Opal said, “Fiona, I don’t think you should walk all the way. He might be a while. Let’s you and I sit in the truck and wait till he finishes.”
“Good idea.”
They went back to the truck and sat with the windows down, doing what most anyone else would do while waiting in a wilderness. One admires the scenery and watches.
“Not much moving,” said Opal. “This time of day all the critters take to the shade to keep cool.”
“What shade?” said Fiona.
“Why under the sagebrush, rabbit brush, and greasewood. You wouldn’t think there’s much shade in all that scrubby looking stuff but there is. There’s some bitterbrush around here, too. It has a real pretty yellow flower. The high desert has a beauty of its own when you take time to look at it.”
Fiona looked around with new eyes while they waited. Opal pointed out the difference in the brush. Greasewood had thorns, and the older stalks were woody. Sage brush was gray green with narrow leaves, rabbit brush greener and lacy looking. They couldn’t find any bitterbrush in bloom.
In half an hour the Sheriff was back, his eyes shaded by his wide brimmed hat. He was still looking around.
“What did you find?” asked Opal when he got back in the truck.
“I found the tracks your boys said were there. I’m going to need horses and help to ride the trail and find where those tracks go. Can you spare Jake? He’s the best tracker around.”
“Sure,” said Opal. “I’ll go along, too.”
“No, you won’t,” said Hoover. “We could be gone several days.”
“They’re my cattle, and I certainly can go. I’m not dead yet,” said Opal, as she expertly turned around without hanging up in any of the brush and maneuvered Old Faithful down the rutted road.
Hoover shook his head. “Suit yourself.” But he didn’t look happy.
As they rambled along, Fiona thought about her bunkhouse and what she should do, debating whether to leave or rebuild. That brought to mind Brewster and the girlfriend who never showed up.
“Sheriff,” she said, “I was asked to pass along information about a girl who disappeared. Maybe it will be useful in your investigation.”
Hoover looked at her. “Where did this information come from?”
“Jim Brewster. He had a female friend who was coming to see him, and she never showed up. He thought she stood him up, but now he’s not so sure. She never showed, and he never heard from her again.”
Hoover snorted. “Smart girl to stay away from him.”
“I’m merely passing on information.”
His face shifted from a grimace to a lopsided smile. “Thanks. I’ll follow up with him.”
Hoover was a nice looking man, and he had his charm. But there was something dark about him that Fiona couldn’t name. She returned the smile and looked away. She had done her job as messenger. The girlfriend not showing up intrigued her. She might have to question Brewster more about it.
They passed the herd on the way back to the ranch. The riders looked dustier than ever, but they were on the last leg of pushing the cows into a pasture closer to the house where the hands could keep an eye on them.
As they approached the ranch house, Opal sat up in the seat. “Who’s that?”
Fiona and Hoover looked in the direction where she was pointing. An enormous red vehicle was parked in front of the house.
Fiona smiled. “Do you know anyone who drives luxury vehicles?”
Opal shook her head.
Hoover said, “Never saw a rig like that in this valley.”
“Then it has to be Olympia. She found us.”
Opal pulled Old Faithful alongside the bright red SUV and cut the engine.
“Yoo Hoo. Yoo Hoo.” Olympia waved at them from the front porch. “Where have you been? I thought you were sick. Where is everybody?”
Olympia hurried out the walk to meet them. She surrounded Fiona in a big hug and then held her at arm length to have a look.
“Sweat suits don’t become you, dear, but other than that I don’t see any visible scars. What have you been up to in the middle of this emptiness?”
Fiona laughed in spite of herself. Olympia could put a shine on any day.
“It’s great to see you. Meet Opal, my hostess, and Hoover, the Sheriff.”
Hoover had held back, maybe unsure of the vision before his eyes. He looked from Olympia to Fiona to the vehicle and back.
“What kind of rig is that?” he said.
“Rig?” said Olympia. She followed his look. “You mean my new Firenze Red, Range Rover with ivory leather seats and cherry wood interior trim?”
“You bought it?” asked Fiona.
Olympia sighed. “I don’t know, Fiona. I was in Portland with these writer friends, and we had a little too much to drink, I guess, and they told me that I needed a really good vehicle to get around in southeast Oregon. One thing led to another, and we ended up in a Land Rover dealership. I picked it up this morning. They programmed in the directions for the vehicle to get me here, and here I am.” She smiled at the Range Rover. “Isn’t it a dream?”
Opal looked from Old Faithful to the Range Rover. “Got a pretty good paint job. How does it drive?”
“Like suspended in clouds.”
“Mine, too,” said Opal. “Can I get you something to drink?” She led the way to the porch. “Sit down and make yourself comfortable. I’ll bring out the iced tea.”
Olympia checked her watch. “It’s happy hour somewhere in the world. Do you have anything stronger? Maybe red wine?”
“You bet. You sit and visit.” And she went off to the kitchen.
Hoover, for the first time since Fiona had met him, seemed at a loss for words.
Olympia beamed. “Sheriff Hoover is it? I’ve never met a Sheriff before. Only in my dreams.”
Hoover appeared to be assessing the situation.
No man had ever tamed Olympia. She was taller than Fiona, wore her dyed hair, red this time, in incredible swirls upon her head, and always dressed to kill, this time in sparkly cowgirl vest and skirt. She lived an immensely romantic existence within the worlds she created in her books which sold by the millions. You couldn’t pass a bookstand in any airport in the world without seeing her name.
“I’m the real thing,” said Hoover, “and I need to get back to town. I’ve got crimes to solve.”
He tipped his hat. “Nice to meet you. Welcome to Harney Valley.”
“Thank you, Sheriff. I’d love to talk to you again when you aren’t so busy.”
Hoover nodded and trotted out to the big white truck with the Sheriff’s office emblem on the door and sped away.
“Was that Mr. Hunky?” asked Olympia.
“That is Hunky No. 2. Hunky No. 1 is moving cows. He’ll be a dusty specimen when he arrives.”
“I don’t know how you do it, Fiona, surrounding yourself with these gorgeous men.”
Fiona laughed. “I know Hoover will figure in your next romance somewhere.”
“Yes, indeed. I’ll have to do another Western series.”
Opal returned with a tray. She handed a glass of red wine to Olympia and another to Fiona. She kept a tall of iced tea for herself.
“Sit down, ladies, enjoy the afternoon,” said Opal.
“This is quite a place you have here,” said Olympia, sitting on the love seat. Her billowing skirt filled the seat so Opal and Fiona sat on cushioned seats on either side of her.
“Yum,” said Olympia, “wine never tasted so good. What a long drive it is out here. What scenery. What ruggedness. What big skies. So different than Portland.”
Opal chuckled. “You don’t find many people from Portland re-locating to Harney Valley. They come as tourists, and that’s probably for the best.”