The truck tried to move, but being wedged tight on the rock made it simply impossible. Undaunted, Henry kept his finger on the button and watched carefully for any movement. After a minute or two, the winch stopped straining, which told Henry something was starting to move. The chattering went away and the normal hum came back. Through the rain, Henry thought he heard a crack, like a twig or a stick being stepped on. Then a bigger, much louder crack, and finally there was a cracking like that of a big tree being felled.

Henry, still nowhere close to sober, thought it strange that a winch would make such a noise and looked at the side of it to try and get a better idea why it was cracking like that. Behind him, the wooden upright he had attached the cable to was breaking off at the ground and falling unceremoniously to the water-soaked road, taking the heavy wooden ranch sign and the other upright along with it. Henry wearily glanced up just in time to see the splash the whole thing made when it landed. He took his thumb off the button.

“Time to change,” he muttered.

CHAPTER 4

Henry was warm and dry and sober, reading the paper in his favorite chair in the living room back home at the ranch. There came a knock at the door.

Henry wondered who it was, but wasn’t interested in getting up. He was comfortable sitting in the chair. In that chair there was no pain in his joints or in his stomach and no perpetual headache, the one he’d had for years from being just this side of hungover. From his chair there was just Josh in the other room playing his guitar and Annie in the kitchen cooking dinner—Henry’s favorite, by the smell of it. Barbequed beef brisket with mashed potatoes and gravy, corn on the cob, a salad with the greens from the garden, and for desert, a strawberry and rhubarb crumble.

Knock, knock, knock. “Henry,” Annie’s voice came from the kitchen. “Could you see who that is?” Knock, knock, knock.

Henry looked at the door, and through the glass he could see the dark silhouette of a man in a cowboy hat. He tried to get up to see who it was but couldn’t move.

Knock, knock, knock. “Henry,” came Annie’s voice again. “Are you all right?”

“What?” Henry asked.

“Are you all right?” Annie’s voice was a little deeper now. “Henry…You okay?” Knock, knock, knock. “Henry?” Annie’s voice was different—deeper, more masculine. “Henry, you okay?”

Henry looked toward the kitchen, but it was starting to disappear in a bright yellow light that slowly turned into yellow, then orange flames.

Knock, knock, knock. “Henry,” came the voice again. “Can you hear me? Are you all right?” Knock, knock, knock.

“No,” Henry said, as he sat in his chair. Unable to move, he reached for the kitchen door that was still visible through the flames, but just barely. “NO!” he yelled.