Slow Kill - Michael Mcgarrity [3]
Kerney arrived in Paso Robles and promptly got lost trying to find the ranch. A convenience store clerk pointed him in the right direction, and a few minutes later he was traveling a narrow paved road through rolling hills of vineyards, cattle ranches, and horse farms sheltered by stands of large oak trees amid lush carpets of green grass. He drove with the window down, finding the moist sea air that rolled over the coastal mountains a welcome change from the dry deserts of New Mexico.
He’d been offered free lodging at the ranch along with a tour when he arrived, and he was eager to see how the outfit operated. The condition of the horses would tell him most of what he needed to know before deciding whether to buy. But the people who cared for the animals and their surroundings would also indicate whether his money would be well spent.
Kerney turned a corner onto a wide-open vista, eased the car off the pavement, and got out to take in the scenery. On a hilltop behind and above him stood a large mission-style villa with a portal consisting of a series of arches supported by Georgian columns and topped off with a red tile roof and overhanging eaves. Paired bell towers with identical arches rose above either end of the second story. Two vineyards cascaded down the gentle slope on both sides of the villa. Taken as a whole, the place reeked of wealth.
To the west, densely treed coastal mountains rose up from a green, rolling valley that wandered down to a creek bed. A sign fronting the ranch road into the valley announced the Double J Ranch. In a series of fenced and gated pastures, brood mares and their foals gathered under shady oak trees.
The ranch headquarters bordered the creek bed and consisted of four white houses around a semicircular driveway within a few steps of a birthing barn and a long row of covered, open-air stalls adjacent to small paddocks. Beyond the stalls was a barn, which Kerney guessed was used to house the stud horses.
Sara had asked for pictures, so Kerney got the camera from his travel bag and took some shots, doing a rough mental count of the mares and foals in plain view. There were more than a hundred, signifying a very large breeding operation.
He drove to the ranch and parked near the birthing barn, which had a small office building off to one side. A man in his early forties stepped onto the porch as Kerney approached.
“Mr. Hilt?” Kerney asked as he approached.
The man nodded. “The name’s Devin,” he said with a welcoming smile, extending his hand. “You must be Kevin Kerney.”
Kerney smiled back and shook Devin’s hand. “Thanks for putting me up.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to share the guesthouse with another party,” Hilt said. “The boss has a buyer coming up from Santa Barbara sometime later today.”
“That’s not a problem,” Kerney said as he took a look around. “This is quite a place.”
Hilt laughed. He stood six feet tall in his cowboy boots and had a sturdy frame topped off with curly brown hair cut short. “This isn’t the half of it. Around the bend a mile away we’ve got a training track, stables, and pastures for colts and two-year-olds. That’s where the boss, his wife, his mother, and the ranch manager have their houses. This area is just for my family, the trainers, and guests.”
“It’s pretty posh,” Kerney said. “I can’t remember ever seeing a more beautiful ranch.”
Hilt laughed again. “It does make working for a living a bit more pleasant.” He pointed down the driveway to a pitched-roof, single-story clapboard house surrounded by a picket fence. “That’s the guest cottage. Want to settle in first or take that tour I promised you?”
“Let’s do the tour,” Kerney said.
“Perfect,” Hilt replied as he moved toward the pickup truck.
Hilt drove Kerney around the spread, passing on bits of information along the way. It was a quarter-horse ranch with about four hundred head and a breeding program that foaled more than a hundred newborns yearly. Four stallions at stud