Finished, he walked to the edge of the mesa. The high winds and rain were gone. Dreamlike on the skyline, the Sierra Blancas gathered the last of the clouds to their crowns. The basin, damp in wet tones of brown, green, and gray, glistened in the sunlight. *** Below him on a sprawling foothill, the shape of the 7-Bar-K ranch house jumped out at him. The living windbreak his grandfather had planted on the north side of the house was now a dead row of cottonwood trees. A pile of lumber was all that was left of the horse barn, and a few random fence posts marked the remains of the corral. The stock tank, almost covered by drifting sand, showed a rusted lip to the sky. A truck was parked in front of the log porch. East of the ranch, on the flats in the distance, sunlight bounced off a cluster of metal roofs. It had to be the test site. The sound of Sara's voice startled him.
'Are you all right?'
'Not by a long shot,' he answered.
'Kerney… I'm sorry.'
'I know.' He refused to look at her.
'You'd think this old place had seen enough suffering over the years.' He pulled himself together and forced a smile.
'I know it must hurt, but…' His interruption came before she could continue.
'It's okay.' Tears made lines in the dirt on his face. He blinked more away.
'Let's dry out, clean up, and get some rest. I don't know about you, but I'm a complete wreck.' They rode down toward the ranch in the unusually cool air the storm had left behind, Kerney in the lead. Sara prodded the gelding along until she was even with Kerney's shoulder. He would not look at her.
Chapter 7
The small desk, positioned with a view out the window, gave Eppi Gutierrez a clear line of sight to Big Mesa. He made his last entry in the daily log on the status of the bighorn herd, closed the book, and looked up. Coming down the old trail, two riders on jaded horses trailing a pack animal picked their way through the sandy bottom. His apprehension grew as he watched them come closer. In all his overnights at the 7-Bar-K he'd never seen anybody come down that trail-it went nowhere. He put his logbook in a metal box, found his holstered sidearm, and watched their approach through the front window, nervously snapping open the hammer flap. The riders dismounted at the tailgate of his truck and walked the horses to the porch. Both were limping, the man rather badly, the woman less so. They looked exhausted. He unholstered the pistol, hid the weapon behind his right leg, and stepped outside. The man spoke before he could challenge them.
'Are you Eppi Gutierrez?'
'Yes, I am. Who are you?'
'Lieutenant Kerney, Dona Ana County Sheriffs Department.' He held out his badge and gestured at Sara.
'This is Captain Brannon, Provost Marshal's Office. Do us a favor and put the gun away.' Eppi blushed and stuck the pistol in the waistband of his trousers.
'Sorry about that,' he said. 'I didn't expect to see anybody riding out of the mountains, especially after the storm that just blew over. How did you know my name?' The two began unsaddling the horses. The woman, her face dirty and with a welt on her forehead, was still a looker, Eppi decided.
'The truck gave you away,' Kerney replied.
'Did you come through Rhodes Pass?'
'More or less.'
'Through the storm?'
Kerney nodded. 'Had no choice. Do you think we can bunk here tonight?' He pitched his saddle onto the porch railing and Sara followed suit.
'Sure. No problem. Let me help you unload.' Kerney nodded wearily.
'I'd appreciate it.' They relieved the roan of its burden and bedded the horses under the dead windbreak trees after Kerney ran a string line. Eppi helped them carry water to the animals. Sara's butt was sore, her legs were cramped, and the twisted ankle throbbed. She finished watering the gelding, grabbed her sleeping bag and day pack, and walked toward the ranch house. It was a long, wide rectangle, easily sixty years old, with a shallow veranda, partially screened at one end. Sara couldn't resist the temptation to snoop around. The inside contained practical living spaces; an oversized living room and country kitchen on the front side, with a door opening to the partially screened porch, bedrooms and a single bath arranged in a row down a hallway at the rear of the house. She heard Kerney clomp across the oak floor of the front room and dump his gear in one of the empty bedrooms. She caught sight of him leaving. She decided it had to be his childhood room: a rusty horseshoe nailed above the door confirmed it.
She spread her sleeping bag on the floor, unpacked a change of clothes, brushed her hair, and washed her face in the cold tap water from the bathroom sink. Kerney waited for Sara in the living room.
A crudely fashioned desk made of a single piece of thick plywood, supported by two small filing cabinets, was jammed against a sill under a window. A camp stool, too small to make working at the desk comfortable, was pushed under the plywood top. Below the ceiling light in the middle of the room, two army surplus office chairs facing each other served as the lounging area. An army cot against the back wall completed the furnishings. While old memories clattered through his mind, he was struck by the realization that his cabin at Quinn's ranch had the same feel to it, and in some ways mirrored his childhood home.
He wondered why the similarity had escaped him. Maybe he had needed to see the old house before he could fully admit to the dream that constantly chased him to get a place of his own. He couldn't help but smile, a little painfully, at his silliness. Sara came into the living room, her eyes searching Kerney for signs of residual shock. The numbness was gone from his face.
'There's indoor plumbing,' she said quietly.
'You can thank my father for that.'
'He didn't install any hot water,' she replied.
'To my mother's irritation.'
'You're feeling better,' Sara announced. Her diagnosis earned a wan smile.
'Barely.' Together they went to the kitchen, where Gutierrez had turned his attention to making sandwiches: cold cuts and cheese on sliced white bread.
'It's nothing fancy,' he announced, smiling at them over his shoulder. 'But you two look hungry.'
'Ravenous,' Sara replied. The grimy wood cook stove stood proudly on ornate cast-iron legs. The handmade cupboards and cabinets, some without doors, were painted a faded, chipped yellow. Sara wondered what the room had looked like when Kerney's mother ruled the nest. Probably warm and inviting, she decided. They sat at the kitchen table on mismatched castoff chairs, Sara sinking gingerly onto the unpadded seat. The table, a pine creation fashioned out of planks and rough-cut lumber, wobbled radically. Kerney watched Gutierrez as he worked at the counter.
In his early thirties, Gutierrez had thick lashes, dark eyes, and large ears. His short neck and wide nose gave his face a fleshy look.
'Can I ask what you're doing out here?' Gutierrez inquired as he brought them their plates.
'Purely pleasure,' Sara replied.
'We just needed a few days by ourselves, away from the grind.' She brushed her fingers across Kerney's cheek and looked at him lovingly.
'Isn't that right, dear?' Kerney, almost blushing, nodded and bit into his sandwich.
'It's turned into quite an adventure,' Sara added.
'I believe it,' Gutierrez replied.
'I didn't know there was a trail that came through Big Mesa.'
'There isn't,' Kerney replied, swallowing. He could still feel Sara's touch on his cheek. 'We got lost in the storm.'
'That can happen,' Gutierrez said, pouring fresh coffee, serving the cups, and joining them at the table, his smile sympathetic. To Sara, Gutierrez seemed affable and rather ordinary.
'You run the bighorn program on the range,' she said, making small talk. Gutierrez nodded.
