SHE WANTED PEACE. INSTEAD SHE FOUND DANGER—AND A REASON TO LIVE AGAIN

When Skylar Jamison heads to the Wyoming Rockies, all the army veteran wants is some rest. But as a stranger warns her away—off public lands—every war-torn nerve she has goes on alert.

The ranger who investigates makes her even more wary, for very different reasons. Smart, good-looking, with an inner calm Sky envies, Craig Stone sparks her interest and wakes all her fears.

Craig didn’t plan on inviting Sky to stay with him. But there are armed strangers in his forest. And Sky—tough, vulnerable, sexy Sky, everything he’s ever wanted—is their target. They are each trained to handle danger. It would take both of them, together, to survive this new threat….

This wasn’t the R & R she’d been hoping for....

She had come out here for peace, quiet and the restorative benefits of painting and solitude. Instead a total stranger had walked her into something that harkened back to Iraq. She really ought to just pack up and go somewhere else.

But she knew she couldn’t, wouldn’t do that. She hadn’t been exaggerating when she had said she would never abandon a fellow soldier, and she meant it. She got the feeling Craig didn’t have a whole lot of help, so unless they found a reason to call in the Feds or ATF or something, she would do what she could to help. She was going to have his back.

She heard Craig draw a breath, as if he were about to say something, when she suddenly realized that the edginess running along her nerve endings no longer had solely to do with him.

“Shh,” she whispered almost inaudibly. “We’re being watched.”

Conard County: The Next Generation

Dear Reader,

This story was born of a confluence of things. It began as a memory of the “water wars” I saw when I sold real estate in the Rocky Mountains. Things like that can get extremely touchy and very litigious and expensive. It can even get dangerous and ugly. But as I toyed with the idea, I needed a reason for the water problem, and I began thinking about all the headaches this could cause the forest service if water was cut off to forest service land.

And voilà, I had my hero, a law enforcement officer with the Forest Service, a man who found his peace and meaning in preserving public lands for the future. And my heroine, a woman with a traumatic past who had come to the mountains to heal and paint. From there it was one easy step from water being the problem, to the guy who was building a militia on his private land.

I hope you enjoy this story of two people melding their very different lives as they face an unexpected threat together.

Rachel

Rocky Mountain Lawman

Rachel Lee

www.millsandboon.co.uk

RACHEL LEE

was hooked on writing by the age of twelve, and practiced her craft as she moved from place to place all over the United States. This New York Times bestselling author now resides in Florida and has the joy of writing full-time.

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To my dear friend Linda, who helped with research and saved my sanity on more than one occasion. Sometimes we get sisters by birth, and other times we discover them. Thanks, Sis.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Excerpt

Prologue

Buddy Jackson sat at the fancy dining table his great-grandmother had carted out here from back east almost a century ago, a table that looked out of place amidst the mostly rough-hewn surroundings of the cabin his grandfather had built and his family had added to over the years.

His wife and kids were out tending the garden as they should be. The growing season here was short, and there was no time to waste.

Across from him sat Cap MacDonald, a guy he’d met last year at a gathering of “Preppers,” as they called themselves, people who were preparing either for the collapse of society or the end of the world. All of them, of course, assumed that they would survive the cataclysm. Buddy had no doubt of it; he was living in the middle of nowhere. Little could reach him here on his mountainside.

But Cap had somewhat different ideas, and they appealed to Buddy. Cap didn’t just want to survive, he wanted to win. To be in control afterward. What’s more, he made a good argument for self-protection and keeping the parasites out after the troubles started.

Cap had even grander ideas, though. Buddy had been prepping for a long time, and sometimes he got tired of waiting for the moment that would prove the brilliance of his foresight. Cap wasn’t prepared to wait. He spoke of how it was their job to bring it all about.

That sounded okay to Buddy most of the time, and the fact that Cap was pulling together a small militia didn’t seem like a problem. If the revolution was coming anyway, what was the point of waiting for it?

But something was bothering him now.

“You heard,” he said to Cap, “about that hiker they found dead about four miles from here?”

Cap shook his head. His hands were busy cleaning the AR-15 he always carried. “What about him?”

“He was dead.”

Cap shrugged. “People die out here in the wilderness. You aren’t stupid, Buddy.”

“No.” Buddy dropped it, but he didn’t stop thinking about it. He knew Cap took his guys out to walk through the national forest that surrounded his land on three sides. Nothing wrong in that. But he also had figured out that Cap was capable of killing. That was one thing Buddy didn’t know about himself, and he’d been glad to have someone join him who wouldn’t hesitate to defend the compound if necessary.

But surely that didn’t extend to some hiker wandering around in the woods? Of course not.

After a minute or two, he finally stopped thinking about it. The revolution hadn’t begun yet, and Cap couldn’t have had any reason to hurt a hiker, one who wasn’t even prowling this property.

No reason at all. Must have just been an accident.

Chapter 1

Skylar Jamison sat near the top of a rise with a gorgeous view of a narrow river valley below and the soaring face of the Wyoming Rockies ahead of her. Fields of wildflowers in brilliant reds and yellows dotted the grassy slope where she sat, and she could see them in the valley below, as well as in patches on the mountains.

From here she beheld a vast panorama of beautiful nature mostly unmarred by human presence.

That’s why she’d come here. She needed to refresh herself, rediscover her joy in painting after a bad breakup. The pristine wilderness of the national forest around her washed away the sludge that seemed to have mired her heart and soul.

She sat on the grasses on a paint-splattered lightweight tarp. Before her was a small easel holding a canvas on which she had daubed some of the incredible colors around her. Beside her lay a box of oil paints, some rags and a small plastic bottle of citrus cleaner for her brushes. When she was done for the day, she’d wrap her brushes in a cleaner-soaked rag and plastic until she returned to her motel room and could rinse them. On the other side of her was a camera with several lenses. Painting outdoors might inspire her creativity, but the light changed swiftly, and when it was especially good she’d snap photos to capture it, so that she’d have a visual reminder for working later.

Up here, despite it being summer, the air was a bit chilly, and she had wrapped herself in an old sweater she didn’t mind ruining with paint. The quiet breeze tickled her cheeks and occasionally rustled the grasses around her, a great background to her rambling thoughts.

A fluffy cloud blocked the sun temporarily, changing the light drastically, flattening the contrast and perspective. Something about the change gripped her and she reached for the camera, taking a number of quick shots.

“Hey!”

The sharp, annoyed cry was so unexpected that she nearly dropped her camera and swung around. A burly man was striding out of the woods just behind her to the left. He wore woodland camouflage head to toe.

She gaped, uncertain how to respond.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Still shocked by the unexpectedness of the man’s arrival and his apparent irritation, she sat frozen. One of the things she’d always hated about herself was her occasional slowness to react. It might have saved her some trouble at times simply because she thought first, but at other times it was potentially dangerous.

The man strode closer, and there was nothing casual in his approach.

Suddenly galvanized, she jumped to her feet, still holding the camera.

“I asked what the hell you’re doing!”

He was getting so close that nervousness assailed her. Instinctively, she braced herself in a defensive posture in case she needed to protect herself. They were all alone up here, miles from anywhere.

“Painting,” she finally said.

“That looks like a camera to me.”

She wondered what the hell was going on, but surprise began giving way to anger as she measured the implied threat in his voice and his approach. “So?”

He got close enough to see the canvas and hesitated. Finally he said, “We don’t like spies around here. You find some place else to take your pictures. I mean it.”

He glared at her for a palpable second, then turned and strode away.

“What the hell?” she said aloud to the now empty hilltop. “What is going on?”

The grasses, trees and mountains didn’t answer. The breeze kicked up a bit, chilling her. She looked around, trying to re-center herself. Same hill, same mountains, so why did she feel she’d just slipped realities?

“Idiot,” she muttered finally. Probably some cranky old curmudgeon who thought he owned the entire state. Defiantly, she picked up her camera and looked through the viewfinder and her telescopic lens. Mountains, trees, grasses, wildflowers. A cabin.

She turned the camera back. She hadn’t really been looking that way because the lighting was bad and didn’t appeal to her, but examining more closely now she saw what appeared to be some kind of homestead across the valley on a higher elevation. She could have zoomed in more, but decided not to. Spy? Really?

Damn it, she thought, this was national forest land. She wasn’t trespassing and had every right to be here. But did she really want to get into it with that nut?

Annoyed, she squatted and began to pack up. There were probably a hundred places where she could get a view just as good without the hassles, and who needed the hassles? The stubborn part of her defiantly wanted to remain, but she’d come out here for peace, not conflict. God knew, she’d endured enough conflict for a while.

She unscrewed the lens from the camera, slipped it into its case, then put everything in her camera bag. It took a little longer to put up her paints, soak the brushes and wrap them in cloth and plastic. When she was sure everything was secure in her backpack, she started to fold her tarp.

Irritated in ways she couldn’t quite put her finger on, she damned the man for destroying a perfectly beautiful day. Part of her wanted to stay put, just to show him, but given the isolation out here, she had to admit that might not be wise. Just find another place, Sky.

God, she was learning to hate men. Such a sense of privilege, as if they were masters of the universe. She had a right to be here, too.

She was stuffing the tarp in her backpack when she saw another man emerge from the trees from the opposite direction, this one riding a horse. She tensed at once, then recognized the colors of the U.S. Forest Service. A ranger. She decided to stay right where she was and give this guy an earful about what had just happened. After all, wasn’t it his job to make sure the public wasn’t harassed on public land?

She wasn’t at all clear what these folks did, but she was sure of one thing: at the ranger station before she’d come up here, a very nice woman had told her she was free to go anywhere she liked in the forest, but advised her to file a description of her planned activities and check in when she returned, just in case.

“If we need to rescue you,” the woman said cheerfully, “it would be really helpful to have some idea when and where to start looking.”

Raising her hand, Sky waved at the rider. At once he turned his mount a little and began to come directly toward her.

God, he looked iconic, she thought. A big man on a big horse under the brim of a felt Stetson. There was no mistaking that long-sleeved light olive shirt with its patches and brass nameplate, or the dark olive jeans. And soon there was no mistaking the glint of a badge on his breast, or the gun holstered at his waist. Or the shotgun in the saddle holster. She guessed he wasn’t an ordinary ranger. What the heck happened in these mountains?

When he got close enough, she could see a square, sun-bronzed face, some dark, close-trimmed hair. Not his eyes, though, in the shadow of his hat. He rode easily, as if he’d been born in the saddle, seeming to sway with the horse’s every move, relaxed and comfortable. Broad shoulders, narrow hips. And armed.

That kept grabbing her. She wondered if she was foolish to come out here without some kind of protection.

He reached her at last, raising a finger to the brim of his hat. “Something wrong, ma’am?”

“Maybe. This is forest land, right? Open to the public?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then why would some guy come tell me to go someplace else?”

He glanced across the valley. “Big guy? Burly?”

“That’s him.”

“I know him.” The ranger shook his head. “I’ll take care of it. He won’t bother you again.”

“What is he? Some kind of nut?”

“I suppose you could argue that.” For the first time he smiled faintly. “Isolated places sometimes grow cranks. Are you getting ready to leave?”

“Believe it. I don’t like being treated that way. Besides...” She hesitated. “He unnerved me a little. It’s very lonely out here.” Something she’d been enjoying only a short time ago.

“It can be.” Rising a bit in his stirrups, he scanned the area. “How long ago did he bother you?”

Sky tried to measure it. “It had to be at least fifteen minutes. I started packing up as soon as he left.”

He looked at her things. “What do you do?”

“I was trying to paint. I’m an artist.”

“Taking pictures?”

“Sometimes. To capture the light.”

“Well, that might do it. All right, I’ll have some words with him. In the meantime...” He swung down from the saddle. “Let me help you carry your things and make sure you get safely back to your car or your campsite.”

Before she could do more than thank him, he’d swung the strap of her heavy camera bag over the pommel of his saddle and picked up her backpack, holding it with one hand and his reins in the other. “Which way?” he asked.

She pointed to where she’d left her car, grabbed the box containing her supplies and canvas, and together they started walking. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry, sticking to a leisurely pace.

Sky, for her part, was starting to bubble over with questions. She just didn’t know if she should ask him. But finally one burst from her.

“Are you some kind of cop?”

He glanced at her, just before they entered the shadow of the trees, and at last she caught a glint of dark gray eyes. “Some kind. I’m in law enforcement for the service, but I’m also a biologist. So I wear a few hats. I keep an eye on the wildlife while patrolling for violators, I do search and rescue, firefighting.” He gave a laugh. “Short staffing makes everyone a jack-of-all-trades, I guess. Anyway, I guess you could say my main job is protecting visitors and employees. Whatever’s most needed on any day.” He paused. “I’m Craig Stone, by the way.”

“Skylar Jamison. Sky for short.”

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Jamison.”

“I was certainly glad to see you. That man made me really nervous, and I don’t get unnerved easily. What is he? Some kind of hermit who thinks he owns the woods?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that. Are you aware that when we turn land into national forest or parkland we don’t throw out people who are already living there?”

“I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Well, we don’t evict people. They get to stay the way they always have if they want to, or we buy them out. The guy you met owns a spread inside the forest here.”

“Is that what I saw across the valley?”

“Part of it. He owns a fair piece.”

“Does he make a point of bothering people?”

“Not usually. He’s got his property posted and doesn’t like trespassers, but...” He paused. “Something’s going on over there lately. I usually mind my own business when it comes to his property, but maybe it’s time to have a few friendly words. I’m certainly going to make sure he doesn’t drive people off public land, or scare them. Maybe I can even find out why he was bothered by you at all.”

“He called me a spy.”

Craig turned his head and looked straight at her. “Really?”

“His word, not mine.”

He fell silent as they continued to walk. The sound of the horse’s hooves were almost entirely muted by the deep pine needles under the trees, then would become louder again as they scuffed through leaves. “How often have you been out there?”

“This was the third day.”

“Do you use that camera a lot?”

“Like I said, to capture the light as much as anything. It’s changing constantly, and sometimes there’s something about it I really want to catch for later.”

“I wonder if the camera got to him. Well, I’ll find out. Either way, if you want to come back to this spot, you can. I’ll make sure of it.”

“You may have a lot of guns, but they won’t be around when I’m out there alone.”

That elicited a laugh from him. “True, but I don’t think Buddy runs to violence. A little nutty maybe, but I never heard of him hurting anybody. But if you like, I know some other vantages as good as that one I can show you. Well away from Buddy.”

“I may take you up on that.” Although the idea of ceding ground to a crank annoyed her no end. She knew perfectly well that she could deal with that guy. He hadn’t even been armed that she could see. She just didn’t want the conflict. This was supposed to be a break.

“Feel free. Just leave a message for me with Lucy at the station. She’ll radio me.”

“Thanks. So you’re a biologist, too?”

“Focused on wildlife mostly.”

“What kind?”

“If it walks, crawls or flies, I’m probably on it. Our mission is to protect everything in these forests for future generations. It’s not always easy. We humans seem to have some problems getting along with nature.”

“No kidding! So I bet you know the names of all the wildflowers?”

“Sure. You want to know what they are?”

“Actually no,” she admitted. “I see them a different way, categorize them by colors and shapes. Names might change what I see.”

“An artist’s eye?”

“Maybe so.”

“Then why did you ask?”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “Because you’re the first person I’ve ever met who might actually know the official names of everything in the woods.”

He flashed another truly attractive smile as they reached the service road and her battered sedan came into view. He helped her load her car, then closed her door after she climbed in. She rolled down the window and started the engine.

“Drive slow. We’ve got some logging trucks driving a little crazy up here.”

She looked up at him, drinking in again his good looks. “I didn’t see any.”

“We’re doing some thinning to prevent disease and clearing some deadfalls. If you stay around awhile, you’ll see them. Drive safe.” He gave the top of her car a friendly rap, then stepped back, remounted and watched her drive away.

Glancing in her rearview mirror, she saw him. Dang, that man looked good enough to eat.

As soon as there was nothing left but a cloud of dust, Craig pulled the radio off his belt to call his boss. “Hey, Lucy.”

“What’s up, Craig?”

“Buddy. He’s done it again. I’m going to have to go talk to him, probably in the morning. Night’s drawing near.”

“Want me to send someone to meet you?”

“I doubt that’s necessary. I’m just going to remind him that the public has a right to be on public land.”

“What’s going on with him?”

“Damned if I know, but maybe I can find out. I told a lady artist to let you know if she wants me to find her somewhere else to paint.”

“He bothered her? Craig, I don’t like it. I can see him getting mad at a bunch of rowdy campers, but a woman alone who’s just painting?”

“And taking photos.” Craig paused. “It’s the photos that might have been the problem, and that’s what worries me. Why would that bother him?”

“Are you sure you don’t want some backup?”

“I never had a problem with Buddy before.”

“Nobody had a problem with him before. But don’t forget that dead hiker we found at the beginning of the summer.”

“I seriously doubt Buddy was involved in that. Misadventure.”

“Misadventure my butt,” Lucy said bluntly. “I’d feel a whole lot better if the medical examiner could ascertain cause of death. I know it probably wasn’t Buddy, but you take care. The guy’s getting weird.”

Craig tucked the radio away and looked at the sky. The day was waning; it would take him a while to get to Buddy Jackson’s place, which meant there wouldn’t be much light when he got there. Definitely best to wait for morning, especially if he wanted to be able to see anything.

And seeing what was going on at Buddy’s place suddenly seemed like it might be important.

* * *

Sky drove carefully down the service road, avoiding some ruts and keeping an eye out for logging trucks. The sightlines were short along this narrow, winding road, and she could see why Craig had warned her to be on the lookout. A truck could be on her almost before she saw it.

Her meeting with him had gone a long way to easing her anger, though. So this guy Buddy was apparently a harmless nut. Okay, she could deal with that. And she wanted to go back to that spot, because it had evoked images in her mind that she wanted to get on canvas. The colors had been gorgeous, the valley steep and full of character, the shadows almost haunting. While her paintings were more impressionistic than realistic, she knew she wouldn’t capture what that spot evoked in her if she relied mostly on memory and even photographs. There was a feeling she had while sitting there that didn’t follow her when she left.

Buddy had sure blown that up this afternoon.

On the other hand, she’d met Craig Stone. He was handsome, yes, but what appealed to her was his quietude. She sensed serenity around him, an ease with himself and his place in the world that she could only envy. Did spending a lot of time in the woods do that?

She almost laughed out loud, however, when she thought about that calm and peace that seemed to suffuse him and compared it to the fact that he was packing both a rifle and a pistol. She had wanted to ask him about that. What dangers was he prepared for? Bears? Wolves? People? All of the above?

She’d heard over the years that occasionally rangers got killed on the job, but she didn’t think it was very common. Well, if she saw him again she would ask him.

In the meantime, if that peace she had felt in him came from being in the woods, she wanted some of it for herself. She’d gotten an inkling of it during her few days on that hill painting, but she just wished it would stay with her. Instead, by the time she got back to town, it seemed to have vanished.

When her thoughts started to run on Craig Stone and whether she’d see him again, she sharply reined herself in. Hadn’t she come here to escape all that? Hadn’t she just about decided men weren’t worth that kind of effort? She was supposed to be nursing a bruised heart, not seeking another one.

Man, she definitely needed some Zen and tranquility. Just for a while. Time to gain perspective, time to ease the wounds, time to replenish the batteries so she could return to her rehab work fresh and ready to aid the vets who needed all the help they could get dealing with their scars, both visible and invisible.

She made it down the mountain without meeting a logging truck, and pulled into the ranger station. It was a nice-looking log cabin set just inside the entrance to the forest. Two stories high, it appeared big enough for a few rangers to live there for the summer.

Inside the lobby there were some comfortable rustic chairs, some rugs on the plank floor, carousels holding pamphlets and a long counter behind which the ranger on duty sat. A glass-fronted case displayed souvenirs but the only ones that caught Sky’s attention were the little stuffed Smokey the Bear dolls. Before she left, she’d send one to her niece who lived in Hawaii.

The ranger, a woman, rose from a desk and smiled. “I hear you had some trouble from Buddy today.”

“It wasn’t exactly trouble. He was just rude.” Sky felt a little embarrassed, wondering if she’d overreacted to the guy. He hadn’t actually threatened her, he’d just told her to get lost. Still, she thought there was something a bit menacing in the way he’d approached and yelled at her, making a wild accusation.

The tall, dark-haired woman’s name badge said she was Lucy Tattersall. “Well, Craig will get him to lay off. By the way, do you want Craig to show you some other places that might be good for your art?”

So Craig had apparently radioed the entire thing to Lucy. Now she did feel embarrassed. “He didn’t have to make a big deal about it,” she protested. “A guy was rude to me. Apparently he’s a little quirky. But I’m not running from that. I’ll paint in the same place tomorrow. In fact, I’ll paint there until I’ve gotten what I want from the location. It’s beautiful.”

Lucy’s dark eyes sparkled. “You go, lady.” But then the sparkle faded a bit. “Just be careful. Buddy’s never been a real cause for concern, but things can change, you know?”

“I’ll be fine. If he gives me any more trouble, I’ll report it.” She smiled at Lucy. “I guess I got my backbone up. Public land and I’m the public.”

“Exactly,” Lucy agreed. “Buddy has always had an aversion to trespassers, which I can understand. It’s his land, not forest land, and some of our hikers overlook that. But if you see him again and manage to get on his good side, maybe he’ll talk to you a bit. He’s got some interesting stories to tell. So same place tomorrow? Be sure to check in before you go.”

Sky walked out and climbed into her car with the definite sense that Lucy hadn’t told her everything. But why would she? Sky was a stranger and the rangers probably never gossiped, except possibly among themselves.

Glancing at her watch, she realized she had time to clean up before she met with a local veterans group. Somebody back in Tampa had apparently let the VA up here know she was going to be in the area, and the first day she was here she’d been approached to speak with the local support group about what she did as an art therapist.

At first she had been annoyed because she was supposed to be taking a break from all of that, but now she found herself looking forward to it. It would only be an hour or so, depending on how much they wanted to hear, and since she didn’t have any personal involvements here yet, it shouldn’t be too painful.

In fact, it might prove to be part of her healing.

Chapter 2

Craig camped under the stars that night, on a back slope so Buddy wouldn’t get the idea that he was observing him. He could have gone to one of the empty cabins scattered around the forest, provided for the needs of rangers and researchers alike, but when the weather favored it, he preferred to be outdoors.

Over a small fire, he made coffee and heated up some freeze-dried food. The forest sounds changed at night, and he loved the contrast. The wind kicked up a bit, rustling through nearby trees and carrying a wolf howl from a long way away.

The migration of a wolf pack down from Yellowstone still tickled him, although it was over two decades now, and it did create some trouble with surrounding ranchers. The Thunder Mountain pack, however, stayed small, and if it had split, the new pack had evidently migrated elsewhere. So eight wolves prowled this forest, on average, and right now they had some pups they were taking care of.

Moose, elk, bear and pronghorns all thrived here, and were doing better since the wolves’ arrival. Forage had increased for all of them, and even the birds had multiplied since they got to pick over wolf leavings. By and large, this had become a healthy, thriving forest despite past scars left by men’s gold mining and lumbering, and occasional holdovers like Buddy Jackson.

Which brought him back to Skylar Jamison and Buddy’s strange reaction to her. The camera, he had already decided, had to be at the root of Buddy’s concern. But why would Buddy be bothered if someone took a few photos? Why would he use the word spy? In short, why was Buddy acting like a man with something to hide?

How had he even known Sky was there and taking photos? Was he watching the area through some kind of telescope himself?

None of this made Craig feel particularly easy. Buddy had always been the independent and slightly quirky kind of cuss you’d expect to want to live in the middle of nowhere with his family. No problem there. Some folks were just built that way. But clearly something had changed since last summer, and it was something he needed to look into.

Spying? The word rang serious alarm bells.

Well, he’d do what he could to deal with that in the morning. Meantime he could indulge in more pleasant thoughts, like that cute little artist.

All right, she wasn’t little. She was a bit taller than average, and she moved and walked with the ease of someone whose body was in tip-top shape. From what little he could see of her under that baggy, ugly sweater and paint-stained jeans, she seemed to have a nice figure. But her face, even smeared with a daub or two of oil paint, had been winning. Blue eyes, curly brown hair escaping from a ponytail, a face that immediately made him think of a Madonna. Which was something he didn’t often think about.

Apart from everything that had been going on, he’d sensed an aura of sorrow around her. A feeling that life hadn’t been treating her well recently. Not that he should care. He would do his bit by keeping Buddy out of her hair and in a few days she’d be gone. The way everyone else left.

Lucy had chided him once. “You really need to marry a forester.”

“Are you offering?”

That had sent her off into gales of laughter, the more so because Lucy didn’t run to men.

The thing was, though, Craig didn’t feel lonely. At least not often. Overall he was pretty content with the way things were. He’d long ago figured out the average woman needed far more year-round attention than he could provide, but he loved his life and wasn’t about to give it up. The thought of a picket fence made him shudder. So he settled for a few good friends and the companionship of the wilderness. He didn’t have a whole lot to complain about either.

The night didn’t promise to grow too cold, so he doused the fire with his leftover coffee and climbed into his sleeping bag, pillowing his head on his saddle. Nearby his mount, Dusty, stirred occasionally in the horse version of sleep.

He stared up at the infinite stars and thought of all the people before him who had lived just such a life, from shepherds to cowboys to hunters, and knew he was in good company. It was a great life, and yes, it was missing a thing or two, but they didn’t fit. Que será, and all that.

He drifted into sleep with visions of Sky dancing around the edges of his thoughts. Simple thoughts, for the most part, because his life was largely a simple one, mostly untethered and unconfined except for the dictate to protect this forest and all its inhabitants.

The next thing he knew, his eyes were popping open to a flaming sunrise sky. Yawning, he sat up and debated whether to try to start another fire and make some coffee. He liked starting his days with coffee, but he’d pretty well put paid to that by dousing his fire pit last night. It was still wet, and an unusual dew clung to everything.

Rising, he made his way to a nearby stream, washing up with special soap that wouldn’t pollute the water, then donned a fresh shirt and underwear. While he didn’t exactly look perfectly creased, that was to be expected when he didn’t touch base overnight. Good enough for what he had to do, anyway.

He saddled Dusty, fed him a handful of oats and promised him better grazing in just a little while. He kept his promise as soon as he reached the spot where Sky had been painting. While Dusty ate his fill of the tenderest shoots of green, he surveyed the valley and across it, Buddy’s place.

It sure was a long distance, he thought again. So what the devil had bothered Buddy?

Pulling out his binoculars, he scanned the area around Buddy’s place. Even with their aid, he couldn’t see a whole lot of detail at this distance, certainly nothing to ring alarm bells.

So what had bugged Buddy? That telephoto lens and the resolution it could probably provide? If so, Buddy was up to no good. And how had Buddy become aware of it anyway? Just seeing someone return to the same hilltop a few days running shouldn’t have been enough to bother him, not at this distance.

Smothering another yawn, he capped the binoculars, let them dangle from the strap around his neck and urged Dusty toward the trail he knew was in those woods. Maybe Buddy would be neighborly enough to offer coffee. Somehow he doubted it.

Before long, he sighted a few hoofprints that told him someone had ridden up this path recently. Probably Buddy yesterday. At least he was keeping his ATVs to his own property. They’d had a discussion about that just the year before last. ATVs did a lot of damage to the ecosystem, and weren’t allowed in this forest except in a few places. One or two ATVs wouldn’t have been a problem. The problems began when you got a lot of people with them, which seemed to happen nearly everywhere they were allowed.

By the time Craig reached the valley, the sun had fully risen over the eastern foothills and had begun reflecting off the top of the mountains ahead of him. He’d approached Buddy’s place from this direction any number of times, and figured by now they saw him coming.

When he reached the creek that tumbled through the valley, though, he frowned. As far as he knew, they’d had a normal snowpack this past winter despite its being warmer, so why the hell did the water seem slower and not as deep as it had only a few weeks ago? He’d have to check that out. If a beaver dam or a deadfall cut the water to the valley by too much, a lot of life would suffer.

Given the warmer winter, they were apt to lose a whole lot of moose and elk to ticks as it was. They didn’t need to be going thirsty on top of it.

Dusty picked his way carefully among the wet rocks, reaching the other side without having even wetted his knees. Not good.

Craig could feel that he was being watched. The certainty settled over him but it wasn’t a comfortable feeling. In the past he knew his approach had been watched, but it hadn’t made him uncomfortable. For some reason this time it did, and his guard went up although he kept his posture relaxed.

Something sure as hell was going on. The question was what. His instincts insisted on kicking into high gear.

Keeping his pace slow and lazy, he began to wind his way up the narrow track that led to Buddy’s place from the valley. The man had a wider road that connected to a county road, but it was out of the way for right now, and not the way he wanted to approach. He wanted this to appear like just another of his friendly visits, visits he made in a neighborly fashion a handful of times every summer.

But as Dusty climbed steadily, he felt as if he were approaching an armed enemy encampment. He told himself not to let his imagination run wild because Buddy had said something a little off the wall just yesterday. But the feeling wouldn’t leave him alone. It was such an unusual notion that half of him resisted, sure he must be losing touch with reality. The other half, however, couldn’t let go of it.

Yet nothing seemed to have changed. Not one thing that he could see. The atmosphere had changed somehow, markedly. How was that possible?

At last he reached the first signs posting Buddy’s property. There was no gate to bar the way, although rusty barbed wire stretched away in each direction. He passed the signs by only a few feet, though, and waited. He knew Buddy would show up shortly. He always did, and Craig treated those no-trespassing signs with respect.

Up the hill in front of him, he could make out signs of Buddy’s house, a log cabin, really, and the outbuildings, mostly hidden by trees. He stiffened ever so slightly, though, when he glimpsed what appeared to be a new cabin under construction. Buddy didn’t have that large a family.

Changes. They might signal something, might explain Buddy’s sudden increase in paranoia. He wondered if he could find out what was going on.

Soon he heard the roar of Buddy’s ATV coming down the winding path. When it rounded the last corner he saw his first cause for worry: Buddy wasn’t alone. A stranger rode behind him, a camouflaged stranger carrying a rifle. God, what was Buddy into now?

Buddy pulled to a stop and turned off his engine. “Craig,” he said with a nod.

“Buddy.” Craig looked pointedly at the guy behind him. “You need someone to ride shotgun now?”

“Just my friend, Cap. I’m allowed to have friends, right?”

“Never said otherwise. You’ve just never greeted me with a rifle before.”

“Been having a problem with trespassers. Seeing a gun makes them pay attention to the signs.”

“Guess it would.” Nor was there a damn thing illegal about it. “Nice to meet you, Cap. Craig Stone, Forest Service.”

Cap gave the shortest of nods. Craig intuitively disliked the man. Something about his eyes, hard eyes. If he learned nothing else, Craig was learning that Buddy was changing something.

“You here for a reason?” Buddy asked.

“Actually, yes. You know the public has a right on public lands, Buddy. You can keep people off your property, but not out of the public forest. So if that painter lady wants to come back today, or tomorrow, or any time, she’s allowed to be up on that hill without you bothering her.”

“She was taking pictures of my place.”

So there it was. Craig paused a thoughtful second. “I asked her what she took pictures of. She’s trying to capture the light for painting later because it changes so fast. She hardly even knew you were here until you bothered her. So tell me, Buddy, there’s nothing about your place that you’d have to worry about being photographed from damn near a mile away. Is there?”

“Of course not!”

Cap seemed to second Buddy by spitting tobacco on the ground.

That answer was too emphatic by a mile, Craig thought, though he let absolutely nothing show on his face. “Didn’t think so,” he said amiably. “Anyway, just leave the tourists alone. You didn’t need me to remind you. As for the lady painter, I’ll tell her to point her camera in a different direction if it’s got you so worried.”

Buddy shifted on the seat of the ATV. “Naw,” he said finally. “If she’s just a painter...”

“Well, I saw her canvas. So did you, I imagine. She’ll be here a few days then move on like everyone else. It’s not like she’s settling in across the valley.”

“I guess not.

Craig started to turn Dusty, then paused. “Say, have you noticed any deadfalls or new beaver dams? Water seems low in the valley creek.”

Buddy hesitated. “No, can’t think of one. I’ll keep my eye out, though.”

“Thanks. You know how much damage too little water in the valley would do. We’ll probably lose enough elk and moose as it is.”

“Ticks are gonna be bad,” Buddy agreed. “Too many already.”

“Yup. Anyway, if you see me poking around, that’s why. I’ve got to find out why the creek is drying up.” He touched the brim of his hat, nodding to both men, and completed Dusty’s turn.

Sunlight glinted off something in the undergrowth, and his eye followed it swiftly. A trip wire? Just a foot outside Buddy’s fence?

He reined Dusty, feeling the men’s eyes on his back as if they were hot laser beams. He didn’t turn. “Buddy?”

“Yeah?”

“Trip wires are only legal if all they do is set off an alarm.”

“I know that!”

“Then have a good day. And make sure they don’t run too far past your fence. Public land again.”

Without looking back, he rode slowly away.

Now he was absolutely convinced that problems were brewing, and he was going to have to get to the bottom of it. Soon.

He hadn’t liked the look of that Cap guy, either. Hell’s bells. Trouble was coming to his forest. He knew it as sure as the sun was pushing toward midday.

* * *

Sky liked being in Conard City almost as much as she liked being out in the forest. The place had a worn charm, sort of like fading elegance, especially downtown. The downtown was old enough to bring to mind images of women in long skirts, maybe some of them sporting Edwardian stylishness, swishing along the streets. There were even hitching posts left around the courthouse square, and the courthouse looked as if it had been lifted right out of New England.

She liked to sit on the benches in that square, amidst the gardens that the city carefully tended, and now, the second morning after her encounter with Buddy, she even received nods and greetings. Some old men played checkers at a stone table with benches beneath a huge cottonwood, and she wondered if that table had always been there or if it had been put there for them.

Her artist’s eye was taking snapshots, and mentally framing them as if for a canvas. Maybe someday, if she was here long enough, she’d ask those old guys if they’d mind if she took a photo of them.

She was dressed for painting again, and she liked the fact that nobody looked askance at her splattered jeans, shirt and jacket. It was a fact of her life that sooner or later most everything she owned showed signs of oil paint. Sometimes she joked that it just jumped out of the tubes at her.

She had carried her painting supplies with her and set up her portable easel with a blank canvas on it. On the bench beside her, she spread out her tarp and then opened her box of brushes and tubes of oils. At home she preferred a sturdy acrylic palette, but when traveling she used one covered with tear-off papers, like a stiff pad. The farther she got from a studio, the more problematic cleanup became.

Looking around, she thought about the colors she wanted for undercoating the canvas. Though the viewer would never see them, at some level they satisfied the brain, as if while they might appear invisible, they weren’t.

But even as she sat there staring at the stark white canvas and trying to pick tones and hues from the world around her, she knew she was chickening out. She ought to go back to the woods and paint what she had wanted to paint, not hide out here in the center of town.

She shouldn’t let that crank drive her off. When had she ever been one to give ground anyway? Four years in the army, some of it in a combat zone, had stripped her of ordinary fears. One man with an attitude wasn’t enough to run her off, not anymore.

But then she realized what she really wanted to avoid: Craig Stone. Her attraction to him had been immediate and strong, and she didn’t want that. Not now, maybe not ever again. And certainly she didn’t want to grow any feelings, even purely sexual ones, for a man who clearly wasn’t going to be around except every now and then. Heck, given his job, she might never run across him again.

So why hesitate? As men went, that made him pretty safe, didn’t it?

She was used to being very clear about things, at least in her own mind, but the lousy breakup with Hector had left her uncertain in some way she hated. Worse than uncertain, she realized. Unsure. Very unsure. As if she didn’t trust her own mind and feelings anymore.

After her time in Iraq, where she’d been caught up in some pretty ugly stuff, she’d had a certain amount of post-traumatic stress. Of course she had. Damn near everyone had it to one degree or another. For some it was more crippling than others, was all.

She’d been fortunate. She’d come home with a bunker mentality, a tendency to jump at every unexpected noise and a total loss of any sense of safety. But she had come back without disabling flashbacks, and after about six months she’d been able to drive again without seeing every oncoming vehicle or object alongside the road as a potential bomb. She knew how lucky she was, especially after spending the past few years working with vets who were a whole lot less lucky.

She didn’t often have nightmares anymore, she functioned, she felt safe most of the time and an inclination toward explosive outbursts had been gone a long time now. War was a life-altering experience, and not all its effects would vanish, even with years, but she believed she’d come back as far as she ever would.

This square, for example. There’d been a time when she would have found it extremely uncomfortable here, surrounded by strangers who walked by, with cars moving along streets, windows that stared blankly back at her and doors that could conceal any kind of threat. But here she was, feeling pretty much fine, although maybe a smidge less comfortable than she had felt alone on that hillside with pretty good sight lines. So maybe this sense of uncertainty was all the breakup’s fault. Hector certainly hadn’t added to her self-confidence any.

Which still left the question of why she was sitting here in the square when the place she really wanted to paint was that hillside from yesterday. That rocky valley and creek had called to her, suggesting both nature’s strength and mystery. This lovely but tame park didn’t do that.

Still, the morning eased by, the people shifted, cars left and new ones appeared. Birdsong emanated from nearby trees. A wandering dog came up to sniff her, then decided she didn’t have anything worth pursuing, like food. It wandered on and was greeted by the guys playing checkers.

She still hadn’t pulled out a brush, the canvas sat blank in front of her, and she finally accepted that something about that Buddy guy had triggered problems she had believed she had overcome.

She was sitting here paralyzed, emotionally and physically. The way it had sometimes been after she returned from the war. Lost in some place where even thoughts seemed to fall silent, where time passed unnoticed. Just plain lost.

She tried to whip up some anger, either at Buddy or herself, but it wouldn’t come. Moving meant action, and action meant taking risks. Anger was dangerous if it grew too big. She understood all about it.

She had hunkered down again in the silent, safe cave within herself, but even acknowledging it didn’t free her from it.

Damn. But the word floated through her mind with little emphasis, as if it came from some place far away. Dissociation. She understood that, too. The only question was for how long. Or how she could shake it.

Some portion of her mind managed to remain detached from her detachment, odd as that sounded. It allowed her to observe what she was doing, and started commenting. A learned skill from the therapy she’d gone through after her return.

The problem with her current dissociation was that it provided a comfortable place to be. A safe place, beyond reach. The other side of the problem, however, was that it held her paralyzed and uncaring, and therefore useless. And the observer part of her even rustled up a little annoyance that some jerk in the woods could have put her here again by doing something as insignificant as yelling at her. Man, he hadn’t even threatened her, he had just told her to go away and called her a spy.

Still, she didn’t move. The day progressed around her, the afternoon arrived with warmth and she was beyond noticing much except the way the shadows moved with the passing hours. She even quit paying attention to the activity around her, instead closing her eyes. It would pass. It always passed eventually. That was one thing she had had to learn to believe, that it would pass.

* * *

The morning after his meeting with Buddy, Craig drove a service truck into town to pick up his laundry and dry cleaning, and shop for some fresh food. Freeze-dried and other lightweight foods didn’t satisfy him indefinitely. Tonight he was going to stay at one of his favorite cabins in the forest and cook. And maybe even heat up enough water to take a comfortable gravity shower rather than the icy ones he was used to.

Oh, he could have come into town more than he did, but the fact was, he liked his job enough to want to be in the woods as much as possible. And nobody hassled him about it as long as he filed his reports on time. That had taken up most of last evening at the ranger station.

He tossed his cold groceries into an ice-filled cooler in the back of his truck, then headed toward the sheriff’s office. He and Dalton were going to have a little chat about Buddy. Not necessarily a big deal, but Dalton had jurisdiction and might be able to learn more about what Buddy was up to. For his part, Craig was confining himself to hunting for what might be damming some streams while keeping a long-distance bead on the Jackson place. Problem was, his duties were going to carry him farther afield. They always did. It was a big forest he had to keep an eye on, from humans to animals to growing things. He couldn’t stay in one area too long without overlooking other important things.

But now he was concerned about Skylar Jamison. Maybe he should hunt her up and make a strong suggestion that she paint elsewhere. Who knew what kind of paranoia Buddy was ratcheting up with his new friend.

When he got to the sheriff’s office finally, he saw her sitting in the courthouse square with her painting stuff. At least she would be easy to find, and he didn’t have to worry about her being out on that hill before he could talk to her.

Inside, the dispatcher, Velma, sent him straight back to the sheriff, Gage Dalton. Dalton had a small office, his desk overrun by a computer on one side and papers on the other. He almost looked glad for the interruption.

“What can we do for the forest service?” he asked.

Craig dropped into one of the wooden chairs facing the desk. “I’m not exactly certain, but I am uneasy. I’m sure you know Buddy Jackson.”

“Most folks do. And most folks stay clear. It’s not that he’s done anything wrong, he just makes people uneasy with all that doomsday stuff.”

Craig nodded. “I’ve been thinking of it as basically harmless.”

Gage straightened a bit. “But not now?”

“Damned if I know. That’s why I stopped in. Twice this summer he’s tried to chase off visitors. Last month it was a group of campers. Two days ago it was an artist who was sitting across the valley and painting. He called her a spy and told her to go away.”

“Spy?” Gage repeated the word disbelievingly.

“That was my reaction. The word was over-the-top. So I paid Buddy a visit yesterday morning to remind him he can’t drive the public off public land. Just a neighborly reminder, but what I saw bothered me.”

“Such as?”

He told Gage about the Cap guy, the AR-15 and the trip wires. As he did so, Gage began to frown. “I can see why you’re uneasy. And Buddy’s out of your jurisdiction.”

“Exactly. But he’s in yours. Those trip wires especially bother me. They’re just outside his fence, which means they’re most likely still on his land, but you know the law about them.”

“I surely do. Warning only. Well, I guess I’ll have to mosey out that way and have a little chat with Buddy. See if I can do some snooping. The problem with these preppers is that they’re so secretive. They don’t want anybody to really know what they’re up to.”

“Of course not. Innocent folks who haven’t prepared might come looking for help.”

“Only they don’t phrase it that way,” Gage said grimly. “It’s not people looking for help. It’s thieves looking to steal and kill. I didn’t think Buddy had gone quite that far, but I’ll look into it.”

“Thanks. I’ll let you know if I get wind of anything.”

“Same here,” Gage promised.

As he emerged into the main office, Craig glanced out the window and saw that Sky was still sitting in the same place. In fact, it looked as if she hadn’t moved at all.

“You know her?” Velma asked, her voice scratchy from years of smoking.

“I’ve met her.”

“Well, I’m starting to worry. That girl has been sitting out there since early this morning, and she hasn’t moved much since she set up her painting stuff. She’s been sitting like that all day. Think I should send someone over?”

“I’ll go,” Craig said. “I need to talk to her anyway. She’s probably just lost in thought.”

“All this time?” Velma shook her head. “I hope you’re right.”

So did he.

“Sky?”

Startled out of her inner silence, she opened her eyes and saw Craig Stone squatting in front of her. Where had he come from?

“Sky are you all right? I was just in the sheriff’s office across the street, and the dispatcher was getting worried. She says you haven’t moved in hours.”

Talking felt like too much effort, but the concern in those gray eyes managed to touch something inside her. “Relaxing,” she said heavily. It was hard to get the word out. But a tendril of panic began to penetrate her cave. She didn’t want to have to explain what was really going on. She didn’t know if she could. This guy probably wouldn’t even be able to understand.

“No,” he said after a moment.

She watched, still not caring, as he packed up her stuff. “Let’s go,” he said.

“Where?”

“Someplace quiet.”

She couldn’t even work up the energy to argue. The observer scolded her, but she didn’t care. It would pass on its own. It always did.

She didn’t resist as he led her to a forest service truck across the street and helped her in. He tossed her belongings in the back, then climbed in beside her and drove them out of town toward the forest.

“Why?” she managed to ask finally.

“Because I know a thousand-yard stare when I see it.”

Wow. That should have evoked a response, but it didn’t. She drew a breath, a deep one, trying to sync herself to reality again.

“There’s a cabin I’m taking you to,” he continued as if they were having an ordinary conversation. “It’s one we keep for foresters and researchers. I was going to stay there tonight. Got a hankering for a real meal and a real shower. There’s plenty of room, it’s peaceful and nobody will bother you.”

Except him. He’d walked into her cave. Oddly, she didn’t feel any irritation.

Nor did he try to draw her out. The rest of the long drive, he didn’t say a word. The shadows had grown lengthy by the time the truck bumped up to a small cabin in a clearing that was only slightly larger. She saw his horse in a small corral, grazing contentedly.

It wasn’t until he parked and came to help her out that things began to come together again. Chilly pine-scented air and the quiet of the forest reached her. She was coming back.

For the first time since that morning she felt something: a massive wave of relief. The world began to take on depth and reality again, no longer seeming like a colorless play she watched from a distance.

Inside the cabin, she sat in a rustic but well-padded chair while he built a fire in a woodstove. Soon the heat began to reach her, and she took another long breath.

She was back. Looking around, she took in the basic decor, evidence that this was a temporary dwelling used by those who didn’t demand conveniences. He had a lit a few oil lamps and was now heating some cast-iron cookware on top of the woodstove.

“I hope you like steak,” he said. “I’ve got some fresh broccoli I picked up today, but not enough to qualify as a meal.”

“I like steak.”

He turned from the stove. “You’re looking better.”

“Sorry.”

He shook his head. “No apologies.”

“This doesn’t happen anymore. At least not for years now.”

He pulled a bench over and studied her. “Buddy?”

“I guess. I thought I was fine. I went to the square to paint this morning, then...I don’t know. It’s been a long time.”

He nodded, seemed to hesitate as if not sure whether he should press her. Finally he rose again and went to cook dinner.

Delicious smells wafted around her.

“Sorry the mashed potatoes are instant. We have to make some sacrifices, and I wasn’t expecting company when I shopped.”

“That’s fine.” And it was fine. Everything was fine again, fine enough that she stood up. “What can I do to help?”

“You can help later. What I’d like to know is what’s going on with you.”

She supposed she owed him at least something since he’d cared enough to charge in like Lancelot on a white steed. Well, olive forest service truck. “I’m a veteran. It’s been a long time, but sometimes I just...go away inside myself.”

“And Buddy caused that?”

“I can’t say for sure. I haven’t...dissociated like that in years. Maybe it was talking to a veterans group the other night.”

“You did that?”

“I work in rehab with vets at home. Somebody told them I was coming up here and they got in touch with me. Although, it doesn’t bother me at home. I mean, I deal with vets and their problems five days a week. But the thing is, if it was Buddy yelling at me, I should have reacted when it happened.”

He didn’t answer for a minute as he turned the steak and stirred the broccoli. “Maybe it was thinking about coming back out here to paint that set it off.”

“Frankly, it shouldn’t have happened at all. It’s been years!”

“I believe you,” he said quietly. “I’m really sorry it happened. It must have felt like having a rug yanked out from under you.”

His understanding was nothing short of amazing. She said quietly, “It took me years to trust my own mind again.”

“I know.”

“How can you know?”

“I have a brother who never could.”

“Craig...”

“Sh.” He turned from the stove, smiling. “Let’s just enjoy dinner, shall we? You can tell me as little or as much as you want. Or we can talk about all the names of the wildflowers and plants.”

Just like that, reality zipped its seams back together and she laughed. Everything was okay now.

Except for the fear, long buried, that this might happen again.

Chapter 3

After dinner she helped him wash up in a kettle of water he had heated on the stove. The simple task was welcome, and it felt good to be focused again.

The thing was, she didn’t know what to talk to him about. He’d stepped in and rescued her, but he had also seen a weakness in her that embarrassed her.

Yes, she knew it was normal, given where she’d been. It hadn’t happened in a long, long time. There was no reason to think it might happen again anytime soon. But at the same time she had just cratered the trust in herself that she had worked so hard to regain.

He was right about one thing: she felt as if a rug had been pulled out from beneath her feet, and worse, he’d seen her take the pratfall. Not even Hector had ever been faced with that, and they’d lived together.

This guy was a stranger who was now more intimately knowledgeable about her than a guy she had thought she might marry.

Lovely.

He brought out a well-worn pack of cards and they sat at a rough wooden table to play pinochle. They hadn’t been playing very long, however, when he said, “You’re worrying. I can feel it. Worrying isn’t going to help.”

She struggled to meet his gaze. “You don’t understand.”

“Then tell me.”

She resisted the thought of exposing herself in that way. He’d seen too much already, and she didn’t want to lay it all out there where it would be painful even if he didn’t react the wrong way. This wasn’t a therapy session, after all.

“I’m fine,” she said firmly. “Just fine. It won’t happen again.”

He frowned faintly but didn’t press her. “I went over to pay Buddy a visit. I don’t think he’ll bother you again.”

“Thank you.” She hesitated. “It wasn’t that scary, you know. I’ve been through far worse. It was just unexpected and weird.”

“I’ll give you that.”

“I hope I didn’t cause you any trouble.”

He put his cards down and went to get the tin coffeepot from the stove. He topped off both their mugs before putting it back. “Buddy may be causing himself some trouble.”

“What do you mean?” Interested, and now on relatively safe ground, she was able to look at him as he once again sat across from her.

He gave a small shrug. “Well, if I knew exactly what was going on, I’d have a better answer for you. Some things have changed at his place, not for the better, it seems to me. Right now I can’t tell you much except that I did ask the sheriff to pay a visit to get a sense of things.”

Sky hadn’t considered that. “Jurisdictional problems?”

“Buddy’s not part of my forest.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “I can involve myself only when he does something outside his own land.”

“What didn’t you like?”

He sighed, reached for his cup and sipped coffee. “He’s got a new best friend, a guy I didn’t like on sight. That doesn’t happen often. Nor am I usually greeted with an AR-15 when I visit.”

Sky felt a cold twist of apprehension. “That’s not good.”

“It might mean nothing. Buddy’s a prepper.”

“What’s that?”

“Oh, he’s been preparing for Armageddon or the end of the world, or revolution for a few years now. A surprising number of people do, so by itself it doesn’t mean much. Storing up food, learning to live off the land, all that. It’s a quirk, but it’s a harmless quirk for the most part, or at least I thought so with Buddy. He showed me around a couple of years ago, and he’s pretty damn self-sufficient. I was impressed, honestly, although it’s not a way I’d choose to go.”

“But you must be pretty much self-sufficient, as much time as you spend in the woods.”

His smile widened a bit. “I can get by, but that’s short-term. Buddy’s prepared to get through an entire year.”

“Wow. That must be expensive.”

“Some of it is,” he allowed. “But Buddy hunts, makes his own jerky and cans a lot of the produce from his garden. It’s quite an operation and keeps the family awfully busy.” He gave a laugh. “If I were Buddy’s wife, I’d probably be demanding overtime pay.”

“I can see that.” She felt an answering smile curve her mouth. “Children?”

“Six. They all work hard, too, and they’re homeschooled. Nice kids.”

She thought it over. “I don’t see anything wrong with that, if that’s the way you want to go. God knows I’ve seen enough people suffer because they couldn’t be self-sufficient.”

His smile faded. “You’ve been in war, right?”

She nodded. “Iraq.”

“Me, too. See, that’s what bothers me about preppers.”

“How so?”

“They really don’t know what they’re proposing to survive. Buddy might do better than some because he’s in the middle of nowhere, out of line of fire except for nature. But so many of these folks really don’t have the least idea how damaging and chaotic a real war is. How little safety there is for anyone. If we have some really big catastrophe, nobody’s going to be safe. And if any of us are going to survive, we’re not going to do it alone in a mountain stronghold.”

“Probably not,” she admitted. “I’ve talked to enough Afghanistan vets. To be safe, you have to keep moving constantly. Buddy looks pretty well planted in place.”

“Exactly. Anyway, Buddy, if he ever needs to, could probably survive some relatively small social upheaval, but anything major...it’s going to be rough on anyone. And I’ve seen enough of the world to know that survival is more likely when you have a community working together. People helping people, not fighting each other.”

She nodded agreement. “But now he’s got this friend who worries you.”

“Yeah. He goes by the name of Cap.”

Sky chewed her lower lip. “That’s an unusual name. Do you suppose it’s a rank?”

“I’m wondering. And he was the one with the AR-15.”

She met those gray eyes again and felt an unwanted shock of desire. Where had that come from? It was the last thing she needed. She dragged her gaze away and told herself to cut it out. “Militia?” she asked finally, hoping her voice sounded normal.

“It’s possible.” Craig put his cup down and rested his elbows on the table. “Thing is, I don’t know. I didn’t like the look of this Cap, I didn’t like being welcomed with a semiautomatic rifle, and I didn’t like the fact that he’s got trip wires outside his fence now.”

Sky felt color draining from her face. “Trip wires?” She whispered the words. Such things evoked horrifying memories for her. She battered down the blackness that tried to swamp her.

“I reminded him they’re legal only as an alarm. He said that’s all they are, but I don’t know. A year ago, I’d have believed it. Right now, with Buddy getting paranoid enough to bother you and some campers a few weeks ago, I’m not sure of anything anymore. Hence a visit from the sheriff. Sky, maybe you should think about painting somewhere else, away from Buddy.”

She thought about it. She thought about it hard because her first instinct was to get stubborn. She didn’t run from things, but this wasn’t her fight. She’d come out here for peace, not a battle.

But she had run away today inside herself, and she didn’t like that. She had to do something to prove to herself that she could handle things, even the Buddy Jacksons of the world.

“No,” she said finally. “I’m going to paint where I want to paint, and he’d better not bother me again.”

“You don’t have to prove anything.”

“Yes, actually I do. To myself.”

Their gazes met again and locked. Craig returned her stare for a while before finally compressing his lips and nodding. “Okay. He probably won’t bother you again anyway. He knows I know about it, and that means others probably do, too. You should be safe now. But...” He hesitated.

“But you’re concerned about this Cap guy so I should still be careful.”

“You should always be careful alone in the woods.”

Something about the way he said it caused another chill to snake through her. “You’re really worried.”

“I haven’t exactly reached REDCON Three yet, but I’m heading that way.”

She knew exactly what he meant. Half his attention would now be on Buddy’s activities, alert for anything that might pose a threat. “Then I’ll just observe REDCON Three myself. I should be fine.”

“Your call.” He pulled the cards together and tucked them back into the battered box. “I’ve got a spare radio you can use. No cell reception in these mountains, but the radio uses a COMSAT link, so you won’t have any trouble getting in touch with me or the office. It also has a GPS Nav system.”

“Are you sure that’s necessary?”

“Maybe not, but I’m going to insist on it. I need to do some poking around. The water flow in the valley creek has dried up some and I need to find out if any of the feeder streams are blocked. And while I’m out there looking for that, I’m going to put a better eye on Buddy. Something about his place is making me uneasy.”

That sounded odd coming from a man who created a first impression of self-contained serenity. She supposed that she ought to take that as a serious warning.

But for right now, she was just relieved that she’d made a decision, that she was out of her private cave. That made her aware that she owed this man something.

“Thanks for what you did earlier. Bringing me out here.”

His smile was enough to make her melt. “You’d have done the same. Sorry this isn’t the Waldorf.”

“This is perfect. It’s a helluva lot better than a tent in a sandstorm.”

That drew a huge laugh from him, one that caused his eyes to sparkle and tipped his head back. “God, I’ll be happy if I never have to deal with that grit again. Give me dirt any day.”

He brought in two sleeping bags from the truck. “I keep a spare handy in case. I haven’t used this one so you don’t have to worry. Sorry there are no cots.”

“Hey, the ground is great. A floor is even better.”

“Yeah, at least there isn’t a rock in exactly the wrong place.” He spread out both sleeping bags. “No pillows,” he apologized.

“That’s what I have a jacket for.”

“If you want, I’ll take you into town for clothes in the morning. I didn’t even think of stopping to get you a change. Hell, I didn’t even think that you’ll want your car if you decide to stay out here.”

He was nice, she thought as she climbed into the sleeping bag and zipped it up. Very nice. “What about your shower?”

“It can wait. I don’t think I stink too much yet.”

He didn’t stink at all. He smelled like pine and fresh air, with a hint of wood smoke. All of it good.

Their sleeping bags were necessarily close in the tiny cabin, but soon Sky was comfortable, having punched her jacket into the right shape for her head. Firelight seeped out of the stove, casting dancing shadows around the darkened interior of the cabin.

Much nicer than a tent in a sandstorm, she thought. In fact, it would have suited her well for a long time.

She felt peace creeping into her, the serenity she had sensed around him at their first meeting, and she wondered if it was contagious, or if it was just the surroundings.

Everything seemed awfully far away right now, but not the kind of far away she’d experienced earlier. This was ever so much better.

She turned her head and looked at him. Firelight reflected from his eyes, telling her he was staring at the ceiling, his head propped on his saddle.

“Craig?”

“Hmm?

“You mentioned your brother.”

“Yeah.” The fire crackled, and for just a second or two the room grew a little brighter. “I was a marine. He joined up two years after me. I got out just before stop-loss started. He didn’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“He wanted to make it a career. He would have stayed anyway. But it got to be too much for him. He was at war for an awful long time, Sky.”

“Too many were.” She knew the toll that had taken, too. She’d worked with men who’d spent the better part of six or eight years in combat zones. Unimaginable. “Is he getting better?”

“He’s gone.”

She sucked a sharp breath. Words wouldn’t come as her heart started to crack.

“I’m sure he’s better now,” Craig said. Then he turned on his side, giving her his back.

Sky stared at that back for a long time before sleep finally snuck up on her.

* * *

Morning arrived with watery light pouring through the cabin’s one dusty window and the smell of perking coffee. Stirring, feeling really good, Sky allowed herself the luxury of stretching and slowly waking up.

The cabin was empty, and for a moment she wondered if Craig had left. He had a job after all. But no, he’d said he’d take her into town this morning for clothes and her car.

Then the door opened and he walked in. For an instant he was framed against the brighter morning outside and the towering pines. In that instant he looked almost mythical, so tall and strong, and clad in his forestry uniform.

And so damn sexy. That sexiness didn’t just come from his good looks and powerful build either. She was drawn to that serenity, that inner strength he seemed to have. He felt like an emotional oasis in the midst of a stressful world.

She sighed, telling herself to quit being fanciful, and pushed up on one elbow, tossing her hair back from her face.

“Sorry if I woke you. I was out taking care of Dusty.”

“Dusty’s your horse?”

“None other.”

“Well, you didn’t wake me. I woke all by myself. That coffee smells good.”

“It smells about ready, too. Want me to bring you a mug there?”

“Actually, I need to get up and move. But thanks.” She pulled the zipper down on the sleeping bag and stood up, padding in her socks over to the table.

He looked so pressed and creased this morning that she felt grungy by comparison. Same clothes as yesterday, and worse, spattered by paint. Maybe she carried the individualistic artist thing a bit too far. But then, honestly, she couldn’t seem to keep clothes for long without getting paint on them.

“I look like a hag,” she announced.

“That’s not possible.” He joined her at the table. “I could lend you a hairbrush if you’re desperate and don’t think that’s icky.”

“After four years in the army, little seems icky anymore.”

He smiled. “Ain’t that the truth. Cereal for breakfast, I’m afraid.”

“That sounds so good. I’m ravenous. Something about fresh air.”

“The air’s fresher outside,” he joked. “It might make you even hungrier.” But he didn’t jump up immediately to get breakfast and she was grateful for that. She wanted her coffee first, and then maybe she’d be capable of helping him.

Feeling around in her pocket, she found a scrunchy and pulled her hair back from her face into a loose ponytail.

“I’m sorry it’s chilly in here, but I let the fire go out overnight.”

“We wouldn’t want a forest fire.”

“Exactly.”

“I’m fine, really.” She looked down at the arms of her shirt. “You must wonder why I’m always covered in paint.”

“Actually no. You’re an artist. Why, do you get asked a lot?”

“It annoyed my ex-boyfriend. Somehow that little black dress I tried to keep in the closet for important occasions always managed to get messed up like everything else. I joke that the paint jumps out of the tubes at me. Maybe I’m just sloppy.”

“Well, I’ve painted some. Not oil painting but other kinds. The funny thing about paint is that it seems to go everywhere, and you don’t notice it on your elbow, or the sole of your shoe, or wherever, until you’ve messed up something else.”

She flashed him a grin. “You do understand.”

“Yup.”

“If I catch it soon enough, sometimes I can get it out. But too often the pigment is a permanent stain anyway.” She shook her head. “I look for cheap clothes because I know that before long they’re going to be painting clothes.”

“That’s hardly a crime.”

“Well, it feels grungy when you look like you just stepped out of a recruiting manual.”

He laughed. “Only because I picked up my stuff from the dry cleaner yesterday. Besides, I have to meet certain job standards. It’s not always easy when I’m out in the woods for days on end.”

“I wouldn’t think so. Life was easier in some ways when we wore cammies.”

“Not if you were getting them splattered with paint, too.”

He made her laugh, and he did it so easily. She liked this man. She felt a sort of bond with him already, probably because they shared some background, but bond aside, she just liked him. He seemed to have a naturally upbeat nature, and if she had a choice, that’s how she wanted to be, too.

He finally got the cereal and a quart of milk from the truck and a couple cheap plastic bowls and metal spoons from the cupboard. The silence felt companionable as they ate and then washed up, this time in cold water.

“Let’s get you back to town,” he said as he rolled up the sleeping bags. “On the way I want to talk to you about the wisdom of coming back into Buddy’s vicinity to paint.”

“I thought I’d given you my opinion.”

“That doesn’t mean I won’t press mine again.”

“Not a quitter, huh?”

“No more than you.”

“Dang marines,” she said, but not seriously. That just drew another laugh from him.

Sky was an appealing woman, and he liked what he’d seen of her personality so far. It troubled him, what had happened to her yesterday, for her sake. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like to believe you had left all that bad stuff behind only to have it rear up without warning while sitting in a perfectly safe place on a warm, sunny day. That had to leave her feeling insecure.

So he could understand why she didn’t want to give ground to Buddy and his outsized paranoia. It would mean giving up something else, and of course she didn’t want to do that. She wanted to face things and get on with life.

And she was probably wondering if Buddy had been the cause of her slip at all. Two days later must make it seem unlikely to her.

He damned the fact that he spent so much time alone. It made him a dull conversationalist. He wasn’t one to just make conversation anymore. Maybe he never had been, but days spent alone in the company of the forest, days during which his only human contact might be radioing in to headquarters, had an effect. For the first time he wondered if it was a bad one.

With Sky sitting on the bench seat beside him as he drove back toward town, he felt the silence like a weight. Ordinarily he found silence to be a great companion, but now he felt it like a failing. She must be uneasy inside herself, but he couldn’t think of a thing to say to distract her or just amuse her.

Damn.

She was the one who spoke first, though. “Just how edgy has this Buddy got you?”

“Edgy enough that I’m not going to ignore him for a while.”

“Is that really reason for me not to paint there again? You said you warned him to leave me alone.”

“You and anyone else rightfully on public lands. But he already knew that.”

“And that’s part of what’s worrying you.”

“Yes,” he admitted. He glanced at her as they drove along the dirt road, and felt the punch of attraction again. Easy, boy, he told himself. The woman’s fragile. Maybe not too fragile, but after yesterday he couldn’t count on it. Not that her possible fragility seemed like a problem, except that he didn’t want to hurt her in some way with a misstep.

Sky didn’t answer as they rounded a bend and gravel crunched beneath the tires. When she spoke at last, it was revealing. “I have to do it, Craig. I’m not sure that’s what set me off yesterday. If it was, it was one heck of a delayed reaction. But I need to know I can face things.”

She needed to know it wasn’t going to happen again anytime soon. He could understand that easily. He’d watched Mark, his brother, fight the same battle and never win, not ultimately. He wanted Sky to regain the security that had been shattered yesterday.

So okay, he thought, he’d have to keep a close eye on her without hovering. From a distance so she didn’t feel as if he didn’t trust her. Damn, how was he supposed to do that? Well, he had plenty of reason to be poking around in the vicinity of Buddy’s place, looking for any blocked streams. He’d already given Buddy a heads-up on that, so theoretically there shouldn’t be a problem. It would be a way to assure Sky that he was working, not hovering.

So that’s the way it would be. Relieved that he’d settled that, he drove right past the headquarters building and on toward town. “You’re staying at the motel?”

“Yes,” she answered.

“Great place.” His tone was a tad sarcastic, unusual for him. Probably a sign that he was getting wound up about things.

“It’s not so bad. I’ve been in worse.” Then she laughed quietly. “But your cabin was nicer.”

He managed a chuckle in response, but the difficulty of producing it was another warning. Okay, so his isolation was about to be disturbed in a couple of ways. His days of communing with the woods were going to be disrupted, thank you very much, Buddy.

He stifled a sigh for fear Sky might misinterpret it.

“Okay,” he said. “I said I’d give you a radio. Keep it with you all the time, especially when you’re in the forest. I want you to promise me that if anything feels even the least bit wrong you’ll radio me.”

“I can do that.” She paused. “You are at REDCON Three.”

“I’m rapidly getting there.”

“Because of me?”

Yeah, because of her. She threw another factor into the Buddy equation, and he was already unhappy with that. “It’s Buddy,” he said, which was at least partially true. “He’s acting out of character. I’m not going to be entirely easy until I know what’s happening over there.”

“I can help with that.”

He almost jammed on the brakes. “Sky, stay out of it. Nobody knows the dimensions of the problem, or if there’s a real threat. Nobody. It’s not your responsibility. Don’t get in the middle.”

“I’m not going to turn tail. I’m not going to do anything except paint and pay attention. But you’re sadly mistaken if you think I’d leave a comrade to face this alone.”

When had he become a comrade? Well, of course, when he’d told her he had been a marine. That was going to complicate matters, because he knew that code too well. There’d be no talking her out of this if that was the tack she was taking.

Nor could he see any way to argue with her about it. There were some things the military just stamped on your soul, and that was one of them.

Another complication.

“I won’t do anything stupid,” she assured him. “I have no desire to. But I’ll just be alert and keep my eyes out, okay? I can do that while I paint without being obvious.”

He supposed he was going to have to be content with that. But then he got to thinking about what might have set her off yesterday. If she could figure it out, that could be important. He absolutely hated the possibility that it might happen to her all alone in the woods.

“What were you thinking about yesterday morning?” he asked.

“What? Oh, you mean when...it happened?”

“Yeah. Maybe there was a trigger of some kind.”

She fell silent long enough for him to wonder if he had offended her. But eventually she spoke, just as they were reaching the outskirts of town.

“Truthfully? I seem to remember thinking how peaceful it was in the square, and how nice to be able to look at all those blank windows and closed doors and not have to wonder what was behind them.”

Blank windows and closed doors. “That may have been it,” he remarked. “Think about it.”

“Perhaps,” she said presently. “It could be. It was a funny way for my thoughts to turn, but then I’m usually busy with something and don’t pay attention. Yesterday I wasn’t busy at all.”

“I’ll tell you a secret I’ve never told anyone else.” He felt her eyes on him. “When I first got back, I couldn’t stand closed doors even inside my own apartment. It took a while.”

“Yes,” she answered quietly. “And driving. It was six months before I could drive without seeing everything on the road as a threat.”

“Yeah. I remember that, too. Once burned and all that.”

He wheeled the truck into the parking lot at the La-Z-Rest Motel, next to her car. “If you want, pack up enough stuff so you can stay overnight at the cabin. I can show you the way back later. It’s not far from where you were painting, believe it or not.”

“Thanks, I’ll think about it. Your bosses won’t give you trouble?”

“Not if I tell her first.”

He bent across her, getting a whiff of deliciously womanly scents that drove his libido into high gear. Crap. The downside of spending so much time by himself was a certain group of unsatisfied needs. But now was definitely not the time.

He pulled a radio out and handed it to her. “You’ve probably used these before.”

She looked it over. “It’s very similar to one I had in the army.”

“It’s almost identical. The government tends to buy big lots.” Despite his every resolution and all his good common sense, he couldn’t stop himself from touching the back of her hand and then squeezing her shoulder. “Keep in touch. I want to know where you are, okay?”

For an instant he saw a flash of rebellion in her face, but it vanished quickly. Evidently, she understood the sense in his request. “Will do.”

He sat with his motor idling while he watched her disappear into her motel room.

Trouble, he thought. For the first time he wondered who was going to give him the most: Sky or Buddy.

Then he put the truck in gear and backed out. Time to get to work.

* * *

Buddy watched Cap’s three guys unload nonperishable food from two box trucks into his beat-up barn. The barn would serve for now, until they finished the new cabin and its underground cellars.

What almost nobody knew was that beneath Buddy’s own cabin, over the years he’d built an underground bunker for his family. Nothing fancy, but bit by bit he’d strengthened it until it could stand against anything but a direct nuclear attack, not that he was expecting one of those here on his remote mountain.

But now Cap and his guys were joining Buddy, and that meant more food and necessarily a bigger bunker, or at least an additional one. Buddy didn’t mind. He kinda liked the way Cap thought, and he liked the control Cap exerted over his men, as he called them. They jumped to do what he said like good soldiers.

But it also gave Buddy a chance to impress Cap, because building underground on the side of a mountain had certain problems. Buddy knew how to deal with them, and Cap didn’t. So Buddy might not have an army of his own, but he was an expert in some things. That meant Cap needed him.

As the thought drifted across Buddy’s mind, he felt a quiver of unease. It had seemed like such a good idea to join forces with Cap and his group. It helped with a lot of things, like the guns, the ammo, the expense, even the food.

But on the other hand, from time to time it occurred to Buddy that Cap could just take over. That he could decide to run the show, maybe even get rid of Buddy and his family.

Each time he had the thought, though, Buddy told himself he was being too paranoid. Cap had never done anything even to hint that his thoughts ran that way. Hell, if that’s what he wanted, he could have taken over already. Instead he was building an additional bunker and cabin, and bringing in plenty of supplies of his own, not using up Buddy’s.

So no reason to regard Cap with suspicion. He had no reason not to think the guy was a man of his word.

Preppers had to stick together, after all. If they started turning on each other, no way they’d survive the coming apocalypse.

Nobody was really sure what form that apocalypse would take. Sometimes he and his wife and now Cap would sit around in the evening and talk about all the possibilities, each worse than the next. Cap seemed to lean toward revolution, and Buddy considered that a definite possibility.

He only got edgy when Cap kind of hinted that maybe they should just go ahead and get the ball rolling. But every time he said something like that, Cap would then laugh as if he were making a joke.

The guy had a weird sense of humor.

The three men had just finished carrying the last boxes of MREs into the barn when the sound of an approaching engine reached them. While the trees muffled noises for the most part, the facing hills had a contradictory effect, bouncing sounds back this way.

“Pull those trucks behind the barn,” Cap barked at his guys. “Make yourselves invisible.”

The three guys hopped to. Buddy enjoyed that.

Cap looked at him. “You expecting somebody?”

“No.”

“What about that ranger?”

“Craig? He never comes from the county road. Ever. Besides, this is my property. The Forest Service stays off it.”

Cap nodded. He felt the sling of the AR-15 hanging over his shoulder. Buddy found it strange that the guy was never more than six inches from his gun, especially out here where there was damn all to be worried about most of the time, but that was Cap.

“Maybe I should get out of sight,” Cap said.

“Naw. You’re my friend. But you might stash the rifle until we know what’s going on. For all I know it’s a UPS delivery.” That was a joke, because UPS dropped his stuff in town with a friend willing to hold them for him. He didn’t get deliveries out here.

Joke or not, it got Cap to put his rifle out of sight. Buddy couldn’t say why that relieved him, but he knew he wasn’t ready to be looking for trouble. Talking to that painter at Cap’s prompting had brought him a lot more attention than he really wanted.

The vehicle that eventually rounded the final bend of his driveway and emerged from the trees was a sheriff’s SUV. Buddy tensed immediately. The deputies stopped by occasionally, but rarely. Usually neighborly type calls to see if he needed anything.

But coming so soon after his face-off with the artist, he was expecting no good. He grew even more tense as the vehicle crossed the clearing and he saw the sheriff himself at the wheel. Definitely not the usual call from a deputy.

Gage parked and climbed out, crossing the remaining twenty feet. “Morning, Buddy,” he called out. “You all doing okay?”

“Just fine, Sheriff,” Buddy answered. His heart had begun racing and his palms felt a little damp. He didn’t like this.

Gage looked at Cap. “Howdy.”

Cap as usual didn’t say anything, so Buddy filled the silence, trying to sound casual. “Gage, this is Cap, friend of mine.”

“Pleasure,” Gage said easily enough, then returned his attention to Buddy. “Hate to bother you, but you know we found that hiker last month. Until we figure out what happened to him, we’re just checking on folks to make sure they’re not running into any trouble.”

Buddy relaxed a hair. “Haven’t seen a damn thing unusual.” Then he decided that if the sheriff had heard about that painter lady, it might be stupid to ignore it. Might make him suspicious. “I got worried about some woman who was across the valley. Felt like she was keeping an eye on me. Craig Stone says she’s just a painter, though.”

Gage nodded. “I heard. Just a painter. I can understand why you’d be uneasy after that hiker, though. We’re all uneasy.”

Buddy relaxed even more. “So you guys are worried?”

“Not exactly. Not yet. But I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t check around from time to time, not until we’re sure it was just an accident. There’s a lot of woods out there for a bad guy to hide.”

“True.”

Gage looked around. “You’re building a new cabin. Something wrong with yours?”

“I need some place for friends to stay.”

Gage cracked a smile. “I understand that. Sometimes I wish I had a guesthouse.”

“Yeah.”

“Not that I can do much in town. Sometimes I wish I had a spread like yours, Buddy.”

Buddy swelled with pride. “We can do a lot up here, Sheriff. Let me show you the garden.”

It never occurred to Buddy that by walking Gage around to show off a few things he might be revealing more than he thought.

Cap would have something to say about that later, but right now, Buddy just felt good. And proud.

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