Sentinels: Lynx Destiny. Doranna Durgin
toward the snug cabin in which she’d grown up—the careful combination of old-time sensibility and modern tech, so far off the grid and so self-sustaining. “It means I still don’t think you needed to come with me, but I understand that you meant well by it. And now I would like to be left alone.”
“Ah.” He flashed her an unexpected grin, all Black Irish coloring with dark hair and deep blue eyes and features cut with hard precision, an unexpected smudge of kohl around his eyes. “That, I understand.”
He moved away, bare feet confident on the spring-damp ground with its unique and primitive mix of fern and desert thistles, and she felt an instant of regret—but she still took a step back when he turned again, not so much wary of him as aware of him.
“My name is Kai,” he said. “Call me if you need me again. Because you have been away too long, Regan Adler—or you would know why I needed to walk you here.”
And what was that supposed to mean? She frowned, and she would have asked him—but he’d taken her dismissive words to heart and he had the long casual strides to act on them. By the time she might have opened her mouth, he was into the woods and gone, and she was left awash with conflicting impulses—and with the sudden realization that he’d called her by name, when she’d never given it to him at all.
And then she stared into the apparently empty woods just a little bit longer, her eyes catching on a flicker of there-and-gone-again light—tumbling blue-white shards of energy that made no sense in this day of bright sky and clear spring sunshine overhead.
Safe...
“Oh, I don’t think so,” she said out loud. “There wasn’t anything safe about him. Not a single damned thing.”
No one had anything to say about that.
* * *
By the time she’d located the mustang grabbing hay from the wrong side of the paddock’s corral panels, unsaddled him and groomed him and inspected both horse and tack for damage, Regan’s stomach growled with ferocity and she ached with stiffening bruises.
She’d told Kai the truth—she’d bailed from the sturdy little horse. Bailing was better than waiting for him to hit a tree or catch a hoof in the uneven ground, and it was better than falling—it meant controlling the circumstances...controlling the landing.
But there had still been a landing out there on the side of the mountain. Ow.
She finally slipped in through the tiny mudroom and through the kitchen to the bright splash of sunshine in the great room, thinking about the big homemade cookies her father had left in the freezer. But when she saw through the picture windows to where the mountain fell away from the front of the house, she didn’t withhold her groan at the unfamiliar car sitting behind her father’s old pickup.
Her father’s cat responded with a flick of his tail from his sprawling perch in the sunny bay window; outside, her father’s old dog waited for his master’s return, maintaining his station on the worn wooden porch.
She took her cue from the dog, who would have greeted a friend. A glance showed her the shotgun leaning quietly in the corner closest to the door; she left it there as she headed outside, but she kept it in mind.
The people here on this mountain were good people. But she wasn’t expecting anyone, and the man exiting the car hardly had the look of a local. Not with the expensive cut and perfect fall of his suit coat and slacks, or the heavy silver at his ear and wrist—or the affectation of his tightly slicked back hair and the short gather of it at the nape of his neck.
Bob the Dog regarded the man’s approach with disapproval, his tail stiff, his gaze flat and staring—and a little growl rising in his throat.
Maybe it was the dog’s reaction that made Regan cross her arms as she waited on the porch, a less than friendly demeanor. Maybe it was the little whisper of unease she felt, not knowing if it came as an irrational little inheritance from her mother or her own common sense.
Maybe it was Kai’s words—You’ve been away too long—or his insistence on walking her home.
Maybe she was just cranky, and not expecting company.
The man smiled, stopping a few feet before the open porch, his eye on the dog even as he pretended not to be concerned. “You must be Frank’s daughter.”
It wasn’t an introduction; it wasn’t a reason for visiting this remote little home without the courtesy of a call.
Beware...
Right, she thought back at that insidious little voice. Because I needed your help to tell me that.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “My father isn’t here. If you’d like to leave your contact information, I’ll let him know you stopped by.”
“Regan,” he said as if it wasn’t a guess. “Frank said I might find you here. Is that dog safe?”
“How did you say you knew my father?” Because if you’d been here before, you’d be familiar with the dog. You’d know he won’t let you on this porch unless I tell him to stand down. Once it had been the entire yard—but like her father, the dog had aged.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t say.” He didn’t look sorry. He looked aggrieved that she hadn’t simply welcomed him inside. “I’m with Primary Pine Realty. My name is Matt Arshun.” He pulled a business card from his inside suit pocket, holding it out between his first and second fingers. “Your father contacted me about listing this property.”
The shock of it made her chest feel empty; she found herself momentarily speechless. She hadn’t wanted to come back to this place—but she hadn’t realized until that moment how much it was still part of her. Deep in her mind she heard a wail of denial...and she didn’t think it was hers.
I am not my mother.
She caught a flash of satisfaction on the man’s face, as if she’d told him something he hadn’t been sure of until this moment. “I was hoping to take a look around.”
She shook her head; hidden by her crossed arms, her nails bit briefly into her palms. “I wish you’d called first. You could have saved yourself a trip. This isn’t a convenient time.”
“When should I come back?”
Never. But she managed to not say it out loud. “Leave your card in the delivery box at the end of the drive,” she told him. “I’ll call you when I’m ready.”
He’d been ready to hand her the card. He gave the glowering dog between them a second glance and shifted his weight back. “I was hoping to move on this property,” he said. “Vacation property in the high country has only a seasonal interest.”
“Leave your card,” she told him again. “Or don’t, if the delay is a problem for you. It’s all the same to me.”
“Maybe you should call your father,” Arshun said, tipping the card between his two fingers and finally dropping it to the porch. She stood behind the dog until Arshun got into his luxury car, slamming the door even as he started the powerful engine. There wasn’t much gravel left on the driveway surface, but he managed to spit some out behind his wheels anyway.
Bob the Dog looked over his shoulder at her, his tail wagging faintly in question. Part cattle dog, part Labrador, part huge...a good friend to her father, and still unfamiliar to Regan. She patted his broad head. “Good boy,” she said, and her legs suddenly felt just a little bit wobbly. She sat down beside him, letting her feet hang over the edge of the porch. He didn’t lick her or demand attention; he just was—a stolid old dog sitting beside her.
It would have been presumptuous to lean on him, in his aloof dignity. She settled for leaving her hand on his back.
She’d call her father; she’d find out about the Realtor, and her father’s intentions. But that was the least of her wobbly reaction—and he couldn’t truly tell her what she needed to know.
For