C Box - Blue Heaven

It hurt Jess to know that others knew he was in trouble, that he was a soft target. “I’ve gotten some calls, too, and offers in the mail. I used to just throw ’em out without even opening them. But the Realtors are getting wise to it and sending ’em in unmarked envelopes. Karen even came out yesterday with her new husband.”

“You could diversify,” Hearne said. “Look at the Browns.” The Brown Ranch was the other remaining family ranch in the area. “One son runs cattle and a meatpacking facility. The other son runs a gravel operation. The daughter operates a guest ranch on the property.”

Jess snorted. “I had plans like that once,” he said. “You know what happened.”

Hearne sat back and sighed. He knew.

The silence groaned.

Hearne said, “None of us who grew up here wants to see you lose that ranch. I sure as hell don’t. I think if all of the old ranches are replaced by those five-acre ranchettes, like we’re seeing now, the county just won’t be the same. But I can’t let sentiment run my bank. Those newcomers built this building, and they’re sending my kids to college.”

Jess wondered why Hearne felt it necessary to tell him that.

“Jess, is there any way you would consider selling some of it? Maybe half? That would buy you some time to figure out the rest and maybe save some of it.”

Jess bristled. The thought of being the one to dissolve the operation was a bitter pill. He thought of his grandfather, his father, his mother. They had left him a legacy, and he had screwed it up. The ranch was all he had that defined him, or the Rawlins name. How could he get rid of half of it?

“I’m a rancher,” Jess said. “I don’t know anything else.”

Hearne rubbed his face with his hands. Jess noticed that Hearne’s hands were soft. They didn’t used to be. He looked down at his own hands. They were brown, gnarled, and weathered.

“We’ve got to figure something out,” Hearne said. “We can’t extend any of the loans anymore. I’ve got directors and auditors who want to know what the hell I’m doing with these bad loans.”

“I’m sorry, Jim.”

“Don’t say that,” Hearne said. “I can’t stand for you to say that.”

The intercom chirped, and Hearne leaned forward and picked up the headset. “I’m in a meeting, Joan.”

Jess could hear Joan’s muffled voice. Whatever she said had enough import to keep Hearne on the line.

“Oh, I hate to hear that,” Hearne said. “Of course they can put it up. Of course they can.”

Hearne continued to listen, then glanced over Jess’s shoulder into the lobby. “Yeah, I see him. He’ll have to wait,” and cradled the handset.

“Sorry,” Hearne said, his face drained of color.

“No problem. What’s the matter?”

“Do you know the Taylor family? Monica Taylor?”

“I’ve heard the name,” Jess said, trying to think of the context.

“She’s got two kids, a girl and a boy. Apparently, they’re missing.”

“Oh, no.”

“Been gone since yesterday,” Hearne said. “Some other women want to put a poster up of the missing kids in the lobby.”

Jess shook his head. “They’ll probably turn up.”

“Things like this never used to happen,” Hearne said. Then, remembering why they were there, the banker said, “Jess, give me a couple of weeks to come up with some options for you. You don’t have to take any of them, of course. But we both know you’re in default. If I can come up with something to get us out of this mess we’re in, I will.”

Jess sat back, overwhelmed. “You don’t have to do that, Jim.”

“I know I don’t,” Hearne said, deflecting the emotion. “But we’ve known each other for a long time. I don’t want to see your ranch turned into more starter castles for California transplants, either. I want there to be a couple of ranches in this county, too.”

Jess stood, clamped on his hat, and extended his hand to Hearne across the desk. “Jim, I…”

“Don’t say it,” Hearne interrupted. “It’s good for business, is all. We’ll give a lot more loans out to people to live in a place that has ranches, that isn’t completely overdeveloped, is all.”

Jess said nothing but wanted to embrace the banker who was lying to him.

AS HE OPENED the office door, Jess recognized Fiona Pritzle as one of the women putting up the posters in the lobby. Before he could slink away, she saw him and came rushing over.

“Jess,” she said, trapping both of his hands in hers, standing too close, looking up into his eyes, “did you hear about the Taylor children?”

“Just did. It’s terrible.” Her hands were as dry as parchment.

“I was the one who gave them a ride along Sand Creek yesterday,” she said, her eyes shining. “They were going fishing, and I dropped them off. But they didn’t come home last night.”

“They’ll probably show today,” he said.

“Oh, with that rushing creek, they could have been swept away and drowned!”

Jess would have had more sympathy for Fiona, but she seemed to be reveling in the fact that she was a major character in the drama and was playing it to the hilt.

“And who knows who could have taken them,” she whispered. “There are a lot of people here now we don’t know anything about. Who knows how many sexual predators have moved up here?”

Jess winced. “Is there a search team?”

“Thank God, yes,” she said. “The sheriff has his deputies out, and people are lining up to volunteer to look for them.”

“That’s good to hear,” he said, gently breaking loose from her grip, at the same time wishing he had more confidence in the new sheriff, who seemed to Jess to be more of a public relations/chamber of commerce type than a lawman. As he thought this, Jess realized he had trapped Hearne in his office because Fiona had blocked him in the doorway.

“It is good,” Fiona said. “I heard that a bunch of those retired police officers have volunteered to help the sheriff head up the investigation. They showed up this morning. Isn’t that great?”

Jess nodded. “I suspect the new sheriff will welcome their help.”

“It shows you that a lot of these newcomers have good hearts,” she said. “And they have experience in these kinds of horrible crimes. It’s the kind of thing they did all the time in L.A.”

“Excuse me,” Hearne said, sliding past Jess.

Jess watched as Hearne strode across the lobby and greeted a man sitting in a lounge chair. The man was portly, Hispanic, and well dressed in a light brown suit, Jess noticed.

“Well,” Jess said, extricating himself and nodding at the poster Fiona had mounted on the wall, “that’s a good thing you’re doing. I’ll keep an eye out myself since I’m upstream of Sand Creek.”

Hearne and the well-dressed man went into Hearne’s office, and before the door shut, the banker said, “Take it easy, Jess. I’ll call you.”

“Thank you, Jim.”

Fiona watched the exchange, and Jess could see the wheels spinning in her head.

“Does that mean you get to keep your ranch?” she asked eagerly.

ON HIS WAY out of the lobby doors, Jess paused to look at the poster. MISSING, it said, ANNIE AND WILLIAM TAYLOR. LAST SEEN AT 2:30 P.M. FRIDAY NEAR RILEY CREEK CAMPGROUND ON SAND CREEK. It said Annie was last seen wearing a yellow sweatshirt, jeans, and black sneakers and William was dressed in a short-sleeved black T-shirt, jeans, and red tennis shoes; one of them might be wearing an adult’s fly-fishing vest.

The school photos of the children tugged at his heart. Jess thought about how you could see the future personalities of adults in the photos they took when they were children if you cared to look hard. Even now, when he stared at the photos of his son in his home, he could see what he would become. Not that he’d known it at the time, though. But the clues were there, the blueprint. If only he had known.