“Exactly. Mac—think it out a sec.”
She had, and dread filled her in a swelling pool. “I’m there. Oh God. It’s cowboys and Indians.”
He nodded.
It didn’t matter that the cowboys were protecting a Shoshone family, or that two of the cowboys in question—the two most powerful—were members of the tribe themselves. Evan Hall would love the image of brave Shoshone warriors fighting the oppression of the white settlers and their brutal government.
“My God.”
“Yeah.” Reese sighed and pulled her close.
The trouble they were headed back to was bigger than her petty problems.
Maybe bigger than they could withstand, even together. Maybe bigger than any of them, their whole world, could withstand.
*****
“Fuck,” Reese muttered. “Fuck me.”
Gigi smiled grimly and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Told ya.”
Customs at JFK was a nightmare. They’d landed at peak travel time, with several international flights coming in within a half-hour or so of each other, and the entire cavernous space was full of people, standing shoulder to shoulder in an endless line weaving back and forth. And there were only four customs agents working, which made the whole thing twice the nightmare. She’d seen it worse, but not by much.
Children cried and whined. Adults whined and groused and sighed. Reese yanked a hand through his hair and stared stoically ahead.
“We’ve got a four-hour layover, so we’ll be okay.” Assuming she didn’t get hassled. She hadn’t yet told Reese that might happen. It did about half the time; her odds improved or worsened depending on the agents working. Today, her odds looked about even.
“How long do you think this line is?”
“It’s hard to say. They’ve got to be trying to get more agents up here. Two hours at least, if they open a couple more booths. Longer if they’re going to funnel all these people through four lines.” This was the time to tell him the rest. “It could be longer, if I get held up.”
He looked down and found her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I mean sometimes I get extra attention.”
“What? Why?”
She stared at him until he got it.
“That’s nuts. There’s literally no one less immigrant than you. You’re a Native American.”
“And yet, I get held up more often than most. Once, I actually got taken back and interrogated.”
“That is fucking insane. Because you’re not white?”
“It’s not like anybody in Customs has ever said that outright, but yeah. I get ‘randomly’ selected more often than most to have my bags searched, and have extra people study my passport, and go through my phone. The one time I fought it is when I got held up for six hours alone in a grey box of a room. That was scary, so I don’t fight it. But you should go up in the lead. They’ll probably move you through without a problem, and then you’re clear before they do me. Maybe some of your good whiteness will rub off on me, and they’ll clear me without a fuss.” Or the fact that he was traveling with her could jam him up, too. “And if we can work it so we get the agents on the far right”—a black man and a woman who looked like she might be Latina—“my odds improve.”
“This is why you pack light. This is why you wanted to ship the gifts and souvenirs home ahead of time.”
She nodded. “I pack light because it’s easier in every way. But yeah, the less we have to carry through customs, the better.”
“Why aren’t you furious? I’m furious.”
“It sucks, and I used to get pissed. Now I just want it over with as little pain in the ass as possible.” The depth of his scowl made her nervous. If he raised a stink, it wouldn’t matter how blue his eyes were or how creamy his skin. They’d haul them both into grey boxes of rooms just to assert their dominance. “Please just go with it. Smile and answer their questions and let it be what it is. That’s my best chance for following right behind you. Okay?”
“Okay. Jesus, though. I can’t believe you still travel, even with all this.”
“That’s how I make sure they don’t win. They don’t keep me hemmed in on the rez.”
His arms came around her, and Gigi leaned on him, letting him take some of her weight.
*****
While they waited, two more agents opened lines, and Reese and Gigi walked up to the black male agent about an hour and fifty minutes after they first entered Customs. Reese went up first, offered his passport and declaration form, and answered the agent’s questions. He couldn’t manufacture a smile, but he was civil, and the agent spared the briefest glance to match face to photo before he was finished and Reese was cleared.
The agent saw Gigi’s passport, looked up more sharply, studied her face, checked the photo again. Then he smiled. “My grandma’s name is Georgia. That’s a nice old-fashioned name. She goes by Georgie. You a Georgie?”
Oh, she had a small-talker. That was good. She smiled, relaxing into a confidence that she’d move through Customs smoothly. “I’m a Gigi.”
“Huh. I never heard that name for Georgia before. I like it.”
“It’s how I first said my name. My dad picked it up right away, and then it stuck.”
“Looks like you had a nice vacation. You didn’t bring anything back?”
“Just photos. I pack light.”
“Good for you.” The agent—his name was Joe—smiled and handed her her passport. “You have a great day.”
“Thanks, Joe. You too.”
Reese held out his hand as she walked away from Joe’s booth. She caught it and smiled as his fingers wove with hers. “That went okay. Maybe it’s a sign that things at home won’t be so bad.”
He only smiled tightly and drew her forward.
Yeah, she didn’t believe that, either.
*****
They arrived in Boise about ten minutes late, but otherwise uneventfully. Heath had offered to be their taxi service again. Though they didn’t have any checked bags, they’d arranged to meet him near the baggage claim, because it was easier.
Gigi was surprised, however—and Reese was, too—that Heath had Victor with him. Both men smiled as they approached, but there was something wrong. Gigi felt it more strongly with every step they took forward.
“Hey.” Heath went for Gigi first, bending his tall frame to kiss her cheek. “You look good. Good trip?”
“Thanks. Yeah, it was great.”
Heath and Victor switched, and she got another cheek kiss from Victor.
“What’s goin’ on?” Reese asked. “More trouble?”
The welcoming smiles fell off Heath and Victor’s faces simultaneously, and they exchanged a look. Heath turned then to Reese.
“We should sit down and talk. Let’s find a bar or a restaurant or something.”
“No. Just say it.”
Again, Victor and Heath exchanged a terrifying glance.
“Is somebody hurt? What happened?” she asked. Reese hooked his arm over her and drew her close.
“Reese, at least sit down,” Heath reached for his friend’s arm.
The bad news was focused on him, then. Gigi’s mind sped, seeking an answer. He had no family.
Reese yanked clear of him. “What the fuck, man? Just fuckin’ say it.”
“There was a fire last night,” Victor answered. “The Jack. It’s gone.”
“What d’you mean, it’s gone? Gone where?”
Understanding, Gigi held him tightly and led him to the chairs lining the wall. With her, he went, his steps wooden and unsteady, and he sat when she pulled him down.
“Was it Evan?” she asked. “Did he do it?”
Heath sat at Reese’s other side. “Looks like it. They said at the scene it was obviously intentional, and he’s the only one who’d do it.” He set his hand on Reese’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, man. It’s just ... fuck, it’s just gone.”
Reese shook his head. He put both hands up and clawed them
through his hair. “What’re you sayin’?”
It was Victor who finally got through, because he was the first one who said it plainly. “Reese. Somebody broke into the Jack last night and poured gasoline or something everywhere, then lit it up. The fire burned big and hot, and went straight through all that old wood. It was near an hour before the firefighters got there. The second floor caved into the saloon, and the whole thing is gone. There is nothing left of the whole building but some blackened spears of wood and a mountain of scorched, soggy mess in the middle. It’s gone.”
“That building is a hundred-fifty years old. It’s older than Jasper Ridge. My grandpa bought it seventy years ago. I’ve lived there my whole life.”
Nobody said anything; what could they say? Gigi held on as hard as she could, but she didn’t know how to make this better.
She knew how important that building was to Reese. It was his livelihood, his home, his history, his place in the world. She hurt for his loss, and in her love for him, she understood how deep the loss would go. But this clinging to a physical thing, this bounded idea of what was important, she didn’t understand it. Home for her wasn’t a building. A building was merely shelter. Walls couldn’t hold history, or memory. Whether it was a hundred-fifty-year-old saloon or a forty-year-old trailer, walls were just walls, a roof was just a roof, only important for the elements it kept out. History dwelled in the memories of the people who lived it and in the stories they told those who followed them. Home lived in the hearts of the people you loved and who loved you.
She’d learned that because she’d come home. To Reese. Her home was with him. Anywhere he was.
She loved the Jack because it was his. She loved Reese’s apartment, which had become hers as well. They’d made it a pleasant place to spend their days and nights. The saloon was a pleasant place for people to gather. To her, though, those things could happen anywhere, and would happen again for them somewhere new. To Reese, those things happened because that building had been home to them. The Jack was his castle, his museum, his Colosseum. His home. The only one he’d ever had.
And now it was gone.
“You want to go get a drink or something?” Victor asked. “Take some time to get your head around this?”
Reese shook his head. “No. I want to go home.”
*****
Jetlag was always worse going west than it was east. Eastward, you skipped time; westward, you lived it twice. Reese had rebounded from a long travel day and a miserable flight to Spain with a four-hour nap. But by the time they reached the Jasper Ridge sign, two hours after they’d met up with Heath and Victor, exhaustion, stress, and shock had hung another fifteen years on his face. He sat in the back seat of the big ranch truck and stared at the back of Heath’s headrest. His hands were slack in his lap. Gigi had tried to hold on a few times, but he hadn’t noticed.
For almost the whole drive, no one had spoken. Heath and Victor had tried at first, but Reese hadn’t answered, and Gigi hadn’t wanted to make noise he clearly didn’t want, so she’d kept her mouth shut.
Then, just past the Jasper Ridge sign, just before the bend that would put the Apple Jack Saloon in sight, Heath pulled off onto the gravel shoulder and stopped the truck. He turned and looked over the seat, his green eyes shadowed by his furrowed brow.
Reese’s eyes focused, and he gave his friend a steady look, but he didn’t speak.
“I want you to take a beat, Reese. Focus and get ready. People are around. They’ve been waiting to see this. You know how they are. You do what you need to do. Feel what you need to feel. We got your back. I just want you to be ready as you can be.”
“Just go,” Reese said.
After a long, concerned look, Heath nodded and turned back to the wheel.
Gigi reached for Reese’s hand again, and this time he took hers and held on.
They rounded the bend, and she sucked in a shocked breath. Victor hadn’t exaggerated. Where the Jack belonged was nothing but the jagged, blackened remains of a single wall, a blackened chimney, a tall, amorphous blob of debris, and the scorched, drifted gravel of the parking lot, where large puddles of chalky mud scattered as if a hard storm had come through in the night.
The Apple Jack Saloon was gone. The place Reese had lived and worked all his life. Yellow caution tape flapped listlessly around the ruin, already broken.
Heath pulled onto the lot, parking at the edge of the dry range, near the road. They all got out nearly at once, and before they’d come together at the front end, people were already coming out of other businesses, or stopping their vehicles, and coming to them. They all wanted to be witnesses to this horrible moment in Reese’s life. Vultures.
She stood at his side, holding his hand. His had gone slack again, but she held on. He stood and stared ahead. Silent. Unblinking. Unmoving, except for the erratic heave of his chest. Then he shook his hand free from hers and went forward. Gigi followed, staying back, letting him have this moment to himself, but close enough to be there if he needed her.
He stopped about halfway to the building—what little was left of it—and looked. Gigi looked, too, and saw nothing that might be salvaged, nothing she could even recognize for what it once had been.
Suddenly, Reese turned on his heel and walked toward the far side of the parking lot, where a little wooded strip separated the ruckus of the saloon from the beginning of a short residential stretch at the edge of town. With every step, his stride became more uneven, until he was shambling to the side, and Gigi went after him, breaking into a run as he fell to his knees in the grass and vomited.
She landed on her knees at his side and wrapped him in her arms. He turned to her, nestling his head against her belly, and she pulled his big body as close as she could, did everything she could to shelter him in her insufficient embrace.
Gravel scuffed behind them, and long shadows stretched over as Heath and Victor ran up.
“C’mon, man,” Heath said. “We got you. Let’s get you both to the ranch.”
Reese let his friends lift him to his feet, but it was Gigi he reached for when he was upright again. She let him hold her as tightly as he needed, and their friends walked them back to the truck.
A ring of goggling, gaping faces watched. The onlookers parted to let the truck pull through, then closed again to watch the truck roll down Ridge Road. Gigi looked out the back window, disgusted.
Then she turned her attention where it belonged. With Reese. Who had baggage he needed to put in her pack.
*****
The silence in the truck as they left town and headed to the Cahills’ place weighed about as much as an old building. No one spoke, or even moved. Reese sat behind Heath with his shoulders slumped. He stared at his lap and didn’t seem to breathe. Gigi sat beside him and hoped her presence offered him some slight comfort.
The afternoon was dying, and a bank of thick clouds rolled in and turned what was left of the day to gloom. The truck headlights switched on automatically, and glared over their empty route.
About a mile from the Twisted C Ranch road, on a lonely stretch of the two-lane highway, bounded on either side by tall trees, Heath slowed. “What the—shit.
Victor, in the front passenger seat, echoed the last word. “Shit.”
“What is it?” Gigi asked and scooted forward to see between the front seats. “Oh no.”
“What.” Reese said, with so little interest the word wasn’t even a question.
“I got it,” Heath said. “Just hold on.”
He reached for his door handle, but Gigi grabbed his shirt sleeve, and Victor slammed his hand on Heath’s forearm. “Hold up. You can’t just go out there. There’s six of ‘em.”
Evan Hall and his gang were standing in a row across the road. Evan, standing in the middle of the road, and two others at his sides were bare-chested. Evan’s hair was loose, out of its usual braids, and he wore several strands of beads around his neck, over his chest.
All the Warriors always wore beads
, that was their shared symbol, a call back to Shoshone heritage. But Gigi knew that right now, those beads, the cuffs around his biceps, that bare chest in this chilly evening, meant more. Except for their jeans and boots, Evan and his gang were dressed as Shoshone warriors.
Cowboys and Indians.
The overhead light came on inside the truck, and Reese jumped out.
“Reese! Shit!” Heath yelled, and threw open his door to jump out. Victor leapt to the ground as well.
Her heart skittering wildly, Gigi scooted over and jumped out the door Reese had left open.
Heath had hold of Reese, keeping him from charging Evan. Evan stood where he was, at his full height, his arms crossed over his bare chest. The bright glare of the truck lights beamed right at him, casting the other Warriors in increasing shadow.
They were too far from town and not close enough to the gates of the Twisted C to get help, but Gigi didn’t see any weapons. Just six angry men spanning the humble highway in a darkening gloom, and three equally angry men in a cluster before them, struggling to hold the angriest of them all back.
Gigi stood near the truck, unsure what to do. Evan wouldn’t hear anything she had to say, and she certainly couldn’t fight these men.
Reese fought to get loose, but he hadn’t said a word or made more sound than the grunts of his struggle. Evan stood implacable, watching the scene.
With Victor’s help, Heath subdued Reese, and it was Heath who first spoke. He turned to Evan and said, “Get the fuck off the road, Hall, or I will run you over.”
“You have what’s mine. You’ll give it back, or I’ll take it out of your rubble.” His eyes seemed to focus on Reese as he said the last, and Reese redoubled his efforts to free himself of his friends.
Evan was talking about Natalie. Offense and fury exploded through Gigi’s mind, and she was storming forward without thinking, right past the knot that was Heath, Reese, and Victor, until she was standing before Evan and scowling up at his stony face.
He looked down at her but reacted in no other way. None of the Warriors were moving at all. They stood in a perfect row, their arms crossed, and made a barrier of themselves.
“IT? You’re calling Natalie it? She’s not a possession. She’s a human being, and you don’t have any claim to her, you fucking pedophile asshole.”
Anywhere (Sawtooth Mountains Stories, #3) Page 21