"Ah, the perfect drink. You're the driver and I'm the screw. Is that what you were thinking, Sammy?" I wasn't thinking anything of the sort, Mrs. Ramo...," I lied."Lying doesn't become you, Sammy. I know you're accustomed to getting what you want. You saw me and said to your self, 'I'll have some of that'. Isn't that so?"I took a seat next to her and placed my drink on the coffee table. "That is not so, Mrs. Ramos. What makes you act in such a demeaning way?" Isn't it expected?" No."She sat up. Patch abandoned his roots in the Ozarks to settle in the high Cascade Mountain country of the Methow Valley.He survived on a small pension and creamery money. He milked several dozen goats out of a herd of more than a hundred, ran their milk through a cream separator, and once a week loaded the cream cans into a battered Model A truck to deliver it to the creamery in Winthrop. His pal Purdy usually rode with him to town. The spectacle of the two bachelors, one short and slight, dressed all in. More

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