Page 71 of Death Valley

He studies me, gaze too perceptive for comfort. “He told you, didn’t he? About Lainey and Adam.”

I nod, not wanting to get into it.

“I know you’re probably mad at him,” he says. “Hell, I’d be furious. No one likes being lied to, especially when you’re in a foreign situation and your trust, your life, is in that person’s hands. But do know that Jensen is a good man. He’s loyal. He might have lost your trust but you can trust him just the same. He cares for you, Aubrey, truly.”

I brush that off. “Whether he cares for me is irrelevant at this point.”

“Maybe to you, but not to me. Just know, this has been eating him alive. Not only since the moment you walked onto theranch, but for the last three years. He’s been haunted and now we’re chasing ghosts.”

I want to ask him more—about his side of events, about what he believes and thinks about all of this—but Jensen calls for us to mount up, and the moment passes. We continue our journey, following a trail that winds through stands of pine and fir, occasionally opening onto exposed ridgelines that offer breathtaking views of the valley below and the peaks beyond.

Under different circumstances, I would find it beautiful and exhilarating. Now, I can only see it as the place that claimed my sister.

That might yet claim us all.

By late afternoon, as promised, Benson Hut comes into view. It’s roughly the same size as the McGraw cabin we left this morning, a sturdy A-frame structure designed to shelter backcountry skiers and mountaineers from the harsh Sierra winters, or provide space and indoor comforts for hikers on the Pacific Crest Trail during the summer. It sits nestled against a granite outcropping, partially protected from the wind that’s beginning to pick up as the sun dips toward the western horizon.

Jensen leads us to a small clearing beside the hut where we dismount and begin unloading the horses. The routine is familiar by now—unsaddling, brushing down. Then we set up a makeshift corral with rope between the trees, laying out feed and water. There’s no lean-to for shelter, but Eli insists the horses are used to it and will be fine from the elements with their thick winter coats and the added rugs. I work methodically, grateful for the physical tasks that keep my mind occupied.

The interior of Benson Hut is spartan but functional—a main room with a wood stove, sturdy table and benches, and bunks built into the walls. A small side room serves as a rudimentary kitchen, and a loft accessible by ladder provides additionalsleeping space. It’s cold inside, but not as bone-chilling as the cabin had been when we first arrived.

“Tell me this place has a toilet,” I say.

“There’s an outhouse just behind,” Jensen says. “I’ll clear a path so it’s easy to get to.” Sympathy twists on his lips. “Sorry. It’s not a bad one as far as outhouses go. There’s even a hand sanitizer station inside.”

I sigh. Men have no idea how easy they have it. I make a note to not drink much water. Last thing I want is to keep going outside to pee, especially in an outhouse. Perhaps I’m more of a city girl than I’d like to admit.

Eli immediately sets to work lighting the stove, while Red and Cole organize the supplies we’ve brought in. Hank volunteers to fill water buckets with snow for washing, and Jensen, after a moment’s hesitation, nods his agreement.

“There’s a creek just around that rocky outcrop past the horses,” Jensen says. “You could fill up the water bottles too. But take a rifle, just in case our mountain lion friend is still prowling around.”

Hank grins, the expression not quite reaching his eyes. I’ve always found the man to be creepy and off-putting but today especially so. “Don’t worry about me, boss. I know how to handle myself.”

As he leaves, I catch Jensen watching him with an unreadable expression. Whatever suspicions he harbored this morning seem to have neither been confirmed nor dissipated, leaving him in an uncomfortable limbo of uncertainty.

I busy myself setting up my sleeping area, choosing a lower bunk in the corner where I can keep my back to the wall and maintain a clear view of the main door. Old habits from the bureau die hard, even when off duty. I put my duffel right below for easy access.

“We should be able to reach the caves tomorrow,” Jensen says quietly, appearing beside me as I unroll my sleeping bag. “If we get an early start.”

I look up at him, trying to read his face in the fading light filtering through the windows. “Are you sure you can find them again? After three years?”

He nods, confidence evident in the set of his jaw. “I could find them blindfolded. Don’t forget I’m a tracker. Besides, some places imprint on you.”

“Like the place where you lose someone,” I say softly.

Pain and guilt wash over his brow. “Yes. Exactly like that.”

For a moment, the anger I’ve been nursing all day recedes. Lainey was just a client to him and yet I see he mourns her, or at least mourns the person he was before he lost her. We might not share the same grief, but neither of us are a stranger to guilt.

The moment breaks when Cole calls from the kitchen area, “Anyone know how to get this camp stove working? Damned thing won’t light.”

Jensen moves away, going to help with dinner preparations. I finish setting up my bunk, then join the others as we settle into the evening routine we’ve established over the past few days. Despite the strange events that have transpired, there’s a sense of normalcy in the tasks of making dinner, heating water for coffee and hot chocolate, discussing the next day’s plans. It’s starting to feel like we’re a unit, even if we’re still a little fractured from the raucous this morning.

Hank returns with full buckets of snow and a pack of water bottles, seemingly unchanged from when he left. If anything, he’s more talkative than before, regaling us with stories of his wilderness adventures from years past. Red and Cole laugh at his jokes, the tension of the morning gradually dissipating in the warmth of the now crackling fire and the comforting ritual of shared food.

Only Jensen and Eli remain watchful, exchanging glances when they think no one is looking. And me, of course. I miss nothing, even if I prefer to observe alone.

After dinner, as darkness settles completely outside, Jensen announces the watch schedule for the night. “Red and Hank take first watch. I’ll go second with Cole. Eli and Aubrey can take the third.” He looks at me, a question in his eyes. “No pressure. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Frankly I’d prefer you stayed safe and warm inside.”

---