David Hawksworth Hamilton IV gave the wheel a slight tug to the right and the beautiful loden green Jaguar eased from the line on cars on Interstate 76 to the exit ramp indicating the exit to Creston. The Jaguar XJ6 was David's indication to himself that he had finally arrived. His long ancestry, the family home and fortune, his own home in Santa Monica, even the medical degree did not quite mean to him what this automobile did. It was his final affirmation, if one was needed, to the world, let alone to his family that he was successful in the family tradition of medicine. He loved to get behind the wheel, wrapping himself in all that fine leather and listening to his favorite CD playing.

David's father and grandfather before him had been medical doctors and he had bested them by becoming not only a doctor but a surgeon.

The first David Hawksworth Hamilton had been anything but a doctor. A brigand and a rascal, he had established the family fortune by transporting needed goods to the new California territory. According to Hamilton family lore, he had done this by whatever means was necessary. Around the Cape of Good Hope, overland by mule train or simply by hijacking other ships or wagons, he had amassed a fortune and become a legal businessman by the time Junior Hamilton took over his father's enterprises. Junior had gone East and had earned a medical degree before stepping into his father's shoes. But he had never practiced medicine. David III had refused to go into the family business and had insisted that if his family required him to obtain a medical degree, he intended to practice medicine. Four, as David IV was known in the family had similarly insisted on the practice of medicine but had excelled in medical school and had become one of the most brilliant young surgeons in Southern California.

But today he found himself on a trip filled with enormous emotions, a trip he had postponed making for fifteen years. The car continued down the exit ramp and veered left at the bottom, continuing back under the interstate and past a sign indicating that it was twelve miles to Creston.

Four. David hated that name -- thank God there would be no Five -- had made this trip a thousand times in his head. He had, in fact, once driven up Interstate 76 from Los Angeles to a medical meeting in Oakland. A rush of emotion had engulfed him that day as he passed the Creston exit. He knew then that one day he would make this trip. In fact, he had affirmed in his own mind for the first time that day that he would be back for a visit to Creston. He wasn't sure when, he just knew that one day he would be back. That had been four years ago. Four years of loneliness, anguish, a time he gave himself only to his work, and to no one or nothing else.

Now he found himself just a few miles from Creston, his final destination. In so many ways his final destination. David knew without any doubt what this trip held for him. There never had been any doubt and there wasn't now. David was a man of tremendous self-discipline and he prided himself in that. But even with that amount of self-discipline, he knew he was giving in to feelings that he has possessed for these long fifteen years. He wasn't quite sure how he had stayed away for that long. He had allowed his education and his career to control his life up to this point but he also knew that once he started this trip, there would be no turning back.

He knew all about Creston. He knew it was the county seat but was just a strip of commercial development with 700 residents scattered along the road and a couple blocks deep at its thickest point. Three stop lights, four gas stations, a couple of odds-and-ends stores; a pit stop on the way to somewhere else. It had been a hub of activity before the interstate had been built, but now no one bothered to travel through Creston unless they wanted a pretty drive in the country. The rest of the world went by on the interstate.

David slowed as he reached the town. It was exactly as he knew it would be. Not a soul was in sight even though it was just past noon. The speed was posted at 35 miles an hour but Creston was the kind of town that made you feel you had better drive slower than the posted speed limit.

He pulled the Jaguar into one of the parallel parking spots. Its clean, gleaming elegance stood out amongst the pickups, Broncos and 4 by 4's. As for himself, he had dressed the part, jeans, khaki shirt and scuffed cowboy boots, but the car stood out and he was painfully aware that it did. He had considered renting something a little more subdued for this trip but quickly realized it wouldn't be quite right without the car he loved so much.

He walked down the street, just a couple blocks, and again realized everything was just as he knew it would be. He passed a couple old codgers seated on a bench outside the only hardware store in town. He noticed that they had already done a "make" on his car and now gave him the once over, top to toe. He nodded and they nodded back and he walked on by. On the opposite side of the street was the only eating place he saw in town, a rather clean family-style restaurant with the unlikely name of "Squat and Gobble" painted on the bottom of a Coca-Cola sign.

The drive had made David hungry and he went in the Squat and Gobble and took a seat at the counter. The restaurant held about six stools and several tables. A couple of the tables were occupied with what must pass for local businessmen in Creston. Perhaps they were from the courthouse. He was the only person at the counter. It was very clean -- not fancy, but a place to get a good meal.

"How do," said the heavy-set motherly type behind the counter.

"How are you today," David answered, trying to be as polite as possible.

"Eatin' or just cooling off?" the old lady asked.

"No, I think I'll have something to eat," he answered.

Without comment she passed a plastic covered menu across the counter to David. The menu looked like it had been around since the turn of the century and the prices definitely hadn't changed in a long time.

"What can I get for you?" she asked.

Eyeing the chalk board leaning on the back counter, David said, "Still got some of the special left?"

"Yep, sure do," she replied.

"Great, I'll have that and a Bud Light."

"No alcohol," she said matter-of-factly.

"Iced tea will be fine."

Hardly before he realized it, a plate of meat loaf, mashed potatoes and gravy and fresh green beans appeared before him. The meal was accompanied by homemade rolls. He was hungrier than he realized and the food smelled delicious. He had almost forgotten what home cooking tasted like. He had started thinking all food tasted like hospital food or else came out of the microwave in little plastic trays. His parent's cook and housekeeper always had delicious meals but he didn't get to their house as often as he would like. The hospital demanded too much of his life, he decided.

He dug into the plate and it was indeed as delicious as it smelled. He had hardly finished when a large piece of lemon pie with meringue two inches high appeared in front of him.

"Son, the way you went through that meal, there wasn't any question in my mind you wanted desert," the old lady cackled as she set the pie down. "I'll be right back with more iced tea."

He grinned at her and thought to himself how right she was. He had inhaled the meal. She cackled again to herself as she waddled off back to the kitchen. She was soon back with the tea.

"Just passing through?" she asked.

"Well, I was until I had that meal. Are you a married lady? Because if you're not, I'll propose on the basis of that meal alone," he said.

She cackled and said, "Yeah, and I'll marry you for half that car you're driving." Obviously not much that went on in Creston missed her eyes.

"We'll work on a deal?" David laughed.

David lazed over the last of his tea, nervous as heck on the inside but trying to appear calm on the outside, wanting to rush out of the diner and get on with his mission but knowing he must not cave in to his anxiousness. He needed his self-discipline to kick in now more than ever. He had put this day off for fifteen years. Another hour or two wouldn't make that much difference.

"Do you know any Ashworths in this area?" he asked the waitress.

"Yeah, as a matter of fact. They kin of yours?" she asked.

"No," he answered without elaboration. What else could he add. The silence hung in the air. One of the tables emptied and a man went to the cash register to pay. A ceiling fan barely stirred the air, just enough to ruffle the paper napkins.

"Good as usual, Helen," the man said.

"We aim to please," cackled the waitress again. After the customers had left, she walked back down the counter toward David. "More tea, son?" she asked?"

"'Bout half a glass," David answered.

It was obviously another lazy summer afternoon in a small country town.

"How about Chester Ashworth?" he asked, again without elaboration.

Again, the question hung in the air, unanswered for a long moment. Helen wiped at the counter with a damp rag and at long last looked up at David and he expected her to answer. But again he got only silence from her, and that silence also hung in the air for what David thought was an eternity.

"What you want with Chet?" she asked finally.

"I'm looking for a few acres of good land to buy and I heard there had been a death in the Ashworth family and that they might be willing to sell some of their land.

"There ain't no 'they'," she said, "Just Chet, and yes, his mother did die a few months ago. But I can tell you right now, you're barking up the wrong tree. You'll not get any of the Ashworth land. Chet's a fine boy. Took care of his mamma, best he could, right to the very end. People round here don't think Chet Ashworth can do much wrong, and you oughtn't go bothering him so soon after his mother's death. Besides, that land has been in the Ashworth family long as I can remember. Some of the finest land in these parts. How'd you hear that story?" she asked.

"Real estate agent in Los Angeles," he lied.

"Well, they sure sent you on a wild goose chase," Helen said. "You might find some land around here for sale but it won't be Ashworth land."

"I'd like to talk to Chet Ashworth anyway," said David. "How do I get to his place?"

"Straight out of town, heading north. 'Bout two miles. House sets back off the road. Stone columns where you turn in. You ought to leave Chet alone." Helen was a woman of few words and definite opinions.

"I'll not bother him," answered David. "Just stop by for a chat and see if he knows of any land for sale."

David thanked her for the meal, paid, and said, "Maybe I'll stop in again sometime."

"Always welcome," cackled Helen, returning to her good humor but maintaining her facade of as few words as necessary.

David drove north out of town. He didn't need Helen to tell him where to find Chester Ashworth. In fact, he knew all about the Ashworth family. He knew every significant thing that had happened to them in the last fifteen years. Every year, he had paid a private investigator to give him a report on Chet, his finances, the Ashworth family, such as it was, whether the farm was making money, which it always did, in essence everything there was to know about the Ashworths of Creston, California. He was prepared to step in at any time and help financially or otherwise if Chet or the Ashworths needed it. He never was sure how he would do it, but he would figure out a way. But Chet was a good manager and with the help of his tenant, Milt Corbin and his wife, he and his mother had always made out fine. Raising beef cattle had proven to be a good thing for the Ashworths. The private investigator was always discrete but thorough as David had demanded.

The death of Mrs. Ashworth had changed everything as far as David was concerned. David had expected Mrs. Ashworth to live much longer than she did but a bout with cancer had changed everything for David, and for Chet also, except he didn't yet know to what extent. As long as she lived, David told himself could never interfere in their lives and he hadn't. But now that she was gone and Chet was alone, except for the Corbins, David could no longer stay away. His desires overtook him.

He turned in between the stone columns. One of them had a sign "Ashworth Farms" on it. Everything was very neat and well kept. Even the grass alongside the highway had been mowed and all the farm buildings glistened with new paint.

The house did indeed set back a distance from the road and the drive was lined with trees interspersed with banks of forsythia. The drive curved in front of the house and, below a low stone wall marking the yard, it widened to allow for parking. The drive then continued on past the house to a garage, a barn and some other outbuildings.

David pulled the Jaguar off the drive at the front of the house. As he climbed out of the car, he realized his heart was about to leap out of his chest. Fifteen years; could it have been that long? He strolled up the walk trying to calm himself. The house was typical for this section of California, beautiful native stone with a porch all across the front. The porch was furnished with a swing, large rockers and potted plants.

As he approached the house, a man appeared around the right corner. His heart beat -- thump, thump. Be calm, he said to himself.

"Howdy," said the man.

Chet -- thump, thump -- Ashworth -- thump, thump. David's mind reeled at the magnificently handsome man he saw before him. Fifteen years had treated him so well, beyond even David's imagination. No longer the lean, electric young man David remembered but in his place a mature fuller adult, more handsome than David could imagine or thought possible. Dark black hair, fine blue eyes, a man ripened with the years, honed into a beautiful statue of a man. There was only the slightest hint of weariness in his eyes, a slight hesitance, a bit of shyness.

David stopped and the man approached. He was dressed in jeans, work boots and a button-down shirt, his hands thrust in his pockets. Thump, thump -- God, please let me calm down, David begged to himself.

"I'm Chet Ashworth. what can I do for you?" asked the darkly handsome man.

"David Hamilton," David replied. "I've been looking around this area for a few acres of good land to buy. I live in Santa Monica and I'm hoping to eventually build a weekend place up here," he lied again. "Thought I'd check around first before getting a realtor involved. Don't happen to know if anything is available, do you?" he asked.

"Well, not right off hand." Chet answered. "Of course, I'm not in the market myself. Every now and then I hear of something but not lately." He leaned against the corner of the porch, his hands still thrust in his pockets. "How long you going to be up here? I'd be glad to do some checking around for you and see what I can find."

"I have to go back tonight but I'll probably be back up next weekend," David answered.

"Well, if you're up this way, stop by next Saturday and in the meantime I'll inquire around and see what I can find." Chet said.

"Well, I'd appreciate that a lot, if it's no trouble."

"No trouble at all," Chet answered. "Then I'll plan to stop by next Saturday."

"Be my pleasure."

"I'll look forward to it," said Chet with what David thought was a slight longing in his voice. Was it that or did David just want that longing to be there. It disturbed David terribly. He walked back to his car and tooted his horn as he drove off down the drive. He looked back and saw Chet standing in the same place. David was on the edge of tears and about to throw up from nervousness, all at the same time. It was all over just that quickly. He had finally met Chet Ashworth, and he was glad.

A couple miles down the road, out of sight of Ashworth Farms, he pulled to the verge of the road, buried his face in his hands and sobbed openly. He had not cried since Vietnam.

The next week crawled by. Would it never end? Finally, Friday night came and he lay awake the entire night, with only Chet Ashworth on his mind, as had been the case all week. At 5:00 AM, just as dawn was breaking, he could stand it no longer. He showered and was soon on the road. He stopped for breakfast and to gas up the car. He couldn't get to Creston too early; that would be too obvious. But by ten o'clock he was pulling between the stone columns of Ashworth Farms. He parked and walked up to the front porch. Not a soul in sight. He knocked but no one answered.

"Good morning," came a voice from the direction of the barn.

David wheeled around, startled, only to see Chet coming toward the house. "You sure must have gotten an early start this morning," he said to David.

"Didn't sleep too well last night," David answered, "So I thought I'd get on the road early."

Me either," replied Chet. "Sometimes I don't. Come on up on the porch and have a seat. How about a cup of coffee?"

"Sounds fine to me," answered David, taking a rocker. Again, as a week ago, his heart was pounding out of his chest. Thump, thump.

Chet went around the corner of the house toward the kitchen door. David heard the clatter of dishes and utensils from the kitchen. Soon Chet was backing out the front door, pushing the screen open with his back. He was holding two mugs of steaming coffee and each mug was clamped securely in a bright shining metal hook where Chet's hands should have been.

It was all David could do to keep from emitting an audible gasp. Chet said nothing as David took the mug from the right hook. Chet moved his shoulder and the hook unclamped itself from the mug with a minimum of effort. David again fought to be calm.

"You certainly have a beautiful place here, Mr. Ashworth," said David.

"Thank you, but please, Chet will be fine," he replied. "Mr. Ashworth makes me feel so old."

"I'm sorry, Chet, and David is fine for me." They were already beginning to become more at ease with each other and the flutters in David's stomach were beginning to calm down.

After a bit more talk about the weather, crops, etc., David asked, "How did the hunt go this week?"

"Not as well as I thought it might," replied Chet. "There's not much good land on the market right now. I lined up a couple places to look at but I didn't know what your price range was," said Chet.

David replied, "I guess I'm not real sure at this point myself but I do appreciate your taking the time to inquire."

"If I'm going to have new neighbors, I might as well pick 'um," laughed Chet. "whenever you're ready, we can go and have a look at these places and see if there is anything you might be interested in."

"I'm ready when you are," David replied, handing his empty mug to Chet. This time he clamped both mugs in one metal hook, and opened the screen door with the other. David watched these movements with utter fascination. He walked off toward his car to await Chet.

Chet came out of the kitchen door and yelled to David, "Let's take my pickup. If we go in your car, the price will go up $500 an acre." David watched again in rapt silence as Chet opened the garage door, unlocked the truck, started it and backed it out to the drive. David climbed in and they started off, again north or town. David reaffirmed in his mind that he would let Chet mention his missing arms first. The truck had an automatic shift and also had a device clamped to the wheel through which Chet could insert his left hook and manoeuver the steering wheel. This gave him complete control of the movement of the vehicle. His dexterity was amazing and David watched his movements with sheer exhilaration.

They spent the rest of the morning and all afternoon driving around, stopping every now and then to walk over a piece of property. On the way back to the farm, David said, "I can't tell you how much I appreciate your taking the time to show me around. This is so much better than dealing with a realtor."

"It's my pleasure," answered Chet. "As I said, I don't get many visitors and it's great to have someone to talk to now and then. Not many people are interested in spending their spare time in Creston." David was sure he detected a longing in Chet's voice, and a knot welled up in his throat. He stared out the window until it went away.

Back at the farm, Chet let David out and then parked and locked the truck. David had taken one of the large porch rockers. He was hot and dirty.

"I don't know whether we accomplished anything," said Chet.

"Well, I sure do have a better feel for what is available, better than I thought possible in such a short time," replied David. "And I owe my thanks to you for that."

"No thanks necessary," answered Chet. "Why don't you wash up and I'll fix us a cold drink. You must be hot and thirsty by now. What'll you have?"

"Bourbon on the rocks would be just great, if you have some."

Chet smiled, "My drink exactly. I have Blanton's and Wild Turkey. My nightly drink is my one pleasure in life."

"I'll try Blanton's. I'm a Turkey man myself, but I haven't had any Blanton's in a long time and that sounds tempting," said David.

Chet directed him to the bath and he went off toward the kitchen. Coming out of the bath, David had a chance to look in the living room on one side of the hall and the dining room on the other. The kitchen was behind the dining room and the master bedroom behind the living room. There were rooms upstairs and the stairway was in the hall. The living room had a large stone fireplace and was a marvelous room to relax in, large overstuffed chairs and a Chesterfield sofa, all very out of date but well kept and clean.

"Mrs. Corbin takes good care of the house," Chet said from behind David, "since my mother died. Milt and Mary are fine people and I depend on them a lot. I'm not sure what I would do without them." David wanted to tell him that there was someone who would look after him but, of course, he didn't.

"You're lucky to have such a fine house," David replied.

"Yeah, its too much for just me but I enjoy it a lot and it's paid for. I was born here and I guess I'll die here."

David took one of the glasses of fine amber liquid from the clamped hook which was extended to him and they went back out on the porch. A gentle breeze was blowing through the porch. David took a big gulp of his drink. "That sure hits the spot," he said.

"You can't beat Blanton's. It's hard to find around here, so when I do, I stock up." replied Chet.

They sipped their drinks in quiet for awhile, each with his own thoughts.

"What do you do in Santa Monica, David?" Chet asked.

"I'm a doctor -- a surgeon really," answered David.

"Well, that explains that fine car," Chet laughed. "You can't buy one of those on food stamps." This time they both laughed.

"That's my pride and joy," said David.

"I've never driven anything like that before," said Chet.

You will, it I have anything to do with it, thought David to himself.

They finished their drinks quietly, enjoying the coolness of the porch and trees. Chet said, "I'm usually a one drink man but I'll make you a deal. I'll have another if you will. I don't often have anyone to drink with." David could again feel the loneliness in his voice.

"I've got a three hour drive in front of me," said David. "Another one and I'll have to hunt a motel around here."

"Well, you won't find one in Creston," Chet laughed. "There's a couple places out on the interstate but nothing in Creston. Why don't you stay here tonight?" he said more seriously, "It's not grand but you're welcome to such as it is."

David couldn't believe what he was hearing. He was thrilled beyond his wildest expectations. "That sounds just great to me. I'll be glad to reimburse you for the trouble."

"No trouble at all. Mrs. Corbin left some cold chicken and other things in the refrigerator. Now, how about that second drink?"

"What a relief not to have that drive in front of me," sighed David. Chet had already clamped his hooks on the glasses and was soon back with a second round.

"Here's to your first night in the busy metropolis of Creston," Chet toasted and David touched his glass with his own.

May there be many, many more, David thought to himself.

God, please let it be the first of many, Chet thought to himself.

Later they went into the kitchen and Chet refilled their glasses without asking. Talk flowed easier and they became very relaxed and comfortable. Chet set out the food Mrs. Corbin had prepared. David watched Chet with a building fascination and admiration as he used his hooks to perform each task with calculation and determination. Some tasks were more difficult than others, but Chet had figured out everything and the way to accomplish it. For fifteen years David had waited for this night, wondering if it would ever come.

"How did you get into medicine?" Chet asked over dinner.

David told him the family background in medicine and how he had been expected to follow his father and grandfather. "After my surgical residency, I did a hitch in Vietnam before taking up practice with my father in Los Angeles.

"I was in Vietnam, too," said Chet, a bit quietly. "That's where I got these," he said, holding out the shiny metal hooks.

"It was a pretty tough place, wasn't it?" David said, knowing he was touching on a subject he hadn't meant to get into.

"Yes, it really was," answered Chet frankly. "But it could have been worse," he added quickly. "Where did you serve over there?"

"I was at a MASH unit in Phu Lon," David replied, now fully aware of what he was getting into.

"You're kidding. What a small world. I was evaced to a MASH unit in Phu Lon." Suddenly realizing the possible impact of what he had said, the smile left his face. "When were you there?" he asked directly.

"Starting in October of '72," David replied, knowing this discussion had gone farther than he ever meant it to go.

"And I was evaced through there in December of '72. That means . . ." He didn't finish the sentence, but stared at David with a haunted, other world, vacant look in his eyes. "You cut off my arms," he said as a fact, not as a question.

David sat at the table with great huge tears rolling down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry," David sobbed. "I didn't have any other choice. There was just nothing to work with," he said between sobs. "You took the full impact of the blast."

Chet walked quietly out the front door and stood staring into the night.

David left him alone for a long while and then followed him to the porch. He sat down heavily.

"Why did you come up here?" Chet asked, more calmly than David had expected. "Why did you follow me?"

David knew he had gone too far to draw back now. "Chet," he said between sobs, "If I can do nothing else for you right now, I can be honest with you. I was in love with you that day in Phu Lon, the first time I ever saw you, and I've been in love with you every day since. You were the most handsome man I had ever seen, just as you still are today. I'm so sorry I had to be the one to operate on you. I performed a lot of operations over there that bothered me tremendously, but none as much as yours. Can you possibly understand how I felt?" He told him about the private investigator and how he had been willing to help him if it became necessary. David said he had never planned to contact Chet but when he learned that his mother had died and that he was alone, he could deny his feelings no longer. Of course, looking for land was just a pretense, but things had very quickly gotten out of control.

"I'll be going," said David. "I hope I haven't caused you too much pain. I never intended to. You'll know where I am if you ever need anything at all." He got up and started across the porch.

Chet turned toward him, his head hanging, tears now streaming down his cheeks. He said in a low voice, "Please stay. I need you now."

David took him in his arms there in the dark and Chet put his artificial arms around David and they held each other tightly and sobbed together.

"I never thought anyone could like me again," Chet said, also between sobs.

David held him close. After awhile David put his arm around Chet's shoulders and they went in the house and into the bedroom. David locked the door. Chet closed the drapes in the bedroom. David carefully unbuttoned Chet's shirt and unloosened his pants and they fell to the floor. His magnificent body was in full view for David to see for the first time since he had seen him on an operating room table in Phu Lon. It was fuller and more mature -- not the lithe body of a teenager but the full, robust figure of a handsome man.

Carefully, David held Chet's hooks in his hands and stood back to admire his physique. "Just as magnificent as I remembered," he said.

"How can you say that when there are so many handsome men around who have two hands? How can I be attractive to you?" Chet asked.

"My beautiful Chet," David said as he took him in his arms again, "No one could be more handsome than you."

"You're just saying that because of the way you feel for having to perform the operation on me in 'Nam."

"Chet," answered David, "Think what you're saying. If that was the case, I'd have a list longer than I'd like to think about. Those were rough times and I performed a lot of operations, a lot of amputations. None were less important to me than any others. I did the best I could in every one of them. But you stood out then and you stand out now. The only thing I can say is that I love you and have loved you every day for fifteen years. I want to live with you, love you and you only, for the rest of my life. Please believe that."

"My hooks -- my arms don't bother you?" Chet implored.

"I wish it had never happened, but it did. I would give anything for you to have your arms back but we both know that isn't possible. I can only assure you that both as a doctor and as someone who feels very deeply for you, it makes no difference," answered David. "Please give me time to prove that to you."

Again they locked in an embrace. David carefully lifted the harness of Chet's hooks over his head and laid the devices on a chair. Chet stood there now completely naked, his head hung low and his stumps at his side.

David raised Chet's head and looked him in the eyes, "I love you," he said as tears continued to roll down Chet's face.

"And I love you," Chet sobbed.

David took his stumps in his hands and put them to his mouth and kissed them both. They fell on the bed in a fast embrace. David knew it would be alright now.

When they awoke the next morning, they were still in an embrace. They explored each other's bodies. They gave of themselves to each other and they knew, even in the harsh light of day, that it would be okay between them. They showered together, David learning how to help Chet, and Chet allowing him to help. They toweled each other dry and dressed.

"You're really pretty good with those," David said as Chet donned his hooks and finished dressing.

"It comes from a lot of practice," Chet answered, "And having a good doctor to perform the operation." They both laughed.

"I think I did a pretty neat job," David joked.

"Yep, I reckon' you did. I'm not an expert but they're mine and they're all I've got and I like 'um," Chet returned the joke. "And I like you.

"Ditto," said David as he ruffled Chet raven black hair. "Why don't we go down and have breakfast with Helen at the Squat and Gobble?"

"Sounds like a great idea. I'm famished," said Chet as he finished dressing. "I had forgotten that sex makes me hungry."

"Me, too," grinned David, going out through the house to the front porch. "Catch," he said as he tossed the car keys to Chet. Chet, surprised, missed the keys and they fell to the ground. He deftly picked them up.

"I' m not sure I can handle your car," Chet said.

"Oh, I'll bet you can," David said as he walked on toward the car. "I have good insurance."

As they entered the Squat and Gobble, several locals called out to Chet and he returned their hellos. They sat at the counter and Helen waddled over to them.

"Well, the big land hunt guy finally found you," she cackled to Chet. "Has he been able to talk you out of any of that Ashworth land?"

David answered for Chet, "I think we've been able to swap the use of some beach front property in Santa Monica for the use of some Ashworth acres."

"Yeah, I think so," echoed Chet.

Helen cackled again as she headed toward the kitchen to fix their order.