While I wasn’t worried about them running away completely, as my houseguest had learned the first day, there were still landmines of dangerous opportunity. God knew the pups were adventurous children.
“Ellie May! Sailor! Where are you?” When I made it to the corral, I stopped long enough to turn in a full circle. There was no sign of them.
The horses barely looked up from where they were enjoying their dinner. The chickens were making noise, but not because they were being hassled. I moved toward the clinic, checking to see if I’d accidentally left one of the doors open. I hadn’t.
A hitch in my stomach created a huge knot. What if something happened to them? Where would they most likely go?
Down by the river. The smell of fish and dirt, frogs and other creatures could capture their attention with ease. Ugh. The last thing I wanted was to catch sight of the old barn. “Ellie May!” I called again and in the distance, in the exact direction of the charred structure, came a single, quite happy bark.
The little devils were chasing rabbits or catching fish. Furious with them and myself, I tromped past the corral, heading down the path leading to the river. Other than on the second day I’d arrived and in my discussion with the fire marshal, I’d shut down the existence of the area in my mind.
It was silly of me to do. A psychiatrist would tell me I needed to face my fears by spending a couple of hours near the burned-out structure. But I hadn’t been able to do it. I also hadn’t been able to hire anyone to destroy the building’s carcass, hauling the scraps away. When had the fire inspector cleared me to do so?
I couldn’t remember because I hadn’t cared.
With careful steps, I moved past the fallen twigs and grass that were threatening to completely cover the lovely path my father had created. My mother had adored the cobblestone appearance, planting bushes in strategic areas along the way and I hadn’t even snipped off dead branches.
The sounds of barking became louder, which kicked up my frustration. Not with them. With myself.
My pace slowed the closer I came. The pups were now going wild, barking and yapping as if they were getting a whole lot more attention than what they were providing for each other.
I took concentrated breaths as nerves kicked in. There was always a chance a hiker or tourist had followed the river onto my property. What about the arsonist who hadn’t been caught?
My throat tightened and the way my pulse increased brought heart palpitations. How I loathed being prone to fear. Now, shadows crowded in even though light was still filtering in through the trees. I was cold, aching, and my feet were heavy, but I had to keep going. Besides, the pups wouldn’t sound so happy if a stranger was in the mix.
Who was I kidding? They weren’t guard dogs. They were lick you to death dogs.
I stopped maybe twenty yards from the river, able to hear running water. I also overheard a sound that was suspiciously deep in tone and vibrations. A rugged male voice that I could daresay I recognized.
“There you go. Fetch. Good boy! How about you, Ellie May? You ready to go again?”
My footsteps slowing even more, I pushed my way through the trees, taking root and becoming an observer.
On the grassy knoll of the riverbank with a golden halo of sun creating a luminous aura stood a man in all his masculine glory. His smile was wider than I was used to seeing and he was thoroughly enjoying playing with the dogs. A large stick. A perfect afternoon. And a troubled man being able to allow his child to roam free.
The sight of him sharing a special moment with two little creatures was as freeing as being with him had been, so natural and sweet that everything else was momentarily blocked out.
Fear and anxiety, uncertainty and the uncanniness that had remained with me for weeks.
For just a few moments, I was caught up in pure innocent and light.
Who was I to interrupt other than there was far too much baggage between us, a huge elephant in the room. Or on the ranch to be exact.
Viper had no idea I was watching him, tingling from the way his muscles flexed and his long legs chased the stick in time before one of the dogs could grab it. And it was his laughter filtering into my eardrums that was all the music I needed to bring a few seconds of joy.
Yet shadows crowded my vision, ugly and malformed, inching closer until I was suffocated. The past would never let me go.
Even more than the limited heartache I felt for a man I didn’t know and the desire coursing through me from just seeing his smile was the crushing blow of seeing the scorched building again. The weight of what had occurred, the loss and the heartbreak, the paralyzing ache on the night I’d answered the phone expecting to hear my mother’s voice only to be gutted within fifteen seconds hit me like a ton of bricks.
My body swayed from side to side as the burst of wind filtered across the landscape, bringing the stale, rotten stench of charred wood and flesh to my nose. It wasn’t just the smoke creating another wave of despair, it was the smell of shattered memories, a damp, heavy scent that clung to my clothes like a second skin.
Gasping, I turned away, unable to fractionalize the two sides of a very different coin.
Life and simple joy.
Death and irrevocable anguish.
So I fled the scene, unable to shove the tears away. I couldn’t care less that I was blinded by pain, my arms scratched from running through thick foliage. I had to get as far away from the sight of the tragedy as possible.
