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It is mid-May in Cochise County.
The Krentzes have seen politicians come to their ranch and go. The pols have paid their respects and stood before cameras to decry how the feds have ceded control of the border to Mexican drug cartels.
Political posturing on the illegal immigration issue is at an all-time high, in Arizona and nationally.
Just a few days earlier, five Arizona legislators from the Phoenix area, all conservative Republicans, dropped by to visit Sue Krentz. They were shuttled to the ranch in what Sue describes as an armored car, protected by heavily armed state troopers.
"Hope they felt safe," Sue says, smiling wryly. "They were 'fact-finding.'"
Naturally, Sue's life has been out of whack since Rob's death, and she says she hungers to find "a new normal."
But she knows that the life she knew and loved is gone, stolen from her in a moment by a murderer's bullet.
"One bad decision killed one person and impacted a lot of people for the rest of their lives," she says. "I'm a widow now — just like that. Think about it: My mom is 87 and my dad is 89, so I'm going to live 50 years or something like that by myself."
Sue is sitting at her cluttered kitchen table, which serves as the center of a whirlwind of activity.
A good friend, Judy Keeler, who lives on a ranch just inside nearby New Mexico, has come over to visit.
Sue's daughter, 25-year-old Kyle Gutierrez of Wyoming, is staying awhile at the ranch with her two young children, Robert and Madyson.
Robert, who is 4, told Sue after Rob died, "'You don't have to worry about it, Grandma. I'm gonna kill the bad guy.'"
Sue says she told the little boy, "You can't do that," explaining why revenge isn't the way to seek justice.
Sue is a sturdy woman in her mid-50s who has spent a lifetime living on ranches. It shows in her weathered hands and face, which are at the mercy of the desert sun, relentless wind, and biting winter cold.
She speaks her mind and is an unusually good listener.
Today, she's fretting about the ranch, which she alone now owns with her brother-in-law Phil and his wife, Carrie, and her sister-in-law Susan Pope and her husband, Louie.
"There is no rich uncle," she says. "This is it. It's us, making it or breaking it."
A poster of John Wayne in western garb hangs on a wall that leads to the living room.
"That's my dad," Kyle Gutierrez says, pointing to the poster. "My dad was John Wayne. He could do anything and everything. If I had a problem, he'd know what to do. A math question, he'd figure it out in his head. He was a big man, but he really was a teddy bear. Just like John Wayne."
The room quiets.
Kyle continues: "I know his last thought was, 'Oh, shit. What's gonna happen to my family?' He didn't think about himself. He thought about her."
The young woman gestures to her mother, who is crying silently at the words.
Sue steps into the living room, where she keeps her desktop computer. Nearby, a bunch of well-worn cowboy hats hang on wall pegs — some of them were Rob's, the others her two sons'.
"You know, all of my kids are trying to be brave," she says. "I guess we don't have a choice, other than I could go crazy."
"Let me tell you a little bit about me and Rob, okay?"
It was a marriage of Cochise County ranching royalty when Rob Krentz and Sue Kimble got hitched in Douglas in 1977.