16.
THE FIRST OF NOVEMBER, 2017, the Pretty Horses Ranch in the hills of Cantamar, Baja California, Jay rode a horse on a hilly trail. The warm winds of the day before had abated, and there was a slight westerly breeze. A few clouds wandered in the distance, their shadows dotting the ocean, hiding the sun’s reflection off the waves. He’d dropped Lyn at the Black Cross Winery nearby to talk to the proprietor, Robyn, before lunch. Lyn wasn’t much of a rider, she was happy to stay behind, and Jay needed some time alone, having been in her company for several days. He did his best thinking when he was on a horse.
Pretty Horses wasn’t the same as the Jackson Ranch, but nothing was. The trail Jay liked best worked its way down a hillside across a few arroyos. Near the end there was a small ris
