Church of the Graveyard Saints. C. Joseph Greaves

one important exception.”

      “What exception?”

      Bradley returned to Jess. “Right now Archer-Mason is allowed one well site every forty acres. Down-spacing to twenty acres means they’ve had to submit a formal application to the COGCC. I haven’t seen it but I can guarantee it fails to address the public health and safety implications, let alone the environmental impacts. And that includes how the cattlemen in the area will be affected.” He pivoted back to Hawkins. “Families like yours and Jess’s, who’ve been ranching out here for generations.”

      “So what can I do about it?”

      “The rules allow for a government designee to request what’s called a local public forum. It’s like a public hearing that’s held right here in the county. That way the ranchers can testify, and so can expert witnesses. You can raise issues like the ones we’ve been talking about. Things like setbacks and monitoring and other protections for ranching and farming operations.”

      “And you’re saying the county commission is this government whatchamacallit?”

      Bradley nodded. “Talk to your county counsel. But understand that the clock is already ticking. You’ll need to request the public forum no later than Tuesday.”

      “Then there’s another problem. We don’t meet but twice a month, and it takes two votes just to fill a pothole. Plus I’ll tell you right now that if the industry is against what you’re talking about, Bud Wallace is damn sure against it.”

      Bradley again looked to the dining room. This time he saw Addie sidling toward them, getting waylaid by every third guest she passed.

      “You don’t need a formal meeting. All you need are two signatures on a fax to Denver before Wednesday. Which means we’ll need the theater owner. What was his name again?”

      “Holcomb. Marty Holcomb.”

      “Where do you think he’d stand on the issue?”

      The older men shared a look. Jess said, “You know his daughter lost that baby.”

      Bradley asked, “Is her name Brenda?”

      “If you could prove Archer-Mason had a hand in that,” Hawkins said, “Marty’d not only fall in line, he’d lead the damn parade.”

      “And what parade is that?” Addie appeared among them, slipping her hand under Bradley’s arm.

      “The parade of horribles stemming from oil and gas development. I’m afraid I’ve been boring these men on a day when our thoughts should properly be elsewhere.”

      “You’ll have to forgive Bradley, Mr. Hawkins. He’s very passionate on certain subjects, and once he takes the bit in his mouth, there’s no use trying to turn him.”

      “I can see that. And in my experience a horse that can’t be turned eventually winds up in a ditch. Well, it was nice chatting, son.” He patted Bradley’s shoulder. “I got a feeling it won’t be our last.”

      Across the room, Logan had extricated himself from the women and was zigging in their direction.

      “I’m about dead on my feet,” Jess said. “Think you and your pa can manage from here?”

      “Of course. But what about … ?”

      “Your grandma? Don’t worry, I’ll tend to her later.”

      Logan joined their circle, and Jess took hold of his elbow.

      “We got us an appointment tomorrow morning with Tom Boudreau. You and me and Addie, ten o’clock at his office, so don’t go wanderin off on horseback. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m sneakin off for a nap. Anyone asks, you tell ’em I’m plumb wore out but I thank ’em for everything they done.” He started toward the back door but stopped. “You tell ’em Vivian would’ve been tickled.”

      * * *

      Several hours later, Bradley stepped onto the porch. The sun had slipped behind the peak of Ute Mountain making it glow in silhouette at the western mouth of the canyon. He was drying his hands on a dishtowel that he slapped over his shoulder before dragging the empty rocker alongside Addie’s.

      “Thank you for helping,” she said absently, her eyes remaining eastward where the horses grazed in twilight.

      “You’re still angry with me.”

      “I’m not angry.”

      “Upset.”

      “Really, I’m not.”

      “Vexed.”

      “Stop doing that.”

      They sat in silence, watching the canyon darken and the golden tips of the treetops fade to bluish-gray.

      “Tom Boudreau is a lawyer,” she finally said. “What did you say to Jess to make him think he needs a lawyer?”

      “It sounded to me like he already had an appointment.”

      “You think? On a Sunday morning? You promised you’d keep him out of all this.”

      “Look, I’m sorry he happened to be standing there when I talked to Hawkins. Who initiated the conversation, just for the record. All I did was answer the man’s questions.”

      She shifted but didn’t reply.

      “And I already told you, this has nothing to do with your grandfather. Hawkins, on the other hand, could be the key to what we came here to accomplish.”

      Addie drew her knees to her chin. “Was he receptive?”

      “Hard to say. The art of politics is appearing to be on both sides of any given issue. In any event, I was glad to hear you have an appointment tomorrow. I was thinking about taking your friend up on his offer.”

      “What friend?”

      “Colt’s offer to take me hunting.”

      “What?”

      “Is that so shocking? He works for Archer-Mason. There’s a lot we might learn from him, and maybe vice versa.”

      “Wait a minute. You’re going hunting? With my old boyfriend? How am I supposed to feel about that?”

      “I’d hoped you wouldn’t feel anything, to be perfectly honest.”

      “Please. That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

      He sighed. “Colt could be useful, Addie. He could be our eyes and ears on the ground.”

      She unfolded her legs and stood. “I’m tired, and I’m going to bed. Have you even talked to Colt about this?”

      “Your father had his number. We’re meeting tomorrow at seven.”

      She snatched the dishtowel from his shoulder and left him alone where he sat. After the door had closed behind her—not a slam, at least—Bradley stood and paced a circle, listening to the night songs of crickets and bullfrogs. Listening and pacing and although he hadn’t smoked in years, finding he wanted a cigarette.

      He was a herald, he reminded himself. There were over fifty thousand oil and gas wells in Colorado alone. According to NASA’s satellite imagery, a methane hot spot hung like a pall over the entire Four Corners region, an invisible plume of some two thousand square miles caused by the six hundred thousand metric tons of methane released from the area’s leaky wells, pipelines, and related facilities each year. Methane, which is eighty times more effective than carbon dioxide in trapping the sun’s heat. Bradley was standing, quite literally, at ground zero in America’s battle against global warming—in humankind’s fight for survival—and though the last thing he wanted was to stoke Addie’s ire, he wasn’t about to let anyone’s fragile feelings deter him from his mission.

      A new sound interrupted his thoughts. East of the house,