Fire Brand

Bowie parked the car in front of Gaby’s apartment complex and cut the engine. He leaned back in the seat, his hand loosening his tie and unbuttoning his jacket. His head went back with a hard sigh.

“I’ve got to get up in the morning and fly to Canada. Damn it, I hate these trips out of the country,” he said unexpectedly. “I’m getting too old to enjoy them anymore.”

“You aren’t old,” she protested.

“Thirty-six next birthday.” His head turned and his black eyes sought hers in the glaring light from the streetlamps overhead. “Twelve years older than you, cupcake.”

She laughed at the description. “I’m not a cupcake.”

“That’s better. You’ve been gloomy all night.”

“The man they shot was just a boy,” she replied. She leaned back, too, her eyes quiet as they looked through the windshield at the city lights and deserted street. “He had a big family and grew up in the kind of god-awful poverty you read about and wish somebody could do something about. He killed a man and died for twenty stupid dollars, Bowie.”

He stretched, drawing the fabric of his white shirt taut across the firm muscles of his broad chest and flat stomach. “People have died for less. It was his turn.”

“That’s unfeeling,” she accused.

“Is it?” One big arm slid behind her bucket seat and he studied her thoughtfully. “He tried to hold up a store. That was stupid. There are poor people all over the world who live honest lives and made the best of what they have. A man with a gun isn’t going to accomplish a damned thing except his own destruction. That’s basic.”

“It’s still terrible,” she said.

“Why don’t you find something else to do with your life?” he asked. “You’re too soft to be a reporter.”

“What would you suggest I do?” she asked.

“You could come home to Casa Río and help me fight the combine that’s trying to move in next door to us,” he suggested.

“What combine?”

“Some agricultural outfit called Biological Agri-market—Bio-Ag, for short. They’re trying to buy up land in the valley to support a superfarm—the farm of the future, they call it. But I’m afraid that what they’re actually after is a quick profit and some devastating ecological impact.”

“They can’t damage the environment,” she assured him. “First, they have to file an environmental impact statement; then, they have to go through the planning and development commission...”

“Hold it a minute,” he said. “Lassiter doesn’t have a planning commission, and our particular valley isn’t zoned.”

She searched his eyes. “Still, won’t the development have to go through regular channels?”

“If they can get the land,” he agreed. He smiled coolly. “Hell will freeze over before they get any of mine.”

“Then you don’t have a problem.”

“That’s debatable.” He lit a cigarette, cracking a window to let out the smoke. “Some of the town fathers in Lassiter are being courted by the developers. They’re promising jobs and a lavish local economy, and they’re greasing palms right and left.” He smiled at her. “I had a threatening phone call yesterday. The word is that I’m holding up progress single-handedly by refusing to sell land to the development. It seems that Casa Río has the best soil for their purposes.”

“Lassiter could use more jobs, Bowie,” she began slowly. “I know how you feel about the land...”

“Do you?” His voice was like cold steel. “Apaches used to hunt on our range. My great-great-grandfather made one of the first treaties with the Chiricahua Apaches, and there’s a petroglyph that marks the spot where they agreed on it. Cochise camped at one of the river crossings with his people. There was a small fort, and part of the adobe is still standing, where McCaydes helped the Apaches fight off Mexican raiders. There are Hohokam ruins a thousand years old on that land. The Hohokam had a superior civilization that ultimately spawned the Pima and the Tohono O’odham. And the Earps and Doc Holliday rode through on their way to Tombstone. How do you compare that history with a few jobs—jobs that may not even last, for God’s sake, if the developers go bust. And what about the ecology, Gaby?” he persisted, eyes blazing with bad temper. “Imagine all that damned silt pouring into the San Pedro and its tributary near us, when we’re already facing a devastating future. We’ve got the Central Arizona Project and the Salt River Project, and cities are buying ranches all over Arizona for the water rights, but we’ve got to be careful about our water resources, or they may dry up. It’s too risky a venture, despite the potential economic value. What’s worse, I think those Bio-Ag people really have their eyes on our water rights. First in time, first in right, remember? You need easy access to water to farm.”

Gaby studied him quietly. She knew he was a tireless worker for historic preservation. “You’re very knowledgeable,” she remarked.

“It’s an interest of mine. I’m a builder,” he reminded her. “I have to know a lot about the environment and the ecology to be responsible. I don’t want to leave behind a legacy of ruined land for quick gain. There are too many people doing that already—throwing up buildings for a profit without considering how much damage they’re doing to the local ecology.”

“I had to learn about some of that for stories I’ve done,” she replied.

“Silt from irresponsible building practices fills up rivers and streams. That has impact not only on our water resources, but on wildlife, and even the quality of life along those rivers and streams,” he replied. “It’s a subject worth talking about. We’ve been lucky here in Arizona. We have legislators who were looking out for our water rights years before it was a popular subject. We’ve done things to ensure a future water supply. Other states haven’t been quite as responsible, and they may suffer for it someday.”

“But you don’t want developers on Casa Río land,” she said.

“That’s it in a nutshell. Threats notwithstanding, I won’t let Casa Río be used to make money for greedy outsiders.”

“How do you know they’re greedy?” she asked.

“How do you know they’re not?” he shot back.

She gave up. It was impossible to hope for more than a draw when she fought verbally with Bowie. “Stalemate,” she murmured humorously. “I won’t fight with you. I’m too tired.”

“You’re still coming home to watch Aggie for me?” he persisted.

“Yes. If you think it’s necessary.” She paused with her hand on the door handle, oddly reluctant to go inside. “Bowie, you don’t really think her friend is a gold digger, do you?”

“I don’t know, Gaby. Until I do, I have to assume that he is. I don’t want Aggie hurt.”

She smiled at him gently. “Why do you call her Aggie, instead of mother?” she asked.

“She’s never been quite motherly to me,” he replied with a narrow smile. “Even if she has to you.”

There was a faint bitterness in his deep voice.

Time to go, quick, she thought. She clutched her purse. “I had a good time. Thanks for taking me to Mary and Ted’s party.”

“My pleasure.” He was still staring at her, much too closely. “What day are you going down to Casa Río?”

“Probably Tuesday,” she said. “I’ve got a big political interview Monday afternoon. When does Aggie get there?”

“Tuesday night.”

“See?” She smiled. “Perfect timing.”

“For God’s sake, don’t leave them alone for a second.” Instead of frightening her, his irritated expression delighted her. It was nice to know that Bowie was human, after all. At times, he seemed rather impervious to emotion. He was very much a cool, intimidating stranger to Gaby—or he had been, until tonight. She’d learned a lot about him, and she liked what she’d found out.

“Which one of them do you propose that I sleep with?” she asked.

He was still deep in thought. He glanced at her. “Hmmmmm?” he asked absently.

She leaned closer. “Do you want me to bunk down with Aggie, or her new beau?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, don’t be ridiculous,” he muttered. “Just don’t leave them alone together for long.”

“I’ll do my best. But they’re both adults.

“I realize that. But he could take over Casa Río. It’s happened before in second marriages. He could wind up with everything Aggie owns, and throw her to the dogs to boot! And if he did it in the right way,” he added with an intent stare, “we wouldn’t have a legal leg to stand on.”

“I see what you mean,” she murmured. “Well, I’ll do what I can. But he may turn out to be a nice man, you know.”

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “How is it that you don’t trust people, but you never seem to expect the worst until you’re confronted with it?”

She shrugged. “It’s a knack. Like your uncanny ability to read people’s minds. Thank God I’m not on your wavelength.” She grinned. “I don’t want you wandering around in my brain.”

“Don’t you?” He reached out and touched her high coiffure, very gently. “I don’t like your hair up like that. I like it long and loose. You’re too young to walk around like a matron, Gaby—and much too pretty.”

She flushed. The touch of his hand on her hair was electric. “I’m...not pretty,” she stammered, and tried to laugh.

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” He dropped his hand and chuckled as he lifted his cigarette to his mouth to finish it and put it out. “When I get that trite, it’s time to go to bed. I’m sleepier than I realized.”

“Do you have to drive all the way back to Tucson tonight?” she asked, concerned.

“No. I’m staying with a friend.”

She felt something possessive stir in her and hoped that he wouldn’t be able to see the sudden freezing of her features. A friend. A female friend? She knew that Bowie was no innocent, but until now she’d never wondered about his private life. What if he had a woman here in Phoenix...?

“I went to school with him, and we were in the same company for six months in Vietnam, until he was rotated out.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t think of anything to add to that. He was giving her a strange look already. “Well, good night, and thanks for the ride,” she said with relief as she stepped out and shut the car door.

Gaby hurried to her apartment. She noticed Bowie didn’t leave until she’d opened her door and gone inside. Through the curtains she saw the Scorpio finally pull away.

She didn’t move from the window for several minutes. Tonight had been a bad mistake. Going out with Bowie, for any reason, was going to have to be avoided from now on. He made her feel vulnerable, and that was the one thing she couldn’t afford to be. Especially not with Bowie.

CHAPTER FOUR

IN BETWEEN WORRYING about Aggie and trying to come to grips with her sudden attraction to Bowie, Gaby spent her weekend going shopping and to a movie. By the time Monday morning rolled around, her eyes were dark-shadowed and she was ready for the diversion of work.

As she plodded through rush-hour traffic, her mind was busy with the speech she was going to make to Johnny Blake about her two-week vacation. It wasn’t really a bad time to take one—news was slow. And if she could sell him on covering the story developing in Lassiter, he might see it as a working holiday and be more receptive to it. Lassiter was southeast of Tucson, and out of Phoenix’s reporting area, but it would certainly make state news if things got hot enough. She could tell Johnny that, anyway. He liked a story that got picked up by the wire services. It made the paper look good.

Gaby thought that she might even enjoy spending some time at Casa Río. But whether or not Aggie was going to welcome her presence was anybody’s guess. How was she going to explain her sudden need for a vacation this time of year?

The other drawback was proximity to Bowie. The night before, she’d seen him in a totally new light. She couldn’t forget the touch of his big fingers around hers, or the way he’d suddenly come close to her at Mary’s engagement party as they’d gone between the parked cars. Her entire body had rippled with delicious feeling, and that frightened her. She didn’t really want to risk letting Bowie come close.

When she got to the office, Johnny was on the phone, murmuring into the receiver while he looked at her with a blank, preoccupied stare.

“That’s right,” he said. “That’s right. Look, why don’t you stick around there for another thirty minutes and see if you can’t get one of the jurors to one side. We need some idea of what’s going on. Don’t compromise their integrity—just see if you can get a handle on how the deliberations are going, okay? Good man!”

He hung up with a grimace. “Well, that’s as good as it’s going to get today, I suppose. I don’t know how we’re going to manage anything passable about the Highman case unless we can coax a juror into talking.”

“Try a juror’s wife,” she suggested with a grin.

He chuckled. “No wonder I keep you on, Cane.” He nodded. “You’ve got a devious mind.”

“Shrewd sounds better. Johnny, can I go home for two weeks? Before you speak,” she added, holding up a hand when he looked as if he might explode, “I’ve got an angle. I need a vacation. But there’s a big agricultural outfit called Biological Agri-market—Bio-Ag—trying to buy up land around Lassiter for some huge truck farming operation. It would have a favorable impact on the local economy, but its water usage and destruction of historic landmarks make it pretty controversial. There have already been a couple of death threats. I could sort of get a handle on things and have my vacation at the same time. What do you think? It could be statewide news,” she added quickly. “We’d scoop all the Tucson papers. We might even get picked up on the wires.”

He was thinking now, his lips pursed. “Statewide, huh?”

“That’s right.”

His small eyes narrowed. “Is anybody we know involved in this, Cane?” he probed.

She laughed. “Bowie. He’s going to fight it tooth and nail.”

“In that case, pack your bags. I still remember when he took on that cut-rate construction company project that cost two lives. Anything he does makes news these days. He’s a troublesome...” He cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

“He isn’t family,” she said, and was suddenly glad that he wasn’t. A picture of his hard, handsome features floated unwanted into her mind and she found herself feeling much too eager to go back to Casa Río.

“Yes. I keep forgetting that,” he murmured, watching her warm color. “Well, Cane, you have a nice vacation. Don’t forget to finish up your assignments today. You can leave first thing in the morning.”

“Yes, sir!” She grinned. “Thanks, boss.”

“Don’t thank me.” He held up a hand and smiled modestly. “I am but a poor, humble editor, doing his best to save democracy for future generations. Four score and seven...”

“You might write down that speech on the back of an envelope,” she suggested as she went out the door of his office. “Who knows? You could go down in history.”

He sighed. “Only if I changed my last name to Lincoln. Go to work!”

“You bet!”

The political interview was one she’d been angling toward for weeks. An older state representative—one of sixty representatives in the State House—had been accused of taking kickbacks on a highway project he’d supported. The charge didn’t quite ring true to Gaby, who knew the politician. He had a reputation for honesty that was nothing short of fanaticism.

What made the interview so special was that Gaby was the only member of the press that Representative Guerano would talk to.

“Where’s Wilson?” the white-haired legislator asked, darting quick glances around as they sat in the comparative security of his office in the state capitol building. “Is he disguised as a lamp?”

Gaby laughed. Her wild journalistic colleague had that kind of reputation, and it was really a pity that he worked for a rival paper. “Despite Wilson’s knack for turning up in odd places, he could only know about this meeting from me, and I don’t consort with the opposition.”

Representative Guerano chuckled deeply. “Good for you. Okay. What do you want to know, young lady?”

“Who’s after you and why, of course,” she replied with a twinkle in her olive eyes. “I don’t believe for a minute that you’ve taken money from anybody.”

He smiled gently. “God bless you for that blind trust. As it happens, you’re right. But I only have suspicions, no hard evidence. And I’m hardly in a position to start throwing stones.”

“Tell you what,” she said, leaning forward. “You tell me who, when, and why, and I’ll tell Johnny Blake. We’ve got an investigative reporter on our staff who can dig blood out of turnips.”

His tired blue eyes brightened. “Think so?”

“I do, indeed. Meanwhile, you give me a nice interview and I’ll print both sides of the controversy, just the way a good journalist should.”

“Isn’t this sticking your neck out?” he asked curiously.

She shook her head. “It’s good journalism. We like to print the whole truth. Sometimes we can only print half. But we never give up until we get to the bottom of scandals. That’s the only way to do it, to be fair to everyone involved.”

He nodded. “I can understand that. But meanwhile, a lot of damage has been done to my reputation.” He leaned back, looking every day of his sixty years. “You don’t know what a living hell it is to be at the center of a scandal, young lady. My family’s suffered much more than I have, but even if I’m cleared, the implication is still there. My career is finished, either way.”

Gaby was getting cold chills, because she had a pretty good idea of what a scandal could do to even ordinary people, much less people in the public eye. Her background, if it were ever revealed, could do untold damage to the McCaydes.

She snapped herself back to the present. “All I can promise you is that I’ll do a good story and that Johnny will put it in a prominent place. If you deny the charges and we can print your side of it, some people may listen.”

“If you mean that, about an investigation, I’ll give you all the help I can, and so will my staff.”

She nodded. “I can promise you that we’ll give it our best shot.”

“Then, let’s get to it. Ask whatever you like.”

It was a good piece—one of the best Gaby had ever done. And once it was in print, it would be a good time to leave the area for a while, until the heat died down. She never ran from trouble, but sometimes it was advantageous to walk around it.

Johnny Blake was delighted. He took the few unverifiable bits of information he’d been given and handed them over to Lang, the paper’s investigative reporter. Like a bulldog with a bone to chew, the veteran journalist went straight to work. Lang had contacts that none of the other reporters did. His stock of sources read like a Who’s Who of organized crime, but he always got what he needed, with enough printable sources to support the story. Other papers had tried to lure him away with everything from company cars to incredible salaries, and one of the television networks had even dangled an anchor spot at him. Lang just plugged away at his desk, amused at his notoriety, and never gave it a second thought. Gaby liked him. He was an old renegade, with a shady past and plenty of grit and style. He might not be society, but he was a reporter’s reporter. He’d clear Guerano, and Johnny Blake would have his big story for the month. The only casualty might be Guerano himself, because it was hard to undo a public accusation. With the best will in the world, the dirt stuck.

That night as Gaby packed she worried about encroaching on Aggie’s privacy, about interfering. She really was concerned, and knew she was just going to have to risk irritating her. The next morning she put two suitcases in her little white VW convertible, left her plants with a neighbor to water, and set out for Casa Río.

The ranch was over twenty thousand acres in size, as many southeastern Arizona ranches were. The sheer immensity of open space was staggering to Eastern tourists. Even to Gaby, who’d lived here for years, the scope of it was almost unbelievable. One mountain was crossed, ending in an endless valley. That reached to another mountain, and beyond it was another endless valley, and so on. Cattle and horses grazed lazily beyond the highway, because open range was the law in Arizona. Considering the size of the ranches, it was understandable. Fencing thousands of acres would cost a fortune, and with the depressed cattle market, ranchers would certainly be hard-pressed to come up with the kind of money Gaby imagined it would cost.

The thought piqued her curiosity. She and Bowie had never talked about the cattle operation at Casa Río. Her dark olive eyes narrowed as she drove down the endless highway toward Tucson. She wondered about the impact of an agricultural operation on Bowie’s cattle. Not only would the enormous project use great volumes of water—which was still scarce in this part of Arizona—but it would use pesticides that would leach into the soil and add pollutants to the precious water remaining. Arizona rivers, with the notable exception of the Colorado, mostly ran only during the rainy months, when there was flash flooding. Wells provided the majority of the water in southeastern Arizona. There had already been one television special which had alleged that there were toxins in the drinking water around Tucson. Perhaps some conversations with the local U.S. Soil Conservation Service office in Lassiter might be of benefit. Gaby could see that if she wanted to do a proper job on this story, she was going to be involved in a lot of research.

She stopped to eat in Tucson before heading south through Tombstone to Lassiter. This was familiar territory. Lassiter was bordered on the east by the Chiricahua Mountains, where the Chiricahua Apache once reigned supreme. To the south and west was Tombstone, the site of the O.K. Corral gunfight, high atop its mesa. Far to the southeast was Douglas, on the Mexican border, and to the west were the Dragoon Mountains, where Cochise’s Stronghold was located. Near Bowie’s ranch was the famous Sulphur Springs Valley, once home to the Clanton clan, the archenemy cowboys who had faced the Earps and Doc Holliday at the O.K. Corral in Tombstone. It was a fiercely historic area, and although Gaby had no roots of her own, part of her could understand and appreciate Bowie’s love of the land. But as she drove through the desolate country, dotted only here and there with an occasional ranch far off the road, she wondered if Bowie had considered the job potential the agricultural giant would present here. It would require not only laborers, but heavy equipment operators, technicians, engineers, clerical people, truckers, and packers. The people who worked there could spend their paychecks in Lassiter, which would raise the tax base and help increase services to the townspeople. The unemployment ratio in Lassiter had been high, because a number of small ranches had gone under in recent years. Unskilled labor had no place to go except to one of the cities of larger towns in the area. A few local people worked in Tombstone during Hellrado Days in October—the anniversary of the gunfight at the O.K. Corral—where the Old West was re-created for the benefit of hundreds of tourists. But that was seasonal work, and many people in the area needed jobs that would last year-round.

The two sides of the story kept her mind busy all the way to Lassiter. She drove through it with a nostalgic smile. It was typical of most small Arizona towns—a combination of past and present, with adobe architecture in half its buildings, and modern design in the rest.

The pavement was cracked in most places, and the people walking about reflected the poor economy in the way they dressed. There was a lack of entertainment facilities for young people, since most teenagers left Lassiter for work in other towns when they graduated from its one high school. She looked at the landscape and tried to envision Bio-Ag’s huge operation settling here. Irrigated fields would spread to the horizon and the desert would bloom. She sighed, smiling at her own vision.

There were only a few shops in town these days, and half of them were boarded up from lack of commerce. The town had two policemen, neither of whom stayed too busy, except over the weekend when the local bar filled up and tempers grew short. There was a fire department, all volunteer, and a motel-restaurant. Several government agencies had offices here, some of which were only open part of the week. There was a newspaper—a very good one for a town that small—the Lassiter Citizen. And there was a radio station, but it was a low-budget operation with high school students manning the control room most of the afternoon and early evening. If Bio-Ag came, there would be some more advertising revenue for the media, and certainly plenty of newsworthy copy to help fill space.