Roscoe handed the park permit to the snow bum and wished for an avalanche or some other winter catastrophe to hit so he could escape. “My project already has funding, so I don’t need your help. I’m just presenting so everyone in Merriton will hear about it first. You can wait until then. Don’t even know how you know that my project might be something you’re interested in.” A.S. shook her head. No excuse was going to fly with her.

“Listen to me, Roscoe. My project is called the Merriton Festival Circuit. We are going to host an event every month. I just want to include your safari thing. Which month are you planning on having it?” The tall and thin man bristled. There were so many things wrong with what she just said he hardly knew where to start and he certainly didn’t want to say exactly how he felt with so many park visitors in the ranger station.

He took the money from a snow bunny in a ski suit so tight that he could see the woman’s nipples bulging. He tried not to stare, but there they were, looking at him like two raisins smashed into GORE-TEX. “A.S., I’m a little busy.” He motioned at the crowd and then the most surprising thing happened. A.S. jumped behind the counter and offered to help the next ski jacket in line.

For fifteen quiet minutes, the two of them took money and handed out park permits. Roscoe was shocked that A.S. would even know the cost and difference between the various permits, but she explained them and the rules to the ski jackets as well as any of his rangers could have. A.S. always acted like she was so much better than everyone else, that Roscoe had forgotten that she was a local. Born on the mountain, just like him. By the time the two of them cleared the crowd, he was in a much better mood to talk.

“Thanks for helpin’.” A.S. walked around to the other side of the counter and shrugged. Roscoe took off his ranger hat and ran his hand over his head. “First off, it’s not a safari thing. Don’t ever call it safari nothin’. I don’t want no trouble from the Jeep people, ‘kay?” Roscoe waited for her answer. A.S. crinkled her brow, but she agreed. “Okay? What is it then?”

Roscoe felt like he was breaking a rule to confide in A.S., but he was bursting to the seams with pride. “It’s called the Land Cruiser Cruise.” He smiled and nodded. A.S.’s face was blank, so he continued, “I’ve got a sponsorship with Toyota to host an off-roading weekend on the mountain this June. Only people who own Toyota vehicles can participate.” He started listing the models, “Land Cruisers, FJs, Tundras, 4Runners, Siennas, even Tacomas if they’re lifted right. Heck, if they can get a Prius up the mountain, it’s welcome just as much.”

A.S. nodded, “So you’re having your event in June. Is it alright if I include it on the Merriton Festival Circuit? I just don’t want to create my own event that month if you’ve already have something planned.” Roscoe agreed, “Sure, you can include it.” He wanted to talk some more. He had broken the rule to share this much, he wanted to finish. “There will be a big tent for all the vendor who sell add-ons and accessories for Toyotas. It will be bigger than the Onion Festival!”

Roscoe noticed A.S. cringe, so he changed the subject a bit. “It’s just that the Jeep Safari doesn’t let anybody except Jeeps go on their safari, so we wanted to have an event of our own. People have been takin’ Toyota pickups up Moose Hill ever since they first came to the states. They might be little, but they’re just as good goin’ up the hill as any Jeep. We just wanted to show everybody that.”

A.S. smiled. “Have you created your Power Point for the presentation yet?” Roscoe shook his head. “Dora said she’d help me with it.” A.S. answered, “When you introduce this, lead with that story. It’s a good one.” Then another thought hit her. “Oh, and show lots of pictures of your pickup with you and Dora. It will seem like you’ve already done it if you can show them what it will look like.”

Roscoe was surprised and grateful for her advice. A.S. asked, “Is it asking too much to have you say that you are the June event for the Merriton Festival Circuit?” Roscoe smiled, of course, she would want something in return. A.S. never did nothin’ for free. She might be more polite about it, but sh still wanted somethin’. “Sure, A.S., I’ll say that for ya, but you gotta do somethin’ for me.”

The surprise on her face was palpable. Roscoe realized that she never once considered that he might want something in return. His Land Cruiser Cruise was a funded event that she thought she could just appropriate for her festival thing. Well, if she was going to get some of the credit, he was going to get something out of it. “I want you to do an event where all the people bring their old computers to donate them to Dora’s project.”

Roscoe didn’t expect the joy to fill A.S.’s face. She pulled out her list again and pointed at it, “I have April and August free. Which do you think will work for her?” Roscoe struggled with the idea. “Well, August people could do it for school startin’, but then she wouldn’t have enough time to get all the computers fixed up. How about April?” A.S. smiled and pulled her pen back out of her purse. “Okay, and what should we call it? What is Dora calling her project?”

Roscoe put his ranger hat back on. “I think she’s callin’ it the ElectroRegeneration Society, ERGS for short.” He watched A.S. write the words on her monthly festival calendar. “That’s a horrible name, but it doesn’t really matter what you call something as long as it gets into people’s minds.” Her hand hovered over the calendar and she continued, “Firstly, I can’t do THIS April. We’ll have to plan for NEXT April. There’s just not enough time to generate a buzz for something like this. Secondly, you better talk to Dora about this before I commit to giving her April. She might not want to deal with me…”

The ranger smiled in surprise for the second time that day. Maybe there was hope for A.S. yet.

John and James looked at her with their quiet ways. Bree’s mind immediately went to the worst. They wanted her to move. That John was some Jesus Freak and was never comfortable with the fact that she was gay. He had met his limit and wanted her out. She braced herself for the rejection when she noticed the remote control in James’ right hand. She looked at the TV and saw the picture, frozen in time. “What’s going on?”

Sasquatch had expected her to plop on the couch for the customary cuddle, but she just stood there in front of the Thunder Brothers. He squirmed in her arms. James’ voice faltered. “We was watching the basketball game.” He pointed at the TV guiltily. John nodded and pointed as well as James continued, “I recorded it on the VCR.”

From the looks of them, it felt like she had caught them watching porn, but the score on the screen most definitely announced that the Trail Blazers were losing to the Jazz. Bree carefully replied, “Wasn’t that game in November?”

The brothers looked at each other and motioned for her to sit down. She carried the wiggling Sasquatch over to the couch and focused on the TV. Her hand absent-mindedly pet the cat as James and John sat on either side of her. James lifted his hand and pointed the remote at the television. The announcer’s voice started mid-sentence and rambled something about Deron Williams. The screen went blank, and then the familiar visage of the iPhone and the friendly voice said, “Suppose you…” James paused the video.

“That’s your phone, right?” Sasquatch purred and shed fur over the three of them on the couch. Bree answered, “I have a phone like that one.” She pulled her iPhone out of her pocket and handed it to John. He held it uncomfortably and tried to hand it back to her. James lifted the remote again.

The voice continued and Bree broke out into a sweat. This was HER commercial. It was the one where Apple showed off SN Connector for the iPhone. When it finished, James paused the VCR again.

“Did they steal your idea?” The men at her sides bristled. Bree suppressed a laugh and pushed Sasquatch off her lap. She put her arms around them both. “No! That’s a commercial Apple did FOR me.”

James breathed out a large sigh of relief. “That’s what John thought, but I thought if you were gonna be on TV, you’d've told us about it.” John nodded and they both look at her expectantly. James continued, “Why didn’t you tell us about it?” There was a tinge of hurt in his voice and John’s shoulders tightened under her arm.

She shrugged and withdrew from her group hug. “Well, I didn’t believe it would really happen. I had a friend who had an app that Apple was supposed to highlight in a commercial and they pulled out, so I thought they’d do that to me, too.” John nodded, but the scar on James’ face still quivered. “Then, when it DID happen, it kind of felt like bragging to tell everyone about it.”

Bree felt the entire couch relax for a brief instant and then immediately tense up again. James asked, “So are you rich, now?” Bree smiled and laughed. “That depends on who you ask. Compared to how much money I made at Zerbitz a couple of years ago? Yes, I am rich. Compared to Random, no, I’m not.” Despite her laughter, the brothers remained anxious.

John spoke first, “Told you.” James nodded and they looked deflated. “So that’s why you’re not doin’ a project this year?” Bree tried to ease their discomfort. “Well, I’m a little busy with the updates…” she tried to think of something funny to make them laugh. “…and counting all my money, of course.” The joke fell as flat as a two-dimensional object.

“Told you,” John repeated the phrase with a scary finality. It was more than she had heard him say in two weeks. James looked like a boy who had lost his only ball down a well. Bree’s brow crinkled and she turned on the couch to face him. “What’s the matter?”

John was the one to respond, but talked to James, not her, “It’s alright. Maybe Samson can help.” James shook his head and replied, “He’s a millionaire, too. His project is makin’ more than mine did. He won’t want to either.” The two brothers communicated through her almost as if they were twins and had a language of their own. Bree interrupted them, “Help with what?” The Thunder Brother commiserated with her between them on the couch, but they no longer noticed her.

“We can find more farm hands. We used to always do that every year.”

“But they would come and go. It wasn’t the same.”

“Yeah, we always had to be ridin’ ‘em to make sure they were workin’.”

“And they never knew what they were doin’.”

The two brothers complained together so quickly that Bree could barely tell them apart anymore. It was only the geography of the couch that kept them straight in her mind. When she could take their grieving no more, she raised her voice and stood up. She faced the two of them on the couch with her hands on her wide and strong hips.

“So, I take it that you think I’m leavin’ just ’cause I’m rich?” She looked at them for an answer and they nodded fearfully. “Where am I goin’ exactly?!” The two of them answered in unison, “Back to California.” She crossed her arms over her chest. The muscles from carrying heavy plates bulged in frustration. The brothers looked at each other and then back at her. “Up North?” they asked simultaneously. She dropped her arms and they swung at her sides.

“Do you WANT me to leave?” She asked them both, but she watched John’s face for the unexpressed rancor that she always imagined was there. They both replied, “No!” She pointed at John. “Not even you? I KNOW you don’t like my ‘lifestyle.’” She lifted her fingers like quote marks around the word. John shook his head with innocent eyes. “Ain’t never had a hand work the farm like you. Don’t care ’bout nothin’ else.”

Bree searched his eyes for lying, but the truth was clear to her. They both wanted her to stay. Sasquatch wound himself between her legs and she picked him up. “I wanna stay. I wanna work on the farm. I wanna work at Mt. Zen Cafe in the winter. I don’t know how long this SN Connector is gonna make money. If there’s anything I learned from Silicon Valley it’s that you can go from a millionaire to broke over night. I’m puttin’ everything in the bank and doin’ the stuff I love.” Sasquatch’s fur and purr protected her from feeling vulnerable as she watched the couch sink with relief and appreciation.

Sierra was in an automatic argue mode. It was how she dealt with Randy when he was mulling over new ideas. He liked to hear counter arguments. He wanted a devil’s advocate. It was something Sierra could do without thinking. Since all of her thoughts were focused on running, she could do little else. “So this festival circuit thing is for the residents when times are tough?”

A.S. puffed out a breath of air, unnoticed by Sierra. “No! The festivals are to attract tourists.” Sierra responded, “So the traditions are for the tourists?” Sierra stood up and looked out the front window. She could see the barn and corral. Her goats were happily bouncing in the chilly sunshine. She thought to herself, “Melt, melt, melt.” She paid no attention as A.S. snapped up the child from the floor.

“No! The traditions are for the locals, but the festivals are for the tourists!” A.S. bounced the baby as if he had been crying, but the movement soothed neither of them. Sierra unconsciously replied, “So, you want a festival every month like the Onion Festival?” The baby struggled against A.S.’s bouncing and put his hand on her face, pushing the cheek away. A.S. answered defensively, “Yes…”

If Sierra had been able to concentrate on anything besides running, she would have noticed A.S.’s angry voice. Instead, she willed the temperature higher. She prayed for a southern wind. She would have burned the snow away with laser vision if she could have. Her autonomous response was, “You had a hard time putting together just The Onion Festival this year. How will you do it every month?”

For a moment, A.S. was speechless and still. She stopped bouncing the baby, but he continued pushing her face away with the palm of his hand. When she regained her senses, she carefully put the baby back on the floor. She gathered her notes about The Merriton Festival Circuit and put them into the diaper bag. She made a show of packing up the boy’s toys, binkies and bottles. She even put on her coat and the baby’s snowsuit with exaggerated movements.

It had gotten so quiet that Randy crept down the stairs to see what had happened. He could tell that A.S. was angry and was refusing to talk to Sierra. Not even to say goodbye, but his wife had failed to notice. Her thin frame looked out the window wistfully. Randy watched A.S. leave in a huff and Sierra only noticed when she heard the door slam.

She was reminded of Edgar Allan Poe’s story, The Tell-Tale Heart, when the murderer is inching closer to the old man, moving slower than the earth itself. That was how Sierra felt when she was sneaking away from Randy, trying not to wake him. She placed her hand on the door latch and gently turned the knob. The click was almost inaudible.

Never had she been so grateful to drive a Prius as she was on those evenings when she was inching the hybrid away from the house in electric mode. As she crunched along the gravel, she kept the car under 7 MPH so that the gas engine wouldn’t kick in.

Randy would nap for at least three hours, so she had just enough time to get Up North, go on a run and be back before he even knew she was gone. She’d have to rush a little through the corridor, but there was barely enough time for a run.

The mere thought of getting a run in made Sierra sigh with relief. Just knowing that she could run soon calmed her nerves. She tried to talk herself out of it when she first noticed Randy doze off. She had gone through all the arguments, but they were all powerless against her desire to run. She ran a hand along her ribs. “Too thin,” she thought to herself. She knew it was a problem, but she just couldn’t stop herself from heading the car north to the gym in the city.

It was as if something else was in charge. Some beast within her that made her want to run. “I’ll just do a light run today,” she said it out loud to the emptiness of the car, but she knew that one mile leads to five miles which lead to ten. Once she got on the treadmill, it would be hard to stop at just a couple of miles.

“I’ll just go get a pedicure,” she suggested to the beast within her in an effort to distract it. Maybe it just needs some pampering and love and running is the next best thing. If she really wanted a pedicure, she would have stopped at the nail shop in Emigration instead of tearing past it without a look. No, the only reason to drive all the way Up North was to go to the gym.

She slammed her hand against the steering wheel. “Why can’t I keep this under control?” In San Francisco, she had a gym membership. She ran maybe once a week and had been able to keep the beast at bay. What was different now?

“I’m bored.” It was true. When she quit the firm to move to Merriton, she had no idea that working was the only thing keeping her from going crazy. She knew she should turn back the car, but it kept racing north. “Maybe I should go back to Woodleaf.” She felt every inch of her body reject the idea. “I don’t need to give them my money. They can’t teach me anything new. I just need to get control of this on my own. I can do this.”

But the car still barreled along the road toward the North Bruins Gym.

Kit Kat sat at her computer looking at the FaceBook updates for her old friends, but Dora’s jumped out at her. It seemed so incomprehensible that Dora would be teaching a computer class, but she just HAD to know what a cowboy think tank was, so she picked up her phone and dialed the number.

Dora’s husband picked up. “Hey, Roscoe. It’s Kit Kat. Is Dora there?” Kit Kat could just imagine Roscoe’s tall frame handing the phone to her petite friend when she heard him announce her name. Dora’s voice sounded happy, “Hey Kit Kat! It’s so good to hear from you! I haven’t seen you since Ricky’s funeral. How are you holding up?”

The pain of her brother’s death hit her again. Unlike her sister, Mira, Kit Kat had felt almost a relief when she heard of Ricky’s overdose. She had pushed the guilt of it so far aside that she had completely forgotten the last time she had been forced to return to Emigration. “I’m doing alright. I heard Mira sold the house.”

Dora laughed, “Oh yes! Roscoe’s new ranger bought it. He fits right into the neighborhood. Your daddy would be proud of how clean he keeps the house.”

There was a lull in the conversation as Kit Kat thought of her parents and the house. The last time it looked like home was when she went to claim her part of the inheritance. Had it only been eight months ago? It seemed like she had lived a whole life since then.

“I was just reading your FaceBook status and it made me curious. You’re teaching PowerPoint classes now?” She could hear her friend smile on the other side of the line. “No one’s more surprised than I am. I’m the regular computer diva now.” Kit Kat fell into the comfortable rhythm of home. “I thought you were against computers.” Dora giggled, “Yeah, I was, but something happened that changed everything. In fact, we are having this event in a month and a half called the Cowboy Think Tank.”

Kit Kat smiled and started doodling on an envelope for Dave from a male-bonding drumming circle. She outlined his name and their address on the envelope. “I was going to ask you about that. What is it?” She wandered around the studio apartment, gathering the half-empty take out boxes strewn over the living area.

“Oh it’s this cool thing where we can present our ideas to venture capitalists and see if they want to invest in us. I’m suggesting this program where we take people’s old computers that they don’t want anymore, wipe the drives and load them up with Ubuntu Linux, Open Office and GIMP and give them to underprivileged kids so they can get the skills they need to get ahead in this world.” Kit Kat was frozen in midstep. She was literally standing still in shock. She could smell the putrid remains of Chinese food in one of the containers in her hand. “Dora? What has happened to you? It’s like you’re an entirely different person. Cool idea, by the way, but wow!”

“You can’t believe how different things are in Merriton. We have a new family in the Bowen house and I’m really going to miss them when they leave. It’s not like I even talk to them, but they have brought such changes to the town.” The phone was silent for a moment, but Dora started again, “Enough about me. How is it in New York? What’s it like to be an author in the city?”

Kit Kat sighed. “It’s funny. Growing up in Emigration was the perfect upbringing for me to be a Christian Romance historical novelist. Of course, I could do this anywhere. Now that I have a steady line of work, I could write these books in a shack in Montana as long as it had Internet access. I only stay in New York because of Dave.” She could hear Dora evaluating what she said. “You say that like you want to leave.”

There is nothing like the razor sharp tongue of a good friend to cut through the lies we tell ourselves. Kit Kat drew in a breath at the wound. It was true. “Yeah. I’m getting pretty sick of living in a 500 square foot studio apartment in the bad part of town. When Ricky died, I almost asked Mira if I could just move into the old house for a while, but I couldn’t get Dave to come with me.”

“Oh Kit Kat, you wouldn’t have wanted to move back into your parents’ house. It’s a very good thing that Mira sold the house. The guy who lives in it is perfect for the neighborhood.” Kit Kat consoled herself. “I couldn’t have lived there anyway. No high speed Internet.” Dora laughed. “That’s true! You can’t believe what he had to pay to have that put in. It was the first thing he did!”

The two of them laughed together on the phone for the next hour. Dora forgot about all the stress of her Cowboy Think Tank and Kit Kat didn’t have a chance to worry about why Dave hadn’t come home from his drumming circle yet.

Random rolled his eyes. “SAMSON, I need your help. It’s about Sierra.” He thought that would be enough to get Samson to leave Mt. Zen Cafe for a few minutes, but his old friend sat at the table with Roscoe and even waved Curly and Angie over to them. “It’s alright. I’ve had all three of them keep an eye on her. They know how important it is that she not run.”

Angie wiped her hands on her apron. “She pretty much stopped talkin’ to me the minute she realized I was tattlin’ on her.” Curly came out of the kitchen and folded his muscular arms over his chest. Angie sat down and all four of them looked at Randy intently. What he had hoped for was a quiet conversation with Kevin… no, Samson. Instead, he was facing a town meeting.

He cautiously started, “She’s running…” They all nodded and he felt a little better continuing. “I’ve tried watching her like a hawk, but I can tell that she’s still running…” He hesitated. He had felt perfectly comfortable saying all this to his old friend. Kevin and Sierra had gone to high school together. Long before Kevin became Samson, he helped Sierra through her first bout of this obsession. When cross-country had become far more than an extra-curricular activity, his old buddy had been there for her. Randy felt at a loss and could barely keep his voice steady as he whispered, “I can see her ribs. I haven’t been able to catch her running, but I know she is.”

The five of them were huddled around the small table. Even Curly had unfolded his arms and was leaning on the table with one hand, straining to hear Randy’s words. The weight of them dampened the air and the usually noisy and bustling cafe took on an air of terrified and silent panic.

When the silence was broken, it was Angie who spoke, “We all thought it would be you…” Her words penetrated Randy’s fear. He looked around the cafe and wondered where all the tourists were. It was too empty for a February morning. Had the economy hit Merriton that hard? He tried to focus on Angie’s words, but he wondered about the cafe instead.

Curly stood up and folded his arms over his chest again as Angie continued, “That house drives people crazy, Randy. Since you just lost your company, we thought it was you who was gonna go nutty.” The room was quiet again. Randy looked at Samson’s half eaten plate of food. A fresh Egg Thing sat there, getting cold. Egg Thing was the only thing keeping Mt. Zen Cafe from closing its doors, he thought.

“I didn’t lose my company. I sold it.” He didn’t know why he felt like he had to justify himself. At his words, Curly dropped his arms in frustration and paced a little. It was Roscoe who finally spoke, “Who ever heard of goin’ crazy by runnin’?” Samson shook his head. “Back when she had this problem in high school, they didn’t know what to do with her. Her parents thought she was getting so skinny because they were vegetarians.” He lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned into the table. “They even started cooking meat just for her.” He leaned back, nodding knowingly.

Randy shook his head. “She’s eating just fine, but her body can’t keep up with all her running. I just can’t figure out when she’s doing it.” Samson crinkled his brow and looked at Curly. The hulking man ran his massive hand over his bald head and then put his hands on his hips. His wife noticed his discomfort. Angie’s voice became strong and angry, “Buford James Robinson, if you don’t tell me right now what you know, there’s gonna be hell ta pay when we git home!”

Curly backed away from the table and wiped sweat from the top of his shiny head. Randy could smell a hint of men’s antiperspirant coming from the large, uncomfortable man. Randy spoke up, “Please, Curly. If you know anything, just tell me.”

Curly fidgeted some more, but he finally spoke, “Don’t know if it’s somethin’ or not.” He paced a little more and then looked at Randy. “I’m not supposed to talk about my project, so I don’t know what I can tell ya.” Both Samson and Randy stood up and urged Curly to just tell them what he knew. Curly paced a bit more and then plopped down into a chair. The chair wiggled under his weight and the large man tested its stability by wiggling. It took all of Randy’s composure not to chide the hulking chef while Curly stood up and moved the chair to the back of the room.

When Curly returned, he told his story. “For my project, I wanna open a gym here in Merriton.” Randy felt his hand rise to his forehead and wipe his face in one, long movement. “We ain’t got anything like a gym here and my basement’s gettin’ a little full.” The large man sat on another chair, wiggling to test its stability. When it proved worthy, he continued, “So for my research, I went up to a couple of the gyms Up North. One of my buddies from high school,” He turned toward Angie, “You remember Spike, don’tcha?” Angies head tilted as she nodded. It was obvious that even his wife didn’t quite follow him.

“Well, Spike, he runs the North Bruins Gym up there. They’re just a small gym, but they stay open all night. He was showin’ me the ropes and I told him that I thought we wouldn’ta need to be open 24 hours, but then he told me he gets a buncha people signin’ up because they think they’re gonna be able to come in real early or real late. It’s more about the people signin’ up than the people actually usin’ the gym at that time.” Curly leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees with his hands clasped. He looked a little guilty.

“Then Spike pulled up his records and showed me that he only had a coupla people show up in the middle of the night. He has this cool computer thing that logs when everybody comes to the gym.” Curly sat up and used his hands to pantomime the next few sentences. “You see, when they walk in, they need to scan their cards.” His hands held an imaginary card in front of him. “Then the computer knows they came in to workout.” His finger ran down the imaginary computer screen at the list of names.

“I noticed the name Sierra McCain on the list of people who come to Spike’s gym late at night.” The cafe was quiet and Curly stood up again. He put his hands in his jeans pockets. “Can’t be that many Sierra McCains in the world…”

Randy didn’t believe it. There could be NO way that Sierra was a member of a gym. He took care of the finances just as much as she did. If there was a charge from a gym every month, he would have known it. “What was the name of that gym again?” Curly fidgeted. “It’s not Spike’s fault. You can’t go beatin’ down his door just ’cause of her crazy.”

Randy wiped his face again. The feel of his fingers and palm running down his cheeks helped him speak calmly, “I just wanted to know the name of the gym. I promise not to do anything except look for charges on our account.” Curly shrugged, “North Bruins Gym.” Randy wrote down the name.

“If she’s going in the middle of the night, then she’s waiting until I am completely unconscious before she leaves. What do I do? I’ve got to sleep sometime.” The group’s somber mood was interrupted by a group of laughing ski jackets entering the cafe. Curly and Angie silently stood up to take care of them. Roscoe and Samson put on their heavy brown ranger coats and headed to the mountain. Randy was left with the name of a gym scribbled on a napkin and a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach.

He was developing a Mormon missionary blog network where missionaries who had Internet access could blog about their experiences. It would be anonymous, so that no one would get in trouble for anything that they said. He had decided to use WordPress MU for the base. He had designed the CSS and the basic layout of the blogs to make it easy for the missionaries to blog about their experiences, even if they hadn’t used a computer before. He was dying to show it to Samson.

Tank pushed past his last set and stood up to trade places with Curly. He added some weight to the ends of each bar and stood over the bench to spot. “Hey Curly, what are you doing for your project? Can you give us a hint?” Curly grunted, “Thought we weren’t supposed ta talk about ‘em.” Samson smiled. “You don’t have to, but I’m going to be on the judging committee, so I can help you with your presentation.” Tank counted the reps while Curly spoke, “So that mean you’re not doin’ one?” Samson shook his head. “No, I’ve got too much to do just organizing this with James. He’s not doing one either. Neither is Sierra.” Curly laughed. “I don’t think I’m gonna do one either.”

Samson ran his hand through his wiry, black hair. It was getting to an awkward length and he itched to cut it. “I saw your name on the NDA form.” Curly clunked down the bar onto the weight bench and sat up. “That was when I thought it was gonna be at the cafe. Now that it’s at the high school, the whole town’s gonna be there. I can’t talk in front ‘o the whole town.” Tank shrugged. “You did at Ricky’s funeral.” A hush fell over the basement and Tank could smell something horrible cooking upstairs.

After the silence became unbearable, Tank spoke again, “Is Angie cooking up there?” Curly wiped the sweat from his face and continued wiping his eyes. “She wanted to do somethin’ nice for us. No matter what it smells like, you’re gonna eat it.”

Randy pulled the hood of his coat over his head as he followed Sierra’s stomping feet. It was a sunny day, but the cold bit his cheeks. “It’s warmer in the car…” He tried to persuade her to go back to its warmth. She stomped toward the cafe in silence.

The snow provided a strange and muted quiet to their walk. Randy enjoyed the crunch of snow under his feet. It sounded like fresh cheese curds between his teeth, except his whole body could feel it. The scent of pine came off the trees and he could hear birds chirping and flitting away from Sierra as she trampled through the snow.

She stopped and waited for him. He approached her fearfully, but the growl on her face had changed. She whispered, “There’s a family of marmots that live in that hole.” She pointed to a muddy hole hidden under brush and snow. She continued, “I haven’t seen them since September, so I think they’re hibernating.” She started walking toward the cafe again. It was a peace offering. Randy could take it and have some of that peace she offered, or fight some more.

He shrugged and thought to himself, “As long as she’s not running.”

“Hey, I know you!” Mt. Zen Cafe smelled like eggs and bacon and hamburgers and coffee. Sierra walked up to a ski jacket, purposefully ignoring Randy. She was grateful that he went to the counter to talk to Angie. The ski jacket looked at her with disdain for a moment, but a flash of recognition quickly replaced it.

“You’re a lawyer, but you live here.” Sierra scanned the woman’s face again. It wasn’t her face that she recognized, but her laptop. “Yeah, remember? Last year, you stayed at Junco, but they had bad wireless. They upgraded over the summer, isn’t it any better?” The ski jacket smiled. “Yes, their wireless is fast and flawless, but they can’t serve me an Egg Thing there.” She pointed at her empty plate.

Sierra smiled and glanced over at Randy, ordering for the two of them. “I’ve totally forgotten your name.” The ski jacket held out her hand. “I’m Robin. I think last year I was living in Connecticut, but now we’re in New York. The commute is MUCH better now.” Sierra smiled, remembering how difficult it was to choose a place. She nodded. “Live in the city and pay a ton of money for five hundred square feet? Or live in the ‘burbs and drive for an hour and a half each day? It’s a hard choice to make. My name is Sierra.” Robin snapped her fingers. “Oh yeah! I knew it was one of those ’save the planet’ names.” Sierra blushed.

Randy came up to their table. Sierra scanned his face for traces of the fight earlier, but they were gone. He whispered to her, “I ordered you a double Egg Thing.” No, the fight wasn’t over. Eat more, run less, no this fight was never going to be over. “This is Robin. She comes out here to ski at Junco every year.” Robin smiled. “And I end up working the entire time.” Randy laughed uncomfortably. Sierra felt his eyes on her. “Sierra used to do that when we came here every time. I used to tell her to relax, but she never would.”

Robin smiled. “The day I realized that work IS what relaxes me was the happiest day of my life.” Sierra cringed with pain at her words.

Randy could hear Guy’s good nature laugh on the other end of the phone. “No. Not that. What’s this I hear about a Cowboy Think Tank? I’m not invited and if I’m not invited, then I’m sure you didn’t invite anyone else, so you’re just going to keep all these ideas for yourself?”

Randy wiped his face in one long movement from his forehead to his chin before he answered. He typed the words, “cowboy think tank,” into Google. Valleywag was the number one search result. “Let me read this Valleywag article to see what you’re talking about, Guy.” He scanned it quickly. Somehow, Valleywag had heard about his projects.

Random McCain is at it again. Last year, his Cowboy Think Tank brought us the popular SN Connector, the mysterious Tso Speed Tech and something called The Snow Eater. This year’s Cowboy Think Tank has grown to fill the local high school auditorium, but not one venture capitalist has been invited to attend.

Has Random McCain forsaken all of Silicon Valley?

“Guy, I’ve been doing this projects thing for years now. You never got your feelings hurt when I didn’t invite you to the campus two years ago.” Randy tried to lighten the implication that he no longer needed his friends in San Francisco. He could hear Guy on the other end fidgeting with the phone. “Jerry says this whole thing has gotten too big for you and it’s spiraling outta control. Of course, I’m not supposed to tell you that Jerry said that. Heck, how’d he know? He’s as far away from you as I am.”

Randy nodded. After Jerry had been fired from Zaunter, he went running back to San Francisco, trying to run seminars on how to get rich in the Internet world. “How IS the get rich quick thing working for Jerry?” Randy jabbed at Jerry, but brought the subject back to his projects. “Seriously, Guy, you wouldn’t like to be part of this thing. It’s more like Ignite than a think tank. It’s really not your style.”

“Not my style?” Guy was laughing. “What part of SN Connector is not my style? How did that girl do all that by herself? She just writes a program and everyone buys it and then she writes it for the iPhone and everybody buys that, too? Don’t tell me you didn’t hire a room full of programmers to help her finance that.”

Randy shook his head, “No, Guy, I didn’t. Bree did all the programming for SN Connector on her own. I didn’t invoke my right to buy it because I want my programmers to succeed on their own. I don’t want to profit off of them. I want them to excel. I hired her to work in a corn field. She doesn’t even work for me anymore.”

“Of course not!” Guy was laughing again. Randy could imagine his smiling face. “She’s going to be a millionaire on her own. She don’t need to work for you ever again.”

Randy shook his head. “You know that isn’t true. Next time I ask her to work for me, she’ll do it for nearly free because I have always done right by her. That’s what they never understood.”

The phone was silent for a moment when Guy’s serious voice finally spoke, “I didn’t make you sell to them, Random.” Randy smiled. “I know, Guy. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t even their fault. It just wasn’t a good fit. I’m never doing anything ever again that isn’t a good fit for me.”

Randy could hear Sierra’s slim frame slinking down the stairs. “So, Random, am I invited to the Cowboy Think Tank?” Randy turned to look at his wife and she looked thinner than a sparrow in winter. “Sure, Guy, why don’t you come down in April and see what my town has to offer.”

Samson’s face became serious. “I mean it. You have to call me Samson now.” Randy shook his head. “Why are you going to let those kids rename you?” Samson shook his head, “It’s not like that. You have to accept the name out of respect for Merriton. It reminds them about the avalanche and why kids shouldn’t be skiing up on the mountain all by themselves. It’s like town lore.” Samson’s voice changed and it sounded as if he were telling a story to a child, “Remember the story of Lobo and how Samson saved him from the avalanche? That’s why you should only ski at the resorts.” His voice returned to normal. “That’s why it’s important. If you keep callin’ me Kevin, people’ll get all confused.”

Random nodded. “Only if you stop calling me Random.” Samson laughed out loud. “I call you Random for the EXACT same reason. You’re Randall McCain! You invented the McCain Random Number Generator! You’re a legend and the people around you need to know your legend just as much as mine.”

Random shook his head. “I’m beginning to think that I don’t know myself at all. Living in that house has brought me face to face with myself.” He lowered his voice and leaned closer to Samson. “Want to know what I see?” Samson’s eyes popped open and he nodded. Random almost whispered, “I’m not a programmer.”

Samson’s brow crinkled. “Sure you are. Dude, that’s what I was just saying. You’re not just A programmer. You’re THE programmer!” Randy smiled and shook his head. “I know you see me that way, but I’ve had a year and a half of looking at myself in a mirror and I realized I’m NOT a programmer. Sure, I can code with the rest of you, but my real abilities are when I’m managing programmers. I bring the right people together to make great things like Zerbitz happen.”

The room fell into a hush when the word Zerbitz passed from Random’s lips. The unsaid knowledge of the final axe cut to his beloved project hung between them. The remaining Zerbitz team had been downsized a few months ago and the tech industry barely noticed. Samson took in a deep breath and he could still smell the scent of poly fluoro carbons coming from the furniture. Random continued, “The only time things go wrong with me is when I give up control of managing, first with MRNG and then with Zerbitz. If I had just kept those companies for myself instead of selling them off, I would be happier…” He smiled with a twinkle at Samson. “I’d be a lot poorer, but I’d be happier.”

Samson mulled over Random’s thoughts. “When I was staying in that house, it felt like I was in a tub of stale bathwater. It was like all I could do was think about getting fired from Zerbitz. I didn’t start to pull out of it until I moved over to the Thunder Brothers Ranch.” He laughed a little. “It was like it was the same stupid house, but I wasn’t stuck in the bathwater anymore. Ever notice how they have the almost same floor plan as your house? The snow’s just as deep there, but at the Bowen house, it’s like I felt trapped. I couldn’t escape myself.”

The both of them nodded and Random put his hand on the paperwork on the table. “Sierra made all of these out with the name…” Randy looked at the paperwork and was surprised by the name, “Kai-shek Tso?” Samson laughed. “Yeah, that’s my legal name. Kevin was just my American name.” He pulled the manila folder away from Random and started signing. “I can’t believe how many ISPs you’ve got signed up! This is awesome!”

Random smiled and Samson felt the warmth of it. “I tell you. I’m not a programmer. I’m a conduit.” The two of them laughed and Samson continued signing all the legal paperwork that would slowly make him a millionaire.