Michael McGarrity - Tularosa

"He asked me if I knew where Sammy stayed when he was in Las Cruces."

"And?"

"I told him I didn't know, but that his sergeant had a phone number for how to reach him."

"Why would Sergeant Steiner have a number for Sammy in Las Cruces?"

"Sammy told me that Steiner chewed him out once when he got back from town. Steiner needed him at the test site and couldn't find him. He made Sammy give him a phone number where he could be reached in case it happened again."

"What else did you tell Captain Meehan?"

"That's it, ma'am."

"Tell no one about this conversation. No one. Understood?"

"Yes, Captain." Sara turned on her heel and walked down the hall, unwilling to let Tony see how angry she felt. In her office, with the phone book open to the listing for Erma Pergurson, she called Sergeant Steiner. He told her Captain Meehan had called and asked for the number. He read it off to her. It matched the number in the book. She waited until Steiner hung up and slammed the phone into the cradle.

Damn Meehan! she thought. If she could ever get him on a level playing field, she would clean his clock. *** A thin ribbon of light flowed over the crest of the mountains, as the night sky began fading into lighter grays. Thick clouds moved rapidly into the mountains, blotting out the color on the ridgeline. Ahead, through the windshield of Kerney's truck, Sara could see the flicker of house lights in the foothills, like a beacon with no reference point. It was the first indication of human habitation in twenty miles. For a very long stretch along the dirt road, the truck headlights revealed nothing but desert; not even fences or utility poles. Kerney had Bach's Brandenburg Concertos playing softly on the cassette deck, a perfect choice against the tapestry of the last gloom of night. They climbed out of the desert, the house lights above them appearing and vanishing as the road twisted gently, following the contours up the slope of a small valley pinched between outcroppings of the San Andres Mountains. The valley narrowed to a canyon that gave way to mountain meadows of grass and thickets of cedar trees.

A band of clouds passed over the mountains as they reached the ranch gate. A weathered board nailed to a fence post by the gate displayed the brand for the Rocking J Ranch. Beyond the gate, in a grove of pine trees, warm light poured from the windows of the ranch house. It was the centerpiece of the surrounding buildings, still hard for Sara to discern in the early light.

Kerney got out and opened the gate. Without giving it a thought, Sara slid behind the wheel, drove through the gate, and stopped. Kerney swung the gate closed, pointed to the corral, and started walking. She drove to the corral and waited for him to catch up. He walked past the truck and leaned on the top rail of the corral, eyeing the four horses inside. Dale had saddled a bay and cinched a pack frame to a slightly sway-back roan. The bay was perfect for Kerney; it had high shoulders, big hips, and a nicely proportioned frame. The horse would move smoothly, with good speed if needed. That left the gelding and the mare for Sara to choose from, Kerney thought. He wondered which one she would select. From the truck, Sara studied the horses carefully.

A mare like that would do nicely when she was ninety years old and needed to ride in a surrey. It had a potbelly and weak hindquarters. The gelding's deep chest, flat back, and thick haunch showed the promise of endurance and quickness. The first moment of true daylight touched the crowns of the pine trees as the sun crested the mountains. The foreman's quarters, within easy hailing distance of the main house, was a small cabin with a narrow porch running the length of the building. A hay shed sat conveniently next to the horse barn and corral. The windmill by the water tank grabbed Sara's attention. Old, squatty, and made of wood, with a small platform beneath the blades, it creaked and hummed in the slight breeze. She loved the sound of it.

A screen door at the ranch house slammed shut, and they both turned toward the sound. Dale Jennings strode toward Kerney, one hand grasping a large coffee thermos and the other hand juggling three mugs. Dale put his load down on the hood of the truck and bear-hugged Kerney.

"I didn't think anything would ever get you back here," he announced, grinning affectionately as he released Kerney from his grasp. Kerney grinned back.

"Strange things can happen. Thanks for doing all this." He gestured at the waiting horses.

"Nothing to it. Coffee?" he asked Sara, as she stepped out of the truck. Kerney broke in.

"I'm forgetting my manners.

Dale Jennings, this is Sara Brannon."

"Ma'am," Jennings acknowledged, picking up a mug and holding it out to her. Dale Jennings was in his forties, maybe an inch under six feet tall, dressed in work boots, a western shirt, a goose-down vest, and faded blue jeans, topped off by a cap with a feed store logo. His eyes were widely spaced under a long forehead. His mouth seemed set in a permanent smile.

"I'd love some coffee, Mr. Jennings," Sara answered, taking the mug.

She watched Dale pour it carefully, so as not to spill a drop, thinking she had been too long away from home and the company of people like Dale Jennings.

"The name's Dale," he said as he finished.

"Call me Sara," she replied, unable to contain a smile. The coffee smelled wonderful. Dale repeated the ritual with Kerney, then poured a mug for himself, and together all three watched the sunlight spread into the canyon, the warm mugs cupped in their hands, the coffee quietly sipped and savored. Kerney broke the pleasant silence.

"Where are Barbara and the girls?"

"In town," Dale responded. "I'm a bachelor during the week. Both girls are in high school now. You know how that goes. They can't stand to miss any of the socializing and such. Barbara's renting an apartment and working part-time at the flower shop." He put his mug on the top of a fence post and leaned against the railing. He caught Sara's eye, then tilted his head at Kerney.

"The only time we see this fellow is when I take my family up to visit. We use him as a tour guide to show us nouveau riche Santa Fe and all those fancy places we can't afford." Kerney, looking up the mountain behind the ranch house, wasn't paying attention.

"Can you get Sara saddled up, Dale?" he asked.

"Sure thing."

"I won't be long," Kerney said, walking in the direction of a glen behind the house. Dale watched Sara's questioning eyes follow Kerney until he disappeared behind the house. He waited for her to speak.

Instead, she gave him an uncertain smile.

"His parents are buried up in the grove," Dale explained. "He's never been back since the funeral. I watched him dig the graves myself. Wouldn't let anybody help him. Took him all day and into the night. He really loved his folks. His grandfather is buried with them, along with my parents."

"I know what happened," Sara said, trying to think of something to add.

Dale saved her from the struggle. "Then you know it was a damn shame. He didn't say a word; didn't cry-nothing. He put his Army medals in the graves before we covered the caskets."

"Why did he do that?" Dale shook his head.

"Can't say for sure. He wrote me a couple of letters from Vietnam. Said the only thing keeping him going was the thought of getting back home. With his parents dead and all, I guess he figured he didn't have a home anymore."

"He couldn't stay?"

"Hell yes, he could stay. I wanted to take him on as a full partner, but he wouldn't hear of it. He left the morning after the funeral. This is the first time he's been back."

"How sad," Sara said. Dale shook his head in agreement and changed the subject.

"Tell me about this trail ride you're taking."

"It's best that I don't," Sara responded. Dale laughed.