Firelight at Mustang Ridge (12 page)

Krista's brows drew together. “Who?”

“My two squirrel buddies back at camp. I named them after the guys who brought those flying squirrel suits into the mainstream. We have a standing breakfast date.”

Krista studied her, still looking worried. After a moment, she said, “If you insist on heading back to Blessing Valley, will you at least do me a favor?”

“What?”

She gave a little whistle, and a big black dog trotted out of the barn. Mostly Labrador, he was ribby and had a stray's rough fur, but sat squarely at Krista's heel like he'd been trained to the hilt.

Remembering what Krista had said about her needing a dog, Danny quickly shook her head. “Oh, no, you don't. No way.”

“Yes, way. I want you to take this guy with you. His name is Wysiwyg—for ‘what you see is what you get,' which sums him up perfectly. I call him Whiz for short.”

“I'm not calling him anything,” Danny protested, ignoring the twinge of guilt when the dog's ears flattened at her tone. “I don't need a guard dog.”

“Well, that's lucky, because Whiz here is kind of a wimp about loud noises.” Krista patted his upturned head. “We don't know his exact story, but I wouldn't be
surprised if there was some abuse in there, definitely neglect. One of Nick's clients found him on the side of the road and brought him to the vet clinic. He and Jenny just need someone to foster him for a bit, give him some time to heal up and chill out.”

“I don't . . .” Danny began, then trailed off, because the dog was looking at her with big, soulful brown eyes. “Knock it off,” she told him. “I'm not taking you.”

The end of his tail gave a hopeful thump.

“I'm not,” she insisted, even though she was starting to feel like a jerk. First she turned Sam down, and now this. But was it her fault that all she wanted right now was to be left alone?

“If you're not going to stay here, then I want you to take the dog,” Krista said softly. “Please. You'll be helping Jenny out, and I'll feel better knowing that you're not all alone. Whiz is good company, even if he's a bit of a wuss.”

Battered and wimpy, and needing some time to heal. Invisible walls closed in, making Danny want to shove back, even if it was futile. “What if he gets eaten by a bear, or chases the horses? And what am I supposed to do with him during the day?”

The corners of Krista's mouth kicked up. “He'll stick right with you—I think he's afraid of being abandoned again. And there's no reason he can't come to work with you. The guests love him.”

As if sensing that it was decision time and she was on the fence, Whiz gave her the full-on puppy-dog eyes, cocked his head endearingly, and lifted a paw for her to shake.

Oh, come on
. Scowling—she'd had a heck of a day
and she just wanted to relax, darn it—Danny said, “He won't fit on the ATV.”

“You can take the Gator. It's a two-seater with a dump back.” Krista hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “It's parked next to your ATV.”

In other words, this was a setup. Not sure if she should be amused or outraged—and mostly just tired and ready to head for the hills—Danny said accusingly, “You knew I wouldn't stay. You were planning on foisting the dog on me all along.”

“I don't have any idea what you're talking about.” Krista tossed her the keys. “There's a bag of kibble in the back. Have fun, you two. I think you'll be good for each other.”

C
rack-boom!

The noise sounded like a bomb, or an avalanche, rocketing Danny awake to flickers of light and the earth shaking around her.

Her arms were trapped, her legs were folded so tight to her chest that she could only suck air into the top few inches of her lungs. A heavy weight sat on her, pressing her into—

The weight lurched up, stepped on her with big, pointy feet, and slurped her face. “Whuff!”

“Gah!” She sat bolt upright, pawing at her face, then for her flashlight. “Whiz. What the—” Sheet lightning flashed outside, close enough to make the air crackle. The dog yelped and launched his whole weight onto her. “Off!” She shoved without strength or leverage as thunder roared. “For the love of—Get
off
!” When he finally moved, she dragged herself up, coughing and wheezing for air, for control. “Damn it.”

She couldn't stop shaking.
Slippery rock walls. Night closing in. A storm coming. Flinging her head back and screaming, “Get me out of here!” and having it come out as a whisper.
She doubled over her folded arms, her breath
coming in rattling gasps as the lightning flickered again, charging the air with electricity but no hope of rain.

She fumbled for the flashlight, took three tries to turn it on. And realized she wasn't the only one struggling to hold it together.

Whiz was pancaked on his belly, shaking like he was caught in a one-man earthquake. His ears were flat against his head, his white-rimmed eyes big and apologetic, and his throat vibrating with a series of anxious whines that sounded like he was channeling a dental drill.

Guilt stinging, she scooted over to him. “I'm sorry, you startled me. It's okay, it's just heat lightning. Nothing to be afraid of.” Her voice steadied as she tried to soothe the dog. “You're a good dog. Good man. Brave boy.” She patted him. “Easy, buddy. I've got you. You're safe.”

Lightning sheeted around them, so close that the air crackled along the tent walls and the hairs on her arms stood straight up, and a sudden gust of wind buffeted the tent around them, the sound and pressure making it feel like they were right next to a high-speed train.

Whiz lunged for the front of the tent and scratched at the zipper, then started pawing with both front feet, hunched over as though he was trying to tunnel out.

“Knock it off. You're going to rip it!”

But the dog dug like he was headed for the earth's core, panting and whining, and thoroughly unglued.

“Do you need to go out?” she asked, thinking the poor guy was probably fighting a stress piddle. “Okay. Hang on.” Rattled and shaky, she stuffed her feet into her boots, got him into the harness and leash that Krista had sent with him, and unzipped the fly.

A gust of wind ripped the tent open and filled it in an instant. The material billowed around them, terrifying Whiz. Howling, “Yi-yi-yi,” he bolted out of the tent, yanking the leash from Danny's grip.

“Whiz, wait! No!” Envisioning him disappearing into the darkness, she surged out of the tent.
“Whiz!”

She got a flurry of barks in answer, turned her flashlight toward the sound, and found him reared up against the RV door, clawing at the screen.

“Whiz, no!” She grabbed his leash and pulled. “Down!”

FLASH-BOOM!
Lightning and thunder cracked simultaneously and a huge wind gust hit the campsite, flipping the table and sending the chairs flying. The dog yanked on the leash, trying to get free. And if he did, she was pretty sure he'd be gone.

“Okay,” she shouted over the storm. “Okay, you win!” She wrenched open the door to the RV. “Go on, get in!”

The dog flung himself up the steps and disappeared into the darkness. Danny, on the other hand, stalled just inside the door, her heart pounding. Because if for a minute there she had been able to level herself off and focus on Whiz, now it all came back full force as she stared into the long, narrow center aisle and felt the unnatural stillness of the air.

The wind slapped at the RV, making the broad walls shudder.

“Damn it,” she muttered between her gritted teeth, “you're fine. This is no big deal.”

That was what she had told herself about the crystal pocket, though, and look how that turned out. She should just go sleep in the tent. Whiz would be fine
without her. Unless he wasn't. Krista had said he wanted to stick right with his person, so she wasn't sure she dared leave him alone in the RV. Two squirrels had done enough damage. What about an eighty-pound dog having an anxiety attack?

Darn, darn, darn
. She couldn't do it. She took a step back, then another. Felt for the stairs with her toe.

“Whuff?” The sound came from the back room.

“You're okay,” she called. “Don't worry. I'll see you in the morning.” But every instinct she had—even the ones that were telling her to sleep in the tent—said that she didn't dare leave him in the
Rambling Rose
alone.

She hesitated as lightning flashed. Counted to three until thunder rumbled. Then, muttering under her breath, she cranked the cockpit windows open.

Air moved past her, telling her that there was a way out. Sure, it also meant the squirrels could get in, but she had to figure that the dog would be a good deterrent. Maybe. Hopefully.

Okay. You can do this.

Pulling the cushions and blanket off the mini-couch, she made herself a nest near the door, where everything smelled fresh and she could see out. Her pulse drummed as she settled down on the RV's carpeted floor. “Fine. You win. We'll sleep in here. Happy now?”

There was the sound of padding feet. Then the big dog sank down right beside her, tightening the blanket and sending little panic sparks through her system. Steeling herself, she patted his head. “Good dog.”

She might as well suck it up and give him what he needed. It wasn't like she was going to get any more sleep tonight.

So she draped an arm over his ribs as the storm noises settled in around them—the whistle-moan of wind through the open windows and door, the rattle-flap of the awning, and the scratch-bang of the branches on the . . .

She slept.

*   *   *

“You got a dog?” Charlie's face got really big on the computer screen as she leaned in. Then she laughed at herself and said, “Tilt the camera so I can see him.” When Danny obliged, she waved and chirped, “Hi, Whiz! I'm Auntie Charlie!”

A scant thirteen months younger than Danny, she was lighter-haired and finer-boned, with a scattering of freckles and an utter inability to sit still.

“You're his
temporary
aunt Charlie,” Danny corrected, putting the laptop back up on Krista's desk. “I'm not keeping him.”

“Why not? There's room at the house.”

Because I'm not sure I'm coming back
. She didn't say it out loud, though. She wasn't ready for it to hit the parental grapevine, especially when she wasn't yet positive she really meant it. “I'm sure Jenny and Krista are working on finding him a home around here.” She patted Whiz's head. “Until then, he's helping me with the guests.” And that wasn't the only thing he was helping with. Ever since the night of the storm, she'd been sleeping in the RV. In the back bedroom, even, albeit with the windows wide-open. And she hadn't had a nightmare in days. She didn't think it was the company, either. It was that she had someone to worry
about other than herself. Someone who needed her to be brave and didn't judge.

Charlie made a face. “Nature hikes. Bleck. Bo-ring.” Then she added quickly, “Don't get me wrong, though. They're fine for you.”

“I'm having fun,” Danny said, letting it roll off her back. They chatted a few minutes more—about Charlie's upcoming mud run, their parents' plan to do a half marathon in every New England state the following year, and how the store was doing.

It was a little odd to realize how superficial their conversation was, how polite they kept everything. Then again, she and Charlie had always hung out with different friends and competed against each other in just about every sport possible, so maybe it wasn't that odd. And maybe it was something they should think about changing.

“How's Jase?” Danny asked. “Is he still aiming for the big century race this fall?” Charlie's boyfriend was a serious road biker and all-around nice guy.

Charlie blinked in surprise, but answered, “He's good. Dad's going to sponsor him for the race. He said it would be good advertising.”

And he probably missed having two kids to cheer for. Letting herself feel the pang—she was finally getting what Farah meant about it being impossible for a sane woman to make everybody happy and still take care of herself—Danny said, “Good for him. Just don't let Mom design his uniform. Remember the Halloween mountain bike race debacle.” It had involved matching ballerina tutus, sparkly wings, and shirts plastered with
the shop's name and logo. Mom had claimed they were fairies, but once they had their full-face helmets and body armor on, they had looked more like cross-dressing ballerina hockey players.

“No way. I already told her that Jase and I would handle his jersey. Better that than fairy wings.” They shared a grin over the memory. It hadn't been funny at the time, but fifteen years later, the pictures were pure gold. Then, hesitating a little, Charlie said, “I, um, saw Allison the other day. She asked how you were.”

It wasn't nearly the kick in the gut that Danny would've expected. More like a poke in the solar plexus. “Have they set a date yet?”

“They're doing a Christmas wedding.”

Okay, a poke in the stomach with a couple of chopsticks. But she wasn't going to dwell on it. “Next time you see her, tell her I said congratulations. Actually, on second thought, don't.”

“No?”

“I'll e-mail her myself. Brandon, too.” If she held a grudge, she would be the only one who knew it, or really cared. So why bother? “Are you going to the wedding?”

Charlie ducked her head. “She, um, asked me to be a bridesmaid?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“I said I'd have to talk to you.”

Moved, Danny said, “Aw, Chuckie. That's so sweet.”

That got a snort. “Don't call me that. I take it you're cool with me being in Allison and Bran's wedding?”

Bran
. The nickname tugged, but that was life. “You don't need my permission, but thanks. And go ahead. Have a ball.”

“You'll be back by then, right? You're not going to miss ski season.” She made it sound inconceivable.

“We'll see.”

Charlie cocked her head. “You're really okay with this, aren't you? What happened?” Her eyes sharpened. “Did you meet somebody?”

“No. I mean, yes, I'm really okay with Allison and Brandon getting married. And no, it's not because I met somebody new. Or maybe I did.” Danny grinned. “Me.”

Her sister's brows furrowed. “You met yourself?”

“Yep. And you know what? I think I like me.”

“I don't get it.”

“That's okay, because I do.” At least she was starting to. Hearing Shelby's voice in the main room, she said, “I gotta go. We're heading over to the barn raising.”

“The
what
?”

“Barn raising. There's going to be a square dance after, which sounds fun.”

Charlie was looking at her like she had just started spouting off about alien landing parties and nasal probes. “What are you, in another century out there? Sheesh. I thought Maine was bad.”

Laughter bubbling up, Danny waved. “I'll talk to you later, Sis. Tell Mom and Dad I called, and that I'll try them again in a week or so.” She aimed for the disconnect button.

“Wait!”

Danny froze, her finger hovering. “What?”

An impudent grin lit Charlie's face. “Whoever this guy is—the one you're trying to pretend you're not thinking about—I think you need to ask him to dance. What have you got to lose?”

*   *   *

Sam didn't claim to be an expert gem cutter by any stretch, but he enjoyed the process, and on a good day he could produce a decent cut and polished stone. So far, he was having a good day, at least when it came to the work. With classic rock pumping through the sorting shed and the gem wax-mounted on the drop stick to keep it immobilized, he was in the groove.

Earlier, he had cut a flawed section off the rough aquamarine and ground down the outer surfaces, shaping it toward the teardrop outline that would maximize the usable stone. Now, referring to the cutting chart at his elbow, he started on the facets of the pear cut—a flat oval table on the front surrounded by a precise set of angles, with a deeper starburst pattern on the back that would turn the blue-green bright and brilliant when the light hit it.

It required exact precision, especially for a stone this big, so as he started faceting the front, he ignored the movement in his peripheral vision. Until it started flapping at him.

He drew the stone away from the grinding face, killed the motor, and fixed Midas with a look. “This better be important.”

The geo-engineer's facial hardware gleamed in the fluorescent overheads as he did a mime routine, complete with silent screams and invisible walls closing in on him.

Sam tapped his ear protectors. “They're digital, so I can hear you just fine, just like I can hear the music. Which you darn well know. And I repeat: this better be important.”

The engineer's eyebrows rose. “Axyl's right. You're cranky.” He held up both hands. “Hey, don't pound the messenger. He sent me in here to see if you want to ride over to the Sears place with us.”

Right. The barn raising. “You guys go ahead.”

“You're coming later?”

Sam shrugged. “I bought all the steel and hired the machines.”