Up last was the Independent candidate, Russ Erwin. He unwound his lanky self from his seat, stood up, and strolled to the podium. He wasn’t wearing a suit like the others, but had on boots, Wranglers, a rodeo belt, and a cowboy shirt. He respectfully removed the cowboy hat from his head, and bent over the microphone.
“My name is Russ Erwin,” he said to the crowd. “I’m a rancher. Got me about a three-section spread out by Lampasas. I mostly run livestock, but I grow a little sorghum, too.” He paused, shifted the hat to his other hand, and bent over again. “Now, I never set out to be a politician, that’s for darn sure. I wouldn’t have given you a plugged nickel for ‘em. Then I got a little notice on my gate one day, delivered by the State of Texas, telling me they was gonna run a superhighway and gas pipeline from Fort Worth all the way to Old Mexico, and that it would bring jobs to the area, and all of us in Lampasas County would prosper because of this highway.” He paused again, ran his palm over his temple. “Now, had I known all it took was a highway to prosper, I’d have said yes a long time ago.”
The crowd laughed; several of them nodded. Of course, Rebecca had heard Tom mention this on more than one occasion, always as the next best thing since sliced bread.
“Anyway, I got that piece of paper, and I guess I had a slightly different take on it. I could see what they had planned was going to displace a lot of ranchers whose families had been working that land since before Texas was even a state. And I could tell that superhighway was gonna flat out ruin our landscape. ‘Course, there wasn’t a word about any of that on the paper,” he said, chuckling. “So I called up my representatives, said I had a problem. I went through the whole darn list and not one of ‘em could help me. I’d call up one, and he’d say, ‘Well, now, Mr. Erwin, I’m not on that committee, you need to call so-n-so.’ This went on until every last one had pointed to the next guy. That was enough to get my dander up, so I started looking into these committees and such, and the more I looked, the more I saw stuff happening that I didn’t much care for.
“Now, Mr. Masters here,” he said, indicating Tom with his hat, “he says, just look at my record. Well, I did. And about the only thing I could find was a resolution he got passed naming chips and salsa the official state snack. I like a good bowl of chips with some salsa like anyone, but I don’t see what that has to do with protecting our land, or making sure we get teachers paid enough to educate our young, or even making sure that the fine people assembled here today in this heat don’t have to spend every last dime they got.”
Tom laughed with the few hearty members in the crowd, but shifted anxiously in his seat.
“There’s plenty of stuff like that for Mr. Harbaugh, too, but I won’t take your time now, because it’s too damn hot to listen to a bunch of political talk. I’m not trying to cast aspersions on these two gentlemen. I figure they done the best they knew how to do. But like my ol’ daddy used to say, if you want something done right, you just ‘bout have to do it yourself. So folks, I am running for lieutenant governor of this fine state because I figure if I want it done right, I’m gonna have to do it myself. Thank you kindly for you time.” The crowd went wild with applause; Mr. Erwin stepped back, put on his hat, and sauntered to his seat, where he sat with his legs crossed and his hands folded neatly on his lap.
Both Tom and Phil Harbaugh looked like they wanted to bolt.
This was the fourth candidate forum Rebecca had been to, the fourth time she’d seen the plainspoken, straightforward Mr. Erwin, and she liked his style. When the event was over, Rebecca pushed through the crowd to the stage, slipping behind a couple of men so Tom wouldn’t see her as he tried to get off the stage and into air-conditioning. But there were several people standing around Mr. Erwin; he was taking the time to speak to them all. When at last he turned to her, she stuck out her hand. “Mr. Erwin. I heard what you said and I’d like to help in some way if I can.”
“Well, now,” Mr. Erwin said with a grin, shaking her hand. “We always got room for one more.”
That weekend, Matt asked Rebecca and Grayson to come to town for a change. Rebecca arrived at his building and parked in the second of his two parking spaces, but her truck was so big that it left just a slip of a space for his Jag.
She and Grayson were already in his loft when he came in, looking chagrined. “I’m sorry,” he said, after greeting Grayson with a high five and crossing the room to kiss her. “I’ll call the management right now and get someone to move that monster thing. That’s never happened before—it must be a new tenant,” he said, reaching for the phone.
“Don’t you like it?” she asked, shoving her hands in the faded work jeans she’d worn all day.
“Like what?”
“My new red truck!”
Matt’s jaw dropped; he paused in the reaching for the phone.
“Mom got a pickup,” Grayson said, “so we can take our dogs with us.”