Page 11 of Mistaken

His first impulse was to hurry out, grab her, and blink her back to the road before disappearing. However, while doing so would certainly remove her from his property, such actions would only let her know that something unearthly lurked nearby. She might go back to Los Alamos — for he could not think where else she might have come from — and return with reinforcements.

But if she went inside his house, she would see right away that it was occupied. Everything was clean and new, not covered in dust the way it should be if it truly had been sitting here empty for nearly five years.

The frown he wore mirrored the one on the strange woman’s face, although even if she had been close enough to see him, the hooded cloak that was his perpetual outer garment would have kept his expression hidden from her.

For now, he decided, he would only observe. It was possible that she wanted to conduct a brief survey of the buildings and afterward would return whence she had come.

If she made a move to go inside…well, then he would decide what to do.

The place was different. Sarah wouldn’t flatter herself into believing that she remembered every single nook and cranny of Ghost Ranch, not when it had been almost twenty years since she’d come here with her father, but still, she knew there should have been many more buildings scattered around the property. Also, it hadn’t felt this…manicured…for lack of a better term. Still wild and lovely, but more like someone’s carefully xeriscaped backyard than a location that had always had a lot of weeds and rocks to give it character.

True, the big open field across from the visitors center looked familiar, although greener and not as overgrown as she remembered. But there had been lots of smaller buildings in various shapes and sizes, and almost all of those were gone now, replaced by careful groupings of native plants and some pretty spectacular boulders.

Maybe a survivor of the Heat had made their way here and then decided to turn the Ghost Ranch campus into something that more closely matched their tastes. All this work would have taken a lot of time, but then, it had been nearly five years since the Dying. Even a single person could accomplish a good deal in that sort of span, especially if they didn’t have any other projects to keep them occupied. But if that was the case, where were they? She hadn’t detected a single whisper of anyone else’s presence here, and surely they would have heard her and come to investigate who was singing as she trespassed on their property.

Farther up the hill was a low house with more trees clustered around it, some of them cottonwoods and weeping willows, signaling there must be some kind of water there. It seemed as good a place as any to check out, so that was where Sarah headed now.

Besides, the sun kept slipping farther and farther to the west, and since she had to crash somewhere around here, it might as well be the one structure that looked as if it might have a real bed inside.

Trudging uphill at the end of such a long walk wasn’t much fun, and her calf muscles told her exactly what they thought of the additional exertion. She kept going, though, knowing there wasn’t any point in stopping until she’d reached her destination. Without a device to protect her, it seemed even more important to find some kind of shelter.

Yes, that was a small pond located next to the house, with willows drooping graceful branches into the water and cottonwoods whose leaves fluttered with the slightest breeze. Sarah couldn’t remember seeing anything like that when she visited Ghost Ranch all those years ago, but then again, she didn’t think she and her dad had explored the various casitas and guesthouses. She supposed it was possible that the pond had been here all along.

The L-shaped house overlooked a large courtyard set with brick in a basketweave pattern, and at the front of the courtyard were several sets of Adirondack chairs obviously placed there so they could take advantage of the magnificent view, which was pretty much due south, with Georgia O’Keeffe’s beloved Pedernal centered in the middle of the scene.

A gorgeous setup, but Sarah couldn’t stop herself from frowning at the big wooden chairs, all of which had been painted a cheerful turquoise that was a perfect contrast to the red brick beneath and the warm adobe of the house behind them. If those chairs had been sitting here since the Dying, the paint should have been flaking off, and at least one of them probably should have also been knocked over by the wind.

But everything looked peaceful and tidy and well-cared for, and she frowned again.

A little shiver went down her spine.

Even though she still felt utterly alone, she couldn’t help wondering if someone was lurking nearby, watching her.

“Hello?” she ventured, hoping she didn’t sound as small and frightened as she felt.

No response. Was that better or worse?

Even so, she waited there for a moment, gaze scanning the courtyard and the trees that sheltered the house. Nothing moved except branches swaying in the wind.

She had to be alone here, right? Anyone who was watching would have responded to her greeting…wouldn’t they?

Part of her wanted to turn and run back to the highway, but she knew that was no solution. There was no way in the world she could make it back to the turn-off for Abiquiu Lake before night fell, and even if she did decide to go blundering around in the darkness, she would have to hope that Carson had left his walkie-talkie on so she could reach out to him. That didn’t seem very likely, not when he wouldn’t expect to meet up with her until sometime tomorrow afternoon and probably had shut the thing off to conserve the batteries.

Well, damn.

You’re here,she told herself.So you might as well go inside and take a look around.

Fine.

She reached up to adjust the backpack she wore, then made herself walk over to the nearest of the several sets of French doors that opened onto the patio. The handle turned easily when she wrapped her fingers around it, so it clearly wasn’t locked.

A deep breath, and then she headed inside.

The place looked like something out of a magazine, or maybe a travel brochure. Smooth oak floors, rough-troweled plaster walls, expensive Navajo rugs underfoot, and a large wagon wheel of a wrought-iron fixture overhead.

She had no idea the accommodations here at Ghost Ranch had been so fancy.

And just like the meticulously tended grounds she’d walked through to get here, this place looked way too clean to have stood empty for the past four and a half years. Not a speck of dust anywhere that she could see, and when she left the large living room and passed through the dining area, it was to find a kitchen that again looked like it should have been inHouse Beautifulor something, or maybe one of those home improvement shows her father liked to watch when he was trying to relax after yet another ten-hour day at the labs. Fabulous countertops that she thought might be quartzite or soapstone, an enormous copper hood over the eight-burner stove, backsplash of the same pale stone with greenish veining that covered the counters.

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