Knight in a White Stetson by Claire King

shrugged. “The roads weren’t meant for vehicles. They’re mostly sheep and cattle trails. I expect people travel by horseback out this far most of the time.”
    “Well, they do have tax levies in this state, don’t they? Why don’t they fix the damn roads so normal people could drive on them?”
    Henry walked into the tent and reappeared with two beers from his cooler. “Now, why in the world would they want normal people up here, Pete? Normal people have ruined the world.”
    “Oh, no. Not this again.” Pete took the cold beer and popped the top. He took a long, grateful swallow. Henry watched him carefully.
    “Why are you here?” Henry repeated.
    “You gotta come back, Mitch.”
    “The hell I do.” Henry sat heavily in the little canvas camp chair he’d set in front of the tent. He motioned to a rock. “Have a seat.”
    “Thanks. Lovely accommodations you got here, Mitch.”
    “Not plush, I’ll admit.” Henry swept an assessing gaze at the two tents and the small post-and-pole corral that served as the Two Creek Camp. They were snuggled low under a clump of scrub trees—the only trees around for miles—that were watered from a little spring that seeped up from the ground and lightly dampened the earth for a hundred feet around. The tents overlooked a valley where two tiny creeks met and formed a bubbling stream that eventually ran into a larger stream down the mountain. Henry could see the peaks of the Owyhees of northern Nevada from his chair. “But it has a nice view.”
    “True. Very fine.” The two men gazed across the wide valleys stretching hazily beyond them for a moment. “I’m here to warn you, Mitch. Campbell picked up some noise about you.”
    “What kind of noise?”
    “Our Haitian pals want to know if you’ve stopped working on the formula.”
    “I didn’t know they were paying such close attention.” Henry swigged his beer casually.
    “Don’t be an idiot, Mitch. You haven’t been out of the field that long. Surely the past two months away from the lab haven’t rotted your brain completely?”
    “What did Frank have to say about it?”
    “He wants you to come back inside. We can’t protect you out here.”
    Henry gave a derisive little chuckle into his beer can. “You couldn’t protect me at all. The explosion nearly killed that old woman in my condo complex.”
    “Did kill her,” Pete corrected, not meeting his friend’s eyes. “She died a month or so ago. Never regained consciousness.”
    “Hell.”
    “Look, that was an anomaly. You’re perfectly safe now. We set up a better sweeper.”
    “You catch the bomber?”
    “Well, no.”
    “Then screw you.”
    Pete looked briefly amused. “I’ve never heard you use this type of language before. Life in the saddle must be making a man of you or something.”
    “Or something,” Henry answered. He allowed his thoughts to return fleetingly to Calla in her nightgown, stretching her brown toes over her brother’s horse. He’d certainly been feeling every manly impulse there ever was, lately. “How did you find me?”
    “It wasn’t difficult. We lost you in Reno for a while. Frank was very pissed.” Pete smiled. “He and Campbell had a row in his office you could hear all the way out into the parking lot.” Pete tipped beer into his mouth. “Campbell’s people picked you back up in Boise. What’s the matter with you? You’ve been easier to tail than a kindergartner. We picked up the credit cards and the DMV switch the day after you made them.”
    “I’m trying to avoid reporters, not spies, Pete. I’m not playing this game anymore. Frankly, I don’t care what you guys do.”
    “You should.”
    “I’m out, Pete. And I’m staying out. I want my life back.”
    “When did you ever have a life? As far as I can tell, until that debacle of a marriage, you were locked in a laboratory from the time you were fourteen. It was one of the reasons we picked you. Lab geeks are always so easy to recruit.