Dark Moon Crossing

by Sylvia Nobel

  Bravo, Payton. Good thing he appeared to be a low-octane kind of guy. I’d have decked her.

  “Oh, yes, I forgot, you’re an expert at just about everything.”

  A wave of embarrassment rolled through me. I could understand the petty motivation for putting her ex-husband down in front of Brett, but why did the perfect-looking creature feel compelled to air their private differences in front of a complete stranger?‌

  Refusing to respond to her scorn, Payton’s lips stretched into a tight smile. “You mustn’t keep your adoring fans waiting, my dear.”

  “Have him home by six sharp,” she said, carefully placing the western hat over her curls. “You know how disappointed Grampy Boo is if he’s not in his usual place for dinner.” She turned away, but not before I heard her mutter under her breath, “What a loser.” Having won the confrontation, at least in her mind, Bethany grabbed the reins, nodded to me, then blew a kiss to Brett before swinging into the saddle. “Goodbye, Jack,” she said, training a malicious glance in Payton’s direction before cantering to the head of the waiting line of riders where she was joined by a rugged-looking young cowhand who all but devoured her with his eyes. Damn, she did sit a horse well.

  When I turned back, a little zing of surprise shot through me. While Brett’s eyes were aglow with admiration for his beautiful mother, the rapt expression in Payton’s gaze reflected a poignant combination of pain, resentment and a trace of reluctant awe. Oh, no. Was he still carrying a torch for her?‌

  “Why does Mommy call you Jack sometimes?‌” Brett asked with a puzzled frown, watching his mother ride off down the driveway chatting gaily with the dudes perched awkwardly on their mounts, holding tight to the saddle pommels.

  His sheepish expression made me wonder too, but he dismissed her remark with, “It’s just one of her little jokes. Now, how about we take Kendall over to Uncle Dean’s place to see how the kitten is doing?‌”

  “Can I take Rascal with us to play with her?‌”

  “Mmmm, maybe we should wait awhile before we do that. The kitty might not be quite well enough to appreciate a sixty pound Lab just yet,” he added for my benefit. “And to keep everybody happy, run in and tell your grandma we’ll be back by dinnertime.”

  The boy dutifully skipped up the stairs again and Payton motioned for me to come with him. “Sorry about that,” he said as I fell into step beside him. “I hope you didn’t get the wrong impression of Bethany. Sometimes she tries to overcompensate for her innate feelings of insecurity.”

  I shot him an incredulous glance. She appeared far from insecure to me, and the phrase, ‘Well, she’s not exactly Miss Congeniality’ jumped to mind, but I bit it back. “Not at all. Actually, I think she’s one of the more charming people I’ve ever met.”

  His appreciative laugh filled the air. “She can be…as long as you treat her as though she’s the center of the universe.”

  Not having the slightest idea what he was talking about and since I barely knew him, I opted not to comment. When he opened the passenger door of his truck, I halted in surprise. “I thought we were going to see the kitten.”

  “We are. Dean’s place is about three miles from here.”

  “Oh. Listen, I’m really sorry to put you out for a second time in one day.”

  He waved away my apology. “No problem. Lucky for me, he was still here at the house when I came to pick up Brett this morning, so this will actually be my first visit there in quite some time.”

  I climbed into the truck. “Well, whatever. I definitely owe you one. How about I buy you dinner to make up for ruining your breakfast this morning?‌” The mention of food made me realize I’d never had lunch.

  He smiled. “I’m tied up tonight, but thanks anyway.”

  “Breakfast tomorrow?‌”

  “You don’t owe me anything.”

  “The heck I don’t. Listen, if you hadn’t been available at that exact moment…well, you saved the day.”

  “In some cases, timing is everything. I’m glad I was there to help,” he replied, shutting my door. “I happen to believe that animals are the true innocents of the world. In exchange for being cared for they offer us loyalty and unconditional love.” He followed that with a wry, “And they certainly don’t screw you over the way people do.”

  I sensed he was referring to his current ‘out-of-favor’ situation with his ex-wife and probably the entire Beaumont clan. Having recently been down the rocky road of divorce, I could sympathize with his situation. I knew what it was like to be drawn into the bosom of a large family, loved, pampered, and then thrown out in the cold when the marriage fizzled. It was a rude awakening to realize that, in all but a few exceptional cases, acceptance bequeathed to the new spouse didn’t extend much beyond the divorce decree. Payton Kleinwort appeared to be a compassionate soul and it made me wonder again how he’d ever gotten matched up with a vixen like Bethany Beaumont. “I’m not letting you off the hook so easily,” I put in. “How about lunch tomorrow?‌ Right now, my plans are to head home in the afternoon, so I could meet you at the café there in Arivaca on my way out of town. What do you say?‌”

  His eyes glittered with amusement. “You’re very persistent.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  He threw up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay. Lunch it is, but it’s going to have to be early. Will eleven-thirty work?‌”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  He nodded, I nodded, and sudden silence fell between us. To fill the conversation void until Brett’s return, I asked, “So tell me, how big is this place anyway?‌”

  “In the neighborhood of fifty sections, which translates to about thirty thousand acres.”

  My mouth dropped. “Wow.” I’d thought Tally’s ranch was big, but the Sundog dwarfed the Starfire. Reaching for the seatbelt, I remarked, “The cost of running an outfit this size must be phenomenal.”

  He dipped his head in the direction of the riders trailing over a rise. “That’s the operative word. It’s been touch-and-go the last few years for a lot of the ranchers in this area and not many have survived. It was Twyla’s idea to convert it into a place where tourists and other folks could come to enjoy the…ranch experience,” he said, crooking his fingers like quotation marks around the last two words. “What with the high cost of feed, the drought, cattle prices being stagnant, then figuring in the taxes, well, it’s not been good. Not good at all.”

  “You sound very knowledgeable. Do you have a ranch around here too?‌”

  An imperceptible shadow crossed behind his eyes before he blinked it away. “A long time ago in another life,” he replied, abruptly moving away from my window towards the driver’s side. I longed to know the reason for his curious reaction, but his taciturn expression discouraged any further discussion of a subject that was apparently off limits.

  At that moment Brett returned. Chattering happily, he scrambled onto the seat, squeezed between us, and busied himself with a hand-held video game as Payton maneuvered the truck out the driveway and turned south. The sandy ribbon of road wound its way through treeless hills blanketed with tall grass undulating like golden waves in the erratic wind. Each time we’d dip down into a wash, Brett would whoop with laughter. “That tickles! Go faster, Daddy!”

  Payton arched a brow for permission and when I smiled he accelerated until my stomach soared and dipped as if we were on a roller coaster ride. All at once, he hit the brakes to avoid a jackrabbit and a loud thump from behind made me turn and peer through the back window into the camper shell. A red and white plastic cooler had launched forward striking the plastic window. There were several more stacked behind it. “You guys must have had some picnic,” I remarked with a laugh, thumbing over my shoulder.

  Payton glanced at me. “What?‌”

  “Picnic. It looks like you have at least a half a dozen coolers back there.”

  Squealing with laughter, Brett pulled his attention from the beeping game in his lap. “Those aren’t for food. That’s how Da
ddy keeps his snakes cold.”

  “Oh, boy. I’m almost afraid to ask why anyone would want to keep snakes cold, but I must.”

  Payton chuckled. “It’s nothing too mysterious. I collect rattlesnakes and sell them to a couple of labs in the Midwest that process snake venom for hospitals.”

  “No kidding?‌ And you can make a living?‌”

  “Not really. It’s just a part-time thing to help make some extra money when I’m down here to see my favorite little guy,” he said, casting Brett a look of affection as he smoothed a lock of rust-colored hair back from the boy’s forehead.

  I glanced down at the contented little boy snuggled against his father’s side, taking note of his well-polished boots and clean, crisp clothing that smelled of fabric softener. I couldn’t help but think of the contrast to poor little Javier cringing in his dark hideaway, homeless, motherless, and clutching a toy bunny for comfort.

  “So you don’t live here full time?‌” I asked Payton.

  “No. I teach and work in the herpetology lab at the university in Tucson.”

  Brett chimed in, “Sometimes Daddy catches turtles and Gila Monsters and tarantulas too!”

  A tremor of revulsion ricocheted through me. “Ugh. I can do without the tarantulas, but I thought it was against the law to capture Gila Monsters. Aren’t they considered a protected species?‌”

  “Yes. But, my job allows me to obtain a Wildlife Holding Permit.”

  Only half listening, my attention was fixed on an irregular jumble of wind-carved pinnacles that looked like giant volcanic chimneys. They dominated the southwestern horizon and I was pretty sure they were the same ones I’d noticed yesterday while traveling along the road to Sasabe. Pointing, I asked, “What’s that odd-looking mountain range called?‌ Is it in Mexico?‌”

  “That’s Wolf’s Head. It actually straddles the border,” Payton replied, slowing for a cattle guard. “And to anticipate your next question, its name is derived from a prominent rock formation on the southern tip.” He hitched his shoulders, grinning wryly. “Personally, I think it looks more like the head of a mule.”

  I tossed him a quick glance, recalling Bethany’s sarcastic remark concerning a shrine for someone named Laura, and I couldn’t help but wonder why anyone would want to be buried in such a remote spot. “I’m confused. I thought we were only a mile or so from the border, but the mountain looks to be further away than that.”

  “Remember, the border doesn’t run in a straight line. A couple of sections of the Sundog span it, as well as a huge section of Tohono O’odham reservation land which actually runs along it for, oh, I don’t know, maybe seventy-five miles and then stretches south into Mexico.”

  As he continued talking, I noticed the saffron-tinged rangeland giving way to patches of blackened ground strewn with the withered remains of mesquite bushes, scorched yucca plants and yellowed prickly pear. The devastation expanded until it extended on both sides of the road as far as I could see. “Looks like they’ve had one heck of a grassfire.”

  “That,” he said with a broad sweep of one hand, “is a perfect example of the problems caused by this God-awful border mess.” The sharp undertone of resentment in his voice softened slightly when he added, “Sorry. I forgot you’d probably find a statement like that offensive.”

  “Why would you think that?‌”

  He slid a sidelong glance at Brett who appeared totally focused on his game. “Well, you did say you were here to report on the rally and since I noticed that your companion is Hispanic, well, I assumed your sympathies probably lean towards the illegals.”

  Oops! I’d almost forgotten that was supposed to be my cover story. “Don’t be too quick to make assumptions. Lupe is here on an unrelated matter, but it’s my intention to do what I always do and that will be to write an objective piece containing the facts of the situation.” It suddenly dawned on me that in the twenty-four hours since giving my hastily fabricated reason for being here to Hank Breslow, a genuine interest in the border problems had blossomed. The boiling cauldron of opposing forces in this region was great fodder for a feature article. Maybe several.

  He flicked me a considering look before refocusing on the road. “That will be refreshing. The media’s been having a field day lately pandering to these border rights groups and the Mexican politicians we’re trying so hard not to offend. Their articles are completely biased and they make the ranchers in this area out to be the villains when all they’re trying to do is protect their own property. Talk to Champ Beaumont. Talk to Dean. Talk to any other rancher dealing with this nightmare day in and day out.” The tremor of emotion in his voice and the little splotches of color in his cheeks left little doubt where his sympathies lay. But in a quick turnabout, he concluded with a blasé, “Glad I don’t have to deal with it.”

  A sudden ringing made me jump and I stared in astonishment as Payton fished a tiny cell phone from his shirt pocket and said, “Yeah?‌” He listened intently. “Really?‌ Listen, I’ve got company. Catch you later,” he said, abruptly ending the conversation as I pulled my own phone from my purse and powered it on. Sure enough, the ‘roam’ message pulsed back at me. “Well, what do you know?‌” I murmured, shaking my head.

  “What?‌” asked Payton.

  “Who would think there would be cell service out here in the middle of nowhere when I haven’t been able to use this damn thing since I left Tucson.”

  He chuckled. “I know what you mean. The signal is erratic at best. There’s a very narrow corridor where we can get service. The mountains probably block it.” As if to demonstrate his statement, the ‘no service’ message blinked at me again as we dipped into a ravine. “I see what you mean.”

  He arched a concerned brow. “You need to call someone?‌ I can turn around and go back until you pick up a signal again.”

  “Thank you, but it’s nothing that can’t wait until later.” I tucked the phone back in my purse, content with the fact that I’d have all evening to make calls back home and probably spend some time on the Internet doing more research.

  We rode in silence for another minute or two until a wooden ranch house bordered by a hodgepodge of outbuildings, corrals and tin-roofed sheds along with another building in the early stages of construction, came into view. “Is that going to be a new house?‌” I asked, referring to the framed-in structure.

  Payton turned left into a long driveway spanned by barbed wire. “No, that’s the new barn. The old one went up like a tinderbox in the middle of the night about two weeks ago.” His words came out crisp and bitter.

  I stared. “You’re saying illegals set the fire?‌”

  “I’m saying exactly that.”

  “On purpose?‌”

  A quick shrug. “Who knows?‌ You saw the end results as we came in. The fire spread so fast, it scorched over thirty acres of prime grazing land.” He cast a sidelong glance at me. “Are you in the market for an ironic footnote to your article?‌” There was presumption of mocking challenge in his question.

  “Always.”

  “Needless to say, Dean about had a stroke. He rounded up a couple of his hands and they finally tracked the group down hiding in a clump of greasewood. Now, here’s the kicker. One of the them was a young woman in labor and because he was the only one around who knew what to do, Dean ended up delivering the baby.” He brought the truck to a halt and shoved it into park. “Can you believe that?‌ Instead of these interlopers suffering the consequences for being the lawbreakers that they are and causing untold damage to the ranch, the punishment for their deed was to have our own government grant the newborn American citizenship. And, of course we all end up paying for the mother’s medical and living expenses until they’re deported. Think about how fair that is when you write your story.”

  I definitely would. As I stepped from the truck, it struck me that nothing he’d told me so far was more indicative of the fearful atmosphere in the region than the sight of heavy iron bars crisscrossing every window o
f the weathered ranch house, which was encircled in a barrier of chain link fencing at least eight feet high. Two German Shepherds, barking ferociously, paced the interior, eying me with suspicion. In stark contrast to the idyllic western setting of cattle and horses grazing peacefully under an endless sweep of majestic blue sky, the house presented a disturbing picture. It more resembled a prison compound. For the first time since my arrival, I felt a flash of anger towards the undocumented immigrants, anger that American citizens should be forced to live this way in their own country. I could only imagine how the residents who had to deal daily with these problems must feel. It was little wonder the ranchers were forming coalitions and White power movements were flourishing.

  “There’s Uncle Dean,” Brett shouted, running towards a tall, rangy-looking man of perhaps sixty whose deeply wrinkled complexion bore testimony to years spent baking in the Arizona sun.

  “How you doin’, Squirt?‌” the older man inquired, swinging him effortlessly onto his shoulders. Payton introduced me and after a hearty handshake he ushered us through the sturdy gate and into a spacious flag-stoned entryway that opened into a large room saturated with the sugary aroma of fresh baked goods. Self-consciously, I clutched my growling midsection as my gaze swept over the gleaming copper pots in the modern kitchen that occupied the left hand corner of the room. The center contained a dining area that led down two steps into an airy family room filled with bulky pine furniture, accented with tangerine and turquoise pillows. A magnificent floor to ceiling beehive fireplace dominated the right side of the room.

  “What’s cooking?‌” Dean called to a silver-haired Hispanic woman, kneading dough on a butcher-block counter.

  “Oatmeal raisin cookies,” she replied, flashing a gold-toothed grin. “You will also have fresh pecan rolls with honey for breakfast.”

  “Ah, you spoil me, Inez,” he said, with a lopsided smile, lowering Brett to the floor before turning to me. “So, you’ve come to check on my little patient, huh?‌”