Page 29 of Death Valley

The trail grows steeper as we climb, winding through dense forest that seems to close in around us, blotting out the sun even as it rises higher in the sky. My thighs start to burn and Duke’s breathing has grown heavy beneath me, his sides expanding with each labored breath. Eventually the pine give way to aspen again and the sun filters through the canopy in dappled patterns, shifting and dancing across the forest floor as we start to descend the rise. I’ve lost track of how long we’ve been riding—time seems to stretch and compress strangely here.

Just when I think I can’t take another minute in the saddle, Jensen raises his hand, bringing our small caravan to a halt. The sudden stop sends relief flooding through my aching muscles.

“We’ll make camp there,” he says, nodding toward a small clearing nestled between pines. “Donner Creek’s just beyondthose trees. The fresh water will be good for cooking and cleaning and letting the horses drink, but don’t drink any yourself unless it’s been boiled first and treated with a purification tablet.”

I can hear it now that we’ve stopped—the distant, steady murmur of rushing water, a constant whisper beneath the sighing of the wind through the pines. The sound is both soothing and somehow melancholy, like a half-forgotten lullaby.

“Yes, Dad,” Cole jokes and we ride our horses along until we’ve stopped in the clearing.

Red dismounts with a grunt. “Good spot, McGraw. Sheltered from the wind.”

I watch as the others swing down from their horses, trying to memorize their movements so I won’t look completely incompetent. Jensen dismounts from Jeopardy with practiced ease, his boots landing softly on the needle-strewn ground. When he turns to help me, I shake my head, determined to manage on my own.

Sliding off Duke turns out to be more complicated than I anticipated. My legs, stiff from the day’s ride, buckle slightly as I hit the ground. I grab the saddle to steady myself, hoping no one noticed.

“First full day is always the hardest,” Eli says kindly as he passes, leading his horse toward a sturdy pine where Cole is already setting up a picket line. “You’ll find your riding legs soon enough. You did good.”

I stretch discreetly, trying to work feeling back into my lower body while taking in our surroundings. The clearing is small but level, ringed by towering pines that provide natural shelter. Patches of snow still linger in the shadowed areas, though the ground where we stand is mostly dry. The air is cooler here than it was at the ranch, carrying the crisp scent of pine and the earthy musk of thawing soil, but the sun feels warm on my face.

Jensen is already unpacking gear from Angus, distributing bundles of equipment and tents with quiet efficiency. My duffle bag sits among the supplies, and I feel a twinge of anxiety knowing my gun is still hidden inside, far from my reach.

“You know how to set up a tent?” Jensen asks, holding out a bundle of nylon and aluminum poles.

“Of course.” The lie comes easily. How hard can it be?

He studies me for a moment, one eyebrow raised skeptically, before dropping the tent at my feet. “Good. Set it up over there, where the ground’s level. You’ll want the rain fly, even though the sky’s clear. Temperature drops fast up here after sundown and you never know when clouds will move in.”

I take the bundle, trying to project confidence I don’t feel. This is a test, isn’t it?

As I move toward the spot he indicated, I notice Jensen circling the perimeter of our campsite, studying the ground with that intense focus I’m beginning to recognize. He pauses at the edge of the clearing, crouching to examine something in the dirt that’s invisible to my untrained eye.

“Found something?” Cole calls out, busy securing the horses and untacking them.

Jensen straightens, brushing his hands on his jeans. “Just old tracks. Real old.”

But there’s something in his voice that makes me wonder. Something that says he’s seeing more than he’s telling. I watch him continue his circuit of the clearing, moving with ease missing nothing.

“Your sister ever mention camping in this area?” Eli asks, appearing beside me with another tent. He sets to work assembling it with practiced movements that make my fumbling attempts look pathetic by comparison.

“No,” I say, remembering that it was only Jensen and I that talked about Lainey and the route in detail. “But that doesn’t mean she didn’t.”

Eli nods thoughtfully. “Jensen mentioned her obsession.”

Ah, so I guess he does know.

“This is a good place to start,” he goes on, looking around. “Just over there is the wagon road from 1863. Donner trail intersected with it at places even though they were made at different times. Just following the natural lay of the land. A lot of pioneers passed through here. Any Donner buff would find themselves in this area.”

I glance toward Jensen, who’s now examining the base of a massive pine at the edge of the clearing. “You know your history as much as he does.”

“He knows better than most,” Eli agrees, his voice dropping slightly. “These mountains…they speak to some people. Call to them.” He looks up at me, his expression unreadable. “Your sister might have heard that call too.”

Before I can reply, Red saunters over, dropping an armload of firewood beside us.

“Best get that tent up before dark,” he drawls, eyeing my pitiful progress. “Unless you fancy sleeping under the stars. Course, it’s supposed to drop below freezing tonight.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “But I’m sure Jensen would keep you warm.”

Heat rises to my cheeks. Dear god, none of them know what happened between last night, do they?

“I’ll manage,” I say stiffly.

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