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By then, we’d passed the strip mall and the Desert Skies office, though neither of us spoke for another mile.
“Okay, let’s say they go after you first,” I conceded, getting back to business. “Probably at a time and place you’d least expect it or with the fewest witnesses.” Then I paled. “Wait. What if they come after you out at the cabin you’re renting on Henry’s property? We can’t let him get drawn into this.”
There were times when my boss drove me crazy, and I was still waiting for a chance to get that last hour of piloting. But Henry had given me a chance when no one else had, and he was a decent, law-abiding citizen.
Nash grimaced. “Where else could I stay that wouldn’t involve innocent people?”
I tightened my hands around the steering wheel, biting back the first answer that came to mind. But when I couldn’t find an alternative, I let it out, very quietly.
“You could come to the ranch.”
And just like that, my foolish heart thumped harder.
He shook his head. “I said, a place that doesn’t involve innocent people. You have sisters, right?”
My shoulders slumped. I did. And a niece — Abby’s daughter, Claire.
Nash shook his head. “Forget it.”
I couldn’t, though, because they were already involved, because we all shared the property.
“What if Angelina or Harlon come for me first?” I asked. “Like you said, they would want to divide us. It would be better if we circled the wagons, if you know what I mean.”
His jaw hardened. “I don’t like it.”
I huffed. “What’s to like about any of this?”
I didn’t mention the one aspect I did like — the prospect of keeping Nash close.
He didn’t say anything for a while. But when I paused at the red light at the turnoff to Henry’s place, Nash’s eyes bored into mine. Finally, he nodded.
“All right, then. Your place.”
* * *
Twenty-five minutes later, we were back at the intersection, having grabbed a few things from Nash’s cabin. From there, I drove another mile down the highway, then turned off on a dirt road. My heart pitter-pattered the whole way, as if I were bringing Nash to my home for fun and games rather than perfectly rational, practical, and entirely platonic reasons.
So, no. No reason for jittery nerves at all.
The only sound was the roll of the tires over asphalt, then gravel. When I slowed and took the final turn for home, Nash did a double take, as if he hadn’t seen the fork in the road.
Interesting. I’d been wondering if he would be like most folks, who were blind to our particular turnoff. Now, I had my answer. My great-aunt had always claimed that spot had been spelled to blur in the eyes of the average passerby — and apparently, that worked on shifters too.
I pursed my lips. Would it fool Harlon and Angelina?
We rattled over a cattle grid, slalomed around a couple of potholes, then came to the rise with a view of the ranch — the main house, barn, corral, and a handful of other buildings, including my cabin way off to one side. Dusty paths connected the buildings, but those quickly gave way to scrub and trees that ran all the way to the rocky outcrops that hemmed in the ranch. Nash swiveled his head, taking it all in.
“Nice,” he murmured. His tone was genuine, and something in me warmed.
“It is,” I agreed, feeling lucky for the hundredth time that my great-aunt had entrusted the ranch to my sisters and me. “That part ends in a box canyon.” I pointed. “And over there is the creek.”
Nash nodded quietly.
He opened his mouth with a question, then thought better of it.
“What?” I asked.
He gazed off into the distance. “Nothing.”
