Page 10 of Mountain Man’s Mystic Touch

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She sits in the last chair of the nearest row, leaving me with a clear view of her and the room beyond. I tell myself that is why I remain where I am.

The coordinator begins with schedules, parking rules, emergency exits, and weather procedures. I take over for the security portion. Conversations quiet as I step onto the platform.

“My name is Rocco. I own Blackridge Protective Services, and my team will be on-site throughout the festival.”

Loralee raises her coffee in a small salute. I ignore her.

“Wear your credentials whenever you are inside a vendor or restricted area. Do not loan them to employees, family members, or anyone helping at your booth. Cash should never be left unattended. At closing, vendors using cashboxes will have access to escorted deposit routes.”

A man in the second row raises his hand. “We’ve never needed that before.”

“I hope you won’t need it this year.”

“Then why complicate everything?”

“Because predictable routines create predictable vulnerabilities.”

He looks unconvinced, but he lowers his hand.

I continue. “Report anyone entering booths without permission, photographing locks or storage areas, or asking detailed questions about closing procedures. If you see an unattended bag, do not move it. Notify security. If an altercation begins, create distance. Do not intervene.”

Loralee’s mood has changed. The amusement is gone, replaced by close attention.

“Emergency lanes stay clear at all times,” I add.

I finish with radio points, first-aid locations, and evacuation routes. The coordinator takes questions while I return to the back of the pavilion. Loralee waits until the room begins emptying before approaching me.

“Your energy changed up there.”

I finish the coffee she gave me. It is strong and exactly how I drink it.

“My energy did not do anything.”

“You became larger.”

“I stepped onto a platform.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

She tilts her head, examining me with an openness that would feel intrusive from anyone else. From her, it feels like standing too close to a fire. Warm enough to draw me forward. Dangerous if I forget what it can do.

“What did you see?” I ask before deciding not to.

Her gaze holds mine. “Someone who takes responsibility very seriously.”

“That information was available in the briefing.”

“It was available before you spoke.”

I crush the empty cup slightly between my fingers. “Do you tell everyone what you think you see?”

“Only when I believe they need to hear it.”

“I don’t.”