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They drove north from headquarters, following the rough dirt road up Lizardfoot Canyon. As they bounced over the washboard surface, Sam told Tim about the article. His lips tightened slightly as she quoted the final line.
"'So many before her'? They must think I've got a record like Don Juan! Sam, I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do about those buzzards. Just try to ignore it."
"Don't insult buzzards that way; at least they wait till the meat's dead." Sam meant it as a joke, but it came out with too much heat. She wanted to ask him about what would happen in a few weeks when the filming was done, but she wasn't ready to look that far ahead. Sam felt as though she was floating down a river, heading right for the waterfall. She'd have to figure out something later on, but right now she wanted to enjoy floating. They drove on.
The road was rough but it was still a road, used regularly if not often. There weren't many cattle visible, which surprised Tim. "Where are they all, anyway?"
"Scattered," Sam replied. "They move around; that's why Dad uses the ultralight so much. One person flying that can cover more ground than a dozen on horseback. It makes it easier to run the ranch without a bunch of hands. I'll show you. Turn up this next road."
"Who comes out this way?" Tim asked, following her instructions and turning up a steep side road. The new road, more a rough track than a road, climbed the side of the canyon.
"It's all private, but sometimes the BLM people come out." He looked blank, and she added, "Bureau of Land Management. We only own a part of our land; we lease the rest from the government. Most ranches are like that." Sam pointed back towards the road they'd left, now some distance beneath them. "There's a gas line a little further down the main canyon; the gas company has its own road. Mainly, we use this road to haul cattle or salt blocks, fence posts, whatever. But we don't bother trying to keep it maintained."
The right front tire dropped into a bone-jarring hole as she spoke. She grabbed the dash as they bounced over it, and Tim's grip on the wheel tightened. "You're joking. This is a great road. Great like a cheese grater...." They hit another hole as Sam laughed, and the jolt almost made her bite her tongue.
The track leveled out short of the top and Sam had Tim stop. "Now, look down on the canyon floor," she directed. She pointed to small groups of cattle, scattered throughout the area they'd just come through. Tim sighted along her arm. There were dozens of animals. Some were in small washes, some hidden by a fold of land or a clump of mesquite. The canyon had good grazing, but only a few of the cattle could be seen from the road.
After a while, they got ready to drive on. "Over the top, or back the way we came?" Tim asked.
"We go back. There's a spot that's wide enough to turn around in about a half mile further up."
They reached the wide spot and Tim cautiously turned the vehicle. While tire tracks proved the place had been used for this purpose before, there wasn't much room for error; the ground fell away steeply a few inches beyond the road. Once he had reversed the Bronco, Tim killed the engine and unfastened his seat belt.
Tim set the emergency brake, then slid awkwardly across the floor console between the seats. "These things aren't designed for this," he muttered, as he bumped against the steering wheel. She couldn't help laughing at that, even as her breath grew short. She released her own seat belt and turned to him. His arms were waiting.
The kiss was gentle at first, then grew warmer as her pulse grew faster. Finally, after an unmeasured time, Tim moved his head back a few inches. His fingers combed her sun-bleached hair. "Your eyes are green today," he whispered. Sam's eyes were the shade of hazel that shifted color with the light and her mood.
"That means I'm happy," she said, smiling at him. His hand slipped down from her hair and gently touched her shoulder. Gentle or not, it was the sore one and she flinched. Tim snatched his hand back.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"It's fine." Sam wasn't ready for the magic to end. But it had for the time being. Tim slid back into the driver's seat. After a moment, Sam fastened her seat belt and Tim started the engine. Sam's painful shoulder was a souvenir of the accidents. The reminder destroyed the mood for both of them.
Tim started the engine and turned on the headlights as the sun dropped below the opposite wall of Lizardfoot Canyon. They were halfway down the track on a long steep grade, when they started picking up speed. Sam's grip on the dash handle tightened. There was a switchback ahead. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words died when she looked at Tim's set face. He pumped the brake pedal furiously, to no avail. His face white, he shouted, "No brakes!" just as they came, far too fast, to the first curve of the switchback.
Tim wrenched the wheel around, trying to follow the sharp curve, but it was impossible. They went over the edge, dropping down an almost vertical slope. Tim straightened the wheel quickly, to keep them from rolling. If they rolled, the roof would be crushed. The twisting road was only a couple dozen feet below them, but the vehicle had too much momentum. It slid down onto the road, and across, and back off the road, heading for the canyon floor.
Sam's teeth ached with the effort of not screaming, as Tim wrestled with the steering wheel. He wasn't wasting effort pumping the useless brakes. The emergency brake might work, but it could flip them. Once they started rolling, they'd be dead for sure. Her eyes shut involuntarily, as a thick-trunked scrub oak loomed before them in the dusk. She forced her eyes open. No matter what, she'd rather see what happened. They skidded to one side of the tree as Tim fought the wheel. There was a crunch as the rear left side of the Bronco side-swiped the tree.
Trees and brush whipped past. They hit one large rock with a clang that could be heard for miles. Sam stopped breathing as a high bounce nearly flipped them, but they landed back on their wheels with a heavy thud and continued down, skidding on the now- flattened tires, still upright.
The slope grew less steep as they approached the bottom. Finally, they slid sideways into another tree, this one a rock- solid mesquite. They bounced off it and skidded part way over a spur of rock. The Bronco came to rest at an angle, its right wheels off the ground over an additional drop.