CHAPTER ONE

      TRAVIS FULLER TURNED UP the collar on his jean jacket and tried to slide farther down into the backseat of the sheriff’s cruiser. He hated the way cop cars always smelled of vomit and stale coffee. He hated cold days. He hated little towns and he hated the deputy who picked him up from the Lubbock airport like he was a rescue dog going to a new home.

      Hell, he thought, if he ever reached his sixteenth birthday, he’d probably hate being on his own, too. He’d learned a long time ago that the next place was usually worse than the last, and Crossroads, Texas, looked to be touching the bottom of the barrel.

      Travis had made up his mind when he was seven that as soon as he turned sixteen, he’d run away and never look back. He couldn’t do a worse job of raising himself than his parents had. Both were drunks. His mother was mean and his father was stupid. Their last fight ended with her in the hospital and him in jail.

      “And me?” he mumbled. “I have to go to hell in Texas just because I’m their offspring.”

      The deputy turned his radio down and glanced back. “You all right, kid?”

      “I’m not a kid. I’m almost sixteen.”

      “Right,” the deputy said with a laugh. “Well, Mr. Fuller, welcome to Crossroads. Looks like you’ll be staying with us for a while. You’ll love it here. The three uncles you’re bunking with are real nice guys. One was a teacher for almost forty years, one is still working as a real cowboy, and the third one, Horace Fuller, no one knows what he did for a living but he always paid his bills. He’s sort of the town hermit, and that’s not an easy title to have in a small town.”

      “They are not my uncles,” Travis grumbled.

      “Oh, right. Great-uncles. Longevity must run in your family. I’m guessing all three are past their seventieth birthday.”

      “I don’t care. Not one of them had any kids or a wife so I’m guessing they are not long on social skills.”

      Deputy Cline didn’t argue, but added, “They’ve been fixing up a place at Horace’s for you to stay. Up high, almost like a tree house. I wouldn’t be surprised if you can see the lights of town from there.”

      “Great. Another cage.” Travis looked out the window as the deputy pulled off the highway. The town was all brown and deserted in the winter morning light. Most of the buildings were built square and low to the ground.

      “You ever had an architect live here?” Travis frowned.

      “Nope. Not that I know of.”

      “I could have guessed that. Frank Lloyd Wright would have a heart attack here.” Travis could spend hours looking at Wright’s work in the books at libraries. To him the buildings were art, every one a masterpiece.

      “Wright? He’s that famous architect who built all those strange buildings?” Deputy Cline chimed in, as if he thought he was on a game show. “I’ve done carpentry work, but would have no idea where to start on something like his designs.”

      “He was a genius,” Travis mumbled, not really wanting to have a conversation with the deputy. Cline was so new at the job he didn’t even know he wasn’t supposed to talk to anyone riding in the backseat. Travis had had enough rides to know that rule.

      As the cruiser circled round, Travis asked, more to change the subject than from interest, “What’s that, a barn for tumbleweeds?” He pointed to an open-air building on the land left when streets crossed in the center of town.

      Deputy Cline laughed as if he thought