to him. On the other hand, Anderson—or his heirs—might make an equally good case for abandonment of the book. Or they might say that Cantone gifted the book to Anderson. Most likely it would end up belonging to the current home owner, Anderson.”
“He might be forced to sell assets to satisfy the mortgage too.”
“There’s that,” he agreed. “I’ll probably have autopsy results by tomorrow. If the body turns out to be Anderson, then we have to start looking in that direction for next of kin.”
Sam sat silently, contemplating that, while Beau pulled off the road and steered toward a little clear spot where he parked the SUV.
“This is it.”
She stood beside the vehicle, letting the breeze ruffle the short layers of her hair, while he got something from the back.
“Dinner,” he said, holding up a picnic basket. He handed it to her, while he carried a folded quilt and an industrial-sized flashlight. “Once that sun goes down it’s going to get pretty dark out here.”
She followed him down a narrow path that obviously didn’t see much traffic, to a rock ledge which was only about ten feet square. From the edge of it the earth fell away, a rocky field that went straight down eight hundred feet. The Rio Grande Gorge is a deep cut through volcanic rock, maybe a half-mile wide at the top, with the silvery ribbon of the Rio Grande River coursing through the bottom. Sam stood near enough to the edge to peer down at it and took a deep breath of sage and pinon, pungent from the afternoon rain.
“I like this spot because the wind isn’t so fierce here,” Beau said. “Out on the bridge you sometimes feel like you’ll get carried away.”
It was true. The way the surrounding cliff walls rose, they were in a sheltered spot and yet the western view was clear and she could see that the sun would dip to the level of the distant volcanoes in another hour or so.
“It’s so beautiful. And quiet!”
“Get this.” He faced the drop-off and let out a cowboy whoop. It echoed back, crossed the distance again, and reverberated off the rocky walls to fill the air with sound.
“I love it!” Her shriek rang back in triplicate.
He sent a musical Laaaaa . . . out over the chasm. As it began to echo back Sam gave a strong harmonic note of her own. He raised it. She raised him again. The music that filled the air sounded like a choir of hundreds. She felt her eyes widen at the magic of it. When she looked at him, his reaction was the same. He held her gaze as the sound faded.
“Wow.” It came out in a whisper. “Do musicians come out here and do this all the time?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so. It’s our secret.” He reached out and raised her chin and gave her a very soft kiss.
She blinked a couple of times. What the—
He stepped back. “Sam, I’m sorry. I didn’t intend that—I don’t mean to push you—”
She shook her head, dismissing the apology. “It’s . . . it’s okay. It was a special moment.” It meant nothing. But why were her insides all fluttery?
He flashed her a killer smile. “Hungry?”
Oh boy. She wasn’t sure how to answer that one. Yes. In every possible way.
But she saw that he’d turned to the picnic basket and was pulling out a bottle of wine and a little plastic container.
“I’m afraid I’m no gourmet cook,” he said. “This is just your basic cowboy dinner.”
Well, hardly, she thought. The plastic tub contained guacamole dip and he pointed to a bag of corn chips. “Hold this,” he said, handing her the items while he whipped the quilt out and brought it to rest on the rocky ground. Then he rummaged in the basket and came up with a corkscrew. She watched him study it for a minute and then offered to open the wine if he would find glasses.
“Oops. I knew I would forget something.”
“Hey, I’ve drunk almost as much wine directly from the bottle as from a glass,” She said. Memories of cheap Thunderbird and Boone’s Farm.
To prove it, she tossed the cork onto the blanket and took a swig. A macho wipe across the lips with the back of her hand and she offered the bottle over to him. They passed it back and forth a few times, watching the sun on its downward course.
“What else is in that basket?”
He pulled out an insulated container about a gallon in size. “Chile—my specialty. Uh, I think I forgot bowls, though. But there are spoons.” He held them up with a grin that gave her an excellent picture of what he’d looked like as an eight year old.
Sam ripped open the bag of corn chips, took one and scooped up guacamole with it. “Did you make this? It’s really good.”
He blushed a little. “Should I admit that I found the recipe on the internet? It was the only one that used two ingredients so I thought I could handle it.”
“It’s great!”
“Now the chile—that’s my own recipe. Sorta. My mama used to make it. She doesn’t cook anymore, so I make it for her. After I moved to New Mexico I started adding green chile to it. I mean, you really can’t live here and not eat green chile, right?”
They sat cross legged on the quilt with the Thermos between them, spoons at the ready as he unscrewed the lid and released a bouquet of meaty, tomatoey, spicy goodness into the air. They dipped their spoons at the same moment.
“Ohmygod, that’s good.” Sam had to admit she’d never had chile that tasty—either in New Mexico or back home in Texas. A moan escaped her.
He grinned and went for a second spoonful. She did the same.
“Try it this way,” he said. He grabbed a few corn chips and tossed them onto the chile, then spooned up a big bite that included a couple of them. Sam did the same and agreed. Heaven.
“You could cook for me any time,” she said, once she got the chance to take a breath.
“You’d have to like chile a whole lot. This and grilled cheese sandwiches are about the only things I can make.”
The idea of this chile
“I could die this very minute and be happy,” she told him.
“Well, we’ll hope that doesn’t happen.”
“You know what I mean.” She took another hit from the wine bottle and passed it over. “I feel so lucky right now. What a spectacular evening.”
“I’m glad you like the spot. I was afraid you might have been hoping for a restaurant dinner, some fancy place. Course I worried about it a little too late, after I already had the basket loaded up.”
“Beau, it’s just right. Absolutely perfect.” And it was. She couldn’t think of a more relaxed, fun way to get to know him better. She would
They finished off the chips and dip, made a good-sized dent in the quantity of chile, and were sipping at the last of the wine when his phone rang. Okay, an almost perfect evening.
He glanced at the readout. “OMI’s office. I better take this.”
Sam leaned back on her elbows and stretched her legs out as he conversed quietly. The first star showed in the east and soon there were a dozen of them.
“Sorry. I knew Archie was hustling to get the autopsy finished tonight so he could take the whole weekend off. He wanted to let me know the gist of it.”
“Can you tell me?”
“It’s Riley Anderson. Hair from a brush in the master bedroom matches the body’s DNA. Archie is ruling natural causes. There was lots of lung congestion, no wounds or trauma. Probably untreated pneumonia, which he says is consistent with an age-related death.”
“So, now what? Do you find relatives of Mr. Anderson? Bury him back on the property or what?”
