SANTA FE

(c)February 2019 by Charlotte Frost

A sequel to Manifest Destiny

Trello Board of Characters

Starsky was vaguely aware of the warm sun shining on his face. Eyes closed, he tried to decipher the puzzle. Their bedroom didn't have a window that shined on the bed.

The firmness of the mattress meant they weren't sleeping in their water bed. Starsky furrowed his brow while still refusing to open his eyes.

Santa Fe, New Mexico. He and Hutch had decided to take a four-day weekend and arrived yesterday in early afternoon. Hutch had opened the drapes upon retiring to their hotel at one in the morning, after bar hopping in the gay friendly atmosphere of the city. Now, that bare window was a blessing, as Starsky reveled in the warmth.

Hutch shifted behind him. Thankfully, stillness followed. Starsky let his mind drift. Work had gotten tense and busy, as the approaching spring seemed to prompt married people to question what they were doing with their lives and, if they didn't like the answers, seek something new and different outside their marriage. Cheating cases filled their schedules, which were all the tighter because a late winter flu affected their available personnel. With a lot of snapping at ordinary things, between themselves and with their employees, work was getting less enjoyable. Starsky had read in a magazine article that Santa Fe was an artistic town that wasn't wary of gays, and so he bought plane tickets without consulting Hutch. Of course, Hutch argued when Starsky told him they were leaving the following week. Hutch argued more, and pointed out that March was hardly the best time for skiing when the west was under a severe drought -- but Starsky had ignored him, beyond pointing out that they could do plenty of other things to occupy themselves and take their minds off of work.

Now, all Starsky wanted to do was sleep, with the warm sun bathing his face. No work, no responsibilities.

After a time, Hutch shifted again, and then pressed close to Starsky, his arm draping loosely around him.

Starsky cracked his eyes open, gazing at the sun-filled window. He swallowed to moisten his mouth and muttered, "Just so you know, I'm not getting up today."

There was a soft noise of amusement. Then Hutch left the bed with a groan and went to the john.

Starsky knew he'd have to take his turn soon; in the meantime, he closed his eyes.

The knock on the door awakened him a couple of hours later. Hutch had showered and he went to the door and looked out the peephole. He opened it, and a moment later wheeled in a cart that smelled of breakfast, and then sent the hotel employee on his way.

"Starsk, you going to eat with me?"

Starsky grunted and refused to open his eyes.

Later, a plate with food appeared on the nightstand. Starsky sighed and pushed himself into a sitting position. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and, while unrolling the silverware, looked up to see Hutch pulling on blue jeans. "You're getting dressed?"

"Uh-huh."

"I'm not," Starsky reminded firmly.

"Don't eat with your mouth open." Hutch buttoned the jeans, and then pulled a turtleneck from his suitcase. "I'm just going to drive around a bit. Maybe get some ideas for what we can do tomorrow."

A few minutes later, Starsky handed Hutch his empty plate. "Put the cart outside, and put the Do Not Disturb sign on the door." He could hear noises of the maids cleaning rooms down the hall.

Hutch sat on the bed to pull on his boots. "Any other requests?"

"Yeah. Turn on the TV, but keep the volume low." Starsky rolled onto his other side, pulling the blanket on over his shoulder. He was only vaguely aware of Hutch leaving their room.

Three hours later, Starsky was still in bed, but was awake enough to follow the daytime game shows. He was surprised that Hutch wasn't back yet, but could understand that maybe Hutch wasn't eager to be holed up in a room with his partner.

Besides, Starsky soothed himself, it was probably good for them to have time away from each other.

He pulled on his robe and went down to the end of the hall where the vending machines were, and returned to their room with snacks in hand.

The door rattled, and Hutch entered a moment later.

Starsky pushed himself up in bed, noting that the bedside clock said that it was nearly two in the afternoon. The TV was still on.

Hutch's face was expressionless as he picked at the empty chip bags on the nights stand. "You had lunch?"

"Sort of. Did you?"

"Yeah, I grabbed something, but not a real meal."

"Then let's have room service bring us some burgers."

Hutch moved around the room, glancing this way and that.

Starsky was still trying to read the lack of expression. "What all did you do?"

Hutch straightened, his hands in his pockets, working at appearing casual. "Canceled our plane tickets back to Bay City and returned the rental car."

It took a long time for the words to penetrate Starsky's sleep-laden brain. "You did?" He couldn't imagine why Hutch would have done that.

"Uh-huh."

"How come?"

A grin spread across Hutch's face, lighting his eyes. His right hand reached deep into his pocket and withdrew newly minted keys on a bright, rectangle chain.

"What's that?"

Hutch held out the key chain. It read Honda. The bow of the keys were encased in black plastic. Attached to the chain was a label that said 1988 on one line, then 4-dr Accord on the next, then Beige.

The meaning clicked in Starsky's brain. "You bought a new car?" he asked on a high note.

Hutch's grin widened. "Uh-huh."

Starsky blinked. "A brand new car?"

"Uh-huh."

"A foreign model car?"

"Yeah." Hutch shrugged. "Drives like you wouldn't believe. And they were offering an incredible deal."

Starsky's brain was spinning. Both their ten year old cars had had serious maintenance issues in the past year, but Hutch had always been firm that they couldn't afford new cars. What's more....

"My car is currently in the shop," Starsky exclaimed on a high note, "and you bought yourself a new car?"

The smile faded and defensiveness emerged. "Well, I could hardly buy you a new car when you weren't with me. You wouldn't have wanted me to do that, would you?"

Starsky shook his head in disbelief. "You should have told me you were going car shopping."

"I wasn't. I just happened to drive by a Honda dealership, and they were offering great deals. Look at this." The grin was back as Hutch pulled out his wallet. He presented a pile of crisp bills, all in denominations of $50 or $100. "I got two thousand dollars cash back. They were offering that, or three percent interest. I took the cash because I don't care about the interest. I'm going to pay the loan off as soon as we return home."

Starsky felt he was going some fifteen years back in time. He and Hutch had driven to Las Vegas for a murder case. Hutch had lectured about the evils of gambling, until he'd personally experienced the thrill of winning a lot of money. Recently, he'd continually insisted that they couldn't afford new cars, and now he was tickled pink about having bought himself a new car.

Starsky couldn't get angry at this aspect of Hutch's personality -- always saying no, until Hutch's actions got around to yes. Starsky was way too familiar with it.

He settled back on the bed. "I need a new car, too, you know."

"Well, we can go buy you one, but then we'll have to drive the eight hundred miles back home in separate cars."

That didn't sound particularly appealing.

Hutch sat down next to Starsky, nudging him. "We'll get one for you when we get home."

"You're going to pay the loan off that one, too?"

"Yeah. We've got too much debt as it is. Decent new cars are around fifteen thousand dollars these days. I'll have to take thirty grand out of savings, but it beats having so many maintenance bills or monthly car payments."

Starsky was still trying to let that sink in.

Hutch nudged him again. "Come on, let's take it for a spin. You can drive. It's so fluid and smooth. Handles great. Accelerates like you wouldn't believe for a sedan."

Though the eagerness was hard to resist, Starsky insisted, "I'm not getting dressed today." He watched the disappointment creep in, and said congenially, "Why don't you get us some burritos or something, so you have somewhere to take your new car. Then let's watch TV in bed the rest of the night. Then, tomorrow morning, we'll go for a drive."

It was an overcast 45 degrees when they were out the next morning, a Saturday. They took the new Honda into the mountains where the ski resorts were, and then into the valleys where ancient tribes had resided.

Starsky had to admit that the Honda was an impressive vehicle that was fun to drive, despite being a four-door family car with respectable gas mileage.

As they headed south on the scenic Highway 14 -- the Turquoise Trail -- toward Albuquerque, Starsky was driving and said, "I just never figured you buying a foreign car."

"American manufacturers don't make good cars anymore. All the top rated models are all foreign brands. You probably ought to consider one, too."

Maybe he would. "Just hard to believe that you're so nonchalant about taking thirty thousand out of savings, when you're always uptight about all the expenses we have. Especially since Bri is now at the track." She was expected to debut in late spring. "And, you know, we're going to have to have new phones installed in our new cars."

Hutch remained serene. "Some things we can't avoid paying for, buddy. When something is a real need, no use fighting it. You either pay now, or you pay later. Either way, you pay."

"Spoken like a true philosopher," Starsky muttered.

They stopped briefly at a few historic sites and then proceeded to Albuquerque, which was by far the largest city in the state. They ate lunch and then strolled along the city streets in an artistic area, occasionally going inside shops to browse.

"I'd like to get something for our home," Hutch said, "to commemorate our trip."

"There's more artsy places in Santa Fe," Starsky pointed out. "You could have shopped there, rather than spending your time at a car dealership."

With a smug grin, Hutch quipped, "You love my new car." He indicated the store window next to them. "This looks like it has a large variety."

Starsky followed him into the shop. In addition to many paintings on the wall, most of New Mexico landscapes and historic culture, there was a section of shelves with various pottery and statues. While Hutch began browsing the latter, Starsky went up to the glass counter next to the cashier, to consider the jewelry.

Most of it was turquoise and, remembering the cash Hutch had from the dealership, Starsky began to seriously consider spending a few hundred dollars on a belt buckle. He glanced up at the saleslady, who had her back turned while she moved some boxes on a shelf. She was a tall, lithe figure, with long blonde hair. "Ma'am," Starsky said.

She glanced over her shoulder, and appeared to be forty-ish. "What can I help you with?" she asked, approaching the counter.

Starsky looked at her and blinked.

She looked back at him.

Though the hair was much blonder than he recalled, he stammered, "Rosey? Rosey Malone?"

Her head tilted to one side, as though she was frantically rifling through a mental file cabinet. "Dave?"

Starsky nodded. "David Starsky." He broke into a grin, amazed to find her here. "Last I recall, you and your father were moving to Mexico."

Her smile went away. "My father died a few years ago. I'm here in Albuquerque now." She held up her left hand, revealing a wedding band. "I'm Rosey Perez. My husband is in real estate."

Starsky nodded, pleased for her. "Oh, that's great. About being married, I mean."

Her laugh hadn't changed. Then she nodded at his left hand. "I see that you're married, too. Are you still a cop?"

"No, no. We have our own private investigation agency. For about ten years now. Back in Bay City. We're on vacation."

Rosey glanced around the sparsely occupied expanse of the room. "Where is she?"

"She's not here." Starsky quickly shook his head. "I mean, it's not a she."

Her brows narrowed in confusion.

Hutch appeared. "What's up, partner?"

Starsky jerked a thumb. "Rosey Malone." Then he quickly amended. "Perez now."

"Rosey... Malone," Hutch said, as though trying to recall. He snapped his fingers. "Oh, right, the Frank Malone case."

Levelly, she said, "My father died a few years ago, in Mexico. My husband and I moved here."

Hutch put a hand to his chest. "I don't think we were introduced, but I'm Ken Hutchinson, Dave's partner." He held out his hand.

Her mouth had fallen open, as she shook it politely, and Starsky recalled that Rosey had never met Hutch -- or, rather, Hutch had stopped by her Indian art store once, but without revealing who he was.

Starsky grinned broadly, hoping to put her confusion at ease. "We're still partners. Now with our own detective agency. We even have a racehorse."

He could see her eyes darken, as she flatly repeatedly, "A racehorse."

"Yeah. More than one, actually. Or rather, we had one, and then she had foals, and...." Starsky wished he could stop babbling, for this wasn't going well.

"Nice place you have here," Hutch said amiably. "Do you own it?"

Her mouth was in a firm line, as she looked from one to the other. "I'm the manager." Then she looked at Starsky, tilted her head again, and in an overly sweet voice, asked "So, Dave, all those years ago... was I just a convenience for you to try the other side of the fence?"

It suddenly hit him how this must appear. He'd ended up with his partner -- another man -- which naturally made her suspicious that he'd always had homosexual inclinations. Another lie, in a sense, on top of him having fallen in love with her while undercover as a cop. Lie upon lie.

He stammered, "It wasn't like that."

Her gaze bore into him. "Of course not. It's never 'like that' with you, is it?"

Hutch's hands landed gently on Starsky's chest. "Come on, partner."

Starsky jerked away, leaning against the counter. "Look, I wrote a book, about how it all happened with Hutch and me. It's called The Story of Us. I'm sure you can find a copy in the bookstore down the street. Maybe then you can understand...." Just then, he realized that the chapter about his brief love affair with Rosey Malone had been taken out, per his agent's suggestion. The point was to prove how supportive Hutch had been, but that particular incident wasn't near as dramatic as others which demonstrated the same thing. In short, Rosey Malone was an irrelevant blip in the story of his life.

Her gaze hadn't wavered. "I think you'd better go," she whispered. A woman walked up to the cash register with items in hand, and Rosey turned away, a smile coming to her face as she greeted the woman.

Hutch tried again. "Come on, buddy," he said softly.

Starsky allowed himself to be ushered from the store.

His mind was in chaos. A part of him desperately wanted to explain to Rosey that his feelings had been so very real, all those years ago. A part of him wanted to question -- demand -- that she acknowledge he'd been a highly competent lover, proving that he'd had plenty of experiences with women, and in no way had considered her "the other side of the fence". A part of him simply wanted her to understand how logical it was that Hutch was the person he was attached to, always and forever.

Starsky felt for the over-sized keyring in his pocket and pulled out the shiny tag that said Honda. He pressed it into Hutch's hand. "Let get out of here. You drive."

Hutch gave Starsky fifteen minutes of silent brooding as he found the way to the interstate and got going north to Santa Fe.

While accelerating onto the highway, Hutch enjoyed the feel of his new car. He intended to do most of the driving when they made the ten-hour trip back to Bay City tomorrow.

Hutch glanced to his right and tried conversation. "If you hadn't said who she was, I never would have known."

Starsky muttered, "Her hair is a lot lighter now."

An immediate response was encouraging. "I never really saw her back then," Hutch went on. "Just stopped by her art store for a few minutes, looking for you." Back then, they'd never talked about what Hutch wanted to talk about now. "It's just so hard to figure, you falling for her in such a big way, when your relationship lasted a grand total of three days."

Starsky looked over at him, muttering, "Three days?"

"Yes. And it took you all of three days to forget about her. That whole thing... can't see you carrying such a torch for her now."

Starsky released a heavy sigh. "It's just the way it all went down, and how it went down now. I lied to her, made love to her without revealing who I was. She took it hard when she found out, and yet I was able to convince her my feelings were real. And now... here I am saying I'm married to another man -- a man I was close to back then -- and I can hardly blame her for thinking that I'd always felt that way about you. So in her mind, that has to detract yet more from my feelings for her back then."

"It never feels good to be misunderstood, but you and she don't have enough of a history to make it worth brooding over, in my opinion."

"I've been thinking about that."

"What do you mean?"

"Why I fell for her so hard. Why my feelings were so strong, seeing her today. I mean, my feelings about that situation, not about her specifically."

Hutch was intrigued and grateful that Starsky wasn't indulging in a pity party. "Yeah?"

Starsky cocked his head. "What I remember was those two lawyer goons -- Goodson and somebody."

Hutch remembered. "Goodson and Chambers."

"Yeah."

"They were toying with you. Putting you in the middle of trying to get Malone to testify."

"Yeah. And when we first met them in Dobey's office, they were making cracks against my manhood."

"You had struck out with Rosey while jogging -- when you first came on to her. I emphasized you'd struck out, because I was hoping it meant they would leave you alone."

"I know. But they kept making cracks and I let it get to me -- that they were demeaning my manhood. So, I wanted to prove that I could seduce her. For the sake of the case."

Hutch gentled his tone. "You know it was about more than the case. You were attracted to her before the case was in the picture."

"I know. But I pushed myself onto her because of the case. And because --"

There was a long silence, and Hutch looked over at him. "And because you were in love with her."

Starsky's expression was contemplative. "You were right, what you said. People fall in lust, because nobody falls in love-- the deep down kind that lasts -- that fast. But I wanted to prove to myself that I could save her from the situation she was in with her father. I remember telling her, right before she and Malone left that, 'You are the damsel in distress, but you won't let me save you.'"

Hutch quipped, "I guess we men like to believe that women need us to rescue them."

Starsky shook his head. "But the person I'd been saving, year after year, was you. You needed saving, in various situations, just as I did. I think a part of me, subconsciously, was aware of that. Of how much you meant to me. And when the Feds presented the opportunity with Rosey, I was determined to fall in love with her, to show myself that I still wanted the dream of the family and the white picket fence."

Hutch felt touched by the truth of the words, and that it had mattered to Starsky to explain it to himself.

"And yet," Starsky continued, "you were the one working behind the scenes, figuring everything out, wanting to even the score with Goodson and Chambers. And that's what felt good and comfortable and familiar -- my partnership with you. That's where the best feelings always were, and still were. You didn't give me heartache, except in times when I thought I was going to lose you. Trying to make things work with Rosey, that was a whole lot of heartache. I was wanting to control everything concerning her and I couldn't."

Hutch looked over at Starsky with a tender smile.

Starsky snorted with amusement. "And, with you, I still ended up with the picket fence, in a manner of speaking, and a lot bigger family than I ever expected to have close by."

"Funny how things work out, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Especially when you follow your heart."

Hutch reached over and squeezed Starsky's hand.

"Hang on, partner," Starsky warned gleefully.

With the window rolled down, and the spring air so appealing on the last day of March, Hutch grabbed the top of the window frame.

They'd passed the last stop light in the area, and now Starsky shifted gears in his white 1988 Firebird Pontiac Trans Am, and the car accelerated so quickly that they flew by cars in the right lane, soaring into the foothills. Starsky let out a noise of delight each time he had to turn the steering wheel to go around a curve.

The twenty-five thousand dollar price tag had been easier to swallow when they'd traded in both their old cars, plus put down the two thousand in cash that Hutch had gotten from the Honda dealer in Santa Fe. What's more, the Pontiac dealer had also offered fifteen hundred as a cash incentive in exchange for a higher interest rate, so that was added to the down payment, as well. Though it would be quite a chunk to withdraw from savings, Hutch still intended to pay off both their new cars as soon as the first payment notices arrived in the mail.

"Ah, yeah," Starsky crooned, "there's nothing like a new car smell, especially when you're cruising around the hills."

"Don't forget our ultimate destination."

Starsky glanced over at him. "You're enjoying the long way around as much as I am."

Hutch couldn't argue. Eventually, however, they arrived at Windy Hills Farm. Darla had given birth to a chestnut colt by Golden Eagle a few weeks prior, and between their busy work schedules and then vacation, they were just now getting out to see the new arrival.

"We put them up in a stall, since we knew you were coming," Joe, the broodmare manager, told them once they arrived, and led them to the stall. He pushed the stall door back, and Darla stood quietly while her light chestnut foal suddenly darted to one side, brushing against his mother's leg.

"Beep, beep," Starsky chuckled on the foal's behalf.

Joe walked in and took the foal by the halter to turn him, and the foal tolerated the handling. "He's got a star on his forehead."

"Yeah."

"He sure is a nice looking baby."

Hutch couldn't remember that being specifically said about Darla's two prior foals. "Yeah? What makes him particularly nice?"

Joe stood and released the protesting youngster. "He's so well put together. You know, foals are usually awkward and crooked when they're first born. He's so nicely balanced that he almost looks like a full grown horse in miniature. Really well put together."

While Hutch tried to appreciate what Joe was saying, the foal suddenly darted toward Starsky, and Starsky moved aside, laughing again. "Beep, beep. He doesn't seem too afraid of anything."

"Yeah, he's pretty brave fellow." Joe stepped outside the stall, taking a pen from his shirt pocket. "You want to call him Beeper?"

Starsky looked at Hutch, who shrugged. "For a nickname? Sure."

Joe wrote on a paper posted outside the stall. "That'll fit him."

Hutch said, "So, he's a chestnut like Bri, but he looks a lot lighter. Not that deep rich red."

"Yeah, his coloring takes after his sire, Golden Eagle. Looks like his build will, too. Golden Eagle ran in France and then here in the U.S. He was a stakes winner at the longer distances, like a mile and a half and a mile and three-quarters. And he was still winning races at the age of nine."

"I remember seeing that in that blue stud book."

Joe stood in the doorway, nodding toward Beeper. "Yeah, if he keep taking after his sire, he'll be a horse that can run all day. Well, I'll leave you two with your youngster. I'll be in the office if you need anything."

"Thanks, Joe." Hutch took Darla by the halter, petting her neck as she watched her baby interacting with Starsky.

"Hey, Beeper," Starsky called, slapping his leg, now that Beeper had moved behind Darla and was regarding Starsky curiously.

"He's not a dog," Hutch reminded.

"He's friendly though." Starsky took a few steps forward. Beeper bounded to Darla's other side, so he couldn't be seen.

"I think he's had enough for now."

Starsky moved to Darla, circling his arm around her neck. "Ah, man, Darla, honey. I wish I could explain to you how important you are to us. You've got a son that's going to be a great show jumper, and a daughter that's going to be a great racehorse. And a new one that's looking like someone really special." He patted her neck. "And you've already been super special to us."

Hutch refrained for saying that all of Starsky's declarations, beyond the last, had yet to be seen. Then he recalled that it was all because of Starsky that they'd ever had Darla in the first place. Starsky's single-minded insistence, after western actor Steven Hanson died, that they keep her was something that Hutch hadn't been able to challenge for long.

Hutch turned away, brushing at his eyes.

That evening they were preparing dinner when the phone rang.

Starsky reached for the receiver. "Dave Starsky here."

"Dave, this is Rosey Perez. Malone."

It took a moment for it to register. "Oh, Rosey. Hi." He glanced at Hutch, who had looked up from the stove.

"I want to apologize," she said. "I know I was rude to you, and to Hutch, when you were in my store. I'm sorry."

Starsky smiled warmly. "Well, I know it was a surprise. Seeing each other after all these years, and in Albuquerque of all places. And, you know, I can understand how it might seem from your side. Apology accepted."

"I read your book. I liked it. And it did help me to understand about you and Hutch."

Starsky felt complimented. "Oh, good. Thanks for letting me know. That was the intent -- to explain to others about Hutch and me." He quickly put his hand over the receiver and whispered to Hutch. "She read my book and she's apologizing."

Hutch nodded with a smile and turned his attention back to the stove.

With humor, she said, "I had no idea you were a writer."

"I didn't, either. But that was an easy story to tell." He felt he should explain, "There was a chapter about you -- with a fake name, of course -- but my editor made me take it out."

She laughed softly. "That's okay. Shortly after we left California, by father told me, 'Maybe next time you shouldn't fall in love so fast.' He was right, you know."

"Yeah," Starsky replied mildly.

"I do some writing, too. Art columns for newspapers and magazines and newsletters, things like that. I'm working on a book on the art of the Huichole Indians. It's a lot of work, especially with all the illustrations, but it's a labor of love."

"Labors of love are the best kind," Starsky approved. "I hope you'll send me a copy when it's published."

"I'll do that."

They fell silent.

"Anyway, I just wanted to apologize."

"I'm glad you called and I'll let Hutch know."

"Goodbye, David," she said softly.

Starsky hung up and smiled at Hutch.

Hutch said, "Guess everything turned out okay, huh?"

"Yeah, it did."

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