Page 31 of Death Valley

Now he does look at me, his expression unreadable in the gathering darkness. “Nah. Nothing stays like that here for three years. Could have been anyone. Hikers. Hunters.” He caps his canteen with a decisive twist. “Time to head back. I’ll get Cole to fill the buckets later.”

“Are we going to talk about what happened last night?” I blurt out.

He exhales through his nose and brings his eyes to mine. His gaze is so intense I feel pinned in place. “Didn’t know it was on the agenda.”

“I just…” I begin, needing to look away from his stare. “I don’t want things to be weird between us.”

“Betweenus?” he repeats. “Don’t think there is quite an us, Ms. Wells.”

Oh, well fuck. Now I feel like an idiot. My cheeks immediately flame. “What I meant was, this client, uh, tracker thing we have going on. I know that last night I wasn’t in my right frame of mind. I’d been drinking, I was scared, I didn’t want for any lines to get crossed.”

He leans in closer, his mouth parting open, tongue darting out to lick his lips. “But you wanted that line to be crossed, didn’t you?”

I gulp. “In the moment, yes.”

“Do you want it crossed in this moment?” he asks, voice becoming gruffer. “Because I’m pretty good at it.”

“I can see that,” I whisper.

“Just so you know where I’m coming from,” he says, rising to his feet. He offers his hand to help me up, and after a moment’s hesitation, I take it. “You can always blame in on being attacked by a horse. If you want a way out.”

His palm is warm and calloused against mine. Strong. For a moment, neither of us lets go.

Then he steps back, breaking the contact. “Better head back. Stay close.”

Back at the clearing, the others have a fire going, the flames casting flickering shadows across our small encampment. The tents form a rough semicircle around the fire pit, with the horses secured at the opposite end of the clearing. The scent of coffee mingles with woodsmoke, unexpectedly homey in this wild place, even though I’d never get away with having caffeine at night.

I settle on a fallen log that has been dragged near the fire, grateful for the warmth as night falls. The forest seems to press closer in the darkness, the spaces between trees filled with deeper shadows. Occasionally, I catch glimpses of movement at the edge of the firelight—probably just branches swaying in the breeze that’s picking up, but my imagination supplies more ominous possibilities.

“Hungry?” Eli asks, offering me a tin mug of something steaming.

I accept it gratefully, wrapping my hands around the warmth. The rich scent of beef stew rises from the mug, making my stomach growl. I hadn’t realized how famished I was until now.

Jensen takes a seat on the opposite side of the fire, his features sharp and mysterious in the dancing light. He doesn’tlook at me, but I can feel his awareness like a physical thing, stretching between us through the smoke and flame.

I’m pretty good at crossing lines.

Yeah, he sure fucking is.

As night deepens, conversation dwindles. Red takes first watch, disappearing into the darkness beyond our camp with a rifle slung over his shoulder. Something about making sure no bears approach our site since they can be prevalent this time of year. Cole and Hank turn in early, while Eli stays by the fire, whittling something from a piece of pine with methodical strokes of his knife. Jensen tends to the horses and mule.

I should be exhausted, but sleep feels impossible with the weight of unspoken things hanging in the air. The creek’s constant murmur filters through the trees, sometimes sounding almost like whispered words. I think of last night and my pulse quickens, the way it truly sounded like my sister was calling me. Why did I step outside into a snowstorm like I did? Why did the horse attack me?

And then stop?

When I finally retreat to my tent, I lie awake listening to the forest sounds—the pop and hiss of the dying fire, the soft whicker of horses dreaming, the endless whisper of Donner Creek in the darkness.

And beneath it all, a deeper silence, watchful and waiting.

Jensen’s tent is only a few feet from mine. I try not to think about him lying there in the darkness, try not to remember the warmth of his hand or the intensity in his eyes when he looked at me. When he asked me if I wanted the lines crossed again.

Try not to wonder what other secrets he’s keeping, and whether finding them out will destroy us both.

Or if something in these mountains will get to me first.

11

JENSEN

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