Page 28 of Not This Way

As she turned onto the familiar dirt path leading to her aunt’s house—Magnolia had texted that Sarah had offered to host—Rachel felt a knot of anxiety tighten in her stomach. She attempted to take a few calming breaths, but all she could think about was how the evening would unfold. Would Sarah be angry? Disappointed? Or worse, indifferent?

Rachel pulled up to the modest wooden cabin and killed the engine, her heart sinking as she noticed the absence of the Dentons’ car. She took a moment to collect herself before grabbing her phone and composing an apology text. Her fingers hesitated over the screen for a split second before sending Magnolia the message: “I’m so sorry I’m late. I’ll make it up to you.”

Tucking her phone back into her pocket, she sighed and stepped out of the car. The cool evening air brushed against her sun-kissed skin, bringing with it the scents of the surrounding forest and a hint of woodsmoke from the chimney. As she made her way to the front door, Rachel couldn’t help but admire the resilience and determination her aunt had shown throughout her life. She lived alone, and yet the place looked as immaculate as ever. The garden pristine.

Despite their somewhat strained relationship, Rachel yearned for a more profound connection with the woman who had raised her—the one who had taught her about survival, self-reliance, and the importance of their shared Native American heritage. But as she rapped on the door, her heart heavy with trepidation and self-recrimination, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was feeling up to this meeting.

Rachel’s breath came in short puffs as she stood on the porch, her knuckles white from gripping the door frame.

A faint light shone through the window at her side, and above the door was a giant moose head, with antlers stretched like the branches of a tree. A moose, Rachel knew, her aunt had shot personally.

Prompt as ever, and to the point as usual, the moment she knocked, there were two quick steps from inside, approaching the door.

Aunt Sarah opened the door, her hawklike nose and intense disposition more pronounced than ever. She had put on a bit of weight, but had a ruddy, healthy glow to her skin. Her features were plain but watchful, and she had the most beautiful eyes Rachel had ever seen, like deep pools of hazel. Rachel took a deep breath, trying to find the right words, but neither of them spoke for what felt like an eternity.

“Come on in,” Sarah finally said, her voice betraying a mixture of resignation and relief. Rachel stepped inside, feeling the weight of their shared history hanging heavily between them.

The cabin’s interior was a reflection of Sarah’s personality—strong, practical, and deeply rooted in their heritage. A bear rug lay across the wooden floor, while a coyote pelt hung on the wall. Above the door, matching the one on the outside, a second mounted moose head silently observed the sparse yet cozy living space. Rachel’s eyes lingered on the turquoise and silver bracelet adorning her aunt’s wrist.

“Sorry I’m late,” Rachel mumbled, avoiding direct eye contact.

She was a Texas Ranger who’d hunted predators through the most extreme climates, and yetthiswas far more frightening to her than anything.

Her aunt responded with a simple nod, her gaze drifting toward the window that overlooked the vast reservation landscape. The bright moon cast long shadows over the mountains and forests that enveloped their remote corner of Texas.

“Your job keeps you busy, huh?” Sarah asked, her tone neutral but tinged with unspoken disappointment.

“Sometimes too busy,” Rachel admitted, her guilt intensifying as she remembered the countless hours spent away from the reservation. Though she had chosen the path of the Rangers, a part of her still yearned for the familiarity and connection she could have found working with the reservation police.

“Tell me about your latest case,” Sarah said, changing the subject abruptly.

The two of them stood by the window. Neither of them quite wanting to move, or sit, or do anything, as if frightened any sudden movement might startle the other.

Finally, Sarah blinked first. “Come, sit,” she said, matching Rachel’s curt manner.

She gestured to the table by the window. Wood-carved—handmade. Sarah had created most of her own furniture.

As Rachel sat, she said, “The Dentons left?”

“Mhmm.”

“Shit. Sorry.”

“Language.”

“Shit—dammit. Wait, no. Sorry.”

Rachel bit her lip, feeling like a flustered schoolgirl again in these familiar settings. “I kept the food warm,” Sarah said as she placed a steaming plate of frybread, corn soup, and venison stew before her. The scent of the meal filled the air around them, bringing back memories of simpler times.

Rachel shifted uncomfortably at the table, causing the chair legs to move hesitantly across the floor.

Noticing this, Sarah studied her niece. It had been a year since they’d last seen each other? Longer? Rachel couldn’t remember anymore.

“Let’s eat on the porch,” Sarah suggested, her voice gruff yet gentle in its own way. Rachel nodded, gripping her plate tightly as she followed her aunt outside. They sat side by side on weathered wooden chairs, taking in the breathtaking Texas scenery that surrounded them.

“It’s beautiful out here,” Rachel murmured, trying to break the silence that hung between them. She knew their conversation would likely remain superficial.

“Always has been,” Sarah replied, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “But I suppose you don’t get to see much of this working for the Rangers.”

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