When Ugly Nancy didn’t answer, Larson kicked her in the stomach. “Is it, Ugly Nancy?”
Trimble gasped out a yes.
“Good girl,” Larson said, retuning to his meal. “Now, I’m gonna ask you a lot of questions, so don’t piss me off and make me kick you again.”
By the time he finished eating, Larson had learned that the Subaru could easily make it to the old line camp on Point of Rocks Mesa, and that the lodge was fully stocked with food, drink, bedding, and necessities. After another slightly harder kick to the stomach, Ugly Nancy also told him that no one was expected at the ranch for two weeks, that she had no appointments off the ranch in the next few days, and that he could find the key to the gun case in the living room on top of the cabinet.
Larson taped Ugly Nancy’s mouth shut, left her on the floor, opened the gun cabinet, and picked out a lever-action Winchester 30.06 rifle, a six-shot .357 Ruger handgun, two nice hunting rifles, and enough ammunition to keep a SWAT team at bay for several days. He loaded everything in the back of the Subaru before returning to the kitchen, where he cleaned up the mess from his meal. He regretted not being able to take the Hummer, but everything had to appear normal if anyone came looking for Ugly Nancy.
He finished putting things away, dragged Ugly Nancy by the hair outside the house, locked the front door, carried her to the Subaru, stuck her facedown on the backseat, and drove to the horse arena, looking for the mare, but it was nowhere in sight. He’d planned to unsaddle it and put it in a corral with feed and water, but decided not to bother with it. After some playtime with Ugly Nancy, he’d come back and round it up.
The smooth gravel road to the line camp was a far cry from the set of ruts that had once snaked along the back of the mesa and climbed to the top. Larson felt pretty damn lucky. He was on his way to a well-provisioned hideout packing a decent arsenal and bringing along some company, even if she was old, ugly, and unwilling. When the line camp came into view, he wasn’t surprised to see that it had been enlarged and fixed up. The solar panels and television dish antenna on the roof meant he’d have electricity, access to the outside world, and hot water for a nice long shower. Compared to camping out in the Capitan Mountains in dead Janette’s pickup truck, it was gonna be Valhalla.
He parked the Subaru behind the lodge, under a small stand of old cottonwood trees that partially hid the vehicle from view, opened the back door with a key off Ugly Nancy’s key ring, and carried her inside. He dumped her facedown on a bed in one of the two bedrooms, and tapped her unconscious with the butt of his semiautomatic to keep her quiet, careful not to hit her too hard like he had Kid Cuddy. He checked to make sure she was still breathing, and then took a look around the cabin. The living room had a big stone fireplace and a flagstone floor covered by some Navajo area rugs. On the walls were mounted deer, elk, and antelope heads. Flanking the fireplace were two oversize leather chairs and a couch with a thick pine wood frame. In front of the couch was a Mexican tile coffee table. Matching lamp tables were at the ends of the couch.
The kitchen was as well supplied as Ugly Nancy had promised and the bathroom had a separate shower stall that Larson couldn’t wait to try out. He held off on stripping down butt naked on the spot and finished his tour. Inside a large linen closet was a washer and dryer, and on a coatrack in the mudroom by the rear door, he found a coil of good rope.
He took the rope into the bedroom where he’d left Ugly Nancy, undid the electrical cords that bound her, stripped her naked, and tied her up again with the rope, this time facedown and spread-eagled.
Larson put a pillow under her stomach to prop up her rump and gave her the once-over. Her shoulder blades were like fins in her skinny back and her arms were thin yet muscular, but from the waist down, old Nancy had a very nice, juicy-looking butt and slender, well-formed legs. From the way she looked at this angle, Larson figured it wasn’t going to be hard at all to forget about her face.
He left her, went to the bathroom, and spent a good fifteen minutes in the shower. He toweled off and put his dirty clothes in the washing machine. Aroused, he padded naked into the bedroom, where he found Ugly Nancy wide awake.
“What perfect timing.” Larson hopped on the bed, positioned himself between her legs, grabbed her hips, pulled her to him, and slapped her ass. “Giddyup,” he said.
An overflow crowd of tearful, somber mourners packed the church for Riley Burke’s funeral. Ranch families from all corners of the state were in attendance, along with family, neighbors, local friends, and Riley’s old college buddies from New Mexico State University. Eulogies brought smiles and more tears to many of the mourners, and through it all Patrick sat quietly on Kerney’s lap not saying a word.
After the services ended, Jack, Irene, Lynette, and Lynette’s parents were escorted through a side exit, and although Jack had his head bowed, Kerney was close enough to see tears on his friend’s face. He nudged Sara, who had also been watching Jack, and she whispered to him that it was a good sign.
At the graveside, Kerney, Sara, and Patrick held hands and watched and listened as Riley was laid to rest under a bright, cloudless sky. After the minister read the final scriptures and asked all in attendance to remember that Riley was now at peace with his Lord, the mourners dispersed, except for the immediate family, who lingered near the casket.
Because of the large size of the gathering, the wake was held under the shade of massive cottonwood trees outside the Burkes’ old hacienda. There were tables loaded with home-cooked food and ice chests filled with beer and soft drinks. Patrick ran and played with other children while the grown-ups shared memories of Riley and recounted family stories. The Burkes were Irish-American on both sides of the family tree, and fond laughter replaced at least some of the tears that had been shed at graveside. The party continued long into the afternoon, and it wasn’t until most people had left that Kerney got a chance to talk with Jack.
“Did you see me fall apart at the cemetery?” Jack asked as the two men lifted one of the tables rented for the gathering into the bed of a truck.
“I saw you cry a little before we left,” Kerney replied as he slid the table all the way in. “But I’d hardly call it falling apart, although your eyes are still pretty red,”
Jack smiled wanly as they folded up the last table and carried it to the truck. “I bawled like a baby after most folks had left the cemetery. Couldn’t hold it in. After we got home, I had to go inside and break down a couple more times while people were here.”
“Good for you,” Kerney said.
Jack closed the tailgate and leaned against it. “The pain is never going to go away, Kerney.”
“I expect not.”
“I’ve just been so damn angry. I want to find the man who killed my son and break him in two with my bare hands. You know what I mean?”
Kerney nodded. “I do.”
“When do you and the family go back to England?”
“I’m not quite sure, but Sara and Patrick will probably leave before me. I’ve got some things to take care of before I can follow along.”
“If you’re worried about the horses and your ranch, we can look after things.”
“Let’s talk about that in a day or two,” Kerney replied. He still hadn’t talked to Lynette about whether or not she’d be interested in taking on the responsibilities of the partnership. If not, he’d sell off most of the horses and hire a caretaker to look after the place until Sara retired and they could return home permanently.
Sara came out of the house with Patrick in tow, waved in his direction, and walked toward Kerney’s pickup truck parked in front of the old toolshed.
“Seems like it’s time to leave,” Kerney said, nodding in Sara’s direction and shaking Jack’s hand.