On that porch, an old man in a worn denim shirt stood perfectly still, one hand shading his eyes. He’d been there for thirty minutes, ever since the call came that she’d crossed the county line.

A cloud of dust, a tiny white speck against the endless scrubland, was slowly resolving into a small, boxy SUV. It kicked up a rooster tail of dirt as it turned off the main road and began the long crawl up the ranch’s private drive.