“What’s our first order of business?” she asked, once they were settled in the SUV, their gear stowed in back.
“Let’s hit the nearest Sportsman’s Warehouse. There’s equipment I need, things you’ll be needing as well.”
“Sounds good.”
Abby pulled up Siri on her iPhone, and the female voice began giving them directions.
“Where’s Mateo?” Abby asked as the big SUV pulled out of the airport parking lot. “I thought he might be meeting us here.”
“He’s already out at the ranch.”
“Tell me about him,” Abby said.
Gage settled back in the driver’s seat. “We met while I was in Guatemala. A family named Castro hired me to find some heirlooms that had disappeared during the colonial period. One of the locals recommended Mateo as a guide. The man knows his way around the natural world like no one I’ve ever seen. Desert. Jungle. Doesn’t matter. It’s like he seamlessly just blends in.”
“Where does he live?”
“Mateo moves around, works wherever he’s needed. We’ve become friends over the years. If I call him, he comes.”
“What exactly does he do for you?”
“He runs the day-to-day operations of the expedition, works with the outfitter, helps him choose a campsite each night, then helps get the camp set up. He’s the most remarkable tracker I’ve ever seen, and he’s got an unbelievable ability to ferret out information from the locals.”
“So basically he takes care of whatever needs to be done.”
“That’s right. Anything that comes up, Mateo handles. You might say he watches my back.” Gage pulled into the parking lot of the big sporting goods store.
“You’ll need a rain slicker and some good above-the-ankle hiking boots,” he said. “Make sure you have a warm jacket, preferably a lightweight puffy style that takes up minimal space. The nights still get cold.”
She nodded. “I live in Denver. I have the jacket I need, and I’ve got a good pair of hiking boots. I do need a slicker, heavy socks, a couple of other things.”
Twenty minutes later, Gage smiled at the armload of purchases Abby hauled up to the counter. He helped her carry the shopping bags out to the car; then they headed for the ranch in the desert foothills near Lost Dutchman State Park.
The ranch was a little over ten miles out of town. Even in March, it was warm, the sky a pure cobalt blue above the arid desert landscape. Thorny mesquite trees and miles of greasewood pushed up through sandy soil. An array of saguaro cactus added interest to what should have been a monotonous vista but instead was strangely compelling.
Eventually, the road narrowed to a two-lane that swelled and dipped over the uneven land as it left civilization behind.
“I’ve only been to the desert once,” Abby said. “When I was in college, I went with some friends to the Grand Canyon. This part of Arizona is lower and drier. But in a different way, it’s beautiful.”
Exactly what Gage had been thinking. “It is. Beautiful but deadly.”
Abby flicked him a glance but made no reply.
Then, in the distance, there it was, rising like a medieval fortress from the flat, seemingly endless desert surrounding it.
“There it is!” Abby pointed excitedly, as if he didn’t notice the forbidding cliffs that rose hundreds of feet into the air, a monolith that captured the eye and refused to let go. “Superstition Mountain.”
Gage slowed the vehicle enough to give them each a chance to look. “Pretty amazing,” he said. “The photos don’t do it justice.”
“No,” Abby said softly.
They both fell silent as the SUV traveled farther down Apache Trail toward their destination. Gage spotted the tall wooden gate with the words CEDAR CANYON RANCH burned into the wood over the top.
As he pulled the SUV to a halt in front of a cluster of wooden buildings, cracked open the door, and got out, the older man he recognized from the Cedar Canyon website walked up to greet them.
“Walt Jenkins,” the man said, extending a weathered, darkly suntanned hand. “Welcome to the Cedar Canyon Ranch.” He was average height, early seventies. In a short-sleeved blue plaid western shirt, he was bone-thin, his arms long and sinewy.
“Gage Logan,” he said, accepting the handshake Walt offered.
Abby rounded the hood of the car to join them. She extended her hand. “Abby Holland. Nice to meet you.” She and Walt shook.
“This is my boy, Kyle,” Walt said proudly as his son walked up.
Kyle gave a friendly tug on the brim of his battered straw cowboy hat. “Welcome to the Cedar Canyon Ranch.” He was spare but not as thin as his dad, solidly muscled, suntanned, dressed in jeans and boots. With his dark hair and dark eyes, the guy was handsome, a few years younger than Gage, late twenties, with a wicked smile he turned on Abby that made Gage want to hit him.
Fortunately for all of them, Abby’s smile held a warm greeting but no invitation for anything more.
The muscles in Gage’s shoulders relaxed. Dammit. He wasn’t the jealous type, and even if he were, he had no claim on Abby.
“Your man, Mateo, is already here,” Walt said. “Cabin five, but he ain’t there now. Took off walking about an hour ago. Said he’d be back in time for supper.”
“I was looking forward to meeting him,” Abby said.
“Mateo has a way of disappearing, then suddenly reappearing out of nowhere,” Gage said. “It’s kind of spooky, but you get used to it.”
Walt just smiled. “Come on. I’ll show you where to stow your gear.” They crossed the open area in the middle of the compound to a row of small wood-frame cabins, each with a covered front porch. Beyond them was a weathered red barn and several corrals.
Walt opened the door to cabin number 1, while Kyle opened the door to cabin 2. Abby disappeared inside with Kyle, and Gage followed Walt into the living room of cabin 1.
“There’s a bigger place we rent to families,” Walt said, “but these others here are all alike. Each has a bedroom and bath, a little seating area in front of the wood-burning stove. Still cold enough at night—there’s some logs there if you feel like building a fire. Got a sink, and there’s a coffee maker next to it on the counter, one of them little fridges underneath.”
“It’s nice.” Gage had expected only the basics, but the cabin was surprisingly homey, with a love seat and chair in front of the stove and a patchwork quilt on the queen-sized bed. He tried not to let his thoughts stray in that direction, but for an instant, he imagined Abby lying naked in the middle of the bed in welcome, her glorious flame-colored hair spread over the pillow.
He shut down the image and turned back to his host.
“Supper’s at six,” Walt said. “You’ll meet my wife, Mae. She’s a durn good cook.”
Gage smiled. “Good food’s always appreciated.” He left to move the car, parked it in a spot in front of the cabin, then started unloading their gear. He was back inside when he looked up to see Abby standing in the open doorway.
“Come on in,” he said.
She walked inside and looked around. “Mine’s the same except for my quilt is red and yours is blue. I wonder if his wife made them.”