Chapter 13
Caleb
I rest my hand on Lana’s back, keeping it steady as Margret nods solemnly in the fading light. “Thomas Wolf wanted his discoveries to benefit the community, not just line one person’s pockets,” she says, voice low. “That’s what my father always told us. That’s why Danny and I were always at odds.”
I glance at Lana and ask, “Is that what the fight with his father was about?” My thumb brushes her jacket; she tenses but doesn’t pull away.
“Yes.” Margret’s voice cracks. “My brother wanted to honor our great-grandfather’s wishes—use the treasure to establish a foundation for the town, fund scholarships, and preserve the historical sites. Danny couldn’t see past the dollar signs.”
Julia, who’s been unusually quiet, looks between us. “So what happens now? With the treasure, I mean?”
I consider the icy ground beneath our feet. “First, we need to let Jake know what’s on his property. Then we sort out the legal side. If there really are valuable mineral deposits, mining companies will swoop in the moment word gets out.”
Lana turns. “And the gold?”
Margret squares her shoulders. “That belongs to Jake. It’s on his land. But I hope…” Her voice falters. “I hope he’ll honor my great-grandfather’s wishes for it.”
Long shadows stretch across the snow. My leg throbs where Danny struck me, but I force myself not to limp. I see Lana wince too—her bruised throat, the soreness in her shoulders.
“We should head back,” she says. “It’ll be dark soon, and we’ve all had enough excitement for one day.”
As we trudge toward the UTV, I notice Julia helping Margret through a deep drift. There’s something genuine in Julia’s quiet care—proof, maybe, that she’s been telling the truth all along.
“I think I was wrong about Julia,” Lana murmurs as we walk.
I exhale a cloud of breath and nod. “Sometimes people are exactly who they claim to be.”
Lana casts me a glance. “And sometimes they’re not,” she replies.
I give her a small smile. “That’s why we make a good team. You’re suspicious enough for both of us.”
She laughs, but winces. I fight the urge to ask if she’s all right. “And you’re trusting enough for both of us. Somehow, we balance out.”
At the UTV, we help Margret into the back seat beside Julia. Scout leaps in at Lana’s feet and turns to me with a hopeful look as I climb into the driver’s seat.
“Why don’t you stay the night with us?” I offer Margret. “I can bring you back in the morning to get your truck.”
“Thank you,” she says, settling into her seat. “I’m not sure I should be driving anyway. Too much excitement for these old bones.”
“Do you have livestock that needs feeding?” Lana asks, looking over her shoulder at Margret.
She shakes her head. “No, my foreman is there today to take care of them.”
I ease out of the mill yard, stealing a glance at the crumbling structure behind us.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Lana asks over the hum of the engine.
I keep my eyes on the snowy trail. “Just thinking about how easily things get buried,” she says. “Not just treasure, but truth.”
“Some things are worth digging for,” I reply, though I’m not sure if I mean the gold or something else entirely.
By the time we get back to Ella’s, the sun has dipped below the horizon, and the temperature plummets. Inside, heat hits us like a wave.
Julia peels off her coat. “Do either of you have a phone charger, and can I also borrow one of your phones… I should probably call my parents,” she says, winding her scarf. “Let them know I’m okay and tell them…well, maybe not everything.”
“Probably wise,” Lana agrees, collapsing onto the couch with a groan, holding her phone out to Julia.
“Margret, take a seat in front of the fireplace. I’ll be right back.” I slip into the kitchen and return with four steaming mugs of hot chocolate. I hand one to Margret and then Lana, my fingers brushing hers. “For the throat.”
She closes her eyes and inhales the warmth. When she opens them again, her gaze meets mine, soft and unguarded.
Julia disappears to make her call, leaving us alone with Margret, who is lying back in the recliner already dozing in the firelight. Scout curls at Lana’s feet, finally still.
Lana looks at me. “Thank you,” she says quietly. “For being ready to shoot Danny when he grabbed me.”
My jaw tightens, and I feel a muscle twitching in my cheek. “I wouldn’t have missed.”
“That’s what scares me,” she admits.
I set my mug down and turn to her. “What does?”
“How quickly I’ve come to trust you,” she whispers. “We barely know each other, Caleb.”
“Don’t we?” I lean forward. “Sometimes it feels like I’ve known you much longer.”
Her eyes search mine, and I feel a jolt in my chest—electric, inevitable. I’m about to close the distance when my phone rings, cutting through the moment. I pull it from my pocket.
“It’s Jake,” I tell her, regret lacing my tone. I listen, nod, and then say, “He says they’re flying back tomorrow. The roads are clear enough to get to the airport, and Nora’s doing better.”
“That’s good,” Lana says. “Did you tell him about the treasure?”
“Not yet,” I admit. “Some things are better discussed in person.” I run my hand through my hair. “We should get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”
Lana rises and pauses at the door. “Goodnight, Caleb.”
I catch her hand as she passes. “Lana,” I say softly, then, “I’m glad you’re okay.” I squeeze her hand once before letting go.
I get up, grab an afghan from the back of the couch, and cover Margret with it as Julia settles on the couch. She spreads out a comforter and lies down. “Thanks for the adventure today, Caleb. It was fun. Goodnight!”
“Night, Julia.”
Later, I find Scout asleep by Lana’s guest-room door and think over the day’s events—the mill, Margret’s tears, Danny’s betrayal, that moment almost lost between us. Tomorrow, we’ll face Jake, the town, and Thomas Wolf’s legacy. But tonight, I want only this quiet.
I stand and watch her through the half-open door. She’s tucked under the covers, Scout curled at her side, the hallway light painting her face in soft gold. I fight the urge to go and brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead.
Some questions are better left for daylight. For now, she’s safe, warm, and alive—and so am I. I close the door quietly and head across the hall to Nora’s room, heart a little fuller and a lot more unsettled by what tomorrow might bring.
I fall into an exhausted sleep almost immediately, the day’s events swirling through my mind as consciousness slips away. But my dreams aren’t peaceful—they’re filled with Lana.
She’s walking through the old mill, sunlight streaming through the broken roof and illuminating her hair like a halo.
I’m following her, watching the graceful way she moves, the slight sway of her hips.
She turns to look at me over her shoulder, a smile playing at her lips, and reaches out her hand.
“Come on,” dream-Lana says. “There’s something I want to show you.”
I take her hand, warm and soft in mine, and she pulls me deeper into the mill. The building shifts around us, growing larger, more maze-like. We’re no longer alone—shadowy figures watch from the rafters, from behind broken machinery. Margret. Danny. Strangers with hungry eyes.
“We need to be careful,” I tell her, but she just laughs, the sound echoing off the stone walls.
“Don’t you trust me?” she asks, tugging me forward.
“With my life,” I answer without hesitation, and she smiles again, her eyes meeting mine with an intensity that makes my heart race.
She leans closer, her lips inches from mine—
A sound jerks me from sleep—a whimper, soft but distressed. I bolt upright, disoriented, my hand automatically reaching for the gun on the nightstand. The digital clock reads 2:37 AM.
Another whimper. Scout?
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, wincing as my injured thigh protests. I assume the dog needs to go outside. Grabbing my crutches, I make my way across the hall to Ella’s room, where Lana is staying.
The door is ajar, and I push it open quietly. In the dim glow of the nightlight, I see Scout pacing back and forth beside the bed, his nails clicking softly against the hardwood. He looks up at me with worried eyes, whining low in his throat.
“Need to go out, boy?” I whisper.
But Scout doesn’t move toward the door. Instead, he turns back to the bed, where Lana is thrashing beneath the covers. Her face is contorted in fear, her head moving side to side as if trying to escape something—or someone.
“No,” she moans, her voice small and terrified. “Please, don’t. I can’t—”
I move to her side, setting my crutches against the wall. “Lana,” I say softly, not wanting to startle her. “Lana, wake up. You’re dreaming.”
She doesn’t hear me, trapped in her nightmare. Her hands clench the sheets, knuckles white, her breathing rapid and shallow.
“Please,” she whimpers. “I’ll do anything. Just don’t hurt them.”
The raw fear in her voice cuts through me like a blade. I sit carefully on the edge of the bed and touch her shoulder. “Lana. It’s Caleb. You’re safe.”
She flinches away from my touch, a sob escaping her lips. “Please stop,” she pleads with her invisible tormentor. “I don’t want to do this… think of Kori.”
Scout jumps onto the bed, circling once before settling against her side. He licks her cheek, his instincts telling him what she needs.
I hesitate, unsure if I should wake her forcefully or let the nightmare run its course. But when she cries out again, her voice breaking with anguish, I can’t stand it any longer.
“Lana,” I say more firmly, grasping both her shoulders. “Wake up. It’s just a dream.”
Her eyes fly open, wild and unfocused. For a terrifying moment, she doesn’t recognize me—her hand shoots out, connecting with my jaw in a defensive strike that’s surprisingly strong.
“Whoa,” I catch her wrist gently. “It’s me. Caleb. You’re at Ella’s house. You’re safe.”
Recognition dawns slowly in her eyes, followed immediately by embarrassment. “Caleb?” Her voice is hoarse, trembling. “I—what are you doing here?”
“Scout was worried about you,” I explain, releasing her wrist. “He woke me up.”
She sits up, pushing sweat-dampened hair from her face. “I’m sorry. Did I—” She notices my jaw where her hand struck. “Oh god, did I hit you?”
“It’s nothing,” I assure her, though I can feel it starting to throb. “Good right hook, though.”
She doesn’t smile at the attempted joke, just draws her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them like a shield. Scout presses closer, and she buries her fingers in his fur.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask quietly. “The nightmare?”
She shakes her head, then pauses. “It’s just... old ghosts. Things I thought I’d buried.”
I nod, understanding all too well. “Those have a way of coming back when you least expect them.”
We sit in silence for a moment, the only sound her gradually steadying breath and Scout’s occasional sighs as she strokes his head.
“Can I get you anything?” I finally ask. “Water? Tea?”
She looks up at me, vulnerability naked in her eyes. “Would you—” She stops, shakes her head. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”
“What is it?”
“Would you stay? Just for a little while?” The request comes out in a whisper, like she’s ashamed to ask.
“Of course,” I say without hesitation. I shift to sit with my back against the headboard, careful to keep a respectful distance between us.
She doesn’t move closer, but some of the tension leaves her shoulders. “Thank you.”
“Do you have these nightmares often?” I ask.
“They come and go.” She stares down at her hands. “More often when I’m stressed or... when I feel unsafe.”
The implication stings a little. “You don’t feel safe here?”
“No, that’s not—” She sighs. “It’s complicated. My brain doesn’t always know the difference between real danger and... past danger.”
I understand immediately. “The body remembers what the mind tries to forget.”
She looks at me then, really looks at me, and I see a flash of recognition—the knowledge that I’ve been there too, that I understand nightmares that aren’t just dreams but memories with sharper teeth.
“Exactly.” She relaxes a fraction more, her shoulders dropping. “How did you know?”
“Experience,” I admit. “After some of the... operations I was part of. Sleep isn’t always restful.”
She nods, and I can see she wants to ask more but isn’t sure if she should. I save her the trouble.
“I’ve had my share of nights where I wake up fighting shadows,” I tell her. “Nights where I can still smell the smoke, feel the heat of an explosion, hear the—” I stop myself. “Well. You get the idea.”
“Does it ever go away?” she asks softly.
I consider lying, telling her what she wants to hear, but something about the darkness and the quiet between us demands honesty.
“Not completely,” I say. “But it gets better. Less frequent. Less intense. You learn to recognize the triggers, to prepare for the bad nights.”
She absorbs this, her fingers still moving rhythmically through Scout’s fur. “I thought I was past this. It’s been months since...”
When she doesn’t continue, I don’t push. Whatever haunts her nightmares is hers to share when—and if—she’s ready.
“Try to get some rest,” I say instead. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”
She nods, sliding back down under the covers. Scout repositions himself against her side, his head on her shoulder like a living, breathing shield. I start to move to the chair by the window, but her hand shoots out, catching my wrist.
“Stay here?” she asks, her voice small again. “Please?”
I settle back against the headboard, my leg stretched out alongside hers on top of the blanket, maintaining a careful distance. She closes her eyes, her breathing gradually slowing.
Just when I think she’s drifted off, she speaks, her voice barely audible.
“I used to be someone else,” she murmurs. “Someone stronger.”
I look down at her, at the vulnerability and strength tangled together in her features. “I think you’re plenty strong now,” I tell her honestly.
A small smile touches her lips, there and gone in an instant. Then her breathing evens out, her features smoothing in sleep, and I’m left watching over her, wondering about the woman she used to be and the ghosts that still haunt her.