In the Shadow of the Greystone Ranch

By M. Susan Thuillard and Afton Corbett

In the Shadow of the Greystone Ranch.

Sara Peters wasnt satisfied with the rather mysterious death of her husband. Especially after his journal appeared in her mailbox. She set out on her own to prove a theory posed in the book, and now she too, was missing. Her son Jamie, slumped back into his chair, but his friend Alex became excited. Help from the outside, JP, he said. Now well get somewhere. They got my letters and are acting. I love it! He punched the air for emphasis.

Yeah, mumbled Jamie. But, wheres Mom? None of this is any good if shes dead, too. He paused, his agony turning to anger. And wheres that stupid cowboy?

The northwest is teeming with danger and excitement as the mountain valley and all its inhabitants come under the shadow of the Greystone Ranch. Youll be riveted to your seat as the story of love and murder unfolds in one of the most beautiful spots on the planet. How can Sara and her son survive the sinister shadow that envelopes them all?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 2, 2009
• ISBN: 9781467055345

M. Susan Thuillard

M. Susan Thuillard is a native to Indiana. Although she has lived in many parts of the nation, home is where she was born and raised. Susan has 9 children and over 30 grandchildren. She is most interested in golf, fishing, hunting, gardening, and good family-centered values. From a variety of experiences all over the North American Continent, Susan has gathered information and impressions that have become important details in her many books.

Book preview

In the Shadow of

the Greystone

Ranch

M. Susan Thuillard

Cover Illustration by: Afton Corbett

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AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive, Suite 200

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2009 M. Susan Thuillard. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 3/30/2009

ISBN: 978-1-4389-5605-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4670-5534-5 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

Contents

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

XV

Once upon a time, on a ranch away out west...

I

To Begin

The early afternoon sun bathed the hillsides with bright light, illuminating every twig and branch of the aspens and conifers, swaying slightly in a gentle breeze. Shimmering heat waves arose from the long expanse of the single runway before the secluded mountain airport. The roof tops of the hangars dully reflected the suns rays in browns and reds. A solitary light plane came into view, hanging in the air as though suspended by an invisible thread reaching out from the long, wispy clouds.

Sara watched the white Cessna land at the small, municipal airport where she waited. She heaved a sigh as she turned away from the window to retrieve her jacket off the row of black leather and chrome chairs. This is it, she breathed. The adventure has finally started. Or, she mused. The story is coming to a conclusion. She felt the weight of being alone as sorrow swept over her and thoughts of her husband, dead these past two years, swirled in her mind. Warren was the adventurer, the one who traveled and...She shook her head to rid her mind of any morbid thoughts as she absently pushed her short brown hair behind her ears. Warren’s gone now, she thought as she lunged her way through the glass doors and waved at Dave Auhlman who was striding toward her pile of luggage on the tarmac.

Sara! He called, waving at her. Hello!

She waved again hurrying to help him carry her stuff to the airplane. You got a new plane, she noted. It’s a nice one.

Yeah. He looked up and patted the plane affectionately. Then he went back to stowing her gear. Finally, he turned to face her. You look great, Sara. How are you doing? He seemed genuinely concerned.

Sara looked into his mild blue eyes for a moment. A stray lock of his blond hair fell over his forehead causing years of memories flooding into her mind. She could still see the young boy from the years when he and Warren had been friends, all through their college years. That stray lock of hair always made women want to reach out and push it back for him, like they would on a little boy.

Dave and Warren did everything together, she remembered; hunted, fished, played soccer and golf. They were an unlikely pair. Warren was tall and wiry, his wavy brown hair was always unruly while Dave’s blond hair lay neatly combed, except for that one stray lock which frequently dropped across his brow. Warren’s eyes were dark and intense, but Dave’s light blue ones always seemed full of mischief. Dave wasn’t short at 6’1 and his shoulders were broad, narrowing to a trim waist. Warren was 6’4 with a slimness which made him seem too thin, but he was as tough as any of them, having grown up on a ranch and pitched a lot of hay bales.

And Larry, Larry Huston was another friend in the group. He was endowed with freckles accentuated by sea-green eyes and dark auburn hair. He was muscular, somewhere around 6’1 or 6’2, about the same as Joseph Gleggson, the quiet brunette, dark-eyed book worm who completed the quartet of friends. It now seemed so very long ago, indeed. All of the guys were very different, but complimented each other somehow.

In more recent years, Dave had supported Warren’s passion for nature studies just as Warren thrilled at each successful business venture of Dave’s. Eventually, three of the four bought the ranch together. What had happened? Sara forced a smile and touched Dave’s hand lightly. I’m okay. Are we ready?

Hop in, he said. He closed the door behind her, walked slowly around the plane doing his last minute inspections, then got into the pilot’s seat. He checked her seat belt, his hand lingering on her arm. Old habit, he winked, flashing his disarming smile, showing even, white teeth. He was a very attractive man, blond, with a Grecian god profile and those light blue eyes.

Sara shivered involuntarily as she rubbed her arm where he’d touched her. She looked out her window while he made preparations with the tower to leave. As the ground fell away below them, she fought to control tears. She knew she meant nothing to Dave. He played games with everyone. She reminded herself that he could NEVER be trusted. I wonder what really happened the day Warren died, she thought. I wonder if I will ever truly know.

She pushed her hair back and watched the landscape inch along below them. She thought of her son, Jamie, and wished he weren’t so far away. His photography career took him all over the world. She hoped he’d gotten her message. They had planned to investigate Warren’s death together, but while Jamie was somewhere in Africa she’d gotten an answer to her resume for the job as tour guide at the Greystone Ranch. It seemed like a perfect opportunity. Jamie had agreed with her about taking the guiding job when she’d applied to the initial advertisement, but he didn’t want her there on the ranch alone.

On the ranch again, she thought now, rather wistfully. As the months after Warren’s death rolled on, she knew the ranch was where she really wanted to be. She knew she’d been a fool to ever leave. It was a childish maneuver to get her own way. Now, back at the ranch she would have to be careful. After all, Warren had died.....

********

Dave Auhlman was watching his companion and thinking, as well. Why is she here? He wondered. Of course, she’d answered his newspaper ad to be a tour guide, that was one reason. And, she’d be good at it, he knew. She knew the ranch, its history; in that way she was perfect. But why come back? She’d left her husband two years ago, pursuing her own very successful advertising career. Why come back here now, and as an employee? She didn’t need to do that. He looked at her once again. She also has a legal claim, he reminded himself, painfully. Her husband, Warren Peters, had been a partner in the ranch business. At his death, Sara was now Dave’s new partner. Panic threatened to surface for a few seconds. His hands gripped the wheel and his eyes narrowed as his knuckles turned white with the pressure. What does she know? What new trouble is brewing here? The ranch would never stand for more interference, especially from a woman! He forced himself to relax. He was probably blowing everything out of proportion. He’d hired her because she was good and when the summer was over she’d be gone. Still, he would have to be very, very careful. After all, Warren had died.......

********

Dave made a long, sweeping approach over the ranch valley, first buzzing low over the main ranch yard where the many buildings nestled comfortably together, then up the green-brown hill to the airstrip. There she is! He announced with obvious pride.

Sara nodded and smiled. Oh, Warren, she breathed. I’m home. I’m home at last. The roof of the barn gleamed like a diamond surrounded by colorful fields and lines of fences in the long, sweeping valley. Yes, I’m home at long last, she repeated.

They landed on the dirt runway and taxied to the graveled parking area. There, they loaded her luggage and a few groceries into an ancient, open army jeep, and bounced their way down to the main ranch yard, below. Some things never change! She yelled over the noisy engine. She was hanging on tightly, but still bouncing all over the seat.

Guess I’ll have to get someone to fix the road again! He yelled back.

Sara laughed. Why? Has it ever been anything but like this?

Dave pulled to a stop amid a cloud of dust, in front of the ranch office. As he climbed out, he said, I’ll get a key to the Creek House.

The Creek House? She asked in confusion. But, I thought...Won’t I be living in my house? I still have my keys to the Blue Springs House.

Dave shook his head and stroked his chin. I’ve, uh, rented that out. I didn’t know you’d ever be back... His voice trailed off as he turned and hurried into the office.

Dumbfounded, she watched him go. Her house was rented. Someone else was using her kitchen. Everything went away with Warren, she thought. A single tear coursed down her cheek, leaving a line in the dust that had settled on her cheeks as well as over everything else. Stupid! Stupid! She mouthed heatedly to herself, shaking her head, then mumbling in anger. Why, oh why, did you leave? She battled the old war again, then slowly became aware of her surroundings. She looked at the once familiar buildings and corrals where only a few things seemed to have changed. One of the stock barns had burned down just before Warren died. There was now a new, more elaborate one. The cook house looked newly painted, the happy focal point of the ranch yards in it’s red and white splendor. She absently watched some children running along the irrigation ditch, dragging a long stick for a puppy to chase and she smiled. I’ve got to quit being so gloomy. It’s all going to be okay. She got out of the jeep to shake off the dust and stretched her taut muscles. I need to relax, she said quietly. Glancing at the office, she picked her small backpack out of the back of the jeep and started walking toward the Creek House. It was only about a mile, Dave could catch up with her. As she passed the big, red stock barn, she paused to look at the horses in the corral. She patted the nose of a spotted red roan near the fence, then she walked down the dusty road, pushing her hair back from her face. A wistful smile replaced the frown she’d adopted earlier. The mountains and trees surrounding the valley where the ranch sat were beautiful, she was home, and it was a good time for a walk.

There were only a couple of milk cows in the ranch pastures at this time of year. All the beef cattle were making their way up to the high mountain pastures, slowly driven by a crew of cowboys. Sara looked appreciatively at the sun shining over The Mesa, a high, flat-topped hill at the back of the field before her. With hands shading her eyes, she could barely make out the brush-choked line of the irrigation ditch running along the base of the hill. The ditch immediately before her wound along beside the tree-lined road, the sound of the rushing water making music in her ears. Her feet slowed as she approached the road leading to the ranch lakes and Blue Springs. Her heart ached as she thought of her home only five miles away. She’d go up there sometime this summer, she determined. But, not yet, no, not yet. I couldn’t stand seeing someone else in my house, she muttered. Also, she didn’t want to bother anyone who might be living there and, now that it came right down to it, she felt a reticence to confront old ghosts and memories. She and Warren and Jamie had lived there, and now she was alone. There’s time, she breathed. There’s time to face it all.

The droning sound of the jeep speeding along the road interrupted her thoughts. She turned around and watched it bump over the cattle guard, then approach her in the customary dust cloud. To her surprise and delight, it wasn’t Dave driving, but Wesley Ray, one of the old-time, native ranch hands. Wes was probably around 50 years old, but it was hard to tell. His brown, weathered face was ageless beneath his battered, nondescript western hat. Any wrinkles disappeared behind his thin mustache when he smiled, and that was most of the time. She gladly tossed her pack into the jeep and climbed in for the short drive to Creek House.

It wasn’t really a house, but a small log cabin, set against the hillside close to Greystone Creek. It had a living room, kitchen, bath and den downstairs, and a spacious bedroom-loft with a walk-in closet upstairs. It was homey and comfortably furnished. A large rock fireplace dominated one wall of the livingroom.

The Boss is sure mad! Wesley laughed as they slid to a halt in front of the cabin.

Why? Sara asked.

Didn’t know where you went to, he laughed again.

She touched his weathered arm lightly. It’s good to be home, she confided as she got out and began unloading luggage. Wesley helped her open up the cabin and set her things inside.

Welcome home, Miss Sara, he said shyly. The Boss wants you to come up to the Big House for supper. He pointed out the window at the sprawling log home on the hill overlooking the main ranch yard. He then handed her the key to the jeep, and one to the cabin, and trotted off down the driveway. She stood in the doorway and watched him jump lightly over a fence, then run easily across the field. She wondered how old he was. He seemed as old as the ranch, yet as young as a yearling calf. His long, lanky frame finally disappeared behind the base of The Mesa as he ran.

The Big House, Sara muttered with a frown. Hm-m-m-m. She looked at the monolith brooding on its hilltop perch, a mile away. Dave built the million dollar log house above the ranch where he could watch everything going on. The house was a constant reminder that he was watching, always watching. A shiver passed over her. Shaking her head, she went into the cabin. She put her meager belongings away and had a quick shower before dinner.

It turned out to be a pleasant meal with Dave, his wife, Bonnie, their two teenaged daughters and two pre-teen sons. They talked about ranch routine and set up a tentative routes for Sara’s guiding venture. She was back at the Creek House and in bed early where she slept peacefully through the quiet night.

********

A routine had begun. Sara arose early each morning to jog before having a quick breakfast. Then, she spent some time with Ron Pearson, the ranch Recreations Manager, going over plans for guided tours. They poured over maps as Sara began to remember old trails and sites tourists might enjoy. They collaborated on four specific tours to best show off the ranch’s vast acreage and accommodate the touring public.

These are great, Sara, commented Ron. At last I feel like someone is really going to help get this program of tours off the ground. We’ve had a few guides, but no one put this much effort into developing tours.

Not everyone is acquainted with all the old trails.

True, he nodded in agreement. I’ll run these by Dave and get his approval, but I think he’ll be fine with them. He’s already told me you’ll be perfect for the job. Ron looked at her quizzically.

It’s nice to know he thinks so highly of me. She said lamely. What’s the problem here? She wondered to herself. He and I talked about them last night, so I think you’ll have approval without a problem. She said. You know, Warren and I spent a lot of time out in the pastures and mountains getting to know this ranch like most people know their home towns. Sara didn’t know what else to say. She wasn’t sure why she felt that Ron didn’t trust her. She wondered what Dave had really said. Of course! She thought. I don’t trust him, they don’t trust him. They probably think I’ve come here to work with him, not on my own mission. I’ll have to work hard to earn everyone’s trust.

Sara tried out several horses, finally settling on two for herself and a remuda of ten others to choose from for upcoming tours. These horses would stay at the main ranch where they wouldn’t be accessible to the cowhands. All the preparation was exciting and fun, validating her decision to use this ruse for her investigations. During the day she could almost forget why she was really back on the ranch, and she was ready to work. All she needed now were people to guide.

Everyday, Sara ate lunch at the big cook house that dominated the main ranch yard. The ranch hands and cowboys ate there, too. It was fun to take part in the light-hearted bantering, and she was able to keep abreast of what was happening in the fields and pastures. She learned where the cattle were and what the cowboys were doing, and where she could find the wild horse herds and other wildlife.

Dinners were usually held at the Big House with Dave and his family. She began noticing little things that led her to believe that family life in their home was strained. Bonnie seemed to be overly cheerful some nights and withdrawn on others. Bonnie’s afraid of him, too. Sara told herself. She watched the children more closely after that revelation. They jumped whenever their father moved suddenly. They answered quickly when spoken to, eyeing their father to get his approval. If he frowned in the least, they changed their story or became silent. It was a thing to remember. Everyone in this house walks on eggs around Dave.

Whatever happened to Fred Martin? She asked boldly at dinner one night, about two weeks after she’d arrived.

Dave stopped eating, his fork suspended in mid air. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered it. He wiped his mouth on a napkin, looking at Sara all the while. Then he asked softly. Why?

I was just thinking about what an old character he was, she lied easily. He used to BE the Greystone Ranch. Remember all the stories he used to tell? She looked innocently at Dave and his family around the table, noting that they were all staring at her. She was the only one still eating.

Then you must remember that he died just after we bought the ranch. Dave forced a smile at her as he resumed eating and urged his family to do the same with a wave of his fork. They all looked carefully at him for a moment, then began eating again, too.

It was just before or at the time of the purchase, she reflected to herself. I know, she said. I just can’t remember how he died. She finished, brightly, waving her fork as she talked.

Dave looked at her as he thoughtfully sat back in his chair. He carefully folded his napkin and laid it on the table. The family sat rigidly, alternately staring at him and at their unfinished meals. Then, like robots, they too prepared to leave the table by placing napkins and flatware beside their plates. Sara kept eating, seemingly oblivious to the apprehension around her. But, the tension in the air was palpable and Sara’s heart was racing. This is it. She thought trying to swallow one more bite. I’ve stepped right into the middle of something.

He was old, Dave said calmly, too calmly. Old people die.

Sara looked up as though considering his answer. Hm-m-m, she said, smiling at him as she chewed. She nodded her head. That’s true enough, I guess. She chuckled lightly. He was an old character though, wasn’t he? She looked around at the family, praying inwardly that her act was fooling all of them.

I didn’t know you even knew him that well, Dave commented, drinking the last of his coffee.

Really? She asked. Warren and I made a few trips out here before he left, you know.

Dave watched her as she drank her water and laid her napkin on the table. His family tentatively began to talk to Sara again when it seemed that her conversation with Dave had ended. Bonnie watched her husband, something unreadable in her face. When she looked back at Sara, the profound sadness, and a little fear, in her eyes made Sara want to cry. Dave excused himself from the table soon afterward, and went to check on the ranch. Patrolling was a nightly ritual for him. He always made sure gates were fastened and doors were locked.

Sara enjoyed small talk with Bonnie and the children while they cleaned up the supper dishes. The girls were excited about an upcoming shopping trip and vacation. They were all very animated with their father gone, the boys playing noisily and the girls chattering to her and with one another.

The women retired to the livingroom to wait for Dave’s return and the kids went downstairs to watch a movie or play a video game. Sara looked at a rather curious collection of items above the fireplace. It looks like a junk yard, she thought. There was an old cane hanging on the rock chimney, a taillight lens and turn signal lens from a vehicle to one side of the mantle, a partially finished, beaded leather bracelet hanging just beneath the cane, an altimeter from a plane laying to the left of the car parts, and an old piece of frayed rope, coiled and draped on hooks in the middle of the chimney below the cane and bracelet. What’s all this stuff? She asked.

Bonnie quietly walked up beside her. I’m not sure, Sara. She said slowly. It’s a collection of Dave’s. He’s had it for a few years now and doesn’t want anyone, not even me, to touch it. It’s all collecting dust, but that’s how he wants it.

Sara looked thoughtfully at the woman beside her. She carefully replaced the bracelet she had been holding, as a chill swept over her. She looked once more at the oddments, noting there wasn’t any dust on the cane. She frowned, trying to make sense of such a collection. I have a bracelet much like that one, she indicated the bracelet on the mantle. Patty used to make them all the time. I think everyone probably has one. She smiled at Bonnie, but the sad woman didn’t acknowledge her, just kept staring at the bracelet. That is, I think everybody has a finished one. There was still no reaction from Bonnie. Sara affected a yawn. I think I’ll go on back to the cabin, she said. Tell Dave good night for me, will you?

Mechanically it seemed to Sara, Bonnie saw her to the door. She was still standing there, watching after Sara, as Sara drove away. ‘There’s a profound sadness and fear in that house’, she was later to write in her secret journal.

During the night, while alone in her cabin, Sara read once again the entries Warren had made in his old journal, which she carried with her. She slowly turned from page to page until she came to the last one where a paper had been taped to the inner fly leaf. One by one, she read over the questions:

1. Where is the money going?

2. What is Linc Johnson’s real job?

3. What’s going on with Larry?

4. How did Fred Martin die?!!

Sara wondered again what Warren knew and how many of his questions he’d found answers to before he died. The final entry on the page made her weep, as usual.

5. How can I protect Sally?

She remembered when he’d first called her Sally, on their honeymoon, and how it had become his private, pet name for her. In jest, she’d begun calling him Wally. Then, that too, had become a special, private name. Why did he need to protect me? She mused. What evil thing had been happening here on the Greystone? What could Linc Johnson, the old cow boss, have had to do with any of it? And Larry, what was it about Larry? She put her head back, looking up at the beamed ceiling. Larry had been the ranch attorney and long-time friend of both Warren and Dave. He didn’t come out to the ranch often. Where’s Larry now? She sighed and pushed away from her desk. Well, that’s all a part of why I’m here. She said with conviction. The answers to Warren’s questions are all here on the ranch, and I mean to know. She wandered out onto the porch and breathed deep into the warm night air. She stretched, then hugged her arms to herself. I’m home now. How I’ve missed this place!

A noise along the road caught her attention. She could hear someone walking, and she could just barely make out a figure in the darkness, near the end of her driveway. She stood very still, leaning against the building in the shadow of the porch. Slowly the man, she was sure now that it was a man, moved toward her. When he was within a few feet, she spoke quietly. Looking for something?

The man stopped and Sara waited. You bin gone a long time.

She heard him spit and it made her smile. It was an old, gravelly voice she would never forget. Although she couldn’t see him well in the dim light, she could recall perfectly his brown, wrinkled face and toothless grin. He was a true Native American, short and stocky, his hands gnarled with hard work and age. He’d been old as long as she could remember. Too long, Joe. She said softly.

You home?

I hope so. Oh, I hope so! She said. And suddenly it was a conviction in her heart. The Greystone was home, with or without Warren.

You be moving up to Blue Springs?

Dave says he rented it.

Um-m-m, he answered. He turned to leave, then paused. There’s bin lots of death, Miss Sara. He said. Then he shuffled off into the night, back toward the ranch yard and his own little cabin.

Old Joe was an institution on the ranch. He’d been born here, and obviously he would someday die here as well. She strained to see him trudging along the road. He stopped to climb laboriously over the fence into the pasture where he walked slowly away. She marveled at his resilience. It was a two mile hike for him to deliver that simple message.