in front of the hotel. It was far too
late for her to develop a daughterly relationship with her grandparents. But
maybe they could become friends.
When his emotions
were under control again, Kenzie resumed driving. His map showed that
eventually this small dirt road would connect with a larger one leading back to
the hotel. Not that he was in any hurry to return.
He
swung around a curve, and slammed on his brakes as a screaming horse reared up
in front of him. The vehicle slewed sideways and shuddered to a halt as the
horse's rider crashed to the ground in the middle of the road. Swearing, Kenzie
leaped from the SUV, hoping to God he hadn't hit the fellow.
The
man lying motionless on the road had silver hair and a face weathered by
decades in the open air. For a horrible moment Kenzie feared he was dead. Then
the old man coughed and his eyes flickered open.
Kenzie
knelt and looked for signs of injury. "Are you hurt?"
"Don't
... don't think so." The rider pushed himself cautiously to a sitting
position, waving off Kenzie's attempt to make him lie still. "Not the
first time a horse tossed me, and if I'm lucky it won't be the last."
"I'm
sorry. I should have been driving more carefully." Kenzie stood and helped
the man up, then retrieved his fallen hat.
"My
fault. Only a fool rides in the middle of a road with his mind wanderin'."
Carefully he settled the battered hat on his head. "You aren't from around
here."
"I'm
British originally. These days, my official home is in California." Kenzie
scanned the countryside. "Your horse seems to have vanished. Can I give
you a lift?"
"Wouldn't
mind if you did. My horse will get home before I do, but it's a long walk for
an old man. My name's Grady." He offered his hand.
"Mine
is Scott."
"Pleased
to meet you, Mr. Scott." Grady might be an old man, but he had a powerful
grip. And, pleasantly, he didn't seem to recognize Kenzie.
They
climbed into the SUV and Kenzie set off, following his passenger's directions.
A couple of miles along, Grady directed him to turn left onto a primitive road
that led under a sturdy archway built of weathered timber. Across the top, the
name CIBOLA had been shaped from wooden letters. Kenzie searched his memory as
he drove through the arch. "Didn't the Spaniards explore this area
searching for the legendary Seven Cities of Cibola?"
"Yep,
that's the tale. The Cities of Gold. The conquistadors hoped to find the kind
of wealth they'd looted from the Aztecs. They never found what they were
lookin' for, but I did. That's why I named my place Cibola. Forty-seven years
we've lived here."
Kenzie
crested a small hill, then halted to admire the valley below. Carpeted with
grass and wildflowers, it lay serene and lovely as a Chinese landscape
painting. On the opposite side of the valley, a sprawling adobe house nestled
into a hillside among a scattering of outbuildings. Away to the left, light
glinted from the surface of what looked like a small lake. Above, jagged
mountains loomed against a sky of breathtaking blue. "What incredible
beauty. Do you own this whole valley?"
"Yep.
Not the best spot for ranchin', but there's not a prettier place on God's green
earth." Grady sighed. "We're going to have to sell up soon."
Guessing
the other man wouldn't have mentioned the subject if he hadn't felt the need to
talk, Kenzie asked, "Why do you have to leave?"
"Too
much work, not enough money. Had to take out a mortgage when my wife was ill a
few years back. When we sell and pay that off, there should be enough left to
buy a little place down in Chama. It'll be a lot easier life." He frowned
at Kenzie. "Don't know why I'm tellin' you all this."
"Some
subjects are easier to tell a stranger than a friend."
"True,
and you're a deep listener."
"Listening
is a large part of my job." A good actor had to be a good observer. Even
as Kenzie sympathized with the old rancher's plight, he was taking mental notes
of what dignified despair looked like.
He
put the vehicle in
late for her to develop a daughterly relationship with her grandparents. But
maybe they could become friends.
When his emotions
were under control again, Kenzie resumed driving. His map showed that
eventually this small dirt road would connect with a larger one leading back to
the hotel. Not that he was in any hurry to return.
He
swung around a curve, and slammed on his brakes as a screaming horse reared up
in front of him. The vehicle slewed sideways and shuddered to a halt as the
horse's rider crashed to the ground in the middle of the road. Swearing, Kenzie
leaped from the SUV, hoping to God he hadn't hit the fellow.
The
man lying motionless on the road had silver hair and a face weathered by
decades in the open air. For a horrible moment Kenzie feared he was dead. Then
the old man coughed and his eyes flickered open.
Kenzie
knelt and looked for signs of injury. "Are you hurt?"
"Don't
... don't think so." The rider pushed himself cautiously to a sitting
position, waving off Kenzie's attempt to make him lie still. "Not the
first time a horse tossed me, and if I'm lucky it won't be the last."
"I'm
sorry. I should have been driving more carefully." Kenzie stood and helped
the man up, then retrieved his fallen hat.
"My
fault. Only a fool rides in the middle of a road with his mind wanderin'."
Carefully he settled the battered hat on his head. "You aren't from around
here."
"I'm
British originally. These days, my official home is in California." Kenzie
scanned the countryside. "Your horse seems to have vanished. Can I give
you a lift?"
"Wouldn't
mind if you did. My horse will get home before I do, but it's a long walk for
an old man. My name's Grady." He offered his hand.
"Mine
is Scott."
"Pleased
to meet you, Mr. Scott." Grady might be an old man, but he had a powerful
grip. And, pleasantly, he didn't seem to recognize Kenzie.
They
climbed into the SUV and Kenzie set off, following his passenger's directions.
A couple of miles along, Grady directed him to turn left onto a primitive road
that led under a sturdy archway built of weathered timber. Across the top, the
name CIBOLA had been shaped from wooden letters. Kenzie searched his memory as
he drove through the arch. "Didn't the Spaniards explore this area
searching for the legendary Seven Cities of Cibola?"
"Yep,
that's the tale. The Cities of Gold. The conquistadors hoped to find the kind
of wealth they'd looted from the Aztecs. They never found what they were
lookin' for, but I did. That's why I named my place Cibola. Forty-seven years
we've lived here."
Kenzie
crested a small hill, then halted to admire the valley below. Carpeted with
grass and wildflowers, it lay serene and lovely as a Chinese landscape
painting. On the opposite side of the valley, a sprawling adobe house nestled
into a hillside among a scattering of outbuildings. Away to the left, light
glinted from the surface of what looked like a small lake. Above, jagged
mountains loomed against a sky of breathtaking blue. "What incredible
beauty. Do you own this whole valley?"
"Yep.
Not the best spot for ranchin', but there's not a prettier place on God's green
earth." Grady sighed. "We're going to have to sell up soon."
Guessing
the other man wouldn't have mentioned the subject if he hadn't felt the need to
talk, Kenzie asked, "Why do you have to leave?"
"Too
much work, not enough money. Had to take out a mortgage when my wife was ill a
few years back. When we sell and pay that off, there should be enough left to
buy a little place down in Chama. It'll be a lot easier life." He frowned
at Kenzie. "Don't know why I'm tellin' you all this."
"Some
subjects are easier to tell a stranger than a friend."
"True,
and you're a deep listener."
"Listening
is a large part of my job." A good actor had to be a good observer. Even
as Kenzie sympathized with the old rancher's plight, he was taking mental notes
of what dignified despair looked like.
He
put the vehicle in
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