Why is she telling me this? “I copy. I’ll be at the pickup location in about an hour.”
“Copy.”
“Tell ’em to bring water. And something to eat.”
Chapter
4
Once he’d crossed through the saddle—Spanish Skirts Mesa to his right—Jack looked downslope and saw the road, a two-track swath through the sagebrush.
Off the road sat a white government pickup, Park Service markings.
Jack veered toward it, wiping sweat from his brow.
The driver’s door popped open.
A woman got out. Tall. Lean. Erika Jones. “About time you got here,” she shouted. Her blonde hair—longer than when last he saw her, and closer to its length when he first knew her years before—blew in the breeze. “It’s damned hot sitting out here.” She slammed the door and marched toward him, wearing a field uniform, one neatly pressed.
The passenger door swung open. Another woman exited, and stood at the door. Brown hair, light skin, slender, tan pants, blue camp shirt. She looked like any park visitor.
Jack slowed and watched Erika approach. “Why the uniform? What, no Stetson?”
“Give me a break.” Erika stopped, and put her hands on her hips. “I’ve got Claire Prescott with me,” she said, under her breath.
“From Montana?”
“Washington. Do not mention Montana, or Senator Tisdale.”
“Why not? He’s about the only member of Congress I ever felt I could trust.”
“Do not mention him.”
“Why?”
“Let’s just say, according to rumor, it didn’t end well.”
“She’s no longer a staffer?”
“Sh-h-h-h.” She turned and started back for the truck. “Claire’s a survivor,” Erika whispered. “Now a committee staffer. She may’ve called in some favors, who knows?”
“I need water.”
“It’s in the truck. What took you so long?”
“Only fifteen minutes late. It’s further than it looks.”
“Prescott’s in a hurry. You made me look bad. Wipe the sweat off your face.”
He glared, and left the sweat where it was. “Don’t wanna make you look bad. Especially with someone influential.”
“Shut up.” She waved him to follow. “You are not who she wanted to see. She doesn’t trust you after Montana, so be nice. Answer her questions. No editorial comments.”
“Editorial comments are your department. Why no trusting me?”
Erika dropped her head. “Sh-h-h-h.” She looked up, flashed a smile toward Prescott, and shouted, “Ripped him a new one for holding us up.”
Prescott’s expression remained unchanged. She continued leaning against the truck.
Jack offered a hand as they approached. “Been a few years.”
She shook his hand. “Yes.”
He stepped past, looking into the cab of the pickup. “Excuse me. I need water.”
“My side,” Erika said. “In the bed. Ice chest.”
Jack went around to the back.
Erika followed. “You’re making a bad impression,” she whispered.
“Why are you here, Erika?” he whispered back, sliding the ice chest toward the tailgate. “And why are you in uniform? Thought it was decided it gave the agency a bad rap.”
“Very funny.” She popped open the ice chest, grabbed a bottle, and pushed him toward the front of the pickup. “Here’s your water,” she said, voice raised, then whispered. “Behave yourself.”
“For you?”
“Sh-h-h-h.” She dragged him toward Prescott. “Okay, Claire. Jack’s time is yours.”
“Your superintendent believes you know the issues here better than anyone.”
“Maybe.”
Prescott crossed her arms. “Like you knew the issues in Montana?”
Jack and Erika traded looks.
“Well, yes,” Erika said.
“What’s this about?” Jack twisted the top off the bottle.
“Horses,” Claire said.
He took a swig. “What about ’em?”
“Saving them.”
“You mean wild horses?”
“Of course, and I’d like to see some while I’m here. I’d like to gain an understanding of the issues surrounding their welfare.”
Jack gave her a once over. She’s serious. “Have you talked with BLM?”
“I have. It wasn’t productive.”
“Got to be more productive than talking to me. BLM lands are where you’ll likely find ’em.”
“They don’t come into the park?”
“They will, I’m sure, if they’re here long enough. The park is fenced, but it might be hard to keep ’em out. Not so of the monument.”
“Why keep them out?”
“They’re non-native. They can cause lots of damage.”
“They’re more native than cows.”
Jack glanced at Erika. She gave her head a subtle shake.
“Let’s drive up to a place where we might see ’em,” Jack said. “We’ll talk about it there.” He turned to Erika. “Bring any food?”
“Cheese doodles. In the truck. You take the middle.” She waved him toward the door.
He followed her around. “You don’t have real food?”
“Sh-h-h-h. Getting here was more important. Eat later.”
“Haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
“Good, you need to lose some weight.” She glanced at his belly. “Never mind, you’re skinny as hell.”
Jack slid to the middle, knees against the dash.
Erika climbed in, grabbing the chips off the floor. “Here, food. Which way?”
He pointed north and ripped open the bag.
Claire Prescott settled in, crossed her arms, and frowned, her eyes on the landscape.
Erika pulled the pickup onto the road, headed north.
“All this is managed by BLM, so again, it’d be best to talk to them,” Jack said.
Claire nodded. “Are you sure we’ll see horses?”
“No guarantee, but I saw some an hour ago.”
She nodded, brow furrowed.
“How far?” Erika asked.
“The