“Intriguing?”
“Yes.” She smiled. “It really is.”
“I love all the old stories about the early gold miners and treasure hunters from the late eighteen hundreds. Many were seen venturing into the mountains with their shovels and gear and never came out. They all wanted to find that illusive treasure said to be left by the early Native Americans or a gold vein found in deep crevices, tunnels and under huge boulders. If you grow up here, as a kid, the talk of finding a treasure or an old map leading to one is a temptation that’s hard to ignore.”
Sophie couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you telling me you used to hunt for buried treasure?”
“Absolutely.”
She laughed. “And...were you successful?”
“In a word, no. I found some cave art, which included arrows I swore pointed to the gold. But I never saw one glimmer. Just cactus and rocks.”
“I’ll bet it was fun to try.”
“Yeah, it was.”
“This was a great dinner,” she said, again looking out to where the last light of the day filtered through the mountains. “Thanks for inviting me. I could sit here and enjoy that view forever.”
“So could I,” he returned, looking directly at Sophie.
“So you never did answer me seriously,” she said. “What time are we leaving?”
“I was serious about waking you but okay, if you’d rather use an alarm, set it for six.”
“Done. This is going to be fun.”
With Clay at the controls, the helicopter left the ground heading west. It rose to a height that still allowed them to see the terrain and watch it change from green grass and towering pines to red rocks, cactus and sage. Then back up and over a mountain pass to find pine and oak trees again. They flew over valleys, saw rivers and tributaries as the water flowed at the bottom of deeply cut gorges and into green valleys. But even though the desert was sparse by comparison to the green mountain peaks, it had a romantic draw all its own.
All too soon the cattle and the cowboys who herded them began to appear. It looked like a massive undertaking.
“They bring them all into camp and sort them by sex and age,” Clay said over the headset. “The younger ones receive our brand. The two-year-old bulls are what I came to see. I want to add about fifty to the breeding plan. The rest will be taken to market.”
A few minutes later, Clay set the chopper down near what appeared to be the central branding operation. White pipe and steel fencing held hundreds of cattle, with more on the way. Together he and Sophie exited the helicopter and walked toward the center of the operation. Clay approached two men standing at the fence. Handshakes and greetings were exchanged, and Clay introduced them to Sophie. Then he lost himself in a discussion of the two-year-old bulls and Sophie was glad to stand back and watch. He was in his element. How he managed to pull on a suit and tie and look like a businessman, convincing people who didn’t know him he’d just walked off Wall Street, she didn’t know. This was the real Clay: all about horses and cattle and working the land. More comfortable on a green-broke horse than in a limo.
Around one o’clock, Clay reappeared and found his way to where she sat near a huge campfire. “How about some lunch?”
“Sounds good to me.”
They walked back to the chopper and Clay hoisted the woven basket Rose had prepared for them from the back.
“I wonder what Rose sent.”
“I don’t know but it will be delicious whatever it is,” she said.
“How about we go over there next to the river. I see a flat rock in the shade.”
“Perfect.”
The basket contained a variety of sandwiches, salads and several slices of apple pie for desert. “I’ll bet those treasure hunters you were talking about would have given anything to have had Rose in their corner.”
Clay chuckled. “No doubt.”
The stillness of the day was not missed by Sophie. It was early enough in the year that the soaring heat of summer usually made trips such as this unbearable. But not today. In the far distance a bird sang to its mate, and cows bellowed their dislike at having their peaceful day interrupted. The water in the river ran over the stones and small boulders, giving a serene sound to the tranquil setting.
“Did you fly out and see a lot of the land before you bought it?”
“Somewhat. I didn’t have time to view all twenty-two thousand acres, but enough that I knew I wanted to invest. I’ve always been fascinated by the desert. Plus this parcel had the added benefit of the mountains covered in the ponderosa pines. The best of both worlds. I was lucky I found it.”
“That was back when you were still following the rodeo circuit?”
“Yeah. I wanted to build the barns and an arena and hold semiannual livestock shows and rodeos closer to the house.”
“You still can,” she said matter-of-factly, folding her sandwich bag and grabbing a piece of the pie. “You have the barn. All you need is the main arena.”
Clay nodded. “I may still do it someday. Right now I have to battle what’s going on in corporate America. That, I’ve learned, is a whole different world.”
“Well, I hope someday you pursue your dream.” She bit into the piece of apple pie. “It would be a shame if you don’t. You certainly earned it.” The instant she said it, she realized she wouldn’t be there to see it and that brought a wave of sadness that gripped her heart. She would be back in Indiana, teaching school or tutoring children to earn her way. That was if—big if—the local school officials would hire her after the barn-burning incident. It was a small community. Even smaller than Royal. People had a way of remembering everything.
“Sophie?”
“I’m here,” she said, forcing herself out of the sad thoughts and giving him what she hoped was a bright smile. “Just taking in everything I’ve seen today. It’s so massive an undertaking. So many cattle and cowboys.”
“It’s hard work,” Clay agreed. “I did it for years in between hitting the rodeos. In the early days it was how I managed to pay for attending a rodeo. Eventually I was making more riding bulls than I ever made working on a ranch. A lot of these guys—” he nodded toward the ranch hands bringing in the next lot of cattle “—will be the next Trevor Brazile or Tye Murray.”
“Or Clay Prescott,” she added.
“Yeah, I hope they find a way to end their career a little better than I did.”
“Excuse me, Clay?” A tall, lean cowboy stood before them. “Sorry to bother but we’ve got about three hundred two-year-olds in the holding pens if you want to take a look at them. It’s getting kind of full and there are more on the way.”
“Absolutely,” Clay said, getting to his feet. “Sophie, want to come?”
“Sure. Go ahead. I’ll pack up the scraps and join you.”
The afternoon went fast. Sophie was mesmerized by the newborn calves and spent much of her time with her camera taking pictures of their antics. Running and challenging each other, they were preparing for adulthood even though they were only a few weeks old. Their mothers grazed near them as though they had no cares in the world. Until the calves got too far away.
Dinner around the huge campfire was a meal of chili and corn muffins and beer to wash it all down. As with dinner last night, Sophie stuck to water. She assumed after eating they would head back to the homestead and was surprised to learn they weren’t leaving until morning. They had brought no sleeping bags and she doubted they could sleep in the chopper. But after dinner that was exactly where they headed: back to the helicopter.
“Clay, can’t we just go home? I don’t know about sleeping in this thing.”
He chuckled. “We’re not sleeping in this. We’re using it to go about two miles away to a hunting cabin. With the mountains and changes in altitude, I don’t like to fly at night in this area. Don’t worry, it’s not very big but you’ll be comfortable.”
“Okay. If you say so.”
Ten
They lifted off and headed east, following a tree line that could still be seen in the growing darkness below. They came to a large flat bolder on the edge of the towering pines and Clay landed. There was a small path that disappeared into the heavy growth of trees.
“Come on. Let’s get there before it grows any darker.” He held out his hand and she grabbed it. The path was wide enough that they could walk side-by-side. Clay’s right hand rested on her lower back as he guided her through the forest. Finally, up ahead, she saw lights.
The hunting lodge was no shack. In fact, it was a spin-off of the mansion at the home site as far as architectural design. Log walls extended up and disappeared into the surrounding trees. There was a warm, welcoming glow from the huge floor-to-ceiling windows. They stepped across a wide porch and Clay opened the door for her, encouraging her to go inside. She found herself a large main room with a kitchen located behind it and stairs on the right.
“The second story isn’t finished yet,” he explained. “But this sofa turns into a bed and there are sleeping bags, blankets and pillows stored in the closet. You take the bed. I’ll bunk down on the floor. Are you hungry?”