When we’re in our cabin, though, it’s like he never wants to break the physical tether, feeding me from his lap. Kissing and touching me. Even his eyes search for contact now, finding mine with too much warmth.
Desire pulses through me once. Low. Dangerous.
My heart still stutters, getting used to the many ways we communicate. I smile, gripping my coffee mug and teasing, “Your cows are going to run off. Find new homes if you keep neglecting them.”
He crosses his arms, flashing a lopsided grin. “Weren’t worried about it last night… or this morning.” He says it like a velvety growl.
“Fear doubles back. So does desire,” I remind, adjusting the collar of my lavender blouse with a careful finger, enjoying how his darkened eyes follow every movement. “This morning, I blame on you.”
“Maybe,” he says, stepping closer. “I waited for this three times as long as you. Figure I have catching up to do. And you didn’t seem to mind.”
“Not one bit.” My voice simmers.
Brzzz.
I jump.
Ash leans back against the railing, frowning.
I grab my phone from the side table, eyeing it. The museum.
Debbie greets me. “Heard anything from DHS?” I ask too quickly, still mourning all that was lost. And still kicking myself for all I may have revealed.
“Sorry to say, no.”
I look down at my coffee mug.
Ash steps toward me, leaning in to kiss my cheek. Then, he disappears down the porch stairs, headed for the barn.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” She pauses for a moment. “I’m giving my formal resignation. After that debacle, I don’t need anymore stress like that. I haven’t told anyone yet. Haven’t even turned in my resignation because I wanted to know there’s someone capable lined up to take my place. Jo, I’d like you to consider taking the interim director position.”
I sit back in the chair, setting my coffee on the table next to me.
“Wow,” I say, mind a swirl. “I wasn’t expecting this.”
“I know. But… I’m just tired. Too tired, and let’s be honest. This place could use new blood and fresh energy. The pay’sdecent, and it comes with benefits. And I can’t think of a better way for you to break into the museum system officially.”
“Thank you for considering me,” I say.
“I don’t want anyone else. Besides, you know what was taken. I’m hoping you can help secure it again.”
I huff, unconvinced. “I don’t know about that.”
“I imagine you can work on your PhD while you’re here, too. Though you may need to transfer to a closer university. Anyway, I have to go. Think about it and let me know. I’ll be submitting my resignation later this week.”
After the call, I stroll across the front yard, savoring the warmth of sunlight on my face and arms. In the distance, I see Ash riding next to Grandpa. Both horse-deep in cattle.
I decide to take a walk, grabbing my journal and a pen and heading out to the petroglyphs. I have to study and document as much as I can before the government steps in.
Hopefully, they never will.
At the first sun-blackened outcropping, I run my hand over the deep grooves, tracing the polish of weather and age. Swirls that break against thick lines. Others radiating out, then stopping.
I press my palm against the cold stone. And that’s when I understand. This place wasn’t meant to be catalogued behind glass cases. Or preserved beneath the hum of fluorescent lights and archival temperature control.
They were meant to be read by someone who feels their hum. Because the rocks aren’t artifacts.
They’re memory. Memory of the story Ash and I retold at the Silent Hollows when the whole world wanted to crash down around us.
