off the fading light and pull the night down like a shroud, covering
it-self with darkness faster than any of the land around it. Heather
glanced at Jack to see if he showed any sign of being troubled by
having Tommy Fernandez’s remains buried nearby. Tommy had died at his
side, after 11, eleven months before Luther Bryson had been shot.
With Tommy’s grave so close, Jack couldn’t help but recall, perhaps too
vividly, violent events best condemmed forever to the deeper vaults of
memory. As if sensing her concern, Jack smiled. “Makes me feel better
to know Tommy found rest in a place as beautiful as this.”
As they walked back to the house, the attorney invited them to dinner
and to stay overnight with him and his wife. “One, you arrived too
late today to get the place cleaned and livable. Two, you don’t have
any fresh food here, only what might be in the freezer. And three, you
don’t want to have to cook after putting in a long day on the road.
Why not relax this evening, get a start on it first thing in the
morning, when you’re rested?”
Heather was grateful for the invitation, not merely for the reasons
Paul had enumerated but because she remained uneasy about the house and
the isolation in which it stood. She had decided that her jumpiness
was nothing other than a city person’s initial response to more wide
open spaces than she’d ever seen or contemplated before. A mild phobic
reaction. Temporary agoraphobia.
It would pass. She simply needed a day or two–perhaps only a few
hours–to acclimate herself to this new landscape and way of life. An
evening with Paul Youngblood and his wife might be just the right
medicine.
After setting the thermostats throughout the house, even in the
basement, to be sure it would be warm in the morning, they locked up,
got in the Explorer, and followed Paul’s Bronco to the county road. He
turned east toward town, and so did they.
The brief twilight had vanished under the falling wall of night. The
moon had not yet risen. The darkness on all sides was so deep that it
seemed as if it could never be banished again even by the ascension of
the sun. The Youngblood ranch was named after the predominant tree
within its boundaries. Spotlights at each end of the overhead entrance
sign were directed inward to reveal green letters on a white
background: PONDEROSA PINES. Under those two words, in small letters:
Paul and Carolyn Youngblood.
The attorney’s spread, a working ranch, was considerably larger than
their own.
On both sides of the entrance lane, which was even longer than the one
at Quartermass Ranch, lay extensive complexes of whitetrimmed red
stables, riding rings, exercise yards, and fenced pastures. The
buildings were illuminated by the pearly glow of low-voltage
night-lights. White fences divided the rising meadows: dimly
phosphorescent geometric patterns that dwindled into the darkness, like
lines of inscrutable hieroglyphics on tomb walls. The main house, in
front of which they parked, was a large, low ranch-style building of
river rock and darkly stained pine. It seemed to be an almost organic
extension of the land.
As he walked with them to the house, Paul answered Jack’s question
about the business of Ponderosa Pines. “We have two basic enterprises,
actually. We raise and race quarter horses, which is a popular sport
throughout the West, from New Mexico to the Canadian border. Then we
also breed and sell several types of show horses that never go out of
style, mostly Arabians. We have one of the finest Arabian bloodlines
in the country, specimens so perfect and pretty they can break your
heart–or make you pull out your wallet if you’re obsessed with the
breed.”
“No cows?” Toby said as they reached the foot of the steps that led up
to the long, deep veranda at the front of the house. “Sorry, Scout, no
cows,” the attorney said. “Lots of ranches round here have cattle, but
not us. However, we do have our share of cowboys.” He pointed to a
cluster of lighted bungalows approximately a hundred twenty yards to
the east of the house. “Eighteen wranglers currently live here on the
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