Content

The Secret
“Sealed with a Kiss”
By
Janice Abel

Copyright © 2011 by Janice Abel. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphics, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Thank you for choosing this story by Janice Abel.

Other SF and Fantasy stories by Janice Abel available as e-book include; Time Rides the Tide, Beam Down Scotty, The Metallic Bird, Silver Stars on the Sea, Mirage – additions forthcoming.

Buy this story and others as part of a collection entitled, Dream Shifters- a collection of eight stories that include the above listing as well as additional exclusives, The Green Phone, and The Porch.

The Secret

“Sealed with a Kiss”

I have held this secret for years and it’s about time I told you my story. It is about a cowboy who not only changed my life forever--chances are he probably changed yours as well. This may sound remote, but like a pebble dropped in a pond, the circle just widens. It all happened when three friends and I traveled to The Lightning Field created by sculptor Walter De Maria in the high desert of New Mexico. And, yes, it is real a place; if you don’t believe me look it up on the web.

It was June 1989. We were two Iowans and two Texans on a short-time vacation, looking for adventure. The Field seemed like a good choice - short in distance to travel and different. It had appeal–-Land Art. Art, that’s the common denominator among the four of us. The instructions for a visit to this site were specific. Advance reservations required. You stay in a cabin, only six people a day. You can only stay one day. No photography allowed. You may not drive to the site. You are driven there and back by a designated driver from Quemado, New Mexico.

Kelly and I flew to Albuquerque. The two Texans, Jody and Lorrie, picked us up at the airport, and three hours later we arrived in dusty Quemado, N. M. Advertised population: 1500. My estimate: under 100.

We were looking for something slower than our scheduled work lives and, no doubt about it, we had found it. Even the tumbleweed meandered aimlessly across our path as we rolled up to a white-washed adobe building. The door rattled on its hinges as I turned the knob and peered in: except for a silt covered desk, the room was empty.

Hesitant, I wondered about the arrangements Kelly had made; nevertheless, at the designated time a van chugged up. A grizzled guy with a thick mustache rocked himself out, a red folder in hand, the only inkling he was our official contact. He had our names. We loaded up backpacks, suitcases (enough for two weeks) but betting now it wouldn’t be enough of what we really needed.

Walter, he called himself, jumped in, made a quick swipe of the rear view mirror and revved the motor. “Yo, you ready to go?” he asked looking back

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