air.
A strong gust of wind blew dirt around their feet, and a layer of dust she had heard called sand-flour coated her skin and the inside of her nose. Dell covered his nose with the crook of his arm and closed his eyes for a few seconds until it passed. The blistering heat of the day had mixed with a dry border wind from the south. The southern winds stirred up occasional dust storms in West Texas that would reduce visibility to nothing. The monsoon season, which usually ran from June 15 through September 30, still had not materialized, and the threat of dust storms was a weekly occurrence. The July wind was capable of stirring up fine sand particles that hung in the air and formed whirlwinds that tore across the desert, infiltrating every crack and crevice.
Josie looked at the strip of orange and red that spread across the horizon. “I want my town back,” she said. “I want my life back to normal. I want to clock off at four and take a hike in the evening with Chester. I want to quit worrying all the time about men who slink around our land at night with AK-47s slung over their shoulders.”
Dell snapped his fingers. “Give me ten minutes. I got a brisket in the fridge from last night. I’ll pack us a sandwich and grab my guns and my bedroll.”
After a halfhearted argument, Josie finally agreed to put the dog in Dell’s house and set up observation at the tower with Dell. Technically, she wasn’t on duty, and she could use the company. And she knew what grab my guns meant; he had a small arsenal he kept packed and at the ready in an old duffel bag that remained by his nightstand. He also smoked the best brisket in all of West Texas.
Josie changed into a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt and her uniform boots. Her badge was in her back pocket, and her ankle holster was strapped into place. Like Dell, she had packed her own arsenal in an Eddie Bauer duffel bag that Dillon had bought her for her birthday last year. They’d used it for camping gear during a weeklong hike through Big Bend National Park, a trip that was a buried memory for now, one she refused to dig up.
At about six o’clock, Josie and Dell loaded up her jeep and drove the three-mile stretch of gravel road to the watchtower. Josie evened out her backpack, bedroll, and duffel bag on her shoulders and back and started the climb. She kept an eye over her shoulder at Dell, who kept up with no problem, in better shape than most men she knew. Once on the observation deck, they both dropped their loads and leaned over the railing outside, enjoying the view as the burn in their legs subsided.
Josie opened two folding chairs on the deck while Dell carved up the brisket onto tin camping plates from his duffel bag. She contributed a pull-top can of fruit cocktail and convinced Dell to give it a heavy dollop of Tabasco sauce. Leaned back in their chairs, feet propped on the deck rail, they ate the brisket with chewy pieces of French bread they used to wipe up the leftover sauce on their plates. Glad for Dell’s quiet company, she checked for messages and put her cell phone on vibrate in her pocket. Otto had called earlier to ask her one more time to spend the evening with them and had seemed genuinely happy that she was outside the house with Dell for the night.
Josie had set her cell phone’s alarm clock for five in the morning to give her time to get home and shower before her morning shift. Warden Escobedo had promised to call when something broke loose at the jail, but she wasn’t sure how much longer she could wait before placing the call herself. He had said he wanted the transport ready by 8 P.M., another hour. She felt the heavy thump of her heart pressing against her chest.
After she and Dell finished dinner and laid out their bedrolls on cots in the lookout room, they settled back into their chairs on the observation deck to watch for movement along the Rio to the south. Josie filled Dell in on the current drama, including the threat by Medrano to blow her house up if she didn’t release the prisoners by tonight at midnight, and the probable gun connection with