Page 8 of Desert Angel

“I told you last night,” she insisted, “He’s into cattle, not goats. He’s razed all of the old pecan groves that were on his property and he has a huge pepper crop every year.”

She stood, her glass in her hand, and then reached for his. “As far as the scare tactics, Wayne isn’t a suspect. We need to look somewhere else.” She took the glasses into the kitchen, effectively putting an end to the conversation.

Dylan waited until Nikki returned to the living room with a bottle of window cleaner. He watched as she cleaned both the inside and outside of the large windows then shoved the sofa back in front of the glass. He’d bet she wouldn’t be sitting there, with her back to the window, for a while. At least not while he was there, he’d make sure of it.

When she was finished, he broached another sensitive subject. “What if it’s the desert water outings?”

She laid her cleaner and paper towel on a table then straightened. “I don’t hurt anyone with my outings.”

“You don’t, I agree. But for some people, it’s a signal to the migrants, or illegals, in their minds, that crossing the border is okay. In some people’s minds, you’re encouraging the act.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” she said, her exasperation plain in her tone. “My property is in the States. The migrants have already crossed the border. I’m only putting water out for people who are already across.”

He shrugged, “In other words, your acts of kindness keep people alive.”

“Yes.”

“And able to report back to their relatives and friends that someone in the states gives them enough supplies to get a little farther north.”

She huffed. “I’m not giving them money. I’m not even giving them food. I’m only giving them water so they don’t die in the middle of the night on my land.”

“And if the desert water outings are the reason for the threats and the scare tactics? Will you stop?”

“No.”

“Even if your health and safety is at risk?” His temper was rising. Didn’t she see that she was too precious to take that chance?

“No.” Her expression appeared to be that of a child, determined to stand her ground in the face of the schoolyard bully and for a split second, Dylan felt bad for pushing the issue.

“Someone else will do it, Nikki. If you make some calls someone else will take water to the desert.”

“Maybe. But what if they don’t?” She took a deep breath then stepped toward him. “Dylan, my faith tells me to love my neighbor, to feed him, to give him drink and clothing when he needs it. And to do it without any expectation of return. If I stop doing this, I’ll be failing my faith.”

“But it’s becoming more dangerous,” he asserted and she nodded.

“And it’s a chance I need to take.”

“When are you going out again?”

“Tomorrow night,” she replied.

“Then I’m going with you.”

5

They ate a quick lunch of sandwiches and fruit then headed out to the knoll Dylan wanted to explore. As he rode behind her on the ATV, Dylan surveyed the land around them. The desert was filled with scrub and rough dirt, with the occasional piney tree and spiny growth. In the near distance mountain ranges on both sides of the valley provided variance in the scenes in shades of gray, brown, and an odd lilac shadow. As Nikki dodged gulleys and the odd rock, Dylan found several areas that a smart shooter could hide in to get a good shot, but he left closer examination of the land terrain for later. Right now, he wanted to see that knoll.

The knoll was about three hundred yards from the house and well within a good shooter’s range with a rifle. They left the ATV at the bottom of the hill and climbed it within a couple of minutes. Sure enough, Dylan found evidence within one circuit of the flat area on the knoll. Someone had lain down in the soil, taken aim, and shot at the house. He even located the rock that had been used as a sight aid. When he rose from his crouch at the sight, he turned to Nikki. She must have seen his expression as she glanced down at the ground, her frown indicating her confusion. ”What do you see?”

He pointed out the faint outline the body left and watched her ruminate and finally come to the same conclusion he had. When she turned from gazing toward her house she did so with another deeper frown. “Whoever shot at my house had that aim, didn’t they? It couldn’t have been an accident.”

“Only if there had been someone standing in front of your window.” He said, hiding his surprise she wasn’t already convinced she was the target.

She turned her gaze toward the south and the border. Was she rethinking her mission to save the migrants? He half hoped so. While a part of him respected her living her faith, he still doubted it made much difference in the long run.

“Is there any other evidence here?” She finally asked, as if she’d decided on her own.

“No. Whoever shot at the house also policed the area, picked up any casings or trash, and took it out. I’ll look for footprints, but on this ground,” he waved a hand at the scrubby, pepply ground, “I doubt any prints will show.”

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