by Scott Cook
She nodded thoughtfully, “Sounds like you’ve hit a wall.”
Breakfast came and we began to eat. I had a western omelet and a bagel with cream cheese and a side of corned beef hash. It was good hash.
“I can fly you back this afternoon,” she said. “That gives us all day to ride out. There’s some great spots not far from here. Got anything good for riding?”
I grinned, “Like cowboy boots and a Stetson?”
She grinned back.
“Got jeans,” I said. “And a guayabera shirt. Didn’t bring any boots, though.”
“That’s okay, we can fix that.”
14
The first thing Jean and I did before hitting the dusty trail was to drive out toward I-80 and into Laramie. There, we stopped at what was evidently one of the biggest western clothing supply stores in the city, interestingly called The Dusty Trail. I was outfitted, at Jean’s direction, with a rather fetching shirt made from blue and white denim. I also grabbed a black Stetson with a wine-colored band. I included a wide belt with an engraved brass buckle in order to round out the ensemble.
Jean insisted that I’d look sexy as hell in a good pair of cowboy boots, and I could hardly disagree. Most of them were sort of same-old, same-old at first. All nice, but nothing really gunned my engine… spurred my mount… cracked my whip…?
“Well, what’re you looking for exactly, partner?” the middle-aged sales clerk asked with a cottony graying handlebar mustache framing his gleaming smile.
“Not exactly sure,” I admitted. “Something that just seems me… something not just for riding, you know? Something that says rugged sexiness.”
Jean grinned at me, “How much are you willing to spend?”
I shrugged elaborately, “Oh… I could see myself letting go with as much as fifteen… maybe sixteen dollars.”
The salesman laughed, “Well, that’ll be a hard order to fill, but I think I might have what you’re looking for… if you can bend a little on price. You’re obviously not from around here, are you?”
I smiled, “Nope. Live in Florida.”
He chuckled, “Come on then! I got the perfect thing.”
He showed me a beautiful pair of authentic alligator belly boots. He went on about the hand craftsmanship, the ruggedness for riding and the showiness for dress. I almost launched a gold brick out of my skivvies when I saw that the price tag was just over a grand, but the look and the whistle I got from Jean when I tried them on swayed me.
So armed, we headed back west on 80 and south to the BA grounds and to the public stables where Jean and I checked out a pair of docile but reliable old paints and headed west. It was now nearing eleven and the temperature was still pleasantly in the low seventies.
“Very cool still,” I commented as we rode across Bradford Way and onto the scrub beyond.
“Don’t forget, we’re over four-thousand feet above sea level up here,” Jean said. “Wanna head toward the mountains?”
“You’re the boss,” I commented. “Aren’t they like twenty miles away, though?”
She chuckled, “We won’t go that far, just into the foothills. There are some great little canyons and stuff and even a small stream for the horses. Or we can just give them their head and see where they take us.”
The horses didn’t seem too much care about which direction we went. Jean shrugged and kicked her mount into a fast trot, “Come on! Ground’s nice and level until we pass the Bradford compound! Let’s exercise these boys!”
I grinned and gently bumped the heels of my new boots into my brown and white mount’s sides. The horse immediately began to pick up speed, overtaking Jean, who’d pulled ahead of me. When we were neck and neck, I drew back on the reins just a bit, so we were staying together.
We weren’t moving at a full gallop, but the speed was still exhilarating. There’s nothing quite like riding a horse. The feeling of this large and powerful animal beneath you, his limbs stretching and bunching, his muscles bulging really added to the sensation of speed.
After passing by the Bradford compound about a hundred yards to our north, Jean turned a little more due west, and we slowed our mounts down to an easy cantor. In less than an hour, we’d moved far from the facility and the level ground began to bulge into low rolling hills and more and more trees began to dot the landscape.
“So did you hear about what happened last night?” Jean asked casually as we crested a low rise and began down into a wide hill valley covered in wildflowers and sagebrush.
“After supper?” I asked. “I pretty much sat in my room, made a few calls and went to bed. You’re the first person I’ve spoken to since Will drove me back.”
“Our security gate seemed to open on its own… twice.”
I looked over and cocked an eyebrow, “Security gate?”
“At the compound,” she replied, jerking a thumb over her shoulder. “First it opened and closed and then maybe an hour later, opened and stayed.”
“That’s weird… some error in the code?”
She shrugged, “Don’t know. I’m not sure it’s programmed. You know much about that kind of thing?”
I sighed, “Not really. I’m afraid my talents lie in other directions. Much more a thug than a techie. I do know that some electronic gates use programming that’s tied into the security system and others are simpler. A series of relays that trip when an electric pulse is received. The device simply does the next thing in line, whatever that is. What did the security cameras show?”
“Nothing,” she admitted.
“Probably a glitch then,” I suggested. “What about an animal? A coyote or something? Although I guess that’d show on camera or whatever else the system has.”
She considered me out of the corner of her eye for a long moment.
“Or do you think I had something to do with it, Jean?” I asked pointedly.
“You are a SEAL.”
I chuffed, “Yeah, but not a computer or electronics expert. My talents lay more in door kicking, snake eating, cooking, solving mysteries even without a pencil thin mustache… some flying, sailing and let’s see… pleasin’ the ladies!”
She tried to look stern, but her face split into a grin before she laughed, “Oh yeah? Care to put that to the test, Commander?”
I cocked my head at her and tipped my hat, “All thing’s being equal, Jean, I most certainly would. But I think your fiancé and my GF would object.”
“They don’t have to know.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. She met my gaze for a long moment before laughing again, “Sorry! Just teasing. I’m not accusing you, it’s just…”
“It’s just that I’m a lousy, no good, keyhole peeper sticking his sniffer in where it ain’t wanted,” I said with a wry smile. “Sorry to disappoint you. Should I have snuck in there, though? Were you guys having a clandestine meeting or something? Should I get ready to buy stock?”
She laughed, “I have no idea. I’m just the little woman. What I know about running a big corporation wouldn’t fill one of these shells.”
She patted the gun belt she’d fastened around her waist. In the ammo loops were half a dozen .45 shells. In the tooled leather holster on her hip rode a pearl-handled revolver. She saw me looking and pulled it out and moved her mount closer to hand it to me.
I took the big shiny revolver and looked it over, “Colt .45?”
“Yup, the original Peacemaker,” she said. “Daddy to the 1911 you carry. She’s loaded and I got another six here.”
“Expecting to run into a rampaging buffalo or something?” I asked, handing the weapon back.
“You never know out here,” Jean said, sliding the gun into the holster and securing the flap. “Not a whole lot to worry about. Occasional coyote, and rarely we see a wolf. They’re usually a bit more wary than the coyotes, though.”
“How about marauding Indians?”
She grinned, “You’re with one now, paleface.”
I looked at her askance.
&nb
sp; “My grandmother was Lakota,” she explained. “I’m one-quarter.”
“Cool.”
The next hillside was broken by a narrow entrance that led into a small canyon. It was perhaps half a mile long, half that wide and maybe thirty feet deep with gently sloping sides. Through the canyon burbled a shallow stream that flowed swiftly over small rocks on its long path toward the Wind River Valley.
Jean dismounted and led her horse to the edge of the stream. I followed suit. She wrapped her reins on the saddle’s horn and let her mount go.
“You can do the same,” she said. “They won’t wander much. Rosko and Ned here are pretty docile and don’t like roaming far from people out here.”
I secured my reins and patted Ned on his powerful withers. He stepped forward and joined his friend, standing ankle-deep in the stream and drinking quietly.
Jean moved over to a small group of rocks and sat down on one, removing her hat and breathing in deeply, “Nice to get out on a gorgeous morning like this.”
I joined her and gazed around, “Yeah. How far is the continental divide from here?”
“Just a few hours ride, actually,” Jean said. “Pretty interesting because there’s a stream just like this, but she flows westward.”
All was quiet in that outdoors way. The occasional bird chirped, the stream babbled, and now and then, one of the horses would snuffle. Above us, a hawk suddenly appeared from behind us, screeching as it flew overhead and toward the forest on the far side of the canyon. Its eyes peeled for an easy meal at the edge of the trees. The very picture of tranquility.
That’s why when the distinct crack of a rifle split the late morning air, it was particularly jarring. I swore I heard the round whine as it ricocheted off another set of small boulders only ten or fifteen yards to our right.
Acting on instinct, I grabbed Jean and rolled us both off the rocks and onto the ground, coming to rest on our bellies. As I reached down to snatch my Beretta from its ankle holster, I could see Jaen had already drawn her Colt. There had been a second shot by then, which also seemed to miss, although I didn’t hear a ricochet.
“Friends of yours?” I asked, racking the slide on the small .32.
She scoffed, “Was gonna ask you the same question.”
“Shooter is up on the ridge,” I said. “Maybe a hundred yards away, about eleven o’clock.”
She eyed me sidelong, “You can get him with that thing?”
I held up the diminutive pistol, “Hardly. This thing is a defensive weapon only and only from short range.”
“How about this?” she asked, holding up her revolver.
I shook my head, “Better, but at a hundred yards? I’d be lucky to hit the water from a dock.”
“Then what the hell did you bring that cap pistol for?” she asked irritably.
“Just in case we were attacked by a rabid stoat or a field mouse with an attitude problem. There’s some cover. I could try and work my way forward.”
Jean harrumphed, “No way. Not nearly enough to protect you against a long gun from an elevated position.”
“Guess we’re screwed then.” I cranked.
“Jean!?” Came a familiar female voice from the top of the ridge.
Jean met my eyes and then called out, “Sarah?”
“You okay?” Sarah Beth Bradford called from the top of the ridge. We could just see her moving out from behind a small copse of trees leading her big quarter horse.
“What the hell are you shooting at us for?” Jean shouted.
“Not at you, for Christ’s sake!” Sarah Beth replied indignantly. “Look behind that group of rocks over there.”
I looked at Jean, “Can we trust her?”
She tried to look surprised by my question, but something in her eyes told me that she wasn’t quite convinced when she said: “Of course.”
We got up and moved to the next group of boulders. Sure enough, something dark and furry lay crumpled behind one of them. A rather large and rather dead coyote.
“I’ll be damned,” Jean said. “Never knew he was there. Wonder if he was sneaking up on us, or the horses.”
Our two horses had moved a little further upstream but hadn’t bolted. I figured they were probably used to hunting and the sound of guns.
I stared down at the dog-sized beast and frowned. I looked up at the edge of the canyon, where Sarah Beth had already begun to lead her horse down toward us. My frown turned into a scowl. Sarah had already placed her rifle back into a special sleeve attached to the rear of her saddle.
Jean must’ve seen the look, “What?”
“Nothing,” I said flatly.
“Come on, what’s the matter?”
I drew in a breath, “Kind of strange, don’t you think?”
Jean shrugged, “She saw the coyote from her position and took it out for us. No big deal.”
I looked at her, “Do coyotes generally attack grown adults and horses in broad daylight?”
Jean frowned, “No… but you never know. If this one was rabid or something…”
“Uh-huh.”
“You don’t think she was aiming for us, do you?”
“Not us,” I said. “Not you, anyway. Then again, she could’ve easily hit from that distance and didn’t… I don’t know, guess I’m paranoid.”
I smiled at her reassuringly, but it was a bald-faced untruth. I hadn’t liked that Sarah Beth had snuck up on us and discharged a rifle. Twice. I didn’t quite know what to make of it, but I wasn’t quite able to dismiss it either.
Either Sarah Beth had expected to come across me alone and changed her plans, or she’d shot that coyote on purpose as a scare tactic. She could claim innocence all the while knowing she’d given me the willies. Of course, I could just be paranoid. It could indeed be as innocent as it seemed.
Yet something told me it wasn’t. If nothing else, it was damned lucky she just happened to come across our exact position no less than ten miles from the compound. That was the kind of luck that only came about with preparation.
After riding back to BA and turning the horses over to the stable staff for brushing and feeding, I went back to the motel and packed. Jean and I lifted off in the Gulfstream just after two p.m.
We didn’t talk much on the flight. A little casual chit-chat here and there, yet there was a tension between us. I doubted Jean believed my assertion that Sarah Beth’s story was true. I think she knew I had my doubts. Doubts about the Bradfords and maybe doubts about her, too.
We landed at Albert Whitted airport just before seven in the evening. Jean shut down the engines in her assigned parking spot and shook my hand.
“Pleasure flying with you, Scott,” she said.
“Are you staying over?” I asked as I gathered my bag.
“No, I’ve got to ferry a load of VIPs from D.C. to the facility tomorrow morning. So I’m picking up my co-pilot and we’re headed to D.C. as soon as I take on some fuel,” Jean explained. “I’ll be back in a couple of days, though.”
“Good,” I said. “It’s First Friday this week. Kind of a cool street party thing here on Central Ave. downtown.”
“Sounds fun,” she said. “But you’re not going to let Veronica go, are you?”
I shrugged, “We’ll see. Harder to guard somebody in public. It’s also harder for somebody to harass their target in a crowd. Between the four men I’ve got, Lisa and me… maybe we can make it work.”
Rather than driving straight back to Veronica’s, I figured that since I was in Saint Pete and downtown, I’d hit up a couple of friends and see what they were up to. I called Bob Burnett and discovered that he and Matt Fennel, former co-owner of Bob’s sailboat and another friend, were meeting up at Doc Ford’s for a couple of drinks. I said I’d meet them and walked along Bayshore and turned right on Second Avenue toward the pier.
Bob and Matt had beaten me by only a couple of minutes and already had a table on the outside deck. They sat near the railing with their backs to me as I walked up, listening
to a young woman who sat at the other end of the deck singing and playing the guitar. I was shown inside and then back out and walked up to the two older men.
“Well, howdy cowboy!” Matt said with a grin as I approached.
Bob laughed, “How about a whiskey and a beer for your horse.”
“Have I ever told you guys what a riot you are?” I asked as I pulled out a chair and sat, stretching my new boots out in front of me.
“Nope,” Matt said.
“Not that I can remember,” Bob rejoined.
“Funny… wonder why that is…?” I pondered. “You guys are just jealous of my new hat and boots.”
“Those are some sharp keds,” Matt said.
“Where’d you just come from, a rodeo?” Bob asked with a grin.
“Wyoming,” I said. “Rode out on the high plain this morning.”
“Sounds exciting,” Matt said.
“Yep,” I commented and asked the waitress for a double Jameson on the rocks. “Even got shot at.”
Bob laughed, “That seems to happen a lot.”
I chuckled, “And me being so personable and all.”
Matt grinned, “So how’s the new boat?”
“Ridiculous,” Bob put in. “Even makes your new one look bad.”
Matt waved that off, “I’ve been drooling over it all week. When do I get a ride? Mary is thinking about leaving me in favor of something better.”
I grinned, “Me or the boat.”
“Both,” Bob said and laughed boisterously.
“Well, chief,” I told Matt, “when’s the last time I got to go out on yours… oh, that’s right… never.”
“Hey, do you even want to now?” Matt asked. “Besides, you took this asshole out.”
“Good point,” I replied.
“Fuck you guys,” Bob cranked.
“Maybe when the shit show I’m currently starring in is over,” I said. “We’ll plan a big outing. Maybe do an overnight or a weekend or something. Think Mary would be down for that? Maybe find us a thunderhead to skim?”
