Page 45 of Long Pig

They deposited their coffee cups in the sink and slipped into hiking boots.

“The dogs need to stay here. If there are tracks, they will distort them.”

The dogs were excited because they’d put their boots on. They knew what it meant, or at least thought they did.

“Sorry guys, I’ll take you for a hike later,” Willow promised them.

Dale gave both dogs a treat and closed the door to keep them inside. It was about five hundred yards to the road with an upward grade. Small rocks ground under their boots as they climbed up boulders and walked around shaggy bark trees. Near the road, there were large bushes and shrubs.

Willow stood back and watched Dale work.

“It hasn’t rained in about three weeks,” he said. “There are several distinct sets of tire tracks.” He crossed the opposite side of the road and then walked back. “These are boot tracksthat someone smudged a branch across to hide them,” he said, and followed them to a shaggy bark tree surrounded by shrubs. He went to one knee and examined the ground.

Willow moved closer but stayed far enough away not to interfere.

Dale stood and looked toward the house and then off into the distance. “From here, he can see the house, barn, and a quarter of the property. With binoculars he can see even more.” Dale proceeded to do a larger sweep of the area. “He’s smart and doesn’t leave signs of garbage such as an empty water bottle. It’s more concerning that he tried to cover the tracks.”

“Who do you think it is?” she asked.

“Someone a little too interested in our business.” He took a moment before he continued. “When you’re hiking, I’ll poke around up here to see if I run into anyone.”

“Could it be Deputy Wallard?”

“My mind went there too. If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll stay far away. That said, I haven’t noticed too many smarts circling his brain.”

Even with the shadow of being watched by someone, Dale’s words made her grin.

His expression turned serious. “The ranch is filled with people escaping everything from child support to government oversight. It’s hard living out here, but it’s also a place where illegal activity can go mostly unnoticed. The Hoggs with their drugs and dog fighting ring were a good example of that. When you get a strange feeling, especially more than once, bring it to my attention.”

“I should have,” she offered. “I’m trying to be independent and not rely on you as much, but I should have told you about it.”

“Is that feeling increasing the nightmares?” he asked carefully.

“It’s a combination. The creepy sense of someone watching put me on edge. The incident in the barn took me over.”

He nodded and looked around. “If you’re taking the dogs hiking, I’ll stick around up here,” he said when he met her eyes again.

“Be careful.”

He patted his hip where his gun rested. “I always am.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Warden of Quiet Graves

Butch

He eased his finger along the trigger, the crosshairs gliding with each shift of movement. Butch smiled when he had realized what the deputy was up to. It would be important to keep a close watch on Willow and her property now.

His finger slid off the trigger. This wasn’t the right time to kill. The biggest problem he had with Willow was that she cropped into his thinking more and more. Butch had never felt attracted to anyone. He wasn’t sure if what he felt for Willow was attraction. He did know it was something. For now, the deputy caused more of a problem. Killing him had to be handled delicately. Cops protected their own and took an officer’s death to heart. Everyone on the ranch would be suspect, and he didn’t want the sheriff’s department at his door.

An antsy feeling followed Butch throughout the day. Trips to his burial ground calmed him, and he hadn’t gone since Willow and the deputy spotted him. He decided to go early thefollowing day. He had a run to Vegas coming up, and the hike would do him good.

When the sun was barely over the horizon, he stuffed his large backpack with four, five-pound weighted bags. It was four miles to the burial site, and even when he had no bones to carry, he added weight to his pack for exercise.

As the years went by, Butch upgraded his truck and now drove a long-nose Pete. It had a better sleeper cab and was a more comfortable ride. He was able to purchase it new, and he felt pride in his accomplishments.

His kill plan evolved, too. The hunt became psychologically more important, and he gave his victims a chance. It was a very minute one, because Butch made sure the odds were always in his favor. He still liked to see their eyes when death settled in, but he’d noticed pain changed things. A knife slice, a broken bone, it didn’t matter; the hurt made their eyes come alive before they went dark. The torture, like with the pigs, was very short-lived, which he was proud of.