Chapter 14
Chapter
Fourteen
JOSEPHINE
“Ash,” I ask at the door to the ranch’s mudroom. “What are you thinking?”
He stands back, Carhartt collar up, pelted by rain. And his face looks haunted.
I watch rain fall in thin rivers from the brim of his hat. His eyes mirror the storm, and his jaw tightens.
“You were right before.”
My voice hitches, body trembling beneath damp clothes. “About what?”
“Impossible.”
For a second, he looks like he might say something else.
Like the word is stuck somewhere between his throat and the rain.
Then it’s gone.
He storms across the pasture like a man on a mission. For a moment, I hesitate, arms holding the sides of the doorway, body ready to spring after him.
But it hits me again. How insane this is. A fever dream I must wake from.
“Jo?” Grandma calls from the kitchen, voice too soft for her.
“Yes,” I say, pulling my eyes from the towering cowboy, leaning into the storm. Each step tugs at my peace. Feels like something destabilizing. Breaking down.
Is this how it’s felt to him this whole time?
“Jo?” she repeats, coming up behind me.
I startle at her proximity, stepping away from the door.
She closes it. “You’re bringing the rain in.”
I shiver in the mudroom, listening to the rain from my clothes trap against worn linoleum.
“You’ll catch your cold if you don’t change into something dry.”
Her face looks calm despite everything that’s happened. But it’s in the space of what she doesn’t say that I feel it—anxiety, concern.
She doesn’t ask about Ash. Doesn’t ask why he was holding me or where we went.
The silence settles heavier than any words could.
Grandma dries her hands in her apron like an old habit. Her face tightens. “Called your mom recently? Maybe it’s time for you to… consider heading back.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, surveying the disheveled house, signs of the government men in every corner. “I… I…” I breathe through my mouth, trying not to break. “I don’t know what it was about my research that they came for.”
Behind me, a voice rumbles. Grandpa. “That’s not your fault, Jo.” He says it like he knows something.
I turn around, sniffling and rubbing my nose with the corner of a wet sleeve.
“Listen to your grandmother. Take a hot shower. Then, change into something dry. We need to talk.”
Grandma bustles around the kitchen, straightening and reorganizing things out of place. She murmurs under her breath as she works, little words of annoyance that I can’t decipher.
“Miranda, darling. Quit fussing over that stuff. Come here. Have a seat,” Grandpa scolds, shifting in his chair.
“First, coffee. Would you like some, Jo?”
This late in the day, no. But I can’t imagine I’ll be sleeping much tonight.
“Yes, please.”
Grandma nods, satisfied.
Grandpa stares at the tablecloth, face storming.
My fingers ghost over my lips once. I can still feel the heat of him there.
When we each have a steaming stoneware mug in front of us and the cold crock of fresh cream, he begins, “They went through the family photos. Took more than I care to think about.”
His work-hardened hands wrap around the mug, eyes staring into the brown swirl. Then, his eyebrows lift. “Do you know why?”
“Ash,” I whisper. “Nineteen sixty-six.”
He frowns. “Nineteen sixty-six. Seventy-six. Eighty-six... All made sense at the time. Maybe not in retrospect.”
I lick my lips, still tasting him. I feel him, too. Though with each passing minute, my chest goes colder, more hollow. And an ache sits at the base of my skull, climbing toward my temples.
“Never thought he’d look at my granddaughter like that, though.” The chair creaks as he sits back. Face hard, fingers tapping on the tabletop.
Grandma clears her throat. “Now, Martin, that’s none of our business—”
“Really?” He eyes her for a long moment, then turns his gaze on me. Unreadable. “Knew this wasn’t a good idea. Jo coming here. Looking at those rocks. Could only lead to one thing. Trouble.”
She laughs, but it comes out all wrong. Strained. “Now, dear—”
“Government trouble…” He stares at his hands. “The worst kind.”
He rises, chair scraping against wood. I hear his footsteps pound up the squeaking stairs. He returns determined, placing an old scrapbook in front of me.
“Didn’t want this,” he grumbles. “Public record.”
The leather is old and worn, and the pages crack as I turn them. Dust, old glue, and the smell of musty newsprint thread the air.
Grandpa stands over me, licking his finger before he turns each page. “I know it’s here,” he says, growing impatient, flipping too fast.
Then, he starts from the back, moving forward. Finally, his finger lands on a yellowed article with a hollow sound.
Space Debris Hysteria Ruled Hoax
My eyes scrape over a black-and-white photo of Grandpa, holding a homemade rocket, face a grimace like he was staring into the sun. Then, dates and words. Nineteen sixty-nine. Crash site. Strange debris.
He crosses his arms across his chest, jaw tightening. “It was a mistake. Never should have happened.”
“What, Grandpa?” I stare up at him, registering the way he won’t make eye contact.
“Found something… metallic. Compact. Strange symbols on it like—” He stops short, shaking his head.
“Like what?”
He pauses for a long moment, eyes still not meeting mine. Now Grandma stares at him, too, face tight, as if she’s bracing for something.
“Hurt Ash bad.” He exhales long and low. “But not me. Not at all.”
I turn toward him. “How did it hurt him?”
“Like lightning,” he says too fast. “Only way to describe it.”
“When?”
“When I handed it to him.”
Silence settles. Thick and guilty.
“You couldn’t have known,” Grandma says, but Grandpa glares at her.
“Still hurt him. Nearly killed him.”
“But what does any of this mean?” I ask, hands trembling.
Grandpa shrugs. “Have to ask him. Not sure how much he knows, though. Never liked to talk about… the difference. I just covered for him and the others. Chalked it up to one of my rockets gone rogue.”
My heart races. His words remind me of things my mom warned me about. That there were places and things not up for discussion in Raven Ridge.
People, too, it seems.
“Had to take the blame for it. Couldn’t let them focus on Ash… or the others.”
“Others?” I ask.
His eyes trail far away. “The ranchers. The ones who meet at the Grange.”
Silence ripens the air.
“But,” he adds. “We did find something out there. Something powerful.”
“And where’s the thing you found now?” I ask.
He nods toward Ash’s property. “Government can search this place all they like. Everything here’s circumstantial. But Ash’s place…” He shakes his head. “No way. Same with Mags, Clay. All the old families. Wildbloods, they call themselves.”
“Wildbloods?” My eyes catch his. “What is that? Like a family name or something?”
He searches for his next words carefully. “The difference. Slight but tangible.”
“But they never did hurt anyone,” Grandma adds.
The words don’t make me feel any better.
Grandpa pauses, breath catching. “Never questioned it. Known it my whole life. That some folks around here are unique. Maybe it would’ve bothered me more if I moved away.”
“Like Mom?” I ask.
He nods. “Which is what you should do, too. Now. Before this gets any bigger.”
It already feels far bigger than anything I can control.
“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner. But we were so happy to have you home—”
“Still are,” Grandma cuts in, patting my hand.
“Should’ve kept you away from those damn rocks. And my friend,” he says bitterly. “But letting you study this place felt like the only way to get you home.”
A sting hits the back of my eyes. I stare at the table until my eyes blur. “Is that really the only reason you think I’m here?”
“Oh, no, dear,” Grandma croons. “You know how Grandpa is. Not great with words.”
“Maybe not, but this you have to abide by.” He finally looks at me. “Promise me, Jo.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer.
“Promise me you’ll leave this place and these rocks. That you’ll never look back… and you’ll stay away from Ash.”
“Martin,” Grandma starts.
But he cuts her off with a hand. “Promise me.”
That’s when I realize I can’t feel him anymore.