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  Raymond closed his eyes and thought about the place he had landed. He thought about why he had joined the military in the first place, how proud he had been to go to boot camp, how proud he had been to serve his country. He thought about the boy he once was, the boy who believed the army would make him an even better man.

  He thought about Catron County, Pie Town, his home, and how, even though he recognized landmarks, knew their names, knew how to get from place to place, everything felt strange to him now that he was home from the war. Intersections he had sat at a thousand times, dirt roads where he had learned to drive, the church he attended with his grandmother, the school he graduated from, everything seemed foreign. And no matter how he tried to convince himself that this was his family’s home, this was his home, it felt like a place he had only visited a very long time ago.

  Even the people, most of whom he had known since he was a child—teachers, friends, parents of friends, employers, everybody he had grown up around—seemed vaguely like people he once knew, once understood, people who once knew him and understood him. Mostly, however, he thought they just seemed like strangers.

  He had only been back a few weeks, but he hated how it felt like everybody watched him. He was uncomfortable with the attention, the party that was thrown in his honor, the way everybody spoke to him as if he were ill or broken or fragile, and it actually seemed to Raymond that the people in Pie Town studied him like he didn’t look the same to them either. The sheriff, the new priest that had come to Pie Town just as he was leaving for boot camp, the people at the diner, his father, Trina, everybody had a look of worry or suspicion when they spoke to him.

  Raymond thought about Trina, the woman he had come to love, and realized that even she, who made him laugh and wrote him every day while he was away, giving details of life back home, of life with a baby, of life in peace, even she seemed as if she didn’t know him at all.

  He glanced around at where he had passed out the previous night, recalling that he had slept out in the desert many times. And he knew that he had loved this place once; he was sure of that. He had learned things in the desert, things about the sky and the earth. He had known how to trap rabbits and how to track deer and elk. He had slept under those stars so many nights and walked those hills, ridden horses along the trails. This had been home to him in a way he thought he could never forget. But now even this place had somehow become unfamiliar to him.

  Raymond closed his eyes again and tried to remember when his feelings of being lost had started. He wasn’t sure if it had been while he was away, while he was facing the things he never imagined he would face, or whether it had occurred since he returned.

  When did I lose my home? My place? When did I lose all the memories and connections? he asked himself. When did I become this man?

  He leaned his head against the rock behind him and began to think about the night before and what had brought him out into the desert. He thought about the way he hurried away from the house, jumping on his dirt bike, riding so hard. Had there been a fight? he wondered. The way the road curved and dipped, and how he had stopped and watched as the lights flickered and finally went out. Where had he been when that happened?

  And then he remembered the bar, the drinks, some man pushing him from behind, calling him a drunk Indian, yelling in his face. He recalled another man telling him to move or get up, being told to leave, and the way he was thrown through the door, like a criminal, an animal, and how he had stumbled out to his bike, the other man behind him, his breath hot on his neck, and then finally walking away.

  Raymond felt in his jacket pocket and remembered trying to find his way through the parking lot, finally spotting his bike, but then stopping at the Dumpster. He remembered throwing his pistol away, tired of the weight of the thing, tired of the temptation to use it, tired of the agonizing thought that he should shoot himself. He recalled throwing it in the Dumpster and then just getting on his bike and driving away. To here, he thought. Here, out in the middle of the desert. Alone. Lost.

  He started to get up, to look for his bike and head home, to Trina, to this life he didn’t understand or fit in, to try again, and then he remembered something else. It was a look on a face. Trina’s. He tried to think. What had happened to cause that look? What had been done? And then that memory came back too.

  He had hurt her. They were arguing. She was backing away. He had followed her into the kitchen and ended up trapping her against the stove. He reached for her, not to hurt her, just to grab her, get her attention, try to make her listen to him, try to get her to see him, really see him, and she had kept backing away, trying to get away from him, and she had that look, that frightened look. And when he had seen that, her look, that mixture of fear and pain, he had let go with a push, a push that somehow landed her in the pot on the stove, a push that had harmed her, a push that caused the pot to spill and its contents to splash against her.

  He recalled how she had screamed and fled, and how, when he had tried to go after her, he slipped and fell. He reached up and touched a tender place on his forehead, recalling the event. When he was able to get up and walk, he had heard Trina slam a door. And by the time he had gotten to the bathroom door, the one she had locked, he was denied access to her and to the baby. He tried to see if she was okay, tried to fix what had happened, tried to apologize, but she wouldn’t let him in, wouldn’t talk to him, and finally he had given up and left.

  Raymond suddenly couldn’t breathe. What had he done? He felt the nausea rise and his stomach burn. His mouth began to water, and he turned his head to the side just before throwing up. He wretched and vomited until there was nothing left inside of him.

  Raymond suddenly knew he had no choice, not after what had happened. He knew he had to leave Pie Town. He had to leave Trina. He had to leave everybody who loved him because, he realized at that moment, he had become dangerous. The effects of war had touched him deeply, and he had harmed an innocent woman. He had harmed the woman he loved. He was so sick of himself that he knew he could not even return to their home and face what he had done. He knew that he had to get away and stay away from the people who were too close. He could hurt the baby. He could hurt Trina again. He could hurt whoever was in front of him.

  Raymond stood up and looked down at himself. He knew he didn’t recognize the place he used to call home. He didn’t recognize the people who raised him, who taught him, who loved him. He didn’t recognize the ones he knew he once had loved. But he also understood something else. Standing there, looking at himself, recalling what he had done to Trina, to his family, he knew the one person he least recognized was himself.

  He got on his bike and headed away from what had happened and the place he had once called home and the people he once loved. Raymond got on his bike and headed away from Pie Town.

  NINE

  Deputy Danny White was leaning against his car when the sheriff pulled into the parking lot beside the Silver Spur Saloon. There was only one other car in the lot and no onlookers that Roger could see. It appeared as if the news of a robbery at the bar hadn’t made the county grapevine as of yet. This was good news to the sheriff.

  Danny was talking on his cell phone, to Christine Day, Roger guessed. He knew that his deputy was engaged to Malene’s coworker at the nursing home and that the young woman kept postponing the date of the wedding. Originally, it was scheduled for February, a Valentine’s Day ceremony, but then it was pushed to March, and now it appeared as if the date was being changed again. The deputy glanced up, eyeing his boss, and quickly took his phone from his ear and placed it in his shirt pocket.

  “You got here faster than you said,” Danny noted.

  “Didn’t wait for my coffee.” Roger paused. “You all right?” he said, facing his deputy. “You look kind of pale.”

  Danny cleared his throat. “Just been up too long, I guess,” he replied.

  Roger studied the deputy. “Maybe you need some breakfast,” he noted.

  Danny nodde
d. “Yeah, that’s probably it.”

  “Gilbert inside?” Roger asked.

  “Still pretty mad. I think he’s calling Frank, trying to find Raymond. Wants to take matters into his own hands.”

  “Well, that’s no good.” The sheriff shook his head.

  Roger knew the one thing he didn’t need was Gilbert trying to get to Raymond before he did. He was glad that at least the bartender had called in the robbery. Maybe he’d have the chance to calm Gilbert down, get him to back off of the idea of trying to handle things himself.

  “You check the scene for prints?” he asked, glancing around the parking lot.

  “There were a few around the cash register, but I doubt they’re any good,” Danny said. “Gilbert’s had his hands all over everything. I dusted already. Didn’t find much. And the doors and the windows don’t look like any forced entry. Here’s the gun,” and he pulled out a plastic bag. A small pistol was inside.

  “All right.” Roger reached for the bag and took a good look at the firearm. It was a revolver, Smith and Wesson Model 10, the anchor of Smith and Wesson products since 1899. Roger had one himself. He preferred the revolver to the semiautomatic pistols that most law enforcement officers had started carrying. He didn’t know whose gun it was, but he knew it most likely belonged to someone experienced with firearms. The Model 10 was also known as the Military and Police Model. Roger guessed that, with a gun found on the property, Gilbert would probably want to add additional charges to the robbery. He placed the bag under his arm and cleared his throat. “She give you a date yet?” he asked, changing the subject.

  Danny blushed, embarrassed that his boss had seen him on a personal call. “She says fall will be a better time for her family.” He glanced away. “They moved down to Florida a couple of years ago, and they don’t like to travel in the summer. We’re still going to Father George for counseling, though.”

  “Give her some space, Danny, she’ll come around. Just a case of cold feet is all. You still going to your anger management classes?” Roger waited for the answer. He knew that Christine had been concerned about Danny’s temper. He also knew that she was right. His deputy did have a problem with his anger. He had agreed that the classes were a good idea.

  “Every Tuesday night,” he answered.

  Roger smiled. “Good. So what did you find out about last night at the Silver Spur? They lose power and shut down?”

  “No, they didn’t shut down. Gilbert says he was still serving drinks when the lights went out. Claims he can tell the difference between a Miller Lite and a Budweiser just by the feel of the bottles.” Deputy White opened his small writing pad where he had been taking notes.

  “Well, we are a county of extraordinary people. What else?” Roger asked.

  “He says he closed not too long after the power outage. He turned on the generator, but his customers left about ten-thirty. He claims he left the cash in the register since he planned to be back at six this morning to write up his deposit. He got here at dawn and noticed the register was open. No sign of a break-in, but he’s sure Raymond Twinhorse is the one who returned to the bar and robbed him.”

  “Why is he so sure about that? There any witnesses?”

  Danny shook his head. “He says he threw Raymond out sometime after the lights went out. Apparently, he had been drinking already and was trying to start a fight with some guy from Las Cruces who was in there. They were arguing pretty loudly, and Gilbert made them both leave. The other guy complied. Raymond refused to go. Told Gilbert he had a right to drink if he wanted. Gilbert practically picked him up and threw him out. He says Raymond was pretty mad about it, yelled something about getting him back.”

  “And Gilbert thinks he did it by taking the money?” Roger eyed Danny.

  “That’s what he says,” the deputy answered.

  “What do you think?” Roger asked.

  Danny shrugged. “Just sounds like a guy blowing off steam to me. I figure if he was really that mad, he would have messed up the place, not just sneak in a couple of hours later and take the cash.”

  Roger smiled, proud of his deputy’s assessment skills. “You tell that to Gilbert?”

  Danny shook his head. “He’s made up his mind already, and you know how he is once he’s made up his mind.”

  “Like a dog with a bone,” Roger replied.

  “A mean dog,” Danny responded.

  Roger nodded.

  “Hey, did you ever catch any drug dealers yesterday?” Danny asked. “I never read any final report.”

  “That’s because there was no final report. FBI had nothing. Had me drive them over to Alamo, scare a woman to death for nothing. There aren’t any drugs over there.”

  “Well, yeah, everybody knows that,” Deputy White noted. “Didn’t they ask you that before they went out there?”

  Roger shook his head. “The only thing they asked me was whether the road could handle the traffic.”

  “Didn’t you report that house out there near Old Horse Springs to the feds?” Danny asked. He remembered the sheriff’s mention of a possible drug operation at the old abandoned ranch house.

  “Weren’t interested,” Roger answered. “Of course, maybe they will be now since they made such a mess at Alamo.” He gave the gun back to Danny, pulled out a stick of gum, unwrapped it, and started chewing. “Oh well, that’s yesterday’s news. Whoever was there has pulled up stakes and left,” he noted. “Of course, the FBI agent in charge was mighty pissed that he didn’t find anything. I suppose if he has his way, he’ll be back trying to find something to justify the bust.”

  He looked at the bar. “Well, let me go get this over with.” He headed past the deputy, stopping to slap him on the shoulder, and moved toward the Silver Spur. “Go get yourself something to eat. I think I can handle it from here. I doubt this is as big a deal as Gilbert is making it sound. Oh, and run a background on the gun, see if it’s registered to anyone we know.”

  “Sure thing. I’ll also check on the prints,” Deputy White replied. “I’ll let you know if I find out anything.”

  Roger just nodded and raised his hand in agreement. He was walking in the front door of the bar when he heard the squad car pull out of the parking lot and Gilbert start to complain.

  TEN

  Francine had awakened early and was milling around Bernie’s kitchen while he slept. She wanted to fix breakfast for the two of them and was relieved to see that the power was back on. She wouldn’t have to turn on the generator to fix coffee and heat the oven. After finding the necessary ingredients, she decided to bake a cinnamon coffee cake, and after figuring out how to turn on Bernie’s fancy coffee maker, some brand shipped from Europe, she started the coffee as well.

  Francine was impressed with Bernie. He was not at all what she expected in a lifelong bachelor. He had flour and butter, brown sugar, milk, and even a fine spice rack filled with all kinds of spices. His refrigerator was fully stocked, and when she opened the cabinets down beside the oven, she found a new baking dish that she would be able to use for her breakfast special.

  “It’s almost as if he knew I was coming,” Francine said to herself and then paused to think about that.

  Even though the two of them were considered a couple by most everyone in Pie Town, the overnight stay at Bernie’s had come as a total surprise to her. In the last few months, they had gone to dinner at least once a week, driven down to Las Cruces for a day of shopping, and visited her friend in Phoenix together, and she had cooked more than a few meals for him at her house. They had never slept together, however, never even been all that intimate, enjoying only a short kiss at the saying of good-bye or a bit of hand-holding when they sat alone in the car or in the dark at a movie theater.

  When he had invited her the previous night—or more like just reported what was going to happen—she had agreed, and it had been the easiest thing she had done in a lot of years. It was as simple as going home with a family member or talking to a friend like Trina. When they arri
ved at his house, they had a cup of tea, sharing the piece of pie she had brought home from the diner, and then proceeded to get ready for bed as if it were the most natural thing for the two of them to do.

  Francine smiled as she recalled the night. She was glad they had stopped by her house before driving to the ranch and gotten her gown and robe, her toiletries, and a change of clothes for the next day. Bernie had gone inside the house with her, shining the flashlight wherever she had asked, never pushing her along or showing any signs of impatience. He had been the perfect gentleman, and it had been the same when later, in his bed, in the still of the dark night, they made love for the very first time.

  He was kind and gentle, asking her with every movement he made if she was okay, if he was hurting her. In the end, the act itself had not lasted more than fifteen or twenty minutes, but after it was over they had stayed under the covers, wrapped around each other, for more than an hour. It seemed that neither of them wanted to change position, somehow worried that if they moved just the slightest bit they would disturb the beauty of the moment they had just shared.

  Francine shook her head and was surprised to discover that there were tears in her eyes. She couldn’t believe how light she was, how wonderful she felt. She couldn’t believe that after so many years of living alone, so many years of being by herself, having finally accepted her status of old maid, that she could so easily and tenderly open her heart to another. She blew out a breath and slid her hands down the front of her robe, readying herself to get to work. She tightened the belt around her waist and tried to focus on the task of preparing breakfast.

  She opened the cabinet next to the refrigerator and found a large mixing bowl. She took it down, found a wooden spoon and measuring cups, and began to mix together the ingredients she knew by heart to make the coffee cake she had been making since she was in her teens.