Deadly Powers (Tapped In Book 2) by Mark Wayne McGinnis Page A

days.

Chapter 16
     
     
     
    I had to give the people at Morning Hawk Ranch their proper due—for providing us as realistic a means of transportation to the ranch as possible. After an hour on the old dirt road, and a driver intent on rolling both into and over each and every pothole, my sore ass could attest to its true authenticity, derived from traveling on a one hundred-and-fifty-year-old stagecoach.
    The two wooden bench seats sat across from one another—each was wide enough to sit three adults. Our coach had four adults and three young’uns . Carmen sat directly across from me; Mr. and Mrs. Jacobson sat next to Carmen; while their three kids, ranging in years from about five to ten, sat next to me—sometimes on me.
    Keeping to their promise of high-security all the way, Carmen and I earlier flew, via a private jet, to an unlisted private airport somewhere in Colorado’s mountains. Once we landed, we were scanned for electronic devices. Our watches and jewelry, once removed, were placed into secured lockers. I’d already opened the appropriate snaps on my Western shirt … just in case, ensuring there wouldn’t be the slightest chance of any signals being generated or detected.
    Our luggage was not only scanned, but also unpacked and inspected. Obviously, the airport’s personnel were going to great lengths to ensure that the anonymity of the ranch’s actual location stayed hidden. At the small, nondescript airport I also got my first look at some of the others we’d be spending the next few days with.
    “So … where did you two come in from?” asked the woman, sitting beside Carmen. The same woman who’d yet to tell her three bundles of joy to settle down and shut up.
    “Freeport, Maine,” Carmen replied cordially. “It’s a pretty town … most people haven’t ever heard of it.”
    The husband, who looked even more uncomfortable than me, scowled, “I’ve heard of it. Freeze your balls off there in the wintertime.”
    The wife backhanded her husband’s kneecap. “I’ve told you, you need to watch your language around the kids, Fred.”
    We’d done the introduction thing earlier, at the get-go of our long trek up the mountain. They were Fred and Alice Jacobson. She was mid-forties and tired-looking; he was pot-bellied, about the same age, and had a bad comb-over.
    I asked, “First time at the ranch?” I’d thrown in something of a Western drawl, which surprised even me.
    Fred’s scowl returned. “Of course, it’s our first time here. This is opening weekend for the ranch.”
    “But the brochure, the pictures of the happy families …”
    “All marketing bullshit.”
    Again came the slap to his kneecap.
    Carmen added, “Well, it should be loads of fun just the same, don’t you think?”
    Neither Fred nor Alice had the chance to answer as the coach came to an abrupt stop. Someone outside yelled, “Welcome to Guffy … ten-minute stop. Best you take advantage of it.”
    The coach door was opened and the three kids clambered out together. I held out an open palm, indicating that Fred and Alice should exit next. Once Carmen and I were alone, I said, “It’s good they took my pistol away at the airport, holding it there for me.”
    “Come on, they’re not that bad. I think the kids are adorable.”
    “Uh huh. Well, as the man said, best we take advantage of the stop.” Again, I held out my hand, inviting Carmen to climb down before me.
    Stepping onto Guffy’s Main Street was not what I expected at all. I expected to see a true Old West town, like those you see in the movies. This place definitely was not that: There was a scattering of maybe ten, or twelve small, roughly-hewn, cabins; erected low to the ground, they appeared as old as the stagecoach we just stepped out from. There was also a wide array of junk scattered about in front of the cabins—mostly the skeletal remains of old automobiles, dating from the nineteen forties and ’fifties. I never saw such an accumulation of