Michael McGarrity - Tularosa

"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.

"Going on five years now. I work out of Santa Fe but spend a lot of time down here. Especially this time of year." He took out his wallet and gave Sara a business card.

"If you'd like to see the herds, give me a call. We do periodic fly overs to track the herd and check on the new lambs. I took the commanding general up last year. He enjoyed it."

"That would be fun," Sara admitted. "Can I heat some water? I'd like to wash up."

"I'll put the pot on for you."

"Thanks." After eating, Sara took the pot of hot water into the bathroom, stripped out of her clothes, and sponged off the sweat and dirt, feeling better by the minute. She wondered what Kerney must feel like to see the ranch for the first time in so many years. She dressed in fresh clothes, barely managing to get the boot on her injured foot, and limped out of the bathroom. The living room and kitchen were empty.

The packhorse gear was on the living-room floor. She searched through it for the handheld radio. Andy needed to know they would be late getting back to the Jennings ranch. The case, seriously cracked, came apart in her hands. The radio was dead as a doornail. Probably damaged when the gelding slammed into the roan during the storm, she thought, returning it to the pack. She went looking for Kerney and found him stretched out on his bedroom floor, his jacket stuffed under his head, fast asleep, and breathing generously through his mouth. She brought her gear into his bedroom, spread it next to him, and shook him gently with her hand.

He woke up quickly. "So we're a couple now, are we?" he said, sitting up.

"In your dreams, Kerney."

"How did you guess?" Sara suppressed a blush and gave him an unreadable look.

"Did you question Gutierrez?"

"No. I fell asleep." He rubbed his face with his hands and looked at the sleeping bag and pack on the floor next to him.

"Are you bunking with me?" She poked his arm with a warning finger.

"Only for appearance' sake. Go back to sleep. I'll talk to Gutierrez."

Kerney nodded and rolled onto his side. "Thank you, dear." Sara stuck out her tongue and left.

Gutierrez, stretched out over the seat of his truck, was cleaning out an accumulation of trash. As Sara approached, he climbed out and moved the bench seat back as far as it would go.

"Hi."

"Hi," Sara replied.

"I wonder if you have time to answer a few questions."

"Sure. What's up?"

"Did you know Sammy Yazzi?"

"I never met him, but I know who he is," Eppi answered.

"I was up range when the search team started looking for him. I heard all the radio traffic. I stay tuned to the military police channel whenever I'm on the range."