Page 40 of High Frequency

“Well, best of luck with that.”

Then he starts walking back down the drive.

“Hey!” I call after him. “You’re not gonna try and scare me off?”

I’m not sure I like the grin he throws me.

“Nah. My sister’s gonna be here in a few days. Trust me, she’ll take care of that.”

I watch him casually stroll back toward his house, not quite sure whether he just cursed me or gave me his blessing. Not that it makes a lick of difference, it won’t stop me from going after Sloane either way.

I haven’t seen Sloane since yesterday. I offered to look after the horses when we got back since I knew she was eager to get home to see Aspen, and her Jeep was gone by the time I walked out of the barn. As soon as she had cell phone reception, she’d contacted Junior Ewing to find out the remains were safely at the Medical Examiner’s office—which is housed in the same building as the Sheriff’s Office—and would not be looked at until this morning. I also heard her request a cadaver dog team be sent into the gorge to look for additional remains, and she was upset when Ewing suggested they wait until the ME had a chance to look at the remains.

I’m sure she knows more by now, and I have to admit, I’m curious, but I’m not about to bother her with questions about her case. When I call—which I hope to do tonight when I think the baby is sleeping—I’m going to be focusing on Sloane.

But first I want to check out my house.

There is no door yet, nor are any of the windows installed. The stonework for the fireplace also still has to be done, but all of those things will happen once the interior framing is up, which I’m going to start tomorrow. I’ve taken tomorrow and Monday off, which gives me four straight days. JD said he’d help, and both Fletch and Wolff mentioned they’d drop by if they had time.

Daylight is waning outside, but the first thing I notice when I walk in is the amount of light still coming in through the window openings in the front. I move to what will be the living room window and look out at the river. It would be so nice if I could move in before winter hits.

It’s the beginning of September, which will give us this month and October—hopefully—before the snow starts flying. Let’s say eight weeks. If we could get the framing up, windows and plumbing and electrical done, I can work on things like flooring, drywall, kitchen, and paint over the winter while already living here.

From the corner of my eye, I notice movement as a large bull elk walks along the shallow bank of the river into view. A magnificent animal, proud and majestic, as it stops and raises its head, appearing to scan the other side of the river in the setting sun.

It’s rutting season, when the male elk is at its most aggressive, vying for any and every female crossing his path, and confronting any competitors, but this guy looks relaxed, almost peaceful as he calmly checks out his surroundings.

Taking my phone from my pocket, I pull up the camera app and shoot a couple of pictures. The light is just right, deepening the contrasts and the colors.

I think I’m going to enjoy sitting out on my porch at dawn or dusk, having a coffee or a beer, just watching all this beauty play out in front of me. Better yet if I had someone special beside me.

Mom would’ve loved this. She really took to country living after we moved from town to the ranch. At the time, I would have given her no more than a few months left to live, but the fresh mountain air seemed to give her a boost. In the end, she was with me for almost five more years before the cancer finally won.

I wonder if the elk is catching a scent when he stretches his neck and lifts his chin up in the air. But then he lets out a distinct loud, wailing bugle. A pitched sound that carries far on high frequency waves, serving as both a mating call and a communication of dominance.

Steam is rising from his flared nostrils as he tests the air. But just when he sets up for another call, his head lifts high as something appears to draw his attention downriver. I can see the tension ripple through his muscles, moments before he abruptly swings around and lopes off in the opposite direction, disappearing from sight.

Something spooked him.

It’s probably time I head back to the ranch anyway, it’s getting dark out and I don’t want to miss out on the enchiladas Ama promised for dinner.

As I swing my leg over the ATV I grabbed to come over here, I feel a prickle between my shoulder blades. I turn to look down the drive behind me but there’s nothing to be seen.

Then I start the engine, turn on the headlights, and aim for the trail back to the ranch.

Sloane

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

Sully raises his head and the expression on his face tells me my objections are going to go nowhere. Which really sucks, because in my situation—being at the mercy of someone else’s kindness—I really don’t have a voice.

“What do you mean?” he returns. “It makes perfect sense. I mean, you can stay here, of course, but I would think you’d welcome a place of your own.”

He’s right, I would. Don’t get me wrong, I love my uncle and his family—especially my little cousin—but it’s hard to find a peaceful moment in a busy household like this. I wouldn’t mind being able to put my feet up on my own table, picking my own TV shows, getting my morning coffee without needing to get dressed first.

However, moving into the vacant cabin at the ranch—two doors down from Dan—may not be a wise decision. I lived there before and the close proximity got me in trouble the first time.

“What about Mom?” I throw out in a last-ditch effort, even though I know it’s a losing battle.

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