Chapter 5 #2
She rolled her eyes at that. Such godly people. She was pretty sure there was no commandment that said to ‘shoot thy neighbor’ in the bible or the Book of Mormon or whatever bastardized version of the two religions these people worshiped.
But the sign did make her rethink taking the dogs.
Bear got out of the Jeep, too, but it took him a bit longer to unfold from the seat, untangle from the seatbelt, and wrestle King back into the car when the dog tried to jump out.
“C’mon, King,” she heard him grumble. “Stay. Be a good boy for once.”
“That dog needs training,” she called to him.
“He is trained. He just.” Grunt. “Doesn’t.” Grunt. “Always listen.”
She glanced back just as Bear finally managed to shove King back into the Jeep and close the door. “Then he isn’t trained.”
He grumbled again and joined her at the gate. He didn’t say anything for a handful of beats, studying the gate with crossed arms and a scowl. “You sure about this?”
“No.” The admission came out in a burst, her breath clouding the air in front of her. She sighed. “But I’m not turning back now.”
She squeezed through the narrow opening at the side of the gate, then turned because she had to see the mountain attempt that.
Instead, he gripped the gate with both hands and lifted himself over it.
His biceps and tattoos flexed under the faded waffle-knit of his shirt, and her brain short-circuited for a second.
She tried not to ogle. She really did. But the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders and those giant hands just—it was unfair. Nobody needed to be that big. Or that competent. Or that somehow gentle with everything except the laws of physics.
The metal groaned, and Bear landed on the other side of the gate with a ground-shaking thud.
“Whew.” She fanned herself. “You should really sell tickets to that gun show, Sasquatch. You’d make a killing.”
He glowered at her, dusted off his hands on his jeans, and started walking. “Keep pushing my buttons, Tinkerbell. See what happens.”
“Tinkerbell?” she screeched and hurried to catch up. “Excuse me, I am not a Tinkerbell. Come up with something better.”
He grunted and kept walking.
Tall lodgepole pine and leafless aspens crowded the path. Even at midday, the place was dim and cold, and the runoff in the muddy ruts was starting to freeze.
Bear stayed ahead of her. No doubt he thought he was putting his wall of body between her and danger by going first.
Typical alpha male.
But she didn’t mind this instance of over-protectiveness because it allowed her to admire his ass for a few minutes. She was a red-blooded woman after all, and couldn’t help but wonder what he’d do if she just reached out and grabbed two handfuls.
If they were anywhere else, doing anything else, she would have just to see his reaction.
The track bent uphill through a stand of spruce. A handmade sign was wired to a tree: ALL VISITORS REPORT TO OFFICE. Another, scrawled below it, added: ABSOLUTELY NO PHOTOS.
And, suddenly, even Bear’s fine ass couldn’t distract her anymore. Her lungs felt weirdly tight.
Another few hundred yards, and the settlement appeared.
It sprawled across a wide valley, a collection of weathered buildings arranged in a rough circle.
A central temple dominated the space, its steeple rising above the surrounding structures.
Around it, smaller houses—simple cabins with steep-pitched roofs—stood in neat rows.
Smoke curled from chimneys, and the scent of woodsmoke and baking bread hung in the air.
This was it. The place where Alice might have been living for fifteen years. The thought made her stomach clench.
“Bigger than I expected,” Bear muttered. “Must be forty, fifty houses.”
“More.” She scanned the compound, looking for signs of life. A few people moved between buildings, women in long skirts and men in plain work clothes. No children in sight, which struck her as odd.
Bear’s hand found the small of her back, a steady pressure that both comforted and annoyed her. “Let me take the lead if things get tense.”
She wanted to snap at him, to remind him she’d been handling herself just fine for thirty-one years, but the tension radiating from his body stopped her. He wasn’t being controlling. He was genuinely worried.
People stopped and stared as they walked toward the temple at the center of town, following the rough wood signs pointing to the office.
A man emerged from the larger house next to the temple—tall and lean, clean-shaven with close-cropped hair, and eyes that missed nothing.
He wore a simple button-down shirt and worn jeans.
Less Charles Manson than she’d expected, but the set of his jaw said this was his turf, and he was going to defend it.
“Can I help you?”
Greta stepped forward, ignoring Bear’s subtle attempt to hold her back. “I’m looking for someone. Her name is Alice Dougherty. I was told she might be living here.”
The man’s expression remained neutral. “We don’t have anyone by that name.”
“Alyson, then. I was told she goes by Alyson now.”
A woman appeared in the doorway behind the man, her face partially hidden in shadow. She wore a long floral dress, her hair pulled back in a severe bun. She whispered something to the man, who nodded once before turning back to Greta.
“Wait here.” He disappeared back into the cabin, leaving the woman standing in the doorway, her eyes fixed on Greta with a vague hostility that made her skin crawl.
More people had appeared, emerging from houses and workshops to watch the strangers with undisguised curiosity. Some looked hostile. Others merely curious.
“Jesus,” Bear muttered under his breath. “They’re staring at us like we’re aliens.”
“Can you blame them? Not every day they see a Bigfoot in person.”
“Careful, Tink.”
The man returned, accompanied by another woman with strawberry blond hair.
Greta’s breath caught in her throat. The hair color was right. The height was right. Her heart hammered against her ribs so hard she thought it might crack them before the woman reached them.
“Alice?” She whispered and took a step forward. Couldn’t help herself.
The woman looked up.
It… wasn’t Alice.
Yes, the resemblance was strong enough that someone could mistake them for the same person from a distance, but the features were all wrong. The woman’s nose was too wide, eyes too small, mouth too thin, hair too fine.
And all the hope she hadn’t wanted to admit to… the hope that had been expanding in her chest since Dally-Ann’s visit… burst.
“Are you Alyson?” she asked, even though she knew the answer.
The woman’s expression was guarded as she nodded. “Yes. I’m told you’re looking for me?”
Greta couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. The world had narrowed to this moment, to the face that was almost right but also fundamentally wrong.
Bear’s hand found the small of her back. “We’re looking for her sister. Alice Dougherty. We were told she might be here, using the name Alyson.”
Alyson’s guarded expression softened to something like pity. “I’m sorry. I’m not your sister. My name is Alyson Porter. I’ve lived here in Glenhaven all my life.”
Greta nodded, not trusting herself to speak again.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Alyson said gently.
She wanted to scream that Alice wasn’t lost—not in the way that expression implied. Her sister was out there somewhere, waiting to be found. She knew it deep in her soul.
But the words stuck in her throat.
“Thank you for your time,” Bear said in a low rumble beside her. “We’ll be going now.”
The woman nodded and said something more, but Greta didn’t hear it. She turned away without another word, and her legs carried her back down the track to her Jeep on autopilot. The trees blurred around her, the path under her feet feeling unsteady despite being solid ground.
Bear walked beside her, not speaking, not touching her except for that steady hand at her back.
She made it all the way back to the Jeep and almost all the way back to town dry-eyed, jaw set so tight it ached, both hands gripping the steering wheel like she was hanging off a cliff.
The mountain fell away on her left, a sheer drop of hundreds of feet that ended in a jumble of pine and granite.
She kept her eyes on the road, counting the curves—one, two, three—as the Jeep wound its way down the steep grade.
The second switchback was when it started—no sound, just water she couldn’t stop. It rolled down her cheek, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. Another followed, and another, until the road blurred in front of her.
Her breath hitched in her chest.
“Greta,” Bear said softly. “Pull over.”
She pulled into a gravel turnout screened by a stand of lodgepole pines and killed the engine. The sudden silence was deafening. Atlas whined softly from the back seat. King’s head appeared between the front seats, his amber brown eyes fixed on her face with canine concern.
She put her forehead on the steering wheel and focused on breathing.
She was not going to do this here. She was not going to lose it in front of Bear.
But her body betrayed her. Her shoulders shook with each hitched breath.
Bear put his hand on her back, and that’s when the dam broke.
A sound came out of her, pulled up from somewhere she’d been keeping it for fifteen years.
It tore through her chest and out of her throat, a howl of grief and rage and bone-deep loss that had no words.
Atlas nosed at her from the back seat, whining and licking at her face. King also gave a deep, anxious rumble.
She hated worrying the dogs, but she couldn’t stop. Couldn’t breathe past the pain crushing her chest.
“Oh, Jesus, Greta.” Bear sounded pained as he scooped her out of the seat and dragged her onto his lap, folding his big arms around her. “Shh, I’ve got you. I’m here.”