"You should have bought real estate twenty years ago," Dean offered. "I'm sure prices were a fraction of today. You could have saved the price of staying at Bird Song."
"If I had, I'd be a rich man, wouldn't I? But I've always been content to let someone else wait on me. I like staying in a house, or a bed and breakfast-places where you meet people. The Langstroms put up with me for years, and now that they're doing some traveling themselves I get to try other places and taste delicious home cooking like Mrs. Dean's marvelous muffins!" He chuckled as he reached over Dean and patted Cynthia's arm.
The journey up the mountain took nearly as long as the walk down. At one point Brandon Westlake stopped the car with a lurch. Once again he reached behind his seat, this time pulling out a child's red polka-dot umbrella, no doubt another garage sale bargain. Grabbing a camera, he hopped out into the fury of the storm, "for a few quick lightning shots." Cynthia looked as if she considered joining him but caution prevailed.
When at last they arrived at the trail's end, Westlake parked, placed a rock behind his wheel, and held out his polka-dot umbrella. It was clear he had no intention of crushing the wild flowers for the final leg of the trip, although he didn't comment on the Deans having done so earlier. There remained a short but muddy and drenching hike, only partially covered by the inadequate umbrella. The tumultuous storm was beginning to lose some of its fury.
The tire pump required an incredible length of time to fill the tires with the minimum air sufficient for the return trip. Dean's arm felt as if he'd taken on half the World Wrestling Federation.
Cynthia tried to clean up the topless Jeep, still aflood with the bounty of nature's deluge. Brandon Westlake remained under his colorful cover until he was sure the Deans were with wheels. After receiving their thanks, he took off at a jog, anxious, he said, to catch a few more post-storm shots as the sun emerged.
The storm ended with the same abruptness it began just as the Deans commenced the trip down the mountain, glued to the water-soaked seats. No other vehicles were encountered-the storm apparently frightened away the more faint-at-heart tourists. The sky was replaced with glorious streaks of sunlight and an arched double rainbow. Cynthia, as tired as she was, made her husband stop long enough to film the awe-inspiring display.
The exhausted couple stopped at a service station to fill the tires to their proper level. They were driving on Main Street when they spotted Fred O'Connor sauntering down from the courthouse chatting with two ladies who looked enthralled by his company. Another woman, a very tall blond, stood a few paces back, a smile on her face, watching the old man. When Fred saw the Deans, he waved, patted his disappointed promenade partners on the arm and came over to the vehicle.