Fire…is such an insatiable ravenous beast. The arsonist
felt his blood thundering through his veins as he watched
the growth of the beast below him. In the distance, he could
hear the sirens of the men who would destroy his beast. His
smile reflected his sickness as he waited their arrival.
CHAPTER ONE
"Son of a bitch…don’t you dare do
this to me now. Not here, damn it." Stephanie Bascum ordered
her vintage Mustang convertible as the car’s engine
stuttered and died; steam rolled out from under the hood.
She managed to guide the slowing car to the shoulder, well
off the highway before it came to a sickening stop. Pulling
out her cell phone to call her mom, she found no signal at
this point between two bluffs on highway 50. "Awww crap!"
Tears threatened, but she held them back. Viewing the
surrounding high desert, taking in the landmarks and
remembering how long she’d been driving; she figured
Riverview, Colorado was another five or six miles ahead and
Gunnison, Colorado about fifteen miles behind her current
location.
She listened to the stillness of the high
desert in mid-summer, as a few rogue tears slid down her
cheeks. Grabbing a tissue, she turned on the radio for
company, the soft country sounds of Blue Bayou wailed
softly. She let the music express her distress at this turn
of events. Music flowed over her; she could blame the song
for the tears. When the station broke for a commercial, she
blew her nose; feeling better for the short bout of
self-pity. Climbing out of the car, she marched around to
the front and cautiously lifted the hot hood for the
universal broken car signal. Billowing steam forced her to
jump back. Thankfully, it wasn’t smoke. With no motorists in
sight, she had few hopes of rescue. Unless she climbed one
of the surrounding hills, no tow truck would magically
appear. She could either fix it or hike into town, a
five-mile walk on a hot afternoon. When Willie began "On
the Road Again"… she sighed, "Yeah Willie, that’s exactly
where I am, on the side of the road." Jacking up the volume
of the song, she took a bottle of water from the backseat
cooler, sunscreen from the glove box, and then leaned with
her butt against her car, looking out over the serene
landscape. Far above, a lone vulture played in the thermals,
gliding and circling, looking for a meal.
Drizzling
sunscreen down her bare legs, she rubbed in the gooey cream,
managing to avoid the straps of her new sandals. She
continued to apply the white cream to her arms, the back of
her neck and the ample skin exposed by her V-neck tank top.
She finished with her shoulders and face. Summer sun was her
nemesis in the clear air of the high desert plateau she
called home. Only frequent applications of sunscreen kept
her from blistering.
Without the wind whipping
around her, she could feel every degree of the ninety-plus
temperature of the hot August afternoon. Sighing again, she
decided against using her drinking water to cool the engine.
She might need it if she ended up hiking. Damn, her day had
been going so well until this happened. Settling against the
side of the car, her back to the sun, she let her mind enjoy
the solitude and sounds of the desert while she waited for
the engine to cool. She loved her Mustang, could never
sell it, but its days of being her only car were numbered.
It was like an unfaithful man…not reliable in any situation.
Hearing an approaching vehicle, she stepped out to
flag down the motorist only to have a red Ford truck blow
past her without slowing. Okay, so chivalry is dead. Walking
back to the side of the car, she bent over at the waist and
stuck her head under the hood. With the steam expelled, it
had cooled enough to allow her to investigate the problem
farther. Leaning into the engine, she lifted her left leg,
extending herself farther across the motor, trying to see
what caused the problem. Wishing she had her contacts, she
squinted to see the hoses and wires.
Relaxing into
the drive, the arsonist’s thoughts spun on about making one
good sale today. Something to prove he was in Montrose,
working when the barn burned. He smiled and sped past a
broken-down Mustang.
CHAPTER TWO
Fifty
miles away and a half hour earlier:
Doyle Garrison
pointed his Blue Silverado pickup west on Highway 50. "We
should be there in another forty-five minutes or so." He
smiled over at Snatch, the golden lab mix he rescued from a
dumpster on this journey to a new life. The young dog
grinned back, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, before he
laid himself down on the passenger seat. Doyle knew the dog
didn’t understand, but it felt good to talk to someone, even
if only to this skinny pup. Smiling, Doyle turned his
attention back to driving.
"I’ll tell you one thing
Snatch, my friend. You ever take my burger again…you and me
will be having some loud words and you may end up walking
home." Laughing to himself as the dog eyed him without
raising his head. Doyle recalled the speed of his hamburger
disappearing down the throat of the animal before Doyle
realized it had been snatched.
A soft warm wetness
slurped his right pinkie. Doyle looked into the seemingly
understanding eyes of the animal. "Well, my friend. What
would you have done if you caught your wife and best friend
doing the nasty in your own bed? Probably ripped out his
throat, right?"
Snatch licked the hand again and lay
back down on the seat, never taking his eyes from his new
best friend.
Doyle smiled before gently knuckling
the dog’s soft head. "You smell so much better than
yesterday, but I hope you don’t have fleas." Hearing sirens,
Doyle saw emergency vehicles driving on a frontage road and
turning in at a dirt drive. Smoke billowed from a burning
building... "Wow, boy. A fire. Let’s hope no one was hurt."
When he noted the property looked abandoned, he wondered how
it started.
Driving up a long winding hill above a
reservoir, a beat-up red Ford pickup blew past him. "Damn
fool. This is a hill and a curve," Doyle snarled to himself,
"I guess the double yellow line is for everyone except him."
Doyle hit his brakes, moving over to let the truck back in
before the crest. The Ford never slowed, seeming to drive
even faster around the curve. Doyle exhaled the breath he’d
held while watching the stupid maneuver.
"Well, boy,
the only good thing about that idiot is the fact that he’s
going to be far enough ahead of us, we’ll be able to miss
the wreck." Doyle scratched the dog’s head and put his foot
back on the accelerator.
Shrugging, he relaxed; the
road curved to the left and a bridge crossed Morrow Point
Reservoir. The color of the water reflected the bright blue
of the wide-open sky. The surrounding landscape seemed to be
either highlands or high desert. Soon another high bridge
crossed over a canyon containing a large creek that emptied
into the reservoir. Wow. Good thing he had a stable stomach
and no fear of heights. As scenic as this highway was, he
felt no sense of loss when he saw the road curve away from
the water.
Topping a grade, he noticed a car at the
bottom with its hood up. Automatically, his boot came off
the gas pedal and he let the truck slow naturally before
pulling behind the vintage Mustang. His eyes homed in on the
long legs and well-rounded ass visible from under the hood.
Admiring the view, he grinned like a kid discovering Santa.
"Wow Snatch. Nice scenery around here, maybe she has a girl
dog, too."
When the truck door opened, Snatch jumped
out over Doyle before he could get out. He watched first in
amusement, and then in horror as the dog charged up and
stuck his cold, wet nose between those shapely tanned
thighs.
"Snatch! No. Bad dog. Come!" Doyle shouted,
trying his best not to burst out laughing at this turn of
events.
The woman jumped at the touch of the cold
nose, hit her head on the underside of the hood, stepped
backward only to lose her balance. Doyle leaped forward and
managed to catch her before she hit the ground, but watched
her ankle twist. Ouch…that was going to hurt.
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