“No, I didn’t.”
“As it receded and melted, toward the end of the Ice Age”—he motioned out the back door toward the creek—“it would sometimes drop thousands of tons of rocks one place or another. I think that’s what happened here on your ranch. There’s patches that look like a gravel deposit here and there.”
“Yes, I saw those.” She sat on her heels. “So? Can the fireplace be saved?”
“I think it can. Needs lots of work, some support, and of course, getting a chimney sweep out here because I’ll bet there’s stuff in the flue of the chimney that needs to be removed.”
“But it’s fixable, right?”
Nodding, he turned toward the open entrance. The sun was returning, starting to warm up. “Right, it is.”
“I really want to save this cabin, Colin.”
Hearing the determination and sudden emotion in her low tone, he turned, watching her at work. “We’ll figure out a way to do that.”
“I was thinking that maybe, when things are pretty much finished and working around here, that I could get some expert craftspeople in here to put this cabin back together like it used to be.” She frowned and pointed to the floorboards. “Look at these. They’re so old and worn, especially in the center.”
Colin looked closely at the floor, the morning sunlight making it easier to see. He pointed to one board. “That one looks awfully new, Dana. Someone replaced it.” It was a board in the center of the floor and was much lighter than the grayed ones surrounding it.
“Who?” she wondered, staring at where he was pointing.
“Don’t know. This place has been abandoned for decades.” Shrugging, he picked up a broom and began sweeping from the other direction toward where she was working. “We have folks here in the valley. We call them barn builders. There’s quite a few cabins just like this in the valley because it was settled around the 1870s by pioneers. They saw how fertile this valley was. We have some old-timers still around that know how to rebuild these things, so I think you’ll get your wish.” He saw the relief on her face. “What are you intending to do with it?”
“I thought it might make a wonderful meditation room. I can’t stand to see this cabin, which was built by hand, the logs chopped, cut and an ax smoothing them out enough, to be destroyed.”
“Hmmm, a meditation room? I hadn’t thought of that, but it sounds good.”
She grinned. “What? Don’t you meditate?”
“Nah, can’t settle my mind down and turn it off.”
“Mmmm, I used to be that way until someone got me into it. Little by little, over the past couple of years, it has helped me stop my mind from churning . . . from going over stuff from the past.”
“Maybe I should give it another try,” he agreed.
“You’d be more than welcome. Have you had any formal teaching in it?”
“None. Just heard about it. Cari is a big believer in meditation, though. She doesn’t start her day, from what Chase told me once, without meditating first. She’s even got Chase doing it.” He chuckled.
“Meditation helps everyone. Maybe that explains why the bees love her so much,” Dana said, finishing off the pile that Colin had swept for her. Getting up, she pushed her hands against her pantlegs, dusting them off. “I can hardly wait to go over and see her with the bees.”
“I’ve helped her from time to time,” he admitted, walking with her to the open entrance. “She really is one with those ladies. I didn’t know that most of the bees in the hive are female. Did you?”
“No. I have so much to learn. I’m afraid of getting stung.” She gave him a silly, shy grin. “I guess I’m afraid of a lot of things, even my shadow . . .”
Frowning, he watched as she leaped down to the ground. He made a note to build a set of steps for her soon, because a person could break their ankle, otherwise. He wanted to support her dream for this dilapidated place. If only someone could have that kind of care toward himself, broken as he was. That was a pipe dream.
He followed her as they walked up the muddy road to where the concrete would be poured. Colin had put in orange flagging where it needed to be. He’d dug the trench yesterday in the rain with the old John Deere. They’d both gotten soaked to the bone, but it had gotten done.
“The sun feels good,” she whispered, standing nearby, her hands in the pockets of her jacket.
“Spring around here is up and down,” he offered. “Some days warm with a blue sky, and then the rain hits and we have gray skies, which are depressing to me, but later on, it clears away.”
Gazing up at the sky, Dana whispered, “I feel like those gray and white clouds, the darkness and rain, all the time.” Realizing she’d confided too much, she managed a strained laugh. “Hey, look! There’s the concrete trucks coming in!” She pointed to them slowing down on the highway to make the turn into her ranch’s driveway.
She was glad for the distraction because she’d seen the sharp, penetrating look Colin had given her. Along with it came an unfamiliar but oh, so welcome feeling of warmth blanketing her, even though the sun was hidden by the clouds right now.
What subtle, quiet magic did Colin possess? Dana had made a promise to never reveal her past. But with him around? She was talking in metaphors. What was going on? She was afraid to confide in anyone about her past. Scared to death that it would overtake her, Dana was fearful she would drown and spin out of control. Colin was way too easy to confide in. Maybe it was his quietness, the way he studied her that made her feel safe . . . something she’d lost a long time ago.
Chapter 4
April 28
Brock Hauptman was happy to see the sun finally come out at nine a.m., the light rain having stopped. He watched through his binoculars from where he hid on the forested slope of the Wildflower Ranch, far below him. He wasn’t pleased. At all.
He sat with his second-in-command, Richfield Jones, an ex-Marine and of late, an escapee from the Navy brig in San Diego. Hardened, thirty-five years old, he was as tough as they came. He, too, watched a few feet away, sitting on the dark brown ground, binoculars to his eyes. For the last week, Richfield had come over to the ranch under cover of night, watched and reported.
“This isn’t good,” Richfield muttered, drawing deeply on a cigarette. “At first, we thought that woman was just a vagrant, passing through, like so many others do.”
Snorting, Brock watched the activity on the other side of the creek. “First, a double-wide trailer. Now, a Quonset hut for the tractor and the other equipment. What next?” He’d ground out the words in a low growl.
“The FOR SALE sign was taken down. Someone bought it.”
“Yeah. I’d like to waltz into Silver Creek and find out who, but I’m a wanted escaped prisoner. My mug is in every sheriff’s department in the West.” Hauptman dropped the binoculars on his broad, deep chest, pushing a large, scarred hand across his shiny bald head.
Grinning lopsidedly, Richfield lowered his glasses as well, letting them hang around his neck. Taking two more drags off the butt, he ground it into the wet ground, snuffing it out. It had rained this morning, but now the sky was clearing.