Firelight at Mustang Ridge

by Jesse Hayworth

He just lifted a hand in answer, standing there in front of Wolf Rock as if to say, I’m not going to leave. You’re going to have to do it.

  So she did. She made herself walk away when she wanted to cling, made herself drive away when she wanted to kill the engine and tell him she’d made a mistake. And as she turned onto the main road and headed for Mustang Ridge, her surroundings blurred and a tear found its way down her cheek. Because, really, there was nothing she would have wanted to change about Sam—except for meeting him now, when she was in no place to get involved.

  * * *

  Sam stood there longer than he meant to, until there wasn’t even a stir of dust anymore to say that she’d been there. Then he stood there a minute more, trying to shake the feeling that he should’ve done more to persuade her to stay. To convince her that she was okay, even if she didn’t see it yet. To talk her into another date—one with wine, candles, and zero danger.

  He didn’t chase women, though, and he didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep.

  “Like today, when you promised you’d have her back?” he asked himself, even though he already knew the answer. He hadn’t broken his promise—he’d been right there, and he’d pulled her out as soon as he could. But that was the thing, wasn’t it? There were times when you just couldn’t stop bad stuff from happening.

  Shoving his hands in his pockets—and finding them full of stones, which wasn’t all that unusual—he looked up at Wolf Rock. “Guess it’s just you and me tonight.” Back when he was a little kid, his father had given the huge metamorphic stone a growly voice that told him to watch his mouth and do his chores. These days, it didn’t have much to say.

  Which was okay, because right now he didn’t, either.

  In his right-hand pocket, he felt the bulk of a single good-size stone. Recognizing the shape by touch, he pulled it out and studied the translucent blue-green of Danny’s first find. He vaguely remembered her handing it to him before she dove into the hole, all full of nerves and excitement.

  Should he have put the brakes on things right then? Maybe. But he had thought the cavern was solid, had wanted to watch her face down her fear monster and kick its tail.

  He’d been wrong about that happening, though. Which was a damn shame.

  Dropping the aqua in his pocket, he swung back aboard the ATV and headed for the sorting shack, figuring that if he wasn’t going after her—which he wasn’t—he might as well get to work cleaning up some of the new clusters. Because no matter what else was going on around him, there always was something very cool about taking a scuffed, dirty rock and making it shine.

  When he got to the compound, though, he didn’t go inside right away. Instead, he pulled out his phone, hit a number, and listened to the ring on the other end of the line. When it went live, he said, “Hey, Krista, It’s Sam. I need a favor.”

  Which wasn’t him fixing things for Danny. He just wanted to make sure she was okay.

  * * *

  When Danny reached Mustang Ridge, she hid the car behind the airport shuttle and made a beeline for her ATV, which was parked beside the barn.

  “Danny, hey!” Krista appeared in the barn doorway, with Abby on her shoulder and a worried pinch to her features. “You’re back!”

  It was far too tempting to make a flying leap onto the ATV, gun it, and take off. Instead, Danny stopped and turned back to her friend. “Let me guess. Sam called.”

  “He was worried about you.” Her so am I went unsaid.

  “I’m fine,” she said, fighting off the prickles of irritation. But, really, how many times would she have to say that before the people around her backed off?

  Until she stopped going into a panic fugue when the lights went out, probably.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  The no was automatic, but Krista deserved better. Tucking her hands in her pockets, Danny said, “There’s nothing to post-mortem. I pushed it too far and panicked. It’s not the first time, won’t be the last.” It was the first time in a long while that she had done it in front of someone else, though. “As for Sam . . . Well, he doesn’t need to watch me look for all the pieces and glue myself together. That’s not sexy. At all.”

  Krista made a humming noise. “I don’t think he sees it that way.”

  Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask. “What did he say?” Her heart gave a little bump.

  “Not much, really. He told me about what happened out on the claim and asked me to make sure you made it back safe and sound. But he cares. I can tell.”

  “I . . .” Danny blinked furiously, not sure if the heat-prickles behind her eyes were from tears or hope. And if they were hope, how to make it go away. “It’s not a question of caring. It’s that I need to do this on my own.”

  “I get that.” Krista squeezed her arm. “I do, truly. But maybe there’s room for him, too?”

  It would be so easy to say yes. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I need the time alone.”

  “Not tonight,” Krista said firmly. “Tonight you’re staying with us. In the bunkhouse with us, the barn apartment, or one of the guest rooms in the house—take your pick. But I want you someplace close by.”

  Telling herself it wasn’t stubborn to insist on what she needed when it wasn’t going to hurt anybody else, Danny said carefully, “I get what you’re saying, really I do, and you’re sweet to worry, but I need my own space.” The nightmares were going to suck, and there was no way she wanted them going public. And, really, she just wanted to be alone, where there was no point in being embarrassed, and she was the only one who knew when she failed. “Besides,” she said, trying to lighten things up, “I won’t be totally alone. I’ve got Chuck and Popov to keep me company.”

  Krista’s brows drew together. “Who?”

  “My two squirrel buddies back at camp. I named them after the guys who brought those flying squirrel suits into the mainstream. We have a standing breakfast date.”

  Krista studied her, still looking worried. After a moment, she said, “If you insist on heading back to Blessing Valley, will you at least do me a favor?”

  “What?”

  She gave a little whistle, and a big black dog trotted out of the barn. Mostly Labrador, he was ribby and had a stray’s rough fur, but sat squarely at Krista’s heel like he’d been trained to the hilt.

  Remembering what Krista had said about her needing a dog, Danny quickly shook her head. “Oh, no, you don’t. No way.”

  “Yes, way. I want you to take this guy with you. His name is Wysiwyg—for ‘what you see is what you get,’ which sums him up perfectly. I call him Whiz for short.”

  “I’m not calling him anything,” Danny protested, ignoring the twinge of guilt when the dog’s ears flattened at her tone. “I don’t need a guard dog.”

  “Well, that’s lucky, because Whiz here is kind of a wimp about loud noises.” Krista patted his upturned head. “We don’t know his exact story, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there was some abuse in there, definitely neglect. One of Nick’s clients found him on the side of the road and brought him to the vet clinic. He and Jenny just need someone to foster him for a bit, give him some time to heal up and chill out.”

  “I don’t . . .” Danny began, then trailed off, because the dog was looking at her with big, soulful brown eyes. “Knock it off,” she told him. “I’m not taking you.”

  The end of his tail gave a hopeful thump.

  “I’m not,” she insisted, even though she was starting to feel like a jerk. First she turned Sam down, and now this. But was it her fault that all she wanted right now was to be left alone?

  “If you’re not going to stay here, then I want you to take the dog,” Krista said softly. “Please. You’ll be helping Jenny out, and I’ll feel better knowing that you’re not all alone. Whiz is good company, even if he’s a bit of a wuss.”

  Battered and wimpy, and
needing some time to heal. Invisible walls closed in, making Danny want to shove back, even if it was futile. “What if he gets eaten by a bear, or chases the horses? And what am I supposed to do with him during the day?”

  The corners of Krista’s mouth kicked up. “He’ll stick right with you—I think he’s afraid of being abandoned again. And there’s no reason he can’t come to work with you. The guests love him.”

  As if sensing that it was decision time and she was on the fence, Whiz gave her the full-on puppy-dog eyes, cocked his head endearingly, and lifted a paw for her to shake.

  Oh, come on. Scowling—she’d had a heck of a day and she just wanted to relax, darn it—Danny said, “He won’t fit on the ATV.”

  “You can take the Gator. It’s a two-seater with a dump back.” Krista hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “It’s parked next to your ATV.”

  In other words, this was a setup. Not sure if she should be amused or outraged—and mostly just tired and ready to head for the hills—Danny said accusingly, “You knew I wouldn’t stay. You were planning on foisting the dog on me all along.”

  “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.” Krista tossed her the keys. “There’s a bag of kibble in the back. Have fun, you two. I think you’ll be good for each other.”

  11

  Crack-boom!

  The noise sounded like a bomb, or an avalanche, rocketing Danny awake to flickers of light and the earth shaking around her.

  Her arms were trapped, her legs were folded so tight to her chest that she could only suck air into the top few inches of her lungs. A heavy weight sat on her, pressing her into—

  The weight lurched up, stepped on her with big, pointy feet, and slurped her face. “Whuff!”

  “Gah!” She sat bolt upright, pawing at her face, then for her flashlight. “Whiz. What the—” Sheet lightning flashed outside, close enough to make the air crackle. The dog yelped and launched his whole weight onto her. “Off!” She shoved without strength or leverage as thunder roared. “For the love of—Get off!” When he finally moved, she dragged herself up, coughing and wheezing for air, for control. “Damn it.”

  She couldn’t stop shaking. Slippery rock walls. Night closing in. A storm coming. Flinging her head back and screaming, “Get me out of here!” and having it come out as a whisper. She doubled over her folded arms, her breath coming in rattling gasps as the lightning flickered again, charging the air with electricity but no hope of rain.

  She fumbled for the flashlight, took three tries to turn it on. And realized she wasn’t the only one struggling to hold it together.

  Whiz was pancaked on his belly, shaking like he was caught in a one-man earthquake. His ears were flat against his head, his white-rimmed eyes big and apologetic, and his throat vibrating with a series of anxious whines that sounded like he was channeling a dental drill.

  Guilt stinging, she scooted over to him. “I’m sorry, you startled me. It’s okay, it’s just heat lightning. Nothing to be afraid of.” Her voice steadied as she tried to soothe the dog. “You’re a good dog. Good man. Brave boy.” She patted him. “Easy, buddy. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

  Lightning sheeted around them, so close that the air crackled along the tent walls and the hairs on her arms stood straight up, and a sudden gust of wind buffeted the tent around them, the sound and pressure making it feel like they were right next to a high-speed train.

  Whiz lunged for the front of the tent and scratched at the zipper, then started pawing with both front feet, hunched over as though he was trying to tunnel out.

  “Knock it off. You’re going to rip it!”

  But the dog dug like he was headed for the earth’s core, panting and whining, and thoroughly unglued.

  “Do you need to go out?” she asked, thinking the poor guy was probably fighting a stress piddle. “Okay. Hang on.” Rattled and shaky, she stuffed her feet into her boots, got him into the harness and leash that Krista had sent with him, and unzipped the fly.

  A gust of wind ripped the tent open and filled it in an instant. The material billowed around them, terrifying Whiz. Howling, “Yi-yi-yi,” he bolted out of the tent, yanking the leash from Danny’s grip.

  “Whiz, wait! No!” Envisioning him disappearing into the darkness, she surged out of the tent. “Whiz!”

  She got a flurry of barks in answer, turned her flashlight toward the sound, and found him reared up against the RV door, clawing at the screen.

  “Whiz, no!” She grabbed his leash and pulled. “Down!”

  FLASH-BOOM! Lightning and thunder cracked simultaneously and a huge wind gust hit the campsite, flipping the table and sending the chairs flying. The dog yanked on the leash, trying to get free. And if he did, she was pretty sure he’d be gone.

  “Okay,” she shouted over the storm. “Okay, you win!” She wrenched open the door to the RV. “Go on, get in!”

  The dog flung himself up the steps and disappeared into the darkness. Danny, on the other hand, stalled just inside the door, her heart pounding. Because if for a minute there she had been able to level herself off and focus on Whiz, now it all came back full force as she stared into the long, narrow center aisle and felt the unnatural stillness of the air.

  The wind slapped at the RV, making the broad walls shudder.

  “Damn it,” she muttered between her gritted teeth, “you’re fine. This is no big deal.”

  That was what she had told herself about the crystal pocket, though, and look how that turned out. She should just go sleep in the tent. Whiz would be fine without her. Unless he wasn’t. Krista had said he wanted to stick right with his person, so she wasn’t sure she dared leave him alone in the RV. Two squirrels had done enough damage. What about an eighty-pound dog having an anxiety attack?

  Darn, darn, darn. She couldn’t do it. She took a step back, then another. Felt for the stairs with her toe.

  “Whuff?” The sound came from the back room.

  “You’re okay,” she called. “Don’t worry. I’ll see you in the morning.” But every instinct she had—even the ones that were telling her to sleep in the tent—said that she didn’t dare leave him in the Rambling Rose alone.

  She hesitated as lightning flashed. Counted to three until thunder rumbled. Then, muttering under her breath, she cranked the cockpit windows open.

  Air moved past her, telling her that there was a way out. Sure, it also meant the squirrels could get in, but she had to figure that the dog would be a good deterrent. Maybe. Hopefully.

  Okay. You can do this.

  Pulling the cushions and blanket off the mini-couch, she made herself a nest near the door, where everything smelled fresh and she could see out. Her pulse drummed as she settled down on the RV’s carpeted floor. “Fine. You win. We’ll sleep in here. Happy now?”

  There was the sound of padding feet. Then the big dog sank down right beside her, tightening the blanket and sending little panic sparks through her system. Steeling herself, she patted his head. “Good dog.”

  She might as well suck it up and give him what he needed. It wasn’t like she was going to get any more sleep tonight.

  So she draped an arm over his ribs as the storm noises settled in around them—the whistle-moan of wind through the open windows and door, the rattle-flap of the awning, and the scratch-bang of the branches on the . . .

  She slept.

  * * *

  “You got a dog?” Charlie’s face got really big on the computer screen as she leaned in. Then she laughed at herself and said, “Tilt the camera so I can see him.” When Danny obliged, she waved and chirped, “Hi, Whiz! I’m Auntie Charlie!”

  A scant thirteen months younger than Danny, she was lighter-haired and finer-boned, with a scattering of freckles and an utter inability to sit still.

  “You’re his temporary aunt Charlie,” Danny corrected, putting the laptop back up on Krista
’s desk. “I’m not keeping him.”

  “Why not? There’s room at the house.”

  Because I’m not sure I’m coming back. She didn’t say it out loud, though. She wasn’t ready for it to hit the parental grapevine, especially when she wasn’t yet positive she really meant it. “I’m sure Jenny and Krista are working on finding him a home around here.” She patted Whiz’s head. “Until then, he’s helping me with the guests.” And that wasn’t the only thing he was helping with. Ever since the night of the storm, she’d been sleeping in the RV. In the back bedroom, even, albeit with the windows wide-open. And she hadn’t had a nightmare in days. She didn’t think it was the company, either. It was that she had someone to worry about other than herself. Someone who needed her to be brave and didn’t judge.

  Charlie made a face. “Nature hikes. Bleck. Bo-ring.” Then she added quickly, “Don’t get me wrong, though. They’re fine for you.”

  “I’m having fun,” Danny said, letting it roll off her back. They chatted a few minutes more—about Charlie’s upcoming mud run, their parents’ plan to do a half marathon in every New England state the following year, and how the store was doing.

  It was a little odd to realize how superficial their conversation was, how polite they kept everything. Then again, she and Charlie had always hung out with different friends and competed against each other in just about every sport possible, so maybe it wasn’t that odd. And maybe it was something they should think about changing.

  “How’s Jase?” Danny asked. “Is he still aiming for the big century race this fall?” Charlie’s boyfriend was a serious road biker and all-around nice guy.

  Charlie blinked in surprise, but answered, “He’s good. Dad’s going to sponsor him for the race. He said it would be good advertising.”

  And he probably missed having two kids to cheer for. Letting herself feel the pang—she was finally getting what Farah meant about it being impossible for a sane woman to make everybody happy and still take care of herself—Danny said, “Good for him. Just don’t let Mom design his uniform. Remember the Halloween mountain bike race debacle.” It had involved matching ballerina tutus, sparkly wings, and shirts plastered with the shop’s name and logo. Mom had claimed they were fairies, but once they had their full-face helmets and body armor on, they had looked more like cross-dressing ballerina hockey players.