Chapter 4 Reid #2
The sun was up now, and the world had changed color. Heat shimmered on the ridges, and the bugs started their morning riot in the grass. We crossed the rise, followed the fence to where it kinked north, then cut down toward the draw that separated Maddox from Coleman.
Every so often she’d stop to take a GPS reading or snap a photo, her phone crashing enough times that she eventually switched to a battered field journal.
“You ever wish you’d done something easier for a living?” She asked, then patted her horse’s neck. “You’re pretty but you’re not easy, are you, Jupiter?”
“No. I like the work. Sure wish it paid more.”
She grinned, just a flash of teeth. “That’s the story of the world, isn’t it?”
At the draw, I stopped and unscrewed the cap from my thermos, poured two cups of coffee and handed one to Jennie. She accepted it with a grateful nod, sipped, and immediately made a face.
“That is... robust,” she said, choking a little.
“Buck’s blend. He says it’s for men, but I’ve seen Sloane and Ash drink it and live. Even Tess has managed to get some down.”
She snorted, wiped her mouth. “I don’t know who they are, but I’ll stick to science.
Safer that way.” She looked at me, then out at the land, and I could feel the edge soften.
“I think I mentioned the other day, my grandfather used to tell stories,” she said.
“He lived in East Texas, spent his whole life hunting, fishing, and never left the state except to get drafted. He’d say, ‘Watch out for the things that move after dark. They’re not always what you think. ’ Used to scare the hell out of me.”
“Did you believe him?”
She smiled, sad this time. “For longer than I’ll admit. Thought the woods were full of all kinds of monsters.”
“They are,” I said. “Just depends on your definition.”
She sipped, then said, “He had this theory that the world was once full of people who could change shape, shapeshifters, skinwalkers, whatever you want to call them. Said they lived among us, that the only way to spot one was to catch them in a lie or watch the way they watched you.”
There was far too much truth to that. “What changed your mind?” I asked.
“I grew up. Learned that most things have a practical explanation.” She shrugged, a graceful motion, but her eyes were on the distance, following the line of the fence.
“Most things,” I echoed, and she nodded.
We finished the coffee and remounted. This time, she let Jupiter walk a little closer, maybe because the ground was rough, maybe because she wanted to see how I’d handle it.
At the break in the fence, where the gate swung into Coleman territory, she reined in and looked at me.
“You think there’s anything to those old stories? ”
I considered lying. Instead, I said, “I think the world is full of things we don’t talk about. But I don’t believe in monsters.”
She smiled, and it was genuine. “That’s almost disappointing.”
“Most truths are.”
We rode on, side by side, and the horses found a shared rhythm. The heat was up now, and the ground crackled with every step, the dry grass desperate for the next storm.
At the next fence crossing, she dismounted to inspect a low spot where the wire had buckled.
She squatted, touched the ground, and I saw the way she read the space, clocking angles, measuring distances, scanning for threats before she even knew it.
Not a geologist, not even a little. She looked up and caught me staring. “What?”
I shook my head. “You move like someone who’s had training.”
She hesitated, then stood, brushing her hands. “I did a semester in Army ROTC,” she said. “Didn’t take.”
Bullshit. I didn’t call her on it. “Maybe it stuck more than you think.”
She grinned, but her eyes didn’t lose their edge. “You’re always this suspicious of visitors?”
I just chuckled.
She leaned against the fence post. “You ever think about leaving this place?”
I didn’t have to think to answer. “Never.”
“Why?”
“The land here... it remembers you. If you leave, it pulls you back.”
She nodded, and I thought she understood exactly what I meant. Maybe she did.
I cleared my throat. “You want to see something cool?”
Her eyebrows went up above the sunglasses, but she nodded. I led her a little ways down the ridge, past a cluster of prickly pear, back onto Maddox land, to where the stone jutted out in a shelf. I crouched, brushed off the top and pointed at a pale spiral shape in the limestone.
She squinted. “What is that?”
Hell yes, this woman was more than a geologist. She should’ve known exactly what it was. “Fossilized shrimp,” I said. “At least, that’s what Buck says. Could be a worm, maybe. But shrimp sounds better.”
She bent low, squinted, and for a second, I expected the excited nerd-out geologists always did on TV. Instead, she frowned. “Looks like a swirl. A seashell, maybe. Or a trick of the light.”
I traced the outline with a finger. “It’s the only reason I passed fifth-grade science. Teacher made us bring in a fossil, but I didn’t have one. Found this instead, took some pictures and drew it. Got an A.”
She looked at me, then back at the stone. “I didn’t know there were fossils out here.”
Yeah, she definitely should’ve known that. “Lots of things buried,” I said. “Depends if you want to find them.”
She took a picture, then stood up. “You come here a lot?”
“When I need to think.” I realized how soft that sounded, so I added, “It’s quiet, and nobody bugs me.”
She nodded and let it go, but I couldn’t. Her story was falling apart already. We headed back to the horses, and as we mounted up, I caught the way her gaze lingered on the horizon, memorizing it.
On the ride down, I paid attention to how she moved.
She kept the mare between us, but not in a way that said she feared me.
It was caution directed at herself. My wolf mapped her at every turn, ten yards ahead, twelve behind, three feet off my left.
The distance said something, but hell if I knew what.
We reached the main fence by nine-thirty. She logged the coordinates, checked her notes, and said, “Well, I need to get some soil samples.”