Page 29 of Not This Way

Rachel’s emotions were pained by the seemingly innocuous remark, but she pushed forward, focusing on the weather instead. “The rain’s been scarce lately. It’s not good for the crops.”

“News said there might be a storm coming next week,” Sarah said, sipping her broth. “Might help some.”

“Maybe.” Rachel took a bite of frybread, savoring the familiar taste. They continued to exchange small talk, discussing the latest news and events on the reservation. Each word felt heavy in the air, a reminder that things weren’t the same as they used to be. And though Rachel longed for more, she knew better than to push her aunt too far.

“Your job… as a detective,” Sarah ventured hesitantly after a while. “How’s that going?”

“Busy,” Rachel admitted, her thoughts briefly flickering to the lead she’d found on the two brothers who’d worked for the nursery. “There’s always something happening.”

“Suppose that’s true,” Sarah said, a hint of pride in her voice. Despite their strained relationship, it was clear she still cared for her niece.

“I’m working on a new case here, bordering the reservation,” she said, shifting in her seat to face her aunt.

Sarah raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Oh? And how’s that going?”

“Slowly,” Rachel admitted, her gaze falling to the worn planks of the porch. “But it’s going.”

“Are you still fast?”

“Hmm?”

“Fast,” Sarah repeated, scrutinizing her niece. “Like I taught you to be.”

Rachel shrugged. “I caught a guy in the woods a few days ago. So yeah. I’m still fast.” It sometimes took a moment for Rachel to reacclimate to her aunt’s blunt, prying questions. Questions that felt like a planer on wood bark, stripping a tree naked and exposing its vulnerable underbelly.

But they were questions founded in care rather than aggression.

A momentary flicker of pride crossed Sarah’s hawklike features, her intense eyes softening ever so slightly. “Glad to know I taught you something worthwhile.” She paused, her gaze wandering over the surrounding landscape. “I just wish you’d stayed here, with your people. We could use someone like you.”

Rachel felt a twinge of guilt at her aunt’s words. “That guy I caught? His victims were Native.”

“I see.”

“I feel as if I am protecting us.”

The older woman didn’t respond, her eyes now resting on the distant mountains. Inside the cabin, the pelts that adorned the walls and floor were a testament to Sarah’s prowess as a hunter. Her eyes were always searching. The turquoise and silver bracelet glittering on Sarah’s wrist had been a gift from her sister—Rachel’s mother.

“Sometimes I think about what it would’ve been like if I had stayed,” Rachel confessed, her voice barely more than a whisper. She looked around at the quiet beauty of the reservation and felt a familiar pull in her heart.

Sarah nodded, her expression unreadable.

As they sat there together on the porch, the night sky a vast expanse of darkness speckled with stars, Rachel couldn’t shake the feeling that her aunt’s approval meant more to her than she’d ever realized. And as the silence stretched between them, filled only by the distant calls of nocturnal creatures, she vowed to do her best not only for herself but also for the people of the reservation—her people.

The wind sighed through the trees, rustling the leaves and carrying with it the scent of pine and sage. Rachel gazed out at the dark landscape and felt a sudden shiver race down her spine, despite the warmth of her leather jacket. She shifted in her seat on the porch, turning to face her aunt, who had fallen silent for a moment.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I saved little Tommy Whitefeather from a mountain lion?” Sarah asked abruptly, her voice roughened by years of harsh living and countless hunting trips. She reached for the rifle leaning against the doorframe, running her fingers lovingly over its worn wooden stock.

“Can’t say that you have,” Rachel responded, her eyes following the movement of her aunt’s hands.

Sarah leaned forward, the lantern above the porch casting shadows across her features as she recounted the tale. “Tommy was only five at the time, playing near the edge of the forest when the cat appeared out of nowhere,” she said, her voice tinged with both pride and fear at the memory. “I happened to be nearby, tracking a deer. When I heard his screams, I raced toward him, rifle in hand.”

“When was this?”

“A winter ago? Six? I don’t know.”

“So Tommy is okay?”

“He has a scar to remember the cat by.”

---