Obfuscate (19 page)

The winds picked up again and Sheridan searched the abandoned cemetery for any sign that the souls of her lost family members, including her mother’s, could be standing with her now. Aisling tried to disguise herself deeper into the tree, but Sheridan turned and stared directly at her.

Aisling wondered if Sheridan might still have the sight as strong as when she was younger.

Sheridan approached the tree, intently studying it.

Aisling sucked in a breath and desperately searched for a distraction.

Her daughter advanced one step, two steps, and studied the branches and leaves making up Aisling’s disguise. Sheridan reached the tree and tried to converge with her mother’s energy as she did when she was a young child.

Aisling conjured and called upon the elementals and a hauntingly beautiful child’s laugh and raised the winds once more. The winds blew wild as the clouds raced across the darkening sky. The snow fell once again in quarter-sized flakes obscuring Sheridan’s vision. She turned her head toward the laughter and chased it behind her tears.

Sheridan dodged the snow from this tree and around that gravestone. She ran after the etheric child-like laughter. “Teagan? Teagan? Baby, is that you?” The young girl’s voice sing-songed around every corner as if to say, “Catch me if you can.”

Aisling recoiled from needing to distract her daughter is such a way, but she hoped it would provide the confirmation Sheridan’s heart most desperately needed. That sign from above she was seeking prayer for.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Aisling turned to make her way toward the energy portal. She needed to discuss the escalation of the US missile movement to the queen. To keep the idiot politicians from blowing up the planet, it would be time to enact the “power plan,” sooner rather than later.

Aisling reflected on Amicula’s words:

“Acceptance is needed now so we can move forward to brace ourselves for the coming neoteric world.”

Brace ourselves, huh?

Aisling had the peculiar feeling Amicula wasn’t just talking about vampires anymore.

T
he guest house
at the Flying F Ranch had been our home for the past couple months. Now that our family memorial service had honored and remembered those we lost, I hoped we might fly back to Florida soon. I was ready to rebuild, pick-up from where we were, and handle the packing up of Dakota’s room.

After the exequies, we gathered back at the main ranch house for an early afternoon dinner. Aunt Maisie always made sure the table was filled to overflowing with delicacies. She and my Uncle Charlie had been running a vacation dude ranch in Montana for over thirty years, and they loved having guests from all over the world.

No one was idle at the Flying F, not even the guests. If you stayed there, you worked there. It was a fair deal, but I longed to have lazy days where I could lounge around on the couch, in my jammies, instead of shoveling sidewalks and horse barns. It made the summer task of picking beans or shelling peas a desired event. With the world political news escalating into more panic and heightened alerts, I had the feeling those indulgent days of safety and leisure were quickly coming to a close.

We circled the kitchen table trying to understand the morning’s events. I was still reeling in shock that we saw a caravan with a missile drive onto the property.

Uncle Charlie kicked off his boots and set them by the hearth to dry. “The Lt. Base Commander at Malmstrom Air Force Base in Great Falls called me yesterday saying there might be some activity in that old missile silo on the south eighty. Last time they were out here, I had to string up an electric fence to keep lookie-loos and war-haters away. I don’t want those silos on my land any more than the next guy, but I don’t need people getting shot trying to break in.”

Harris lifted the lid of the chili pot and breathed in a big whiff of the spicy soup. “I’ve never seen somethin’ like that before. Is the government reactivating nuclear missiles? Didn’t they sell off the silos to end-of-the-world lovin’ preppers?”

“There’s nothing wrong with preppers.” I put my hands on my hips and made sure my tone of voice was one that was heard. “They believe in self-sufficiency and not being dependent on anyone for anything. They’re smart for planning ahead.”

Aunt Maisie smacked Harris’ hand from the chili pot and handed him a stack of plates to set the table with instead of snitching before the meal. Harris kissed Aunt Maisie on the cheek and said, “Maybe so, but I saw a show once where this couple turned their silo into a hippie commune.” He put the plates on the counter and took out a glass, filling it with water. “They sat around singin’ ‘Puff the Magic Dragon’ or something weird.”

Both Torchy and Briggs laughed out loud, and I couldn’t resist a little chuckle myself.

Uncle Charlie shrugged and shook his head, seemingly resigned to be able to do anything about the silo activity. “You never know what the air base is doing, and there’s nothing you can do to stop them. It’s been years since we’ve seen any activity, but we’ve always given them a wide berth when they’re here. Mason and I are going to run the fence lines this afternoon to make sure the cattle aren’t attacked by aliens or anything. Hey—ya never know, this could be the next Area 51.” He winked at Aunt Maisie.

I peeked in the oven at the cornbread. “Ya know, Sher, I could set PADME to monitor what’s going on in the local area, and she can inform us if there are any changes.

I mind messaged to the non-humans in the room,
“PADME has been quite forthcoming with information about recent abductions not too far from here—over by Swift Dam, a few hours north. We think there is a breeding den close by. Plus, she has found significant information about shipments we think are coming from the North Sentinel Island.”

Khaldon, Briggs, Torchy, and Harris all turned and looked at me at the same time. It was amazing at how cool these guys were with mind-messaging, but able to keep it a secret. Not a human in the room knew what was what. I did catch Aunt Maisie staring at me with a small smile. I winked back at her. I needed to get to know her better as there seemed to be something more to her than she ever let on.

Hmmmm.

Harris interlaced his hands and turned them inside out. “Wicked. Chey, let’s hack into the satellite grid and probe for activity on the global missile positioning systems.” He cracked his knuckles readying himself for an all-night programming session.
“It’ll be just like when we hacked into the Emergency Broadcast System and sent out those zombie apocalypse messages out over the television and radio stations.”

“Who is PADME?” Uncle Charlie took off his cowboy hat and hung it on a hook by the door.

“It’s a holographic program I created called PADME. My Personal Automated Domicile Management Executive. I can set her to monitor any kind of data activity and have her report it. At home in Orlando, she maintains all the alarm security, phone and Internet access, electronic functions, temperature settings, and pretty much anything I want to give her.”

“Holographic?” Aunt Maisie furrowed her brow. “Like a ghost or somethin’?”

Sheridan squeezed our aunt’s shoulder giving her a sweet smile. “Don’t worry, Auntie, it’s not quite like that. Plus, we don’t have the projection cameras to illuminate PADME’s holographic body program. Think of it like a really smart computer who can remember to do the things you’ve asked it to without you having to remind it.”

Harris slid the plates and bowls across the table. “Even though we don’t have her projection cameras, we do have her base server program. I can set her to watch the news, track satellite movements, and scan headlines for any increases in missile movement around here.”

“Damn, that’s something I gotta see.” Mason Jones, the ranch foreman, snitched a roll from the bread basket and popped it into his mouth. He grimaced when he’d seen he’d been caught and must’ve known what was coming.

Aunt Maisie smacked the back of his hand with her wooden spoon. “Wait n’til supper’s ready. Eat, eat, eat … that’s all you boys do around here.”

“Well, Maisie, it’s all that good cooking. We can’t resist ourselves. I don’t know about all this PADME stuff, but whatever you kids think you need to do.” Uncle Charlie pointed to the where the trucks turned. “What I do know is—we have to clear out old tumbleweeds from around the silo perimeter fence lines. Any of you city slickers wanna join us?”

“Not me.” I shook my head but smiled at my uncle, asking forgiveness. “I want to get ready for the Race Across the Sky Dance tonight. Khaldon promised me two weeks ago he’d take me.” I winked at Khaldon and widened my eyes at him, daring him to use fence mending as an excuse to get out of dancing.

Even though he had told me he would be here for the memorial service, I half-way didn’t believe it would happen. It seemed as though the time apart helped us both immensely. Khaldon seemed just as excited to move forward with our life as I was. They say
absence makes the heart grow fonder.
Whoever “they” are, they were right. I wasn’t crazy about testing the theory, but it did give me time to realize just how important he was to me.
And
that I did want him in my daily life ... again.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, m’lady.” He gestured in a waist-deep bow toward me.

Harris seemed all over the idea. “Sure. How many silos do you have? Can I drive the tractor? Does it have cool levers and stuff to make the bucket go up and down? Or those huge prongs to skewer hay bales?”

Uncle Charlie chuckled. “Woah there, cowboy. We’ve got three silos on the ranch. Two to the south side and one further along the northern perimeter.” He glanced from side to side, looking for Maisie. When he thought the coast was clear, he snitched a finger scoop of mashed potatoes.

Aunt Maisie turned the corner and popped him with a dish towel. “Get! All of you, get!”

Everyone laughed while the guys scooted away with their lives from the vicious, champion towel popper.

“
Oui!
Give dze chef ’er kitchen.” Backing her up, Briggs stood behind her with a rolling pin in his hands.

She nodded to him indicating their intimidation was successful, and she winked at him.

I bet they become cooking buddies for life.

“Guess I’ll start baking again for those poor military folks stuck in those dreary holes.” Aunt Maisie pulled out a
For the Love of Baking Cookbook
from her top shelf and instantly held Briggs’ attention. “I just can’t imagine living and working underground like that day after day and not seeing the sun. Would drive me bonkers.”

Uncle Charlie sat at the head of the table and continued where he left off. “When the silos were active before, Maisie would leave baskets of homemade goodies at the gates for shift changes. They couldn’t ever really talk to us, but we figured it might be to our advantage to be friendly.”

Torchy licked his lips. “Lucky soldiers. I could really go for some of Aunt Maisie’s peach cobbler.”

“Well, you’re just in luck, Mr. Gravenor.” Aunt Maisie’s voice, as solid as a battle ax and quick as a whip, interjected. “Sheridan, just this morning, pulled out a couple jars of canned peaches to make a cobbler for dinner tonight. I’m sharing my secret recipe with her.”

Briggs looked up from a recipe book with interest. “
Oui?
What’s dzis about secret recipes? Is it published?”

“Well, then it wouldn’t be a secret anymore, now would it, Mr. Briggs?” Aunt Maisie turned her head as though she were holding an award-winning coveted state fair recipe book.

“Perhaps we should consider writing a recipe book together.
Secret Down Home Recipes from the Flying F Ranch
.” Briggs gestured in a circle with his hand. “I believe it has a certain
je nais se qua, oui
? Don’t you think?”

Uncle Charlie laughed from deep within his belly. “Now this ought to be interesting. Three cooks in the kitchen trying to write a book?”

Mason Jones, the Flying F Ranch foreman, piped in, “Yeah, but think about it this way. They’ll have to test out all the recipes on us first.” Mason gave the okay, thumbs-up of approval.

Mason had been at the Flying F for as long as I could remember. A few years older than me, he made it his business to be an expert hunter, tracker, and Mr. Know-It-All. Cute guy, with his short-cropped blond mop he hid under his cowboy hat, but he was also was the kind of guy who always had to have the bigger, better, crazier story than you. Never to be outdone, if a guest at the ranch landed a pheasant during bird season, Mason would show up with three. He meant well, but I think his insecurity always meant he had something to prove, or even more so, something to hide. Not sure if anyone ever challenged Mason’s catty behavior, but he seemed to be the kind of guy who needed to be taken down a few notches, just for his own good. But on the other hand, if you got lost in the woods or needed to know how to survive in the wilds, he was your man—hands down.

Uncle Charlie had a boisterous laugh that sucked you in and made you feel as comfortable as a downy quilt in front of a fire. He stood about six foot tall, and his signature Bailey brown cowboy hat gave him the appearance of being even taller. He was the real deal. If ever there was a cowboy, he was one of them. He did it all. He was known all over the state for his horsemanship, blacksmithing, and smoking cured meats.

“Can we turn on the stereo, Aunt Maisie?” Sheridan asked as she accepted a stack of bowls to set the table.

“Sure, child. Might be time for the Huckabee Report,” she replied.

“I was hoping for a little music this afternoon to keep up the lightened mood.” Sheridan countered with a sweet smile. “Let me check what’s on the satellite music channels.”

Aunt Maisie couldn’t have been five feet tall in high heels. Her bright white hair hung in a long braid down her back. Rarely seen without an apron, Aunt Maisie always looked as though she got stuck in the 1940s and never moved past that era. Uncle Charlie towered over her, but they were the cutest couple and loved one another like newlyweds.

There was always a mountain of work to do around the ranch. Aunt Maisie managed the main house and guest houses, but she didn’t do it alone. She had a couple of local women help her after boarders left, but when it came to gardening, harvesting, canning, planning meals, cooking and cleaning, she had it down to a science and ran the schedule like clockwork.

Abbey MacCarthy, our cousin, had returned from walking the dogs and plopped on the bar stool at the end of the granite counter. She smiled at Mason. “I don’t think I’m gonna take the dogs into town anymore. Everyone looks at me like I was one of those New Yorkers walking twenty dogs.” Beano, my Boxer and Stormaggedon, Sheridan’s Pomsky led the pack. Torchy’s Labs, Ash and Soot, ran after them along with two Australian Shepherds, a Border Collie, and a Malamute Husky. They ran through the house as though it were their own private playground.

I loved our cousin Abbey. She was one of those women who possessed natural beauty and never even knew it. Her sunkissed skin complemented her straight brunette hair, which she usually wore in a ponytail high up on her head. Abbey always managed to look fresh as roses even when she’d been helping to pull a new born calf from a first-year heifer and was covered in afterbirth.

Rajah, my aunt’s Siamese cat, jumped onto the counter as the dogs barreled through the room. His tail puffed out as wide as his body. I stroked him and pulled him closer to me, trying to hush his Siamese yammering at the dogs. Boots, the long-haired tuxedo black and white kitty, ran for a bedroom and was most likely to hide under a bed for a couple days.

The house was alive with energy, dogs, cats, good conversations, laughter, and the delicious aromas of comfort food. It was a soothing feeling of respite and shelter. It had been a long time coming, but I could finally breathe again.

“Okay, soup’s on. Let’s eat.” Aunt Maisie called everyone to the table, and no one wasted a minute finding their seats.