"Did you inform Mr. Lynch?"
"No. It's not unusual to find logging on private property, although whoever did the cutting sure chewed up the area."
"Have you done other appraisals in the valley recently?"
"Three, as a matter of fact. The Horse Canyon Ranch owner bought some parcels contiguous to her property. Each was about three hundred acres."
"Was there any woodcutting on those parcels?"
"Nope."
"Are Mondragon, Kemp, and Nelson here?"
"They should be in the back room."
"Do you mind if I speak with them?"
"Not at all."
Brief conversations with Preston's employees resulted in no additional information about the crimes. As a matter of personal interest, Kerney asked to see the surveys of the parcels bought by Alicia Bingham, the Horse Canyon Ranch owner. Except for the Boaz cabin property and the National Forest land on the west boundary, his ten sections were surrounded by Bingham's holdings.
Already late for this dinner date with Sara, Kerney thanked the men for their assistance and drove home in a hurry. He entered the house and stared at Shoe in disbelief.
The dog was almost unrecognizable. His hindquarters had been clipped, his belly shaved, his paws and legs trimmed, and his coat glistened.
Only the sneaker in his mouth identified him.
The door to the bedroom was closed and Sara was nowhere in sight.
"What did you do to my dog?" Kerney called out.
"He got a shampoo, a cut, and a pedicure," Sara said, stepping out of the bedroom.
"He's a handsome brute, isn't he?"
Kerney found it hard to answer. Sara wore a long brown dress that covered her from ankle to neck and revealed every curve of her body.
"Both of you look fantastic."
"I'm glad you noticed. Change your clothes, Kerney, and take me to dinner. I'm hungry."
The Canyon Road restaurant was in a low adobe building tucked behind some expensive condos. The maitre d' met them at the door in a finely tailored suit, greeted them in a Swiss German accent, and led them through the small antechamber into the dining area. The interior was painted an austere white, and a few understated weavings on the wall were accented by recessed lights. The tablecloths were linen, the glassware was crystal, and the place settings were silver. The customers were nicely dressed and the hum conversation in the room was muted and subdued.
The maitre d' took them through the front dining area to a smaller, more intimate room. He seated Sara and Kerney at a corner table near a fireplace while a waiter dressed in a crisp white server's jacket and black slacks stood nearby.
Kerney wore a raw silk oatmeal-colored sport coat, a charcoal linen shirt buttoned at the collar, dark gray wool dress slacks, and a pair of black alligator cowboy boots. He looked distinguished and handsome.
Two women dining at a nearby table gave Kerney the once over. Sara smiled sweetly at them until they turned away.
"Did you catch any bad guys today?" Sara asked, as the busboy poured water and the waiter stood by with the wine list.
"Not a one."
"When do I get to see your ranch?"
"It's hardly a ranch, at this point," Kerney said.
"And I can't see how I'm going to keep it."
"Taxes?"
Kerney nodded. The waiter discreetly interrupted with the wine list and asked for a drink order.
After the waiter left with the order, Kerney filled Sara in on the money he'd have to pay in taxes, and how Erma's instructions to give him the land free and dear hadn't been executed before her death.
"How sad," Sara said.
"But I'm sure Erma had no intention of dying."
"No, she was enjoying life too much. I guess I just have to accept the fact that it's the thought that counts."
"Does it?" Sara asked.
"Somewhat."
"My parents have been selling sections of the ranch to my brother and me so we can avoid the heavy inheritance tax, plus giving us the maximum tax-free gift each year in land. We'll be half owners within the next five years."
Kerney had visited the Montana sheep ranch with Sara. It covered a hundred thousand acres that encompassed three lush valleys and some beautiful high country "Do you plan to return to the ranch after you retire from the army?"
"To visit, not to live. I'll let my brother and his wife buy me out as they can. They're the ones putting the blood, sweat, and tears into it."
"When will you retire?"
"I'm thinking in about ten more years. I like my career, but it's hell on any kind of personal life. I'll be forty-two if I retire with twenty years of service.
If I stayed in any longer I'd just hit the glass ceiling.
There's only a handful of women in the army who wear stars."
"You could be one of them."
"That would be nice."
"You're only two ranks away from brigadier general."
"Those are two very long steps. After lieutenant colonel, very few officers make the cut."