Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
ASH
The calf I patched last night cries when I enter the barn. I head straight for his stall. The bottle’s warm in my hand as I feed him, keeping his nose low so he swallows instead of inhales.
“Hungry,” I grunt, trying to escape into my chores. Quit thinking about the girl or the hum beneath my skin.
This ranch has more than enough to keep me busy morning and night for eternity. Or however long I get. No excuses for letting my thoughts wander this way.
And yet, they do.
Again and again.
More reason I shouldn’t be watching the neighbor. Guarding the ridge.
She doesn’t believe.
Doesn’t respect.
That’s more dangerous than knowing.
I push the herd out to pasture, Winnie shifting agilely beneath me. The sun puts beads of sweat on my forehead.
I have to work quick this morning. Council meeting this afternoon.
Something hits me that I’m not used to. Not fear. Maybe apprehension.
It’s the first meeting since Josephine showed up here.
None of this should matter. And yet I can’t deny it does.
I breathe slow through my nose, mind centering on a symbol from my flesh. Don’t know what it means. But always calms me, steadies things.
Until the hum shifts.
Not storm. Not cattle.
Her.
“Goddammit!” I grumble under my breath.
Sunlight streaks her hair blue as she heads toward a new rocky outcropping. This one closer to the Starborn Range.
Then she crosses it.
The air thins. Birds lift from the scrub before she even steps through. Even Winnie flattens her ears.
My skin tightens.
I can’t do anything while she persists.
“Obstinate,” I murmur, nudging Winnie forward.
Josephine turns when she hears the gallop, eyes blazing and arms crossed over her chest.
I shake my head, almost snarling. “You’re too close.” I point toward a sign.
Her face hardens.
“You.” Her voice lowers. “Again.”
“You don’t understand what you’re stepping into.” I regret it the moment it leaves my lips. But it’s already too late.
She shakes her head, rolling her eyes. “Can’t scare me with those ghost stories anymore. Haunted ranges? Unexplained happenings? There’s always an explanation.”
It’s the explanation that concerns me.
I rub the saddle horn into the back of my hand, preferring flesh pain to the hum lodged beneath my skin.
The air shifts, thick and heavy, my pulse synced with the distant mountains.
“I already told you, I’m fine. You don’t need to watch me.” She scowls.
“That’s what you say, and then I find you testing boundaries. Not respecting the land.”
“Not respecting the land?”
She pauses, then adds, “Kind of like how you’re trespassing?”
“That’s different.”
“Because you say so?”
“Martin and I have an unspoken agreement. Always been this way.”
“Convenient.” The corners of her mouth dip. “I assume that’ll stand when I want to check your property for petroglyphs?”
“For God’s sake, this is getting out of hand.”
“Why, Ash?”
The way she says my name breaks something loose in my chest. I hunch in the saddle, reflexively shadowing my face. “What are you doing, anyway? Those rocks are old as dirt. Probably less valuable.”
Her nostrils flare. “I already told you. I’m documenting sequences. Potential instances of astronomical alignment.”
Impressive. Dangerous.
My face tightens, trying to play it off. “You mean like horoscopes?”
“No, like solstice alignments.”
Two days in, and she’s already too close to all of this.
I remove my hat, ruffling my hair. “Better ways to do that nowadays.” I nod toward the phone in her hand. Then, add, “Or if you prefer old-fashioned, you can purchase an almanac at Redfern Feed for real cheap.”
She huffs a laugh, face livid.
I don’t want to belittle her work. But I do want her to leave.
She’s smart. Too smart for this place.
“Don’t worry. You won’t have to babysit long today. I’ve got a meeting at the museum later.”
“Good.” Then, I turn without another word, forcing myself to ride without looking back.
If they see what my body’s doing every time she steps near the range, they won’t need a council vote.
The back room of the Grange smells of dust and old tobacco. Folding chairs line a long table scarred by decades of elbows and arguments. Nothing holy about it.
Except for what we know.
Six of us sit. Ranchers to the town. Wildbloods underneath.
Mags Redfern takes the end of the table. Red and silver hair braided tight. Spine straighter than any of us.
“You called this early,” Clay mutters. “Storm patterns again?”
“Storm patterns aren’t the only ones shifting,” Mags says. Her gaze lands on me. Steady. Assessing.
My stomach drops. I keep my face neutral.
“What’s the update on the researcher?” Clay asks.
“She’s cataloging petroglyph sequences,” I say evenly. “Claims possible astronomical interest. Solstice alignment.”
A low murmur runs the length of the table.
“She step near the boundary?” another asks.
“Yes.”
“How close?”
“Close enough to feel it.”
Silence.
Mags folds her hands, face darkening. “And did the land answer?” she asks.
I hesitate. I’d hoped to avoid this kind of talk. “She didn’t go all the way.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
My jaw tightens. “The air shifted.”
Clay swears under his breath.
“Storm surge?” someone offers.
“No,” I say. “Localized. Responsive.”
The words hang.
Mags studies me for too long. “Responsive to what?”
I hold her gaze. “Unknown.”
She doesn’t blink, face unreadable. “Unknown,” she repeats softly. “Or simply inconvenient?”
No one else catches it. But I do.
My pulse spikes, eyes dropping to study my folded hands. Silence presses in. The distant murmur of a tractor, the only respite.
They’re waiting for me to weigh in. I search for the right words. Ones that don’t lie… ones that don’t say too much.
“She’s rational,” I say instead. “Dismissive. Believes everything has an explanation. One of those big-city science types. Give her a few more days, and she’ll be bored to death with those rocks… and Raven’s Ridge.”
At least, that’s the hope, though I know better. But I say anyway. Because I don’t know what else to tell them.
“That makes her more dangerous,” Clay says.
“Or easier to predict,” Mags replies.
That earns her a look. She ignores it.
“Not if she refuses to believe. Stays obstinate,” I add, working hard to keep the simmer out of my voice.
“What’s her next move?” she asks me.
“Museum meeting.”
“Then we get there first,” Clay says immediately.
“No,” Mags cuts in. “We do nothing that leaves fingerprints.”
Silence settles around the Grange.
“We observe,” she says. “We do not provoke.”
“And if the range reacts again?” I ask before I can stop myself. It’s the one question gnawing at me.
Her eyes flick back to me. “You report it. Immediately.”
I hold her gaze, jaw tightening. Looks like the babysitting just got official. The last thing I need.
“Anything you’d like to add, Ash?”
I shake my head. Her eyes slide down the table.
“Meeting adjourned,” she finishes.
But as chairs scrape and men stand, Mags lingers.
“Ash,” she says quietly.
I wait for her to stand, close the distance between us. She leans against the table next to me, her voice a whisper. “You’ve always been disciplined.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She studies my hands where they rest on the table.
“Control isn’t the same as immunity,” she says.
I meet her eyes.
“It just delays consequence.”
I exhale, shifting my weight. “You think I’m compromised.”
She smiles faintly. “I think there’s something you’re already feeling.”
Then she pushes away from the table, leaving me alone in my thoughts.
Lost in a swirl of dust and the fragrance of aged tobacco.