A God in Ruins - Leon Uris [86]
“These checks have to be countersigned,” Juan said. “The new fencing along Silver Alley Creek looks very good. I want you to inspect it before I order more.” He studied a paper. “I don’t like the Mountain Feed bid. I’m for sending ten or twenty head to the feed lot and see if we aren’t spending too much per animal.”
Quinn studied the propositions, rubbing his beard and catching Juan’s eyes piercing him. “I guess I look like ten miles of dirt road,” Quinn said.
“Fifty miles,” Juan said, “after a thunderstorm.”
Quinn managed a smile as Juan rolled a cigarette, biting on the label of the drawstring to close the sack. A few of the Marines on the RAM team had rolled their own.
“Anything else?” Quinn asked.
“A lot else,” he retorted. “Siobhan and I have taken care of everything we can without you. So, what’s it to be?”
“I’m bleeding, man,” Quinn rasped, “valley of deceit, valley of lies, present company exempted. You don’t lie, Juan. I have lied for the honor of the Corps.”
“That’s not lying.”
“You’re his brother, you tell me, Juan.”
“I certainly sensed something was happening. But I don’t spy on my brother. It was none of my business. You had kept Rita longing for you for far too long. It happened in a moment when they were free. Now? Jesus, I don’t know. He is my brother, and I must come down on his side. The Martinez family is ready to leave the ranch.”
Quinn felt himself sinking, deflated.
“Carlos could not resist Rita. He can’t now,” Juan went on. “Even if it meant betraying you. You were younger than him, but you were his hero.”
“Why? Carlos did everything better than I. Macho, fists, sports, women, guitar strumming.”
“Carlos,” Juan interrupted, “worshiped you because of the quiet way you stuck to your ideals. You would not let the gringos and Mormons gang up on any Mexican kid. When Carlos ran away and took your father’s car, it was you who stood between Carlos and the sheriff. And your father came, and you made him take Carlos back.”
“Funny,” Quinn mused, “for years I thought of Dan as another Archie Bunker.”
“Dan was reactionary as hell,” Juan said, “but he was a man of principle. He not only gave us a good life but he made us belong in this valley.” Juan picked up on Quinn’s desire to keep talking. “What is it, amigo?”
“Carlos could have said no.”
“How could he resist Rita Maldonado? Look, there are very few of us who know about this.”
“I don’t give a fuck who knows,” Quinn snapped. “One by one the valley unearths its dirty little secrets.” The delayed punch of Juan’s possible leaving the ranch hit him now. “Where would you go, Juan, what would you do?”
“My parents are enjoying their old age, except for the aches and pains. As for me, there’s enough in the Martinez kitty for me to start up a small ranch.”
“Does the idea appeal to you?”
Juan hesitated. He stood and his spurs jingled.
“How do you feel about it, Quinn?”
“I want you to stay,” Quinn answered, and rose from his chair. He gave Juan a big abrazo.
“This is my home,” Juan said.
“You did the right thing by not ratting on your brother.”
* * *
Denver had a nice flow to it. It was not a glorious or dynamic city, but it was friendly and had lots of elm trees. The O’Connell condo on Chessman Park afforded a lovely view to the state capital and the foothills into the Rockies.
Being the state capital and a town of Western tradition, there were always circles of lively ladies about.
Quinn eventually took up with Helena Baxter, a sharp CEO of a Denver-sized public relations firm. She was twice divorced, with no children, and a pleasant and striking companion. They went into an “easy does it” relationship. It grew in warmth as six months passed since the disastrous night. Helena knew the ache in Quinn was dimming but would never totally go away. She was great about it, made him start to feel good about himself again. He reacted to her kindness with kindness of his own.
In the beginning Mal saw or called Quinn often. There wasn’t a lot of information about Rita. He saw her only once in six months. Quinn buried his loss in his vault,