Death on the High Lonesome Read Free Page A

the passageway toward him. He saw the golden red hair catching the last of the sun outside. The figure stopped less than twenty feet from him and his heart skipped a beat. A name jumped from his past into his mouth.
    â€œRusty.”
    â€œNo, Virginia,” she answered. “I thought maybe we should talk.”
    â€œLet’s go up to the house.” He nodded in that direction, then stepped ahead of her.
    Virginia followed him wordlessly back down the walkway between the vacant stalls out into the corral. Before he could open the gate for her, she slipped effortlessly through the rails. He did the same. When he stood up on the other side, she was facing him. She was taller than he’d realized.
    The house, sitting on a knoll on the opposite side of the driveway, was catching the late-afternoon sun. The glare of reflected light on the facing windows made it seem larger than it was. The cottonwood, to the left of the kitchen entrance, defied the light, shading about a third of the porch that ran across the front of the house. Virgil instinctively stopped at the bootjack outside the door and slipped off his boots.
    â€œYou were well trained.” She then bent down to untie her sneakers. Virgil put out his hand.
    â€œNo, no,” he said. “That’s not necessary. It’s just force of habit for me. My boots aren’t even dirty. The barns are brand-new, just been built.”
    She stood up. “That’s not a bad habit.”
    â€œI should have brought you in the main door. I just hardly ever use it.”
    â€œDo you often talk to yourself?”
    â€œOh, I guess I do sometimes. Some of my best conversations, but I get kinda concerned when I start arguing with myself, especially when I lose the argument.” He half smiled.
    â€œYou should do that more often.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œSmile. It looks good on you.”
    He held open the door and she stepped inside.
    â€œNice. Comfortable.” She looked about the kitchen.
    Virgil saw only the dirty dishes piled in the sink. “I didn’t get to the dishes yet. I wasn’t expecting . . .” He didn’t finish. “Would you like something? A drink maybe? A glass of iced tea?”
    â€œIced tea would be great.” With her own half smile. “But if you don’t have any made a beer would be great, too.”
    Virgil took off his hat and put it on the counter, then he got two glasses and put them alongside. He reached into the fridge and brought out a nearly full pitcher of iced tea. He set it next to the glasses.
    â€œThe real deal,” she said when she saw actual lemons floating in the pitcher.
    â€œYeah, sometimes the old-fashioned way is best.” Virgil filled two glasses and handed one to Virginia. “Maybe you’d like to sit in the living room.”
    Before she could respond, he left the kitchen. She followed, glancing to her left at the stairs that led to the second floor. They crossed through the hall to the dining room, then through the arched opening that led from the dining room to the living room, which ran across the entire back of the house. A huge picture window centered on the rear wall looked out on a broad, grassy area. Clusters of wildflowers broke up the green. To the right, she could see the ever-running creek that twisted in back of the barns, making its way toward the road. It emptied into a substantial pond, alongside of which stood a white summerhouse with a trellised-rose entryway. The living room itself was sparsely furnished. A couple of leather chairs faced a stone fireplace. In front of the picture window was a long sofa covered in a fabric of light earth tones. On either side of the sofa were rustic end tables while on the floor was a vivid hooked rug. The only other pieces of furniture in the room were a trestle desk and chair on the half wall to the right of the entryway. Western prints hung on all the walls.
    â€œThis is really