Half an hour later, they’d changed out of their funeral clothes and met again on the porch, wearing warm coats, gloves, and hats. Jasper was tired after the funeral, and Sky was under doctor’s orders to rest, so the two of them wouldn’t be going along. But Beau had gotten wind of the adventure and declared himself in. He’d even offered to drive the secondhand Kawasaki four-seater UTV that Will had bought at auction last year, when the ranch was flush. The big, rugged four-wheeler had already been put up for sale. All the more reason to use it while they still could.
Will waited on the porch with his daughter and Lauren while Beau found the open-topped vehicle in the shed, started it up, and brought it around to the front of the house. Minutes later, they’d left the heart of the ranch and were rolling across the scrub-dotted flat toward the foothills that rimmed the escarpment.
Seated next to Beau on the front passenger seat, Will found himself savoring the sunlight on his face, the cold wind biting his skin, the smells of sage and earth, and the faint, distant ring of hammers. The ice storm had blasted the landscape, leaving behind a frost-bleached wilderness. But even here there was life. Clumps of sage and cedar, impervious to the cold, still held their muted autumn colors. Jackrabbits bounded ahead of the massive tires, zigzagging off into the brush when they wearied of the game. A ground squirrel, less bold, flashed across the trail and darted into its hole.
The late-day sun blazed above the caprock. A golden eagle flapped off its kill to circle upward on wings as broad as a tall man’s reach. Will’s senses embraced all these things, holding them in memory, to keep for when he needed a place for his mind to go.
The vehicle’s engine drowned out any attempt at conversation. Only when Beau turned onto a familiar trail did Will realize where they were headed. This was the way to the petroglyph canyon, with its bitterly disputed side-branch and rumored Spanish gold.
His pulse quickened as Beau parked at the mouth of the canyon, where the trail ended. From here the only way to go was on foot. It had occurred to him that Lauren might be planning to deed her land back to the Rimrock. But she could’ve done that at the ranch. Why drag him clear out here on a frigid and busy day?
They climbed out of the vehicle and trudged single file up the narrow, rocky path. Erin was walking just ahead of him. Will touched her shoulder. “What’s this all about?” he asked her. “Did you and Lauren find the Spanish gold?”
“Not really. You’ll see.” With a toss of her ponytail, she strode ahead, following Beau and Lauren.
In the sheltered petroglyph canyon, the sound of trickling water echoed off the high walls. A covey of quail, drinking at the spring, whirred away at their approach.
Silent now, they turned aside and followed the water’s path upward to the level of the smaller canyon. There they stopped. “This is what I wanted to show you,” Lauren said.
The canyon, which Will hadn’t visited since his boyhood, was much as he remembered. But in one place, where heavy scree had fallen down from the overhead cliff, something was different. In one spot the rocks had been cemented together to form a wall, about four feet wide and just as high. In its center was a marker of polished granite, with an inscription etched into its surface.
COOPER PRESCOTT
March 12, 1940–July 9, 1949
Sleep in the Arms of Angels
“This little boy would have been my great uncle,” Lauren said, turning to Will and Beau. “He’s the reason my grandfather wanted this canyon. Jasper knows the story. He’s agreed to tell you when you get home.”
She drew a folded document from under her coat and held it out to Will. “Here’s a signed, notarized deed. It’s yours on condition that this grave never be disturbed, and that I and my family be allowed to come here and visit it.”
“Of course.” Will had never considered himself an emotional man, but he felt the welling of tears.
Lauren wiped her own eyes and managed a smile. “Now,” she said, “how about that dollar you owe me?”
CHAPTER 17
Clay Drummond’s day had been long and tiring, and it wasn’t getting any better. He’d just climbed into his white diesel Mercedes and thrust the key into the ignition when his cell phone rang. Even without glancing at the caller ID, he knew it was Stella. The bitch is probably somewhere nearby, spying on me. Her timing was too good to be a coincidence.
“What is it?” he muttered.
“Just checking to make sure you’re ready. The trial’s two days off. I’ll be in that courtroom watching you every minute, and I don’t want any slipups. If Will Tyler doesn’t walk out of there in handcuffs, you know what I’ve got and what I can do with it.”
Clay blinked, struggling to focus his eyes. The sun, a blinding glare through the windshield, was triggering a migraine. “Maybe, Stella, but you can only do it once. Ruined, I won’t be any good to you. I’ll have nothing left to lose.”
“Then it won’t be my problem, will it? Just put that murdering bastard behind bars. Then we can negotiate for the tape.”
She was doing it again, dangling that damned surveillance tape in front of him like a carrot on a stick. At times like this, Clay could almost imagine putting his fingers around her throat and squeezing until her breath stopped and her cat-green eyes glazed over.
“Who’s the judge?” she asked. “Any leverage there?”
“Sid Henderson. He’s a friend, but he’s a pretty straight arrow. Anyway, the verdict will be up to the jury.”
“How about Abner?” she asked. “Is he on board to do his part?”
“Why don’t you ask Abner? You’ve probably got something on him, too. That’s how you operate, isn’t it?”
She laughed, a sound that reminded Clay of the villainess in a Disney movie. “Now, now. Play nice. We’re on the same team, remember? I’ll see you in court.”