
“Age?” the man in the checkered shirt asks.
I shrug. “I don’t know. Early twenties, maybe.”
Chase is twenty-nine.
The man types on his tablet, the other falling silent. I put my hands in my pockets, leaning back on my heels and holding my breath as I impatiently wait for them to leave.
Finally, the man lowers his tablet, nodding. “Thanks for your cooperation.”
I nod. The other man offers to shake my hand so I let him, noting his vise-like grip.
They go back to the car, driving off after a few minutes. After they’ve gone, I sit on the bench behind me and place a hand on my chest, letting out a sigh of relief.
I’m not really relieved though. In fact, I’m worried. Who were those men and what did they want?
I have a bad feeling about this.