Page 41 of Breathe Me In

“Oh wow,” the woman cooed, “when you said tent, I thought you meant camping, not glamping.”

“We don’t do things halfway here at Cedar Creek Ranch.” I beamed at what Lainey had created. It was spectacular. There was a huge firepit with smoothed-out log benches and chairs surrounding it. Old-fashioned lanterns hung from tall poles staked in the ground, and some even hung from the trees, helping light the pathways to the off-white canvas tents. The tents were huge, high enough so you could stand inside comfortably. I knew from Lainey that most of them had two double beds, chairs, and coolers filled with water, booze, and snacks. The nice part was they were spread out and nestled between the trees, so the guests weren’t right on top of each other.

“Okay, everyone, take a little time here to choose which tent you want and get settled in.”

Confident everything was under control, I grabbed my bag and headed to the far tent. I pulled off my flannel, then gathered my hair up into a messy bun.

“And which one of these fine-looking tents is mine for the evening?” Brad came in and looked around. “Actually.” He flopped onto the bed across from mine. “I think I’ll just take this one.”

I pulled out my silk PJs and set them on my pillow. They were my favorite. “Don’t get too comfy—your tent is the one next to mine. Out there.”

“Nope, this one suits me just fine.” He ignored me. “So, what’s next on the schedule?”

“You’re not sleeping in this tent. So get that right out of your head. We’re coworkers, remember that.”

“I know how to be discreet.” He flashed his perfect teeth at me. I internally groaned and hoped he’d stay close. I hated to be alone, especially out here. I eyed my PJs and wondered what he wore to bed. I looked away and brushed off the thought.

“Not happening, Brad.”

Later, that night, as we sat around the firepit with full bellies, one of the male guests leaned toward me. “All right, camp leader, you can ride, you can cook, you can make a mean dessert, so where’s our spooky story? Isn’t that part of the whole campfire thing?”

I laughed, and my eyes searched for the two ranch hands, but they were down with the horses and had their own little fire. I stalled for time. “Ahh.”

Trish, the female of the group, nodded. “Yes, bring me back to my childhood. I love a good scare.”

I took a deep breath through my nose and knew Patrick would kill me if we came back with anything less than five stars on their exit review.

“Okay, ahh, give me a sec.” I wasn’t very creative at making up stories, but one idea came to me. “When I moved to New York, I went to school with this girl, Amanda. It was our first year, and we knew nothing about what we were doing.” I tugged at the hem of my sleeve. “She was young, bright, and had her whole future ahead of her. She made friends quickly, fell into classes like a champ, professors were impressed with her grades—she seemed happy. One day, toward the end of her first year, she had an opportunity to travel with her professor and some other students to visit the US embassy in Baghdad.

“She would work side by side with some very powerful people who could help launch her career. An offer like that rarely happened to first-year students like us.” I stared into the fire and saw the story play out in front of me like a movie. “The night before she was supposed to leave, she told me she’d had a goodbye dinner with friends but when she got back to her place, something didn’t feel right. The hair on her arms stood up, and a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach made her want to turn and run. But she said she just shook it off and forced herself to look around.

“She slowly entered her bedroom and saw her window was open. Now, Amanda was a very careful girl. Her parents had taught her to be watchful, and she would never have left the house without every window being locked. She said she felt a shiver run through her as she stood there in her room, because she saw . . .”

“Saw what?” Trish whispered, her face a study in concentration.

“Her itinerary. It was taped to her mirror, and not only that—there was a warning attached.”

“What kind of warning?” one of the men asked, as entranced in the story as Trish seemed to be.

I looked around at the circle of faces in the firelight and then let my eyes adjust to the darkness again. “It was a warning not to leave. The next day, Amanda headed to the airport and stared at the board that listed the departures while she battled the storm inside. With the warning clenched in her hand, she went to the counter and switched her flight from Baghdad to another state. She never contacted her professor; she just wanted to find a new city, to slink away into the crowd. She never told a soul what she found that night in her room, not even me. Well, until several years later.”

“Someone sure wanted her to stay.” One of the guys snorted a laugh. “I mean, it would take something big to make me miss a trip like that. So, then what?”

“Or a death threat,” the guy with the yellow hat added. “Must have been a major warning.” He shrugged when I looked at him.

“You could say that.” I looked at them again. “Anyway, it happened two more times. Each time, it was when she tried to change her life in some way. A warning would be left somewhere for her to find. Not always in the same way. Sometimes the warnings were worse than others. She knew she was being manipulated, played by someone for a reason she never understood, but she was always too afraid not to pay attention.” I felt something cold go up my back, and I looked around at the shadows where the fire couldn’t reach. Was something out there?

“Okay.” Trish looked around. “Then what?” I spotted Brad as he leaned against a tree just behind the others. He was watching me, his face in shadow. I took a breath and blew it out. It was just him.

“No clue.” I pressed my hands between my knees and let out a puff of air and watched my breath dissolve in the cold air. “I haven’t seen Amanda in a while.”

“Wow, I wonder what makes psychological stories scarier than those bump-in-the-night stories.” Trish shivered and pulled her jacket around her.

“It’s one thing for someone to jump out at you,” Brad said as he made his way over to us. “You know they’re the bad guy. Your brain can understand that type of fear. It’s another to have someone mess with your head. Because you don’t know if maybe that person you’re sitting right next to is the one who’s calling the shots. Faceless fear is the worst of all.”

“Spoken like a true detective.” The woman winked, then stood and rubbed her arms. “And on that note, I think it’s time to call my kids and head to bed.”

After the good nights were said, I did a quick once-over of Lainey’s to-do list and headed back up to the tent.