Page 6 of Not This Soon

Rachel's eyes narrowed as she surveyed the gun rack on the wall. Empty. The polished wood gleamed, barene. She ran her fingers along the dust-free slots, her jaw clenching.

"All of them. Gone," she muttered, her mind racing. Sarah's prized hunting rifles, the old revolver she kept for protection - vanished.

Rachel yanked open the pantry door. Canned goods lined the shelves, but gaps stood out like missing teeth. Boxes of ammunition were conspicuously absent. Her aunt's favorite cast-iron cooking pot was missing from its usual hook.

"Prepared for a long trip, Aunt Sarah?" Rachel's voice was low, tinged with a mix of suspicion and disbelief.

The missing items painted a disturbing picture. Sarah hadn't just left; she'd fled. And she'd taken provisions for an extended absence.

Rachel's fists clenched at her sides. The implications were clear, but she refused to jump to conclusions. She needed more information.

Twenty minutes later, Rachel strode into the reservation’s Sheriff's station, her badge prominently displayed. "I need to speak with Sheriff Dawes," she’d announced, her tone brooking no argument.

A man named Deputy Miller had stepped forward, his face a mask of false concern. "I'm sorry, Ranger Blackwood. The sheriff isn't available."

"When will he be back?" Rachel pressed, her eyes scanning the room for any signs of the Sheriff's presence.

"Can't say," Miller replied, shifting uncomfortably. "Department business. You understand."

Rachel's patience wore thin. "This is official Texas Ranger business, Deputy. I need to speak with Dawes now."

The atmosphere in the station grew tense. Other deputies began to gather, forming a subtle barrier between Rachel and the inner offices.

"I'm afraid that's not possible," Miller said, his tone hardening. "If you have any questions, you can direct them to me."

Rachel took a step forward, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Where is he, Miller? And where's my aunt?"

Miller's hand twitched towards his holster. "I think it's time for you to leave, Ranger Blackwood. This is the reservation.Ourhome. Not yours.”

Theyourshad been emphasized with venom. That had always been the case with reservation law enforcement. They’d resented that she’d never joined them. She’d left the reservation, because she’d felt the best way to help her people was from the outside. From the actual institutions that held powerbeyondthe reservation. But she’d given up trying to explain herself to her people.

As a native woman in the Texas Rangers, she knew what it was like to stand against the current, to resist the stream always pushing you down, trying to drown you. She knew about fighting tooth and nail, about clawing your way up from the dirt and earning respect from those who would just as soon see you fail.

But right now, she didn't have time for this territorial pissing contest. Sheriff Dawes was missing. Her aunt was missing. And the two occurrences happening at the same time could not be a coincidence.

She'd refused to leave at first, but then Rachel felt strong hands gripping her arms. Two deputies began forcibly escorting her towards the exit.

The door slammed behind her as she was unceremoniously shoved onto the sidewalk. Rachel stumbled, regaining her balance as anger and frustration coursed through her veins.

She stared at the closed door, her mind racing. The deputies' actions only confirmed her suspicions. Dawes was helping Aunt Sarah. The two of them were in hiding. Hiding from their own actions… Hiding fromher.Rachel scowled. She knew that Aunt Sarah had been involved in the heist her mother had spearheaded. Knew that, according to some, Sarah had been involved in her own mother’s death.

Was it true?

Time would tell.

Rachel straightened her jacket, her resolve hardening. If they wouldn't give her answers, she'd find them herself.

And so she’d set up surveillance. Aunt Sarah’s house had a game camera out front, and Rachel had set up her hunter’s perch in the tallest oak on the property.

And so she stood, stoic and quiet, staring down the barrel of her rifle towards the farmhouse below. The days had melded into one another. Sunrises and sunsets marked by the unyielding vigilance of her gaze. Climbing down the tree only for necessities. Her meals were a monotonous routine of canned beans and jerky. Sleep came in fitful, brief episodes, her senses always alert, always waiting for a sign.

The empty cabin stood defiant under her scrutiny, revealing no secrets. The dusty path leading to it remained undisturbed. Daily rounds of the property turned up nothing new, the tire tracks she'd discovered earlier had been intentionally muddled and were now fading under the kiss of wind and weather, washed out by an unseasonal drizzle that had lasted half the day.

Her fury at this stonewalling was a simmering presence at the back of her mind, kept in check by her disciplined focus. Aunt Sarah may have been like a mother to her, but if she’dreally murdered Rachel's parents... Rachel would make sure she faced justice.

She rolled her neck, shifting uncomfortably, one hand braced against the rough bark of the tree.

The shrill ring of her phone shattered the silence. Rachel jolted, nearly losing her balance on the branch. Her hand flew to her holster instinctively before she realized the source of the noise.

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