These were the four immortal words that kept Laci and Junior wrapped up in Pop’s every word. Buck Sterling enjoyed the role of “retired adventurer” for two reasons. Firstly, it made the family drives all the more amusing when he’d pull off a stunt, and his pups felt part of their gray-furred father’s stories. Secondly, he loved telling them. He’d be pestered by the kids’ friends when they came over to play, he’d find himself telling them to his pals at races, and most of all, they were a public service for his dear wife Jane, who knew a story from Pop was their kids’ one-way ticket to Dreamsville.
It was on a particularly cool little evening, with Laci and Junior tucked under their dad’s big burly arms, that he and his boxy, sun-yellow Jeep Cherokee were in quite the quandary.
“And there I was, dangling off the cliff-edge, trunk full of gems, and a winch screaming under the Jeep’s weight. If the wire went, down I go. My archeology buddy’s short a few specimens, and you two’d be short one Pop.”
“What happened next?” pleaded Laci, worry all over her face.
“Well,” he continued casually, “I did what I always do: grit my teeth and dig in!”
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