As if on cue, a loudmoorises from the cluster of houses just past the exhibits, the part I couldn’t see when the tour began. Tarps cover the livestock area, the foul smell making my nose twitch.
“So.” Jett claps his hands together.
“So.” I flash my teeth, aiming for a look that saysnothing’s wrong over here, no one’s judging you, especially not me.
“At the end of each tour, I let visitors wander around on their own.” The corners of his eyes crinkle, like eventheyare trying to smile. “Gives you a chance to soak it all in without my blabbering. Come find me in the house without the tarp, next tothe big-ass farmhouse, when you’re done. I’ll open the gate for you.”
“I’d actually like you to blabber a little more,” Bronwyn mutters, her arms lifted as she waves her phone in the air. “You know, about the lack of signal out here. I need my GPS app, and it won’t work without Wi-Fi or any kind of goddamn internet connection.”
Embarrassment is a cold shower washing over me. I don’t even think before slapping her arm. “Bronwyn! What the hell?”
“It’s okay,” Jett sing-songs while Easton walks in circles with his phone up too. “I’m aware that the signal can get shaky around this place. You’ll have no problem getting it in the next town, though. Just drive twenty miles straight ahead, and you should be good.”
“I’m so sorry, sir.” As kind as Jett is, my newfound sixth sense tells me to stay put. Not to get too close to our guide, especially when it’s dark. “We’ll be out of your hair in no time.” I pull two twenties from my jeans pocket. “Thank you. For the wonderful tour.”
“A tip? Nonsense.” Jett waves me off. “And I told you, call me Jett.” Is he talking louder? Why? “Stay. Take a look around. Soak everything up. You’ve come so far, might as well, right?”
“No.” Bronwyn won’t put her arm down, hopping in place and huffing. “We’ve soaked up enough.”
Since Jett’s ignoring her rudeness, I do the same.
I’m ignoring her, period.
Jett’s right. We are already here, and sadly, I haven’t been paying attention while he was giving us the grand tour.
“I’m staying. Easton said I have thirty minutes.” I straighten my spine, challenging my past bully and praying for her to understand. “It’s only been fifteen. Fifteen more won’t hurt, Bronwyn.”
Her feline eyes snap to mine. They narrow to slits, her eyebrows lowering on her forehead.
Easton places a hand on her shoulder.
“Let’s go look at the old machines. The ones I’ll get us to our”—he leans into her ear—“secret room.”
His words work on Bronwyn like magic.
She smiles as they stroll over to one of the machinery exhibits. She still holds her phone, though.
I turn to my host, and he’s…gone.
Relief washes over me before shame curls tight around my lungs. I’m going to be a doctor someday, dammit. Hoping people won’t come too close? That can’t happen.
That’s not who I am.
“Maybe driving around with Bronwyn rubbed off on me,” I mutter under my breath.
Maybe. Or maybe I’m just an asshole.
Or paranoid.
No, I’m not.
This feeling of being spied on won’t let go. It clings. It’s real.
I can sense someone’s out here. Him. Or her. But where?
Since no one’s coming for me, I sigh, turning to examine the last exhibit, the one closest to me.
Photographs of the town’s community members snag my attention, and I lose myself in Colbert’s past. With each decade, there are fewer of them. Why?
