He did not really want to kill her, but to his utter dismay the fantasy had begun to cross his mind.
The road, like many in this part of Nevada, was bumpy and only partially paved. They roared to the top of the mountain; recklessly, covered in dust, bobbing and bouncing to mediocre pop songs. After several false alarms, Jack Benton finally recognized the battered, metal mailbox and the wooden fence. He pulled the Jeep to the side of the road, willing himself to behave in a romantic fashion.
"Are you ready?" he asked. He took his young fiancee by the hand. "Some wishes do come true."
Becky tapped her foot and rolled her blue eyes in an expression of contempt, a habit Jack found adolescent and infuriating. "I'm tired and I'm hot and I'm fucking thirsty," she said, sneering. "Can we just get this over with?"
"Sure," Jack said. He was determined to remain reasonable. "Whatever you say. But I promise you're going to love this."
Jack put the Jeep into drive and rounded the corner. He relaxed and released his breath. The grounds had been well kept, just as he'd been promised when he'd purchased the home. The plants and flowers were lovingly nurtured by the handyman and constantly watered by the icy, melting snow that ran down from the slopes of the nearby Sierra's. The grass was green and verdant and smelled wonderful after the long, dirty drive. The cabin, a carefully designed mix of rustic and modern; of redwood, brick and pine, had been recently painted, as per the escrow agreement.
Jack was gratified to hear Becky grunt; an involuntary expression of approval. Now that they had crested the point, one could see that this was the only way up to the expensive getaway house. The other three slopes fell away into nothingness, and the view of the high desert below was nothing short of spectacular.
"It's nice, Jack," Beck said grudgingly. "What's that?"
He followed her pointing finger. Perhaps fifty yards down the mountain sat a battered two-room shack and small tool shed, both just below a large septic tank. The shack, too, seemed recently painted; it wasn't quite finished, as though the painter had run out of leftovers. An ancient television antenna sagged like weary phallus on the black, tarpaper roof.
"That's where Luke lives," he said.
She seemed pleased to have discovered something to complain about. "And just who the hell is Luke? I suppose now some toothless redneck in overalls is going to be peering in the window while we're fucking, or something?"
Jack winced. "Please watch your language," he said. "You're not attractive when you swear like a sailor."
"You're unbelievable, you know that? It's like I'm engaged to a goddamned minister, or something."
He closed his eyes for a moment. "Let's not fight."
After a pause, Becky relented. "You're right," she said, "like always." She brightened. "It is beautiful here, Jack," she said. "Let's go look around."
The property was remarkable, considering its location. Nevada's high desert had trees and some greenery, but rarely did one see such beautiful, tall grass, lightly sprinkled with multicolored wildflowers.
"It's like an oasis, or something," she said.
"The soil is exceptionally rich," Jack said, after a long moment. He decided to leave it at that.
)
