Page 30 of Forbidden Rancher's Return
I step off the porch. Mud pulls at my boots as I cross to the pasture edge. The fence line sits empty. Grass moves in the wind.
"They're gone."
Calla exhales. Not relief. Calculation. The sound of a woman running the numbers on what just happened.
"That wasn't the road."
"No."
"That was the lower pasture."
"Yes."
Her silence says the rest. Someone drove onto her land. At night. During a storm. And sat there long enough to make a point.
I turn back toward the porch.
Calla stands exactly where I left her. Arms folded. Bare toes curled against the wet wood. Rain catching in her hair and running down the side of her throat.
"You shouldn't be standing out here."
"It's my porch."
"Doesn't make it safe."
She tilts her head. "You think Halford."
"I think someone wants you to be nervous."
"I'm not nervous."
"I know." I step up onto the porch. "You're angry."
"Yes."
"Good."
She studies me for a moment. Then she turns and disappears into the dark house. The door creaks open wider behind her.
"Generator," she calls from inside.
"I know."
The shed sits just past the barn. A low wooden structure with a rusted latch. I flip it open. Gasoline and dust hit me first, then the heavy quiet of machinery that hasn't run in years.
My flashlight cuts through the dark. The generator sits exactly where her father left it. Half a tarp was thrown across the top. A toolbox beside it.
I check the fuel line. The spark plug. The switch.
Rain drums hard on the tin roof.
Boots crunch behind me.
Calla appears in the doorway. Hair damp. Boots on now. She listened, even if she'd never say so. She holds a lantern out in front of her, the warm light catching the lines of her face, the curve of her mouth.
She looks like trouble I have no intention of avoiding.
"You know how to run it."
