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Her brow wrinkled more strongly than her nose had. “Don’t know any Will Rogers. Is he from around here?”
Her question caught me off-guard. “I don’t think so, but I don’t know.” Surely I’d have heard about it by now if he was from Wyoming.
She shifted, as if about to stand, so I quickly said, “Do you think Keefe’s approach — his philosophical approach helped him with the situation when Robin Kenyon got hurt last season?”
“Could have, I suppose. Something sure did help that girl. Never seen anything like it.”
She wanted to talk about this. I settled back with my most encouraging tell me expression.
“She’d been there five days and she still didn’t know the names of any of the rest of the guests or the employees. She didn’t even know the name of her horse.” That, clearly, was the greatest sin.
“I’m taking a group out because the regular wrangler was off. Small group, parents and one kid, low-key. Keefe tagging along. No big deal. Not until Robin comes charging up on us, tries to pass when there’s not room — and she wasn’t supposed to be on one of our horses at all. She nearly pushed the kid right off the trail, over the edge, but his horse hipped-checked Rio at the same time he stepped back. With her sawing at Rio’s mouth, Rio turned around, facing the wrong way, then she just went sideways off him. Could have gone all the way down if there hadn’t been a sort of bank of rocks right there.
“I grabbed Rio’s reins and Buck’s — that was the kid’s mount, not that he was going anywhere. He’s called Buck because he doesn’t. Doesn’t do much of anything. Anyway, Keefe got down and got to her, while she’s screaming her head off. Not in pain. Angry. Furious. Saying Rio threw her, he was vicious, we had to destroy him, all this rot. Keefe felt her leg — her thigh — and she was screaming about that, too. How dare he touch her. Didn’t even stop when he said it was broken. She said — screamed — that she didn’t believe him.
“By this time, the kid was crying and the mother was trying to hug her, but their horses didn’t cooperate, and the father’s shouting at Robin, because her language... well, what comes after blue? Because she said things I’d never heard in real life before. I got the horses straightened out. Keefe and I, with some help from the father after Keefe said a couple things to him, got her stretched out fairly comfortable, slit her pant leg where it was already swelling, and splinted it with what we had to hold it some.
“We didn’t have any connection at all, not even with our good radios, not even when we sent the father down the trail some to see if that helped. Keefe and I sorted it out that he’d stay with her. I’d go down with the parents and kid, keep trying to reach the ranch. Felt like I was almost on the doorstep before I finally got through, though my brain knows that wasn’t true. People at the ranch called for help. And by the time I got back in with the parents and kid, the first search and rescue folks were there.
“Not EMTs?”
“They have that training, too, but for where she was at, no vehicle was going to work. Had to get her out before she could really be treated. I led them back up to make sure they got the right trail. It was closing in on dark before they got her out on one of those single-wheel stretchers.”
“How was Robin then? More of the same?”
Her brows crinkled into a jagged, quizzical line. “No. She was quiet. Real quiet. And not like she’d passed out or anything. More like... Serene. She was serene. Anyway—” She stood.
Before she could say it was time for her to get to work, I said, “It’s fascinating to hear about the lifelong associations with Elk Rock Ranch — yours, Keefe’s, Wendy’s—”
“She never set foot here until years and years later than me.”
She’d said that before. It clearly rankled her to not have that acknowledged. But Keefe had been here first. Had that rankled, too?
She started walking. We followed along.
“To know all the history and connections...” I left it open-ended.
“Like I said, Chester took me in. Didn’t need anything formal like an adoption or such. He was a good man who saw the daughter of his friends needed a place to land and provided it. I’ve always loved the place. And Keefe was my pal from the start.”
She cleared her throat.
“Was he always interested in his family history?”
“I suppose. He felt it sometimes, not knowing who his father was. Used to talk about how sometimes in nature the father’s not involved with the kids. But the way he’d say it...
“Ulla — that was his mom. Ulla Dobey. She always said her name meant determination or willpower in Finnish, but Chester would say right back it meant flat-out stubborn. Anyway, she sort of told Keefe — hinted, you could say — that his father was special. I’ve wondered if that’s what started him on, you know, all this history stuff. I never heard her say it, but he told me, more than once. Never told anybody else, I ever heard of.”
Her gaze shifted toward the barn and back.
“Was his mother Finnish?” I asked. Had that started Keefe on the path of thinking — hoping — Oscar Virtanen could have been his ancestor?
She lifted a shoulder. “Never heard her say that, or if I did, it didn’t sink in. Only that part about what her name meant.”
“He seemed to be interested in a treasure associated with his possible ancestors,” I said. Though how Ulla saying Keefe’s father’s family had money meshed with Ulla having Finnish roots and possibly being associated with Virtanen and through him the treasure, I didn’t know.
“Did he talk about anyone else looking into Oscar and Pearl Virtanen? Maybe about the treasure.”
She frowned. “Some guy from over by Red Sail Rock. He was at Keefe’s cabin a time or two. Don’t know any more about it. But don’t go thinking Keefe was chasing money. He wanted to know who his people were. He didn’t care about the money, besides, he knew he could come to me if he needed money, needed anything.” From strong, her voice dipped to near despair. “And now look.”
