Rebecca leaned on the corral bars staring west as the sun set over the not-too-distant mountains.  She wore a light jacket to protect herself from the chill of the spring evening.  She inhaled deeply, enjoying the fresh air despite being filled with dust and allergens.  Absently she was thankful she wasn’t susceptible to bouts of hay fever. 

A scuff of boot on gravel drew her attention away from the sunset, and she glanced over her shoulder before returning her gaze to the west.  “How are you doing, Mr. Crawford?  Thank you for coming over.”

Peter Crawford had spent his childhood and young adult years in and around the family ranch in Montana.  He hadn’t been back since his parents had refused to support his application to Starfleet.  They hadn’t spoken to him or reached out or anything.  The problem was, he still loved this life.  It was why he’d built several holodeck programs.  It was why he found his way to Montana or anywhere with a wide open sky and horses to ride.

It was in his blood and would forever flow with him from life to death.  He’d received the call from his CO and grabbed a shuttle down to New Mexico to see what she had in mind.  He knew the ranch by reputation.  Seeing it now, most of that was confirmed.  It was a beautiful place.

It wasn’t Montana, he thought wryly.  “Captain Talon.  Nice place you got here.”  He looked around, “Lots of beauty.”

“Original Spanish land grant,” Rebecca said. At one time, it was 75,000 acres, now, it’s down to a little over 200, but it’s been in the family since Juan Francisco de Sandoval arrived in the middle part of the 1600s. The foundation is marked 1653.”

Peter leaned on the corral, appreciating the history of the place, “What is on your mind, Captain?”  Crawford was straight and to the point.  He didn’t like to dance.

“You had a little bit of a problem with Lieutenant Nixon. He’s no longer on the ship. Lt. Nalam is officially our intelligence officer.”

Crawford snorted, “In all honesty…I think Nixon had a bit of a problem with everyone.  I knew my share of Nixon’s in the academy.  Always managed to find a way to get along with them…mostly.  That man got along with no one – man, woman, child…anybody.”  He slipped out his pipe and slipped it unlit between his lips.  It was one of the few things he’d kept from his family – his grandfather’s hand-crafted pipe.  “How far did you have to take that one?”

“You are probably right,” Rebecca agreed. “He didn’t seem to hold me in a very high regard either.  To that end, I didn’t have to take it too far. We came to a mutual agreement that Denver wasn’t  the best place for him.”

Peter gave her a nod of thanks, “You make a compelling argument as always, Captain.  Nalam seems like she’s a good fit with us.  Lot easier to talk to and look at than Nixon.”

Rebecca glanced at Peter and then rested her chin on her hands, “I didn’t need to know your lasciviousness thoughts, but yes, I do think she is a better fit for the crew.”

Crawford chuckled, “If I was going to pursue such an idea, Captain…you would be the first to know if I was serious in my intentions.”

Rebecca shrugged,  “She’s too old for you, kid, but whatever you do, be smart about it. I don’t need little Peter Crawfords running around the ship.”

Peter smiled quietly, a familiar glint playing across his eyes.  “Your advice is as colorful as it is helpful, Captain.”

“So listen, there’s a reason I brought you down here. I had a conversation with Admiral Dailey about you. We both agree you have a talent for leadership, and we can’t have officers questioning you or resenting you every time I put you in command of an away team.” She reached into her jacket and withdrew a wooden box with a single pip inside.  “Congratulations, Lieutenant.”

His mouth dropped open, shocked.  He was very rarely surprised.  “Uh…”

Rebecca gave him a smile and turned back to her sunset just in time to see the last sliver of the sun dip below the horizon.

His hands accepted the wooden box, holding it gently in both hands, looking at his CO with a mix of wonder and confusion, “Uh…Yea.  Thank you, Captain Talon.  This is…humbling.”  He slowly opened the box, and the glittering pip stared back at him, a warmth filling his heart.  He gave her a look, “Full Lieutenant?  I’m not sure how to feel about that, Captain.”

“Call me Becca,” She said, still looking westward.  “We’re not on duty.” She shrugged,  “Even if this is work-related. You’re welcome; you can consider it a battlefield promotion. You’ve earned it, now don’t make me regret it.”

Peter considered the pip in the box and his captain.  They taught you in the academy that each CO was different in their own way – there’s no real mold for a commanding officer.  There’s the regs, there’s the law, there’s the policies, and all the assorted directives that drove the work of the Federation and Starfleet.  What defined each ship, and eventually, each crew was the one in the center chair.  He slid the box into his pocket, “I accept both the promotion and the charge as you’ve given it…Becca.”

“Good.  I’d hate to have to tell Admiral Dailey that you refused.”

He chuckled as he kicked at the ground, “All I’ve known is the academy, my training, and the Denver.  New habits are easier to kill than old ones, I suppose.”  He looked back at the house, “I smell something really good in the air…I don’t suppose dinner is on the table?”

“Did you just invite yourself to dinner?” She teased. “Dad’s a painter by trade… artist not house,” she amended hastily.  “But if he wanted to, he could have been a chef.  I hope you like spicy.  He definitely lives up to the Latino reputation of using liberal amounts of spice.”

Peter actually cackled a little, “If your nose isn’t running, you ain’t eating the right food, Ca…Becca.  Lead on.  I am up for this challenge.”  They turned and headed back to the house as the dark sky above filled with the shiny stars of a future of possibilities.