Movement catches the corner of my eye, and I frown. My hand shields my eyes as I gaze across an expansive desert vista.
Just as I thought.
Of course.
My cheeks flush as I register a tanned, muscular man in the distance, bent over barbed wire, mending fences.
The sleeves of his gray button-down are rolled to the elbow, thick forearms straining, tattoos shadowed beneath skin.
My mind flashes back to last night. The way they glowed silver beneath his shirt cuff.
He lifts his head, and our eyes meet. He ticks his head back down, but it’s too late. Just as I suspected. He’s watching me. Like he can’t wait for me to leave.
I raise my chin in a silent challenge, returning to my work. Ash can follow me all he wants, at least as far as his land allows. This thought stabilizes me, though I know in truth he and Grandpa have never followed trespass rules when it comes to each other’s property.
My eyes wash over his thick build again. Can’t help myself. Golden brown skin, burnished copper hair. He shouldn’t look this good in daylight.
Or at all.
So, I look away.
I bend down to touch another rock, study the patina and where it breaks beneath glyphs. I pull out my cell phone. No signal.
Dammit.
I walk a distance until I get it. Then, open my astronomy app, programming in coordinates and dates. Traveling back thousands of years through code to find meaning.
I don’t have to look far.
As I guessed. The spirals could track solstices and equinoxes. Of course, I’ll need more than an app to confirm this. I send off a quick email—while I have signal—to the only archaeoastronomy member of my department.
Then, I hike out further, looking for similar patterns and checking directions.
Always the same.
Fascinating.
Hours pass, and I walk until my calves burn. Dust settles on my skin, hot and sticky. Sunset is a respite when it breathes across the land.
No matter where I go, how far I climb into the outcroppings, one thing refuses to disappear.
Ash. Always hovering just inside the boundary of my peripheral vision.
My fingers complain from sketching, and my feet ache from trekking. But when my eyes start burning and straining against the gloaming, I admit it’s time to head back.
The rancher remains ever present, though closer now than before. As if night means danger I’ll slip away unnoticed. This is going to be a long summer and even longer internship if he plans on shadowing me daily.
The yip yip yip of a coyote pierces the air. Like he’s on a scent. Then, another, excitement in their calls to one another.
The cowboy straightens, somber face scanning the horizon where gold gives way to periwinkle and indigo. He removes his hat, and sweeps it my direction, waving me over.
“Josephine!”
For heaven’s sake. Didn’t he hear me say it’s Jo? Just Jo?
My throat tightens, heart stuttering. Annoyance. That’s what this has to be.
A bleating sound cracks the air, and memory tugs. My ranch life upbringing kicks in. Baby in trouble.
