As soon as he moved toward the door, Gus was on his heels.
“I’m sorry, Gus.” Brie held up her hand. “But you’re staying inside. I just got you bathed and I’m not anxious to repeat the process again, tonight.”
Brie exchanged a smile with Mac when the dog plodded back to the fireplace, laid down with his muzzle stretched over his paws, and blinked his disappointment with woeful, brown eyes.
“Poor baby,” Brie murmured. “We’ll be right back.”
She picked up a black object with a handle and closed the cabin door behind them. Before Mac finished putting on his last boot, the thing glowed bright enough to light up a wide area around them.
’Twas a sorcerer’s box! “What is that?”
“This?” She held it up. “Surely, you’ve seen an LED lantern, before? They’re so much better than an ordinary flashlight, don’t you think?”
“Aye,” he muttered understanding little of what she said. “ ’Tis grand, indeed.”
Had he truly seen such a marvel? What other wondrous things were buried in his memory?
“We built the generator-shed a good distance from the cabin, so we didn’t have to listen to the noise,” Brie explained as they left the deck. “Are you feeling steady enough to walk a hundred feet or so, and back?”
Mac breathed deep, pulling the cool air into his lungs, hoping that would help clear his head. He could almost feel the tension leave his shoulders. For some reason, he felt at home among the grass and trees with the heavens spread out above him. He even felt akin to the muddy earth. “Aye, lass. I’m feelin’ much steadier, now.”
“Just watch where you step,” she cautioned. “This ground’s a little uneven.”
His hand brushed hers as they walked. He longed to capture it, feel the warmth of her fin—
“Look, Mac!” Brie stopped, held the lantern out and studied the ground in front of them. “Someone’s been here! These aren’t allmytracks.”
Mac crouched close to the ground. Pressed into the mud amid scattered pine needles, fallen leaves and animal tracks, were several partial footprints. ’Twas only a heel here, or a toeprint there, but enough to see that the shallow, narrow ones—Brie’s—had partially dried. The wider, deeper prints looked freshly made.
“Have ye neighbors, lass?” Mac stood, alert for any movement or unusual noises.
“No. Not for miles. No one comes here except for the occasional curious weekender, determined to find the end of the road. But it’s not the weekend, and besides, if we can’t get out, they can’t get in.”
He heard her suck in her breath.
“Unless…”
Mac noted the uneasy tone in Brie’s voice and moved closer, hoping to impart at least a small sense of protection. “Unless, what, lass?”
“I think we’ll leave the generator running tonight,” Brie suggested, peering into the darkness. “But I want to double-check the lock on the shed, while we’re out here.”
“What is it, Brie?” Mac pressed. “Do ye ken whose prints these are?”
“Not exactly. Let’s finish up out here, and I’ll explain to you inside.”
~ ~ ~
While Mac stayed on the deck to remove his boots, Brie closed the blinds and made sure the other door and windows were locked, thinking of all the times her father had sneered at her childish notion of a boogie-man hiding in the dark.
Though she’d never allowed herself to give in to fanciful fears, she was deeply grateful for Mac’s presence. He’d accompanied her to the shed, tested the lock and made sure everything was secure. The only way into the shed now, without a key, were the narrow, screened, ventilation slits, high in the rafters. Not even a lizard could get through those.
Maybe Gus’s bark had scared off whoever it was. Or perhaps whoever trespassed had been frightened away when she and Mac first stepped out onto the deck. Or, she considered, still feeling a little anxious, the prowler hadn’t been scared off at all, and was out there now, watching and waiting.
She shivered, grateful when Mac came inside and locked the door behind him. For the first time, she regretted not putting flood lights on the outside of the cabin. It had always seemed like such a frivolous expense. She’d lived here every summer of her life, and never needed anything like that.
Not until the Mountain Man started prowling around people’s cabins, helping himself to whatever he wanted.
Enough!She had no intention of participating in the paranoia running rampant on the mountain. At least the strange tracks laid to rest the notion that Mac could be the Mountain-Man. Mac not only didn’t have the opportunity to make those prints, his feet were far too big. And the sole of Mac’s bootdidn’t match the heel print that looked like it came from a hiking boot.
