to help gripping the steering wheel, he couldn’t imagine ever completely erasing the pain of loss that burdened him.
“It’s not too late, Dad,” Lainey continued darkly. “The house didn’t sell yet, so we can still go home….”
“The Curly-Q’s gonna be our home now.”
Ignoring the interruption, the girl insisted, “You can get your deputy’s badge back and everything!”
Not that he’d really lost it in the first place.
Though he hadn’t told his kids—he didn’t want to raise their hopes—Bart had been smart enough to leave himself a safety net, just in case. He’d taken a long-term leave of absence and could go back to his old job as long as it remained vacant. The sheriff hadn’t wanted to lose him and so had promised to stall things, to keep his spot open for several weeks, at least.
Just in case.
But even a city as small as Albuquerque had growing problems that made Bart’s gut quake, not for himself, but for those he loved. He’d lost a wife to violence less than a year ago. He wasn’t going to give up his kids, as well.
After his mother’s death, Daniel had secretly joined a gang and had gotten into trouble defacing the high school with cans of spray paint. Bart wondered what he hadn’t gotten caught at. While he’d made his son swear to quit the gang, he knew the promise he’d wrung out of the boy was illusory. Peer pressure would get him in the end and he’d be sneaking out with his friends again. It was only a matter of time unless Daniel was removed from the path of temptation.
And Bart was willing to do anything to protect his kids…even sell his soul.
He stared out at the devil’s playground.
Rich, volcanic-based grasslands stretched around them as far as the eye could see. An optical illusion that plains gradually gave way to mountains. Though they were in the foothills of the Sangre de Cristo range, the foothills here were nearly seven thousand feet up.
Clear air. Piercing blue sky. A slice of heaven.
At least the land itself was….
They’d reached the pinñon-and-ponderosa-pine-limned rimrock, their future spread out before them in all its splendor. The road here was dotted with dark green cedar, rusting scrub oak and the occasional grayish juniper bush.
The skin along Bart’s spine prickled as he started the descent into the canyon cut by Silverado Creek, a fat ribbon of water that twisted and turned and rushed across the Curly-Q. Now its function was merely to appease thirsty cattle and to provide a water table for the surrounding grasslands, but at one time, the creek had serviced the mine, which lay farther up the canyon and connected to town by a road that was now all but impassable.
The first hairpin curve thrilled Bart as always, and, also as always, his stomach was ready for the second. What he wasn’t prepared for was the state of the road, rutted by washout rains. The vehicle dipped and bounced its way down and red dust swirled around them. One spot was so bad that he found himself clenching his jaw so that he wouldn’t bite his tongue.
What had his father been thinking—not taking care of the only road out before it became near-impossible to fix?
“I want you two to give this a chance,” he said as the house drew in sight. The sprawling adobe backed by a handful of outbuildings looked the same, too, he noted. “If you can’t do it for me, then do it for your grandpa.Remember, we don’t know how long he has.”
Again, he glanced in the rearview mirror and caught the stricken expression Lainey was quick to hide.
“But Grandpa’s got Uncle Reed and Uncle Chance,” Daniel mumbled.
“If they decide to return.”
Certainly neither Reed nor Chance were anywhere in sight. No one was. The handful of dusty old pickups—the newest of which had to be twenty years old—were ranch vehicles. Though he hadn’t counted on his half-brothers agreeing to the deal, Bart experienced a moment’s disappointment. Unsure that anything would drag Reed and Chance back into a situation they’d all hated, he’d still wondered what it would be like—the three of them riding herd together again. Maybe this time they were old enough to make peace with each other. Maybe they were wise enough to make it work.
But Reed and Chance didn’t have families to think of. They had no reason to accept the devil’s bargain the way he had.
Bart almost expected the old devil himself to be waiting for them as he pulled into the front yard and two yapping dogs rushed the truck. But Emmett Quarrels was nowhere in sight.
Instead, Felice Cuma, his father’s housekeeper of nearly thirty years, flew out the front door, called the dogs and ordered them back to the barn. A smile of welcome flared fine lines around her dark eyes and full mouth. She had passed sixty, but Bart thought Felice was still a fine figure of a woman and couldn’t imagine why she wasted her life keeping someone else’s home when he was certain she could make one with a man of her own.
Lighting on Daniel as he unfolded all six feet of himself from the front passenger seat, Felice’s eyes went wide. “Chico, you’re a man now!”
Daniel grinned at Felice and rushed forward so they could give each other a big hug.
Arms folded across her chest, Lainey straggled behind. No smile loosened the tight grip that held her mouth in a flat line. Felice stepped out of Daniel’s bear hug and stared at the girl, her hand going to her throat as if she’d just been struck speechless. And her dark eyes suddenly went luminous, Bart noted, as if she were holding back tears.
“Ah, chica,” Felice finally said, her voice trembling, “you’ve grown so beautiful. You look exactly like your sainted mama.”
Lainey softened a little and allowed a hug, if not with her brother’s open enthusiasm. Expression concerned, Felice sought Bart’s gaze over his daughter’s head. He shrugged and spread his hands in a helpless gesture.
“Hey, Felice,” he said with affection.
“Mr. Bart. It’s good to see you. You’ve stayed away far too long.”
He knew Felice meant more than the last year and a half. That’s how long it had been since he’d stepped foot on Curly-Q land—since well before Sara died. They’d driven their kids to the ranch for a visit every summer. Bart had sometimes stayed the night, but he’d always gone off on his own—usually back to Albuquerque where he buried himself in work—and then had to come back weeks later for the three of them.
Sara really had been a saint, Bart thought, considering she’d been able to deal with the old tyrant for weeks at a time, while Bart had trouble tolerating his own father for a day. Amazingly enough, the old man had treated his grandkids with far more respect than he ever had his own sons when they were growing up—maybe he’d learned something from his past mistakes, Bart hoped—and so both Daniel and Lainey had always looked forward to their visits to the Curly-Q.
Good thing, or Bart never would have agreed to the deal.
“Daniel, Lainey—how about getting your bags.”
“Right,” his son groused, shuffling back toward the vehicle, his daughter silently following.
