Grandpa shifts in his chair.
“You’re worried about me finding something of Native origin. Something that might bring federal involvement… like remains.”
The blond cowboy runs a hand over his face as if he doesn’t get it.
Grandma blusters, “Enough talk from us girls. Hope you saved room for dessert?”
I work hard to stop my jaw from dropping.Us girls?I’ve been plopped down in the nineteen fifties.
Ash remains stiff through the rest of the meal, staring at the tablecloth.
At the first polite moment, he disappears outside with Grandpa. The voices fade, and soon all I hear is Grandpa’s snoring. I breathe a sigh of relief at the neighbor’s departure, though I can’t name why.
“Anything else I can help with?” I ask Grandma, leaning down to kiss her cheek.
“My, no. Thank you, dear…” Her eyes meet mine, face sheepish. “But I don’t know what got into you at the table. Implying Ash is hiding something or that?—”
“I’m sorry,” I say, knowing she has a point. “I just get riled up when it comes to this project.”
She smiles thinly. “Always were singular minded with what you love. Now skedaddle. I can handle the rest from here.”
I nod, drawn outside to the porch. Can’t remember the last time I saw a pristine night sky.
I step off the stairs, tilting my head and hugging myself for warmth. The air has a bite, but it’s refreshing after the kitchen. Crickets and cicadas hum through the sagebrush.
The sky is enormous out here. Stars cut clean against the black.
Thunder rolls somewhere near the range, low and metallic. A localized storm cell.
Then I notice him. Ash stands near the railing. Too still.
“You planning to police the foothills all summer?” I ask.
“Planning to keep people safe.”
“I don’t need keeping.”
His eyes flick to mine. “I know.”
It almost sounds like respect. The warmth returns—faint, unsettling.
“You seemed pretty concerned about my research,” I say. “Worried I’ll stir up paperwork?”
His jaw tightens slightly. “That what you think?”
“Well.” I shrug. “Private land. Federal oversight. Happens all the time.”
He studies me in silence. Not defensive. Not guilty. Just… measuring.
“If you’re looking for trouble,” he says finally, “you won’t find it in the paperwork.”
That’s not the answer I expected.
“Then what?” I press.
His gaze shifts to the mountains. “You’ll see.”
Cryptic. Annoying.
