Page 64 of Mountain Man’s Mystic Touch

A faint smile touches her mouth. “You’ve been listening.”

“I listen to relevant information.”

“And information only becomes relevant after you decide it is?”

“This is not the time to debate my decision-making process.”

“It may be the perfect time.”

The urge to tell her she is staying here is immediate. So is the knowledge that she will hear the command instead of the concern beneath it.

I place both hands on the back of the nearest chair. “Why do you want to return?”

“The vision happened when I touched the cash box, but that does not mean it happened at my booth. I saw fragments without context. Being back among the sounds and scents may help me recognize where they belong.”

“And if it drains you again?”

“I stop.”

“You said the first vision was different from anything you’ve experienced.”

“It was.”

“Then you cannot know whether you’ll have enough warning to stop.”

“No,” she says. “I can’t.”

Loralee’s answer does not reassure me, but it is honest.

“I’m not reopening the booth,” she continues. “I’m not taking appointments or performing readings. I want to walk through the festival while I still remember what the vision felt like.”

“With me.”

“If you want to come.”

“I’m not sending you into an active event alone.”

“Then I suppose you’re coming.”

She reaches for the door.

“Wait.”

Loralee turns.

“I’ll drive you back. You remain with me or a member of my team at all times. If you feel dizzy, disoriented, or anything resembling the beginning of another vision, you tell me immediately.”

“I can agree to that.”

“You do not touch the cash box again.”

“I don’t need to.”

I collect my jacket and open the door for her. Evening air has cooled the mountains, and the remaining daylight rests low between the pines. Loralee pauses on the porch and draws a deep breath.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I have enough of myself back to know the answer.”