The Spiral Path (17 page)

Rainey
swallowed hard. "I'll be there. It will be a couple of months or so, but
I'd love to come under less stressful circumstances than the last trip."

She
ended the call as her driver pulled up 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 gear and slowly crossed the valley on the rutted drive. As
they pulled up in front of the adobe house, a pleasantly round woman with snowy
hair and tanned skin came out to greet them, accompanied by a dog with some
border collie in its family tree. "Glad to see you back, Jim. Figured it
was a bad sign when Diablo showed up alone." She couldn't quite conceal
the relief in her voice.

Grady
climbed stiffly from the SUV. "Luckily, Mr. Scott was there when Diablo
and I parted company. Mr. Scott, my wife, Alma, and my dog, Hambone."

As
Hambone trotted forward, tongue lolling, Alma studied Kenzie, her eyes
narrowed. He probably looked familiar, but she couldn't quite place him.
"Thanks for bringing my wanderer home, Mr. Scott."

"That
was the least I could do when it was my vehicle that startled Diablo." Her
face suggested Indian and Hispanic blood. Like the house, she belonged in this
place. His gaze moved across the adobe and its surroundings. "Your home is
very lovely, Mrs. Grady. It could be on the cover of a book about New
Mexico."

She
smiled. "Spoken like a tourist. The house may be picturesque, but to me
it's a run-down old place that needs one repair after another. I'd trade it for
a nice new double-wide trailer with good plumbing and heating and not much to
clean."

Wondering
if she was saying that to prepare herself to leave her longtime home, he said,
"Please don't shatter my illusions. Like all tourists, I like to think
that now and then I find something authentic."

"Oh,
Cibola is authentic enough. Not convenient, but authentic." She hesitated,
then asked shyly, "Would you join us for supper? The food's simple, but ...
authentic."

"I'd
be delighted." He liked the Gradys, and dining here would keep him away
from the hotel--and the shadow of Rainey's presence--a while longer.

Grady
ruffled Hambone's ears. "How about I show you around while Alma finishes
cookin'?"

It
was another offer Kenzie had no desire to refuse. Just as people interested
him, so did their settings, and the Gradys fit this ranch the way well-worn
tools fit a hand.

Hambone
at their heels, they visited the stables, where Diablo was placidly eating
dinner. A small gelding was the only other occupant of the dozen stalls. Grady
produced a sugar cube for the gelding. "When the kids were growin' up we
had half a dozen horses. I hope we'll be able to take these two along when we
move. Like us, they're too old to learn new tricks."

As
they moved among the outbuildings, Kenzie spotted a small satellite dish. Grady
said, "The kids chipped in to buy us that for our forty-fifth anniversary.
Authentic means satellite dishes and four-wheel drive, not livin' in a
museum."

"I
should think a museum would be boring." Cibola wasn't--it was a living
entity, well-cared for despite signs that money was in short supply. The adobe
buildings looked as if they'd grown from the soil and had the spare, pure
elegance of function and simplicity. Kenzie studied everything, an idea
tickling the back of his mind.

The
small, postcard-perfect lake wasn't visible from the house, but it was only a
five-minute walk away. When they reached it, Grady said, "Alma wasn't
kiddin' about the double-wide trailer. When we find a buyer, I might ask if
he'd sell us a lot so we can put a little place here on the lake. More private
than Chama. Shouldn't think a new owner would want the old ones around,
though."

"None
of your children want to take over the ranch?"

"Not
a rancher in the lot, but we're proud of 'em." Grady gave a fleeting
smile. "A teacher, an air force pilot, and a nurse. Do you have
children?"

"No."
Kenzie softened the edge in his voice. "No children, and once the courts
finish their business, no wife."

Grady
gave a sympathetic nod. "There's all kinds of hard luck."

When
they returned to the house, Grady sent his guest inside while he took care of
some chores. Kenzie saw when he entered Alma's kitchen that she hadn't
exaggerated about the work that was needed. Though immaculately clean, the
appliances were old and rickety, the sink marred by permanent stains, and the cabinets
cheap and inadequate.

Yet
that hardly mattered, for the kitchen had the warmth of a mother's smile. The
irregular beams in the ceiling had been shaped by hand, and the quarry tile
floor was softened by Indian rugs whose colors were muted with age and honest
wear. He held his hands to the rounded adobe oven built in a corner, feeling
the warmth of whatever was baking inside. "I've been in Southwestern-style
houses in California, but they're only pale imitations of this. Would it be too
forward of me to ask for a tour?"

"I'd
be happy to show you around." When he smiled, she added, "Better
watch that smile, Mr. Scott. Anyone ever say you're too handsome for your own
good?"

"Frequently,"
he said with great dryness.

Chuckling,
she showed him through the adobe. High ceilings and spacious rooms that had
been designed to keep the house cool in summer gave the structure an airy feel.
He liked the serenity of the white stucco walls and mellow pine floors, and the
warm promise of the massive living room fireplace. The windows in the room
looked across the valley and showed the sun sliding behind stark mountain
peaks. He paused to admire the blazing colors. "Does it snow much
here?"

"Some,
but usually we don't get a lot. We're at the perfect elevation--high enough not
to scorch in summer, low enough not to be buried with snow in winter."

The
bathroom was as primitive as the kitchen, but like the bedrooms, it was
generously sized. The smallest of the four bedrooms had been converted to a computer
room. "E-mail sure is handy for keeping in touch with the kids and
grand-kids," Alma said. "When we first came here, Cibola seemed like
the end of the world, but not now."

"How
do you feel about moving?"

Instead
of telling him to mind his own business, she shrugged. "This house is too
big now the kids are gone, but I'd be lying if I didn't say it'll be hard to
leave. No use complaining about what can't be helped, though." Briskly she
turned back to the kitchen. "This is my favorite part of the house."

She
opened a back door and stepped into a small garden surrounded by high adobe
walls. Stone paths wound between vibrant flowers and shrubs, while in one
corner vines were trained over an arbor to shade a table and chairs.

Kenzie
caught his breath. "A secret garden."

"Like
the movie? I watched it with my grandkids, but this garden is walled to keep
the wild pigs from eating my herbs and flowers."

"You've
made the practical into a thing of beauty." He touched the ripening sphere
of a tomato. A tabby cat poked her head out from under a shrubby rosemary bush,
surveyed Kenzie thoughtfully, then began washing one of several plump, furry
kittens. Above the walls, craggy mountains floated majestically. What would it
be like to live amidst such peace?

Dinner
was classic Southwestern fare, with corn tortillas, beans, rice, and salad. It
was also sensational, though if the peppers had been any hotter, Kenzie would
have been in trouble. After washing down the last bite with coffee, he asked,
"Is New Mexican cuisine different from other regions, or is this so good
because of the cook?"

"Both."
Grady smiled fondly at his wife. "New Mexican food is better than Texas or
Arizona to begin with, and nobody makes it better than Alma."

Placidly
she topped off everyone's coffee. "He learned early that the best way to
eat well was to flatter me shamelessly."