new house was built, and rented a storage unit so Sara could have the family treasures she’d inherited from her grandmother shipped to Santa Fe from her parents’ Montana sheep ranch.
Recently made a rich man by way of an unexpected bequest from a dear old family friend, Kerney had the money to spend. With Sara’s encouragement, he was slowly learning to enjoy his newfound financial freedom after living for so many years on a cop’s salary.
Behind a high wall, the adobe guest house had two bedrooms, two baths, a two-car garage, an expansive great room that served as a living and dining area, and an adjoining kitchen with high-end appliances. At three-thousand square feet, the house was the largest and most expensive place Kerney had ever lived in. It came with a tidy backyard tended by professional gardeners, and a shady portal that included an expensive natural-gas barbecue grill, a bar sink, a built-in refrigerator, and a hot tub.
The main house, a mere seven-thousand square feet, was tucked against a hill with views of the valley below. According to the estate manager, the compound was one of ten residential properties owned by a Wall Street stockbroker.
Raised on a working cattle ranch in southern New Mexico, Kerney had been taught by his parents to rise early and get as much work as possible done before the heat of the desert drove both man and beast to seek shade. The habit was so ingrained that unless job demands forced him to work late, he was always up by five in the morning. Recently he’d been devoting the hour or so of uninterrupted time before he had to leave for the office to various tasks that needed doing to get the house built.
Two weekends ago Sara had flown in on a quick day trip for a Saturday closing on the land. Today he was overnighting the architect’s plans to her, along with snapshots he’d taken of the property on a rare day off.
Kerney looked through the photographs. The two sections, a little over twelve hundred acres, were located on a ranch southeast of town that was being sold in large parcels zoned for agricultural use only. The property appealed to them from the moment they first saw it, and learning that the surrounding tracts couldn’t be developed for residential use cinched the deal. Additionally, the owners, a couple Kerney knew and liked from his days managing a small gentleman’s spread in the basin, would continue to ranch a large swath of land that abutted Kerney’s two sections, providing added protection from the urban sprawl that kept creeping south of the city limits.
Four miles in off the highway, Kerney’s sections consisted of a combination of canyon land and open pastures. Two wells produced good water, and a ranch road ran past the building site Kerney and Sara had selected for the house. When built, the house would be sheltered by a ridge and face south, overlooking a canyon that opened onto a wide meadow with views of the Ortiz and Sandia Mountains. The ridge behind the house, treed with juniper and piñon, rose gently to the north, exposing the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, but hiding the city from view. The panorama of the Jemez Mountains stretched across the horizon to the west, where at night the lights of Los Alamos and the nearby commuter town of White Rock glistened.
He packed the photos and the house plans in a mailing tube, sealed it, and turned his attention to the old Montoya case file. He had a lot of ground to cover, not much to go on, and a gut feeling that he’d missed something the first time around.
The thought made him grumpy. He forced himself out the front door, thinking maybe his heart wasn’t in the job anymore. He would much rather spend his time building the house, putting together a small ranching operation, and establishing something positive for himself, Sara, and their unborn child. Soon Sara would have an ultrasound test, and with any luck they’d know if she was carrying a boy or a girl. The thought made Kerney smile.
Recently made a rich man by way of an unexpected bequest from a dear old family friend, Kerney had the money to spend. With Sara’s encouragement, he was slowly learning to enjoy his newfound financial freedom after living for so many years on a cop’s salary.
Behind a high wall, the adobe guest house had two bedrooms, two baths, a two-car garage, an expansive great room that served as a living and dining area, and an adjoining kitchen with high-end appliances. At three-thousand square feet, the house was the largest and most expensive place Kerney had ever lived in. It came with a tidy backyard tended by professional gardeners, and a shady portal that included an expensive natural-gas barbecue grill, a bar sink, a built-in refrigerator, and a hot tub.
The main house, a mere seven-thousand square feet, was tucked against a hill with views of the valley below. According to the estate manager, the compound was one of ten residential properties owned by a Wall Street stockbroker.
Raised on a working cattle ranch in southern New Mexico, Kerney had been taught by his parents to rise early and get as much work as possible done before the heat of the desert drove both man and beast to seek shade. The habit was so ingrained that unless job demands forced him to work late, he was always up by five in the morning. Recently he’d been devoting the hour or so of uninterrupted time before he had to leave for the office to various tasks that needed doing to get the house built.
Two weekends ago Sara had flown in on a quick day trip for a Saturday closing on the land. Today he was overnighting the architect’s plans to her, along with snapshots he’d taken of the property on a rare day off.
Kerney looked through the photographs. The two sections, a little over twelve hundred acres, were located on a ranch southeast of town that was being sold in large parcels zoned for agricultural use only. The property appealed to them from the moment they first saw it, and learning that the surrounding tracts couldn’t be developed for residential use cinched the deal. Additionally, the owners, a couple Kerney knew and liked from his days managing a small gentleman’s spread in the basin, would continue to ranch a large swath of land that abutted Kerney’s two sections, providing added protection from the urban sprawl that kept creeping south of the city limits.
Four miles in off the highway, Kerney’s sections consisted of a combination of canyon land and open pastures. Two wells produced good water, and a ranch road ran past the building site Kerney and Sara had selected for the house. When built, the house would be sheltered by a ridge and face south, overlooking a canyon that opened onto a wide meadow with views of the Ortiz and Sandia Mountains. The ridge behind the house, treed with juniper and piñon, rose gently to the north, exposing the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, but hiding the city from view. The panorama of the Jemez Mountains stretched across the horizon to the west, where at night the lights of Los Alamos and the nearby commuter town of White Rock glistened.
He packed the photos and the house plans in a mailing tube, sealed it, and turned his attention to the old Montoya case file. He had a lot of ground to cover, not much to go on, and a gut feeling that he’d missed something the first time around.
The thought made him grumpy. He forced himself out the front door, thinking maybe his heart wasn’t in the job anymore. He would much rather spend his time building the house, putting together a small ranching operation, and establishing something positive for himself, Sara, and their unborn child. Soon Sara would have an ultrasound test, and with any luck they’d know if she was carrying a boy or a girl. The thought made Kerney smile.
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