Rocky Mountain Lawman. Rachel Lee
now and then. Heck, given his job, she might never run across him again.
So why hesitate? As men went, that made him pretty safe, didn’t it?
She was used to being very clear about things, at least in her own mind, but the lousy breakup with Hector had left her uncertain in some way she hated. Worse than uncertain, she realized. Unsure. Very unsure. As if she didn’t trust her own mind and feelings anymore.
After her time in Iraq, where she’d been caught up in some pretty ugly stuff, she’d had a certain amount of post-traumatic stress. Of course she had. Damn near everyone had it to one degree or another. For some it was more crippling than others, was all.
She’d been fortunate. She’d come home with a bunker mentality, a tendency to jump at every unexpected noise and a total loss of any sense of safety. But she had come back without disabling flashbacks, and after about six months she’d been able to drive again without seeing every oncoming vehicle or object alongside the road as a potential bomb. She knew how lucky she was, especially after spending the past few years working with vets who were a whole lot less lucky.
She didn’t often have nightmares anymore, she functioned, she felt safe most of the time and an inclination toward explosive outbursts had been gone a long time now. War was a life-altering experience, and not all its effects would vanish, even with years, but she believed she’d come back as far as she ever would.
This square, for example. There’d been a time when she would have found it extremely uncomfortable here, surrounded by strangers who walked by, with cars moving along streets, windows that stared blankly back at her and doors that could conceal any kind of threat. But here she was, feeling pretty much fine, although maybe a smidge less comfortable than she had felt alone on that hillside with pretty good sight lines. So maybe this sense of uncertainty was all the breakup’s fault. Hector certainly hadn’t added to her self-confidence any.
Which still left the question of why she was sitting here in the square when the place she really wanted to paint was that hillside from yesterday. That rocky valley and creek had called to her, suggesting both nature’s strength and mystery. This lovely but tame park didn’t do that.
Still, the morning eased by, the people shifted, cars left and new ones appeared. Birdsong emanated from nearby trees. A wandering dog came up to sniff her, then decided she didn’t have anything worth pursuing, like food. It wandered on and was greeted by the guys playing checkers.
She still hadn’t pulled out a brush, the canvas sat blank in front of her, and she finally accepted that something about that Buddy guy had triggered problems she had believed she had overcome.
She was sitting here paralyzed, emotionally and physically. The way it had sometimes been after she returned from the war. Lost in some place where even thoughts seemed to fall silent, where time passed unnoticed. Just plain lost.
She tried to whip up some anger, either at Buddy or herself, but it wouldn’t come. Moving meant action, and action meant taking risks. Anger was dangerous if it grew too big. She understood all about it.
She had hunkered down again in the silent, safe cave within herself, but even acknowledging it didn’t free her from it.
Damn. But the word floated through her mind with little emphasis, as if it came from some place far away. Dissociation. She understood that, too. The only question was for how long. Or how she could shake it.
Some portion of her mind managed to remain detached from her detachment, odd as that sounded. It allowed her to observe what she was doing, and started commenting. A learned skill from the therapy she’d gone through after her return.
The problem with her current dissociation was that it provided a comfortable place to be. A safe place, beyond reach. The other side of the problem, however, was that it held her paralyzed and uncaring, and therefore useless. And the observer part of her even rustled up a little annoyance that some jerk in the woods could have put her here again by doing something as insignificant as yelling at her. Man, he hadn’t even threatened her, he had just told her to go away and called her a spy.
Still, she didn’t move. The day progressed around her, the afternoon arrived with warmth and she was beyond noticing much except the way the shadows moved with the passing hours. She even quit paying attention to the activity around her, instead closing her eyes. It would pass. It always passed eventually. That was one thing she had had to learn to believe, that it would pass.
* * *
The morning after his meeting with Buddy, Craig drove a service truck into town to pick up his laundry and dry cleaning, and shop for some fresh food. Freeze-dried and other lightweight foods didn’t satisfy him indefinitely. Tonight he was going to stay at one of his favorite cabins in the forest and cook. And maybe even heat up enough water to take a comfortable gravity shower rather than the icy ones he was used to.
Oh, he could have come into town more than he did, but the fact was, he liked his job enough to want to be in the woods as much as possible. And nobody hassled him about it as long as he filed his reports on time. That had taken up most of last evening at the ranger station.
He tossed his cold groceries into an ice-filled cooler in the back of his truck, then headed toward the sheriff’s office. He and Dalton were going to have a little chat about Buddy. Not necessarily a big deal, but Dalton had jurisdiction and might be able to learn more about what Buddy was up to. For his part, Craig was confining himself to hunting for what might be damming some streams while keeping a long-distance bead on the Jackson place. Problem was, his duties were going to carry him farther afield. They always did. It was a big forest he had to keep an eye on, from humans to animals to growing things. He couldn’t stay in one area too long without overlooking other important things.
But now he was concerned about Skylar Jamison. Maybe he should hunt her up and make a strong suggestion that she paint elsewhere. Who knew what kind of paranoia Buddy was ratcheting up with his new friend.
When he got to the sheriff’s office finally, he saw her sitting in the courthouse square with her painting stuff. At least she would be easy to find, and he didn’t have to worry about her being out on that hill before he could talk to her.
Inside, the dispatcher, Velma, sent him straight back to the sheriff, Gage Dalton. Dalton had a small office, his desk overrun by a computer on one side and papers on the other. He almost looked glad for the interruption.
“What can we do for the forest service?” he asked.
Craig dropped into one of the wooden chairs facing the desk. “I’m not exactly certain, but I am uneasy. I’m sure you know Buddy Jackson.”
“Most folks do. And most folks stay clear. It’s not that he’s done anything wrong, he just makes people uneasy with all that doomsday stuff.”
Craig nodded. “I’ve been thinking of it as basically harmless.”
Gage straightened a bit. “But not now?”
“Damned if I know. That’s why I stopped in. Twice this summer he’s tried to chase off visitors. Last month it was a group of campers. Two days ago it was an artist who was sitting across the valley and painting. He called her a spy and told her to go away.”
“Spy?” Gage repeated the word disbelievingly.
“That was my reaction. The word was over-the-top. So I paid Buddy a visit yesterday morning to remind him he can’t drive the public off public land. Just a neighborly reminder, but what I saw bothered me.”
“Such as?”
He told Gage about the Cap guy, the AR-15 and the trip wires. As he did so, Gage began to frown. “I can see why you’re uneasy. And Buddy’s out of your jurisdiction.”
“Exactly. But he’s in yours. Those trip wires especially bother me. They’re just outside his fence, which means they’re most likely still on his land, but you know the law about them.”
“I surely do. Warning only. Well, I guess I’ll have to mosey out that way and have a little