The Curse of Dead Horse Canyon: Cheyenne Spirits

When you were born, you cried and the world rejoiced. Live your life so that when you die, the world cries and you rejoice.

—Cherokee saying

  5. Intentions

BELTON REGIONAL MEDICAL CENTER

May 4, Friday

1:23 p.m.

SARA LIFTED HER FACE TO the sun as her favorite nurse wheeled her outside. After spending over three weeks in the hospital the mountain air smelled fabulous. The woman helped her into her father's Mercedes and wished her well, blowing her a kiss as she closed the door.

Sara adjusted the seat, grateful she could do so on the door panel, and reclined enough not to cramp her middle. Not much could be done about the headrest bumping the cervical collar.

Will reached over and patted her hand. "All set?"

"Yes, Dad. Let's go."

The car eased out of the loading area, Connie following in Sara's Honda. A few turns later they were on the state highway heading north to Falcon Ridge. Familiar mountain terrain swept past, snow line receding with the onset of spring.

The last time she was on that road was in an ambulance.

"You doing okay, Sara?"

She closed her eyes, energy already spent. "I guess."

"I still don't understand why you insist on being out here. You need to stay with us. At least until you're fully recovered."

She ground her teeth.

Not this again.

"I know, Dad. I appreciate it. But this is where I need to be."

The past few days they pleaded with her, over and over, to recuperate at their place. One thing he couldn't argue was the need to scatter Bryan's ashes, which reposed in a container in the back seat. Her desire to surround herself with pine-scented air and good memories was likewise hard to dispute, though neither he nor Connie seemed convinced the quiet serenity would be better therapy than their doting care.

How could it be when Bryan's heart and soul resided out there? In more ways than she could count, the cabin was Bryan. His plea and accident aside, as a grieving widow why would she want to be anywhere else? Besides the time they enjoyed as a couple, he'd spent nearly all his summers there as a youth. Eventually he inherited the property with its ancient miner's cabin from his grandfather.

That building was old and primitive, but held so many memories his eyes teared up when she asked if he intended to tear it down. Over the years he enclosed it within a spacious modified A-frame with exposed wood inside and a central rock fireplace, preserving the original structure as a cozy guest room.

Their bedroom comprised a loft with a panoramic view of the surrounding Rockies. His last improvement to encircled it all with a deck, where they spent as much time as inside. A well provided running water and solar panels, electricity. It was rustic and off the grid, yet equipped with modern conveniences, the best of both worlds.

When she felt better, she could enjoy hiking and photography. What could be better therapy than that? She'd be on short-term disability for a month or so, after which she had to return to her job. With luck, that would be long enough for her memory to return.

Until it did, how could she keep anyone from "getting away with it," whatever it was?

She hadn't shared his last request with her father, much less her dead husband's multiple appearances at her bedside. No telling how Connie would react, but she knew exactly how he would. Mentioning anything outside the realm of cold, hard, verifiable facts would tell him she had brain damage, for sure.

Furthermore, whenever she lamented her memory loss he insisted she concentrate on getting well. He was downright adamant that some things were best left alone.

Was it possible the accident was unintended and Bryan was just being vengeful?

No.

That wasn't like him at all.

"I mailed the insurance claim yesterday," Will stated, interrupting her reverie. "They said you should have a certified check within two weeks. Were you aware it had an accidental death clause?"

"It did? No. I had no idea."

"He added it about six weeks ago. So you don't know how much is coming, do you?

"No. Doesn't matter. I don't care. I'm fine. My job pays enough for me to keep the condo and the cabin, which is paid for. We weren't spendthrifts, Dad. We wanted to retire by the time we were fifty, if we'd saved enough."

His quiet chuckle prompted her to study his face. His eyes were fixed on the road, but he was definitely smiling. No—grinning. Like when she was a kid and he brought her a surprise.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

"It's a good thing you're sitting down, Sara. You'll be able to retire quite awhile before that. Bryan's policy was worth over three-million dollars."

He burst out laughing at her startled response—until she started choking and grabbed her side, crying out with pain. Once composed, she stared at him, eyes wide. "Did you say three-million dollars?"

"Yup. As I recall, three-million, two-hundred-fifteen thousand, four-hundred-eighty dollars, and thirty-two cents."

"Wow." She exhaled sharply. "I had no idea. None."

"You're now a wealthy woman. I'll be happy to help you invest it. Or recommend an advisor, if you prefer."

She stared out the windshield while three-million dollars reverberated through her brain.

Her eyes teared up—that was their financial goal for when they'd retire.