“Hoooo, boy! Nothin’ I love more’n seein’ a man grippin’ his Horn! And that’s a mighty impressive specimen you got, Doc Rogers! Ain’t it, Emmaline?” A stooped figure with thinning hair jabbed his cane in my direction.
“Sure is,” the elderly woman clutching his elbow agreed. I didn’t know whether she was meant to be supporting him or if he was supporting her. I wasn’t sure they knew either. “Nearly as nice as yours, Amos. Doc’s is maybe a little bigger. Not quite as purple, though.”
I shut my eyes briefly, thinking fondly of the thirty-five years I’d spent having conversations that weren’t laden with double entendres only I seemed to hear. In retrospect, it had been such a happy, innocent time. “Good evening, Mr. Nutter.”
“I’m a Proud Nutter now,” the man corrected. “Since me and Emmie, here, got hitched. Besides, I thought I told you to call me Amos?”
“Amos,” I agreed. “Right. Well. I—”
“Ah, Doc, watchin’ you holdin’ that Horn makes me think of my Buck.” Amos sighed. “D’you know, when my Buck started experimentin’ with Horns, I was the first man who volunteered to help him?”
His wife clucked sympathetically.
“Uh.” I was 99 percent sure we were still talking about the game, but beyond that, I was incredibly confused. “Were you?”
“Sure thing! A man’s not supposed to play favorites, but I don’t mind telling you, Buck’s got a little more Nutter in him than the average.” His chest puffed up with pride.
I nodded. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. And Buck is your…?” I trailed off expectantly.
Amos blinked at me like I was the one being deliberately obtuse. “Great-nephew, obviously. The one what created that there Horn.”
“Ohhhh,” I said in relief. “Right, no, obviously he’s your great-nephew! Ha ha. I mean, what else could you have meant?”
“Oh my God,” Kev squeak-breathed, clutching his chest. “You mean, you know the Buck Nutter? The Buck Nutter who’s the creator of Horn of Glory?”
Amos grinned. “Know him? I helped raise the boy! Like to think I’m the one who passed on a bit of the ol’ Nutter entrepreneurial spirit. Taught himself all about electronics and computer programming, didn’t he, Emmaline? Added in what he knew about farmin’ and wahlah. Instant success.”
“Wait,” I said, finally catching on. “You’re saying Horn of Glory was created by someone from the Thicket?”
Kev gave me a pitying look. “I explained all this to you, Carter! Remember? I begged Grandfather to let me move here so I could be closer to HOG’s corporate office? And to you, of course,” he added quickly.
Uh-huh. I didn’t remember any part of this. I must have blocked it out.
“So is Buck here?” Kev glanced around the ballroom. “Do you think he’d sign my Horn?”
Amos shook his head. “’Fraid not. Boy’s on vacation down in… Mexico, ain’t that what Kandi said, Emmie? Snorkeling, I expect. Or maybe diving? Nutters are real fond of water sports, you know. I just hope he’s having a good time. Poor boy’s been miserable ever since he sold the game rights to those investors. I told him, Buck, there’s no way I’d trust a stranger to lay so much as a finger on my Horn, but did he listen?” He sighed.
Emmie patted his arm again. “Let’s go dance, honeybunch. You know flossin’ always makes you feel better.” She shot me a wink as she led him away.
Good Lord. The people of this town baffled and challenged me on a daily basis, but I was pretty sure I was gonna miss them.
“Well, that was exciting, huh? Like two degrees of separation from a real-life celebrity.” Kev rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet happily, eyes wide at the thrill of meeting Amos Nutter, an octogenarian best known locally for his flatulent herd of cattle and his pasture out by the Licking Thicket town sign. “You should go see Grandfather now, but do not tell him where you found me. And I’ll warn you, he’s been crankier than usual this past week. Told Martine not to sprinkle sugar on his grapefruit anymore because if his damn fool grandson insists on running off to the damn fool jungle, he’s gonna have to stay alive long enough to keep the Rogers Foundation afloat until the damn fool gets back.” He raised an eyebrow. “The damn fool is you, FYI.”
“Yeah. Caught that.” I rolled my eyes, dismissing Amos Nutter from my thoughts. “But Grandfather’s immortal. And he doesn’t even like sugar on his grapefruit.”
“True story,” Kev agreed. “But he’s old. And he loves you. And he worries. He wants you to carry on the Rogers family legacy. Five generations of doctors and all that.”
I sighed. That’s exactly what I was trying to do. In my own way.
When I finally found my grandfather a few minutes later, he was sitting at a linen-covered table drinking a cup of tea with Martine, his personal assistant, in the relative quiet. His white hair was immaculately groomed, and his tuxedo and bow tie were flawless, but in the second I saw him before he noticed me, I noticed that his hair was a little thinner than it used to be, and the lines around his eyes were a bit more pronounced.