Dean slammed his fist against the Jeep in frustration at the sight.
"I just drive a Jeep," he said to the group as he looked over the plunder.
I can just picture you spread-eagle over your Jeep, being frisked by some woman as all our friends drive by!
Dean pulled down the top on his Jeep and slowly drove uptown, giving off what he hoped were candidate smiles and waves to the locals, all of whom seemed to be walking the sun drenched street.
He turned the Jeep at the far end of town and began following her.
The group left the Jeep and spent more than an hour on foot with Cynthia taking infinite care with each of her photos.
It was only a couple of blocks to Duckett's Market, but he needed the Jeep to haul the groceries.
As he neared the softball stands and was about to return to his Jeep when a hand touched his arm.
Bird Song was empty when the Deans returned after retrieving the Jeep and making their way to the inn by back streets.
The Deans shared a subdued silence as they boarded the Jeep to pick up their guest at the Beaumont.
She climbed into the back of the Jeep, shooing Cynthia from having to alight to fold down the front seat.
"This is what you own," Dean said, with a spread of his arms as they had wandered far from the Jeep about Jennifer's property.
The attorney quickly recovered and half slid, half ran down the slope next to his Jeep where they were standing, covering his shiny black shoes with dust in the process and nearly falling on the seat of his creased shorts.
He had just started toward his Jeep when there was a sound like a gunshot from above them.
He gave a wave but no further comment as he hurried to his Jeep and left.
I wonder if that shot, or whatever it was, came from the owner of that blue sweater on his Jeep seat?
As he watched, Faust's Jeep passed into view, with two figures clearly visible.
She must have hiked down the back way and met up with him down at the bend in the road, below where our Jeep is parked.
Jennifer said nothing more for the remainder of the trip down the mountain until the Jeep finally rolled onto pavement and they entered the still busy town.
Two hours remained before the last of the day's celebrations— the Jeep flare parade down the mountain, followed by a massive fireworks display—so after finishing supper, the Deans began playing catch up with Bird Song's chores.
Dean thought about the pictures, especially the one of Dickinson Faust standing next to his Jeep, with the woman's sweater hanging over the seat.
As he started his Jeep, Ginger Dawkins, light blue sweater slung over her arm, came up the street and gave Dean an innocent wave.
He hurried the Jeep as fast as he dared on the gravel-slippery road where even a crawl seemed excessive.
Billy Langstrom's body stared out from beneath the overturned Jeep, eyes open, a look of mixed surprise and horror on his young face as he lay in a pool of darkening blood.
The Jeep was upside down, on its roll bar.
She strode to the driver's side of the Jeep, hands on her hips, a no-nonsense look on her startlingly attractive face.
It had been the mildest late winter in years and the lack of high country snow had opened the Jeep roads weeks earlier than usual.
We're renting a Jeep and going up to see it tomorrow.
If that were the case, Dean wondered, why had Joseph also rented a Jeep and parked out of sight behind Bird Song?
Dean was loading three full sacks in the rear of his Jeep when he was surprised to see Ginger Dawkins several yards away.
The topless Jeep offered an unfettered view of the spectacular scenery they entered as soon as they left the highway.
Was the bottle in Billy's Jeep vodka?
He'd reached to the main Jeep road from the faint trail to the Lucky Pup when a sound broke the stillness of dusk.
Thoughts raced through his mind of another crash, when Bird Song's very first guest had met a similar fate—but on a traveled highway, not a remote Jeep road deep in the San Juans.
He listened for the siren but heard only his Jeep, and twice, the scrapes of his underside as he bottomed out on protruding stone.
Cynthia had volunteered a couple of hours selling tickets for the Ouray Chamber's Jeep raffle.
As Dean rolled his Jeep down the main street of Ouray, he caught sight of a familiar figure with a rounded haircut.
Dean stopped his Jeep beneath the trees and watched.
Billy Langstrom, behind the wheel of a red Jeep similar to but older than Deans', honked from across the street.
Dean said something polite as he glanced at the abundance before him and then at his Jeep across the street.
A hundred yards ahead of them the infrequently used Jeep road became impassable in a washed-out jumble of stone.
As they moved down the trail to their parked Jeep, they heard the sound of a vehicle approaching.