by Nicole Casey
That man was the first sign of life I had seen since leaving and he might be my only shot to survival.
I had to turn around. It was the most logical thing to do.
He shot at you. Those dogs want to eat you, I reminded myself, still forging forward, my eyes scanning the trees for something to put in my belly.
I knew enough about the flora in the region not to eat poisonous berries but I couldn’t see anything at all, toxic or not.
How long can someone go without food or –
I gasped as the trees opened and I was facing a dirt road ahead.
I had found a road!
My heart was pounding in my chest as I scurried onto the laneway, my head darting up and down the winding pathway, hoping to see a vehicle.
Of course, there was no one in sight but that was all right.
I was just going to walk until someone came. I could ask for a ride into town and…well, I would figure out a plan as I moved.
My legs felt like leaden weights as I moved, the combination of weakness and worry eroding my energy.
You’ve made it this far, Eloise. You can do this. Keep going forward, I willed myself. Suddenly, I froze in my tracks as I realized something.
Being on a road was the stupidest move I could make.
If Sir wanted to find me, that is how he would look. He wouldn’t send Randolph through the woods to get lost. He would start on the paths that were known. I needed to get back into the woods and get hidden!
No sooner had I thought it when I heard the rumble of a vehicle approaching.
Terror gripped my heart like a vice and I scrambled toward the guardrail, my body trembling as I threw my leg over the metal just as the powder blue truck slipped around the curve.
I knew that truck.
I had only seen it hours earlier parked outside the cabin.
My head jerked upward and I met his eyes, my body immobilizing.
In the pale light of dawn, his vivid eyes were a steel green, and while they were surreal and unique, they were a shade I had seen before.
At home.
Does he know Sir? Is he looking for me?
The idea was ludicrous. I had found him on his property, not the other way around. I was just being paranoid.
As I had suspected, he was beautiful, a chiseled jaw, full lips which seemed pressed into a perpetual scowl of annoyance.
His chin was straight and wide.
Somehow, I managed to take in every feature of his face despite the fact he had come and gone in mere seconds.
I gaped after the vehicle, my heart in my throat as I silently wished him to stop, to turn around and return to me but he had already vanished around another curve, leaving me alone with an overwhelming sense of loss and relief simultaneously.
My dream came flooding back to me.
He wasn’t Sir but something told me he could be just as dangerous.
I had to keep going.
Even if it killed me.
Because home had a fate worse than death awaiting.
3
Harding
The bite in the air never quite left from the previous night although, at work, it didn’t affect me in the least.
My job as a roughneck had me running around, ensuring the health and safety of all decks.
It could be grueling and exhausting but it had almost become second nature to me after two years.
I was lost in my own thoughts as always, my mind on the renovation and some of the things I needed.
At noon, I took my lunch in my truck as I always did, making a list of supplies I would need.
Most of the crew remained on the rig but I preferred the solitude of my truck, even though I wasn’t a smoker like some of the others.
I’ll stop on the way home, I decided. Hit the hardware store and get working on the extension this evening. I must set up the framework, put up the sheetrock and the insulation.
I was off on Sunday so I could get a head start but I wanted to put in whatever I could that night also.
If the temperature was any indication of what was coming, I didn’t have the luxury of time.
A knock on the driver’s side window caused me to look up at rig manager, Jeff Morley.
I rolled down the window and peered at him speculatively, one hand reaching to turn down the radio as I did.
Keith Urban’s voice faded out as I stared at Jeff inquisitively.
“Hey,” I said. “What’s up?”
“I was just wondering if you want to work tomorrow. Charles’ wife just went into labor. He’s having twins.”
Always a source of too much information, Jeff Morley was.
What the fuck did I care why Greg Charles wasn’t coming into work on Sunday?
I shook my head, even though my mind was yelling at me to say yes. Sundays were double pay, after all, but I knew I couldn’t afford to leave the house a minute longer.
“I wish I could,” I replied truthfully. “But I have something I need to deal with.”
Morley snorted outright.
“Yeah, right, Jackson. Like what? A hot date?”
I felt my temper flare but I maintained the stoic expression on my face as I stared at him.
A coldness emanated from my eyes as I stared at him and he physically stepped back as if I had pushed him.
“Something like that,” I replied flatly.
He lost the smirk on his face and shook his head.
“All right,” he grunted. “Just thought I would ask you before I asked the others. I know how much you love your overtime.”
“I appreciate you thinking of me,” I answered lightly.
And fuck you, Morley.
The manager spun and left me to my list but suddenly I was annoyed.
It was no secret that the crew found me odd but I didn’t care about that. I had been working as a roughneck for two years, in line for a promotion to motor hand any day. I knew my job and did it well, no fuss, no complaints.
All day long I heard men pissing and moaning about their wives, their kids, their girlfriends, their cars. They even bitched about their jobs in front of Jeff.
Nothing was ever good enough for any of them and frankly, I had nothing of any value to contribute to their “conversations.” I kept my head down and did my work, trying to block out their negativity and get through my shift.
They thought me standoffish, a redneck mountain man without a brain.
No one knew me, not even the men from Cedar City.
I had lived in Iron County probably longer than any of them but they didn’t know who I was and I preferred it that way.
I wasn’t looking for friends. I had my dogs and even when Rufus was howling his bag off, he still wasn’t as obnoxious as Jeff Morley on a good day.
But I was irritated that they made assumptions about me, about how I lived and what I did with my spare time.
Just because I didn’t go to Wendy Lou’s Bar after shift and pick up one of the half dozen “oil babies” who seemed to live in the tavern, hoping for one of the crewmen to buy her a drink and fuck her until she forgot where she was.
I liked a beer as much as the next man, truth be told but I could do without the boisterous fights, the testosterone bubbling over the roof.
And the meaningless conversations.
I would sooner go home with a six-pack of Bud and sit around the fire with Rufus and Clayton or work on my house.
Shit, sometimes I even grabbed a twelve and fell asleep in the bed of my truck staring up at the stars.
After all, I had everything I ever needed in my remote part of the mountain. There was nothing those men or anyone else could provide that would make my life more fulfilled.
I have everything I need, I thought again, watching Morley disappear toward the rig as I finished my coffee and sandwich. What the fuck does he know about my life?
Maybe that was the problem; no one knew anything about my life.
I had deliberately kept everyone at bay but what
if something were to happen to me if I were to drop dead one day working on the roof? Would anyone know where to find my body?
The fatalistic thought made me raise my own eyebrow in surprise.
The lack of sleep had certainly affected my mood.
As I tossed the silver thermos onto the passenger seat, I pulled my keys from the ignition and hopped out of the high cab, slamming the door behind me.
I noticed a group of drillers eyeing me as I ambled back toward the site and I got that familiar feeling that they were talking about me as I wandered by.
Honestly, it didn’t bother me in the least; I expected nothing less from men like them.
When I had first started on the crew, they had gone out of their way to make my life miserable, something which Jeff Morley explained was a “hazing” ritual.
“Everyone goes through it, Jackson,” he growled, exasperated when the third man had been sent home with a broken nose. “No need to take it so personally.”
It was hard not to take damage to my truck, locker, and property “personal.”
When it became obvious that I was not beyond defending myself and my belongings, they eventually left me alone, only to gossip like a bunch of teenaged girls behind my back.
Suited me better than fine; I had no use for friendships like that.
Every so often, one of the men would try some dumb shit with me and I would react the same way, putting a fist through their cheekbones.
Lately, they seem to have mellowed though, leaving me in peace the way I preferred.
All except Aaron Jessup.
“Hey Harding!” the man chirped. “All finished your lunch?”
I glanced at the pleasant-faced boy and nodded.
Boy was an unfair assessment as Aaron was probably twenty-three but he acted much younger.
Like me, he was a roughneck and despite the years between us, I liked the kid for his work ethic.
I didn’t much care for the way he followed me around like a puppy dog but compared to the other assholes in the crew, he was a breath of fresh air.
“I’m going to work tomorrow for Greg. His wife just had twins,” Aaron volunteered and I stifled a sigh along with the urge to say, “Who the fuck cares?”
Instead, I nodded again, picking up my stride and hoping to leave the boy in my wake.
But that was not apt to happen.
“What are you doing this weekend? Want to grab a drink with me after work tomorrow?”
“Can’t. Working on the house,” I replied and I cringed at my reply. Why had I offered that part? There was no need for Jessup to know my weekend plans.
“Are you still doing renovations?” he asked, his voice rising in surprise. “What are you working on now?”
I didn’t want to tell him anything but it was my own fault for bringing it up.
“The second floor,” I answered begrudgingly.
“You need some help?” he asked and I shook my head.
“No.”
I hurried away before he could say anything else, disappearing into the locker room to lock up my keys and wallet before heading back on deck.
I had done my speaking quota for the day.
I hoped the rest of the afternoon would go by quietly.
My day ended at three o’clock and I went directly from work into Cedar City for supplies.
I was looking forward to returning home.
Somehow, I felt like the day had been longer than others even though the hours were the same as any other workday.
It just seemed that talking to people drained me and I had been forced into more conversation than usual that Saturday.
Even on the way out, Aaron had managed to corner me and offer his help yet again.
For a fleeting second, I had considered accepting it.
Another set of hands might move things along after all and the kid wasn’t so bad.
Immediately, I wondered what the hell I was thinking.
The kid would drive me crazy if I accepted his help. He would talk my ear off and I would end up snapping at him, even though it wouldn’t be his fault. It was a recipe for disaster.
And, I didn’t want anyone in my haven.
The cabin was for me and the dogs, no one else.
“Harding!”
I couldn’t stuff back the groan as I heard my name and I looked up as Old Man Cane shuffled along the side of the counter at Able Cane’s Hardware.
“Hey, Cane,” I offered, turning toward the shelves, hoping he would leave me alone to find what I wanted.
I couldn’t possibly be so lucky.
Cane had known my father a hundred years ago and the old man considered himself some unofficial guardian of me.
I knew he meant well but he was just another person infringing on my desire to be alone.
I much preferred it when his son, the sullen-faced Stephen was at the counter, his acne-scarred face pressed into his tablet.
“What will it be today, son?” Cane crowed and I winced at the volume of his voice.
“Just looking for some things for the house,” I replied, flashing him a tight smile. “I know what I need.”
“Eh?” the old man yelled and I bit my lower lip. It didn’t help matters that he was deaf.
I held up a bag of cement to show him I was finding everything just fine and he nodded through rheumy eyes, coughing into the air freely.
In reality, Cane couldn’t be more than sixty but he looked a hundred.
He had grown up in the mountains also but unlike Jacob Jackson, when Cane had married better, he brought himself out of poverty and into town instead of subjecting his family to poverty and disease.
Even two years after my father’s death, I still wondered what he was thinking, keeping my mom away from the luxuries she could have had if he had just bit the bullet and gotten a job on the rig.
How much different would I be if he had done that?
But the “what if” game was for children, not grown men.
We each make our own destiny.
Anyway, dad was dead. There was no way to ask him what the hell he was doing and how he slept at night.
“How are those renos comin’ along?” Cane asked, following me around the store and I bobbed my head with phony enthusiasm, relying on body language more than words.
“I can’t wait to come up there and see it but I don’t much head that way anymore. These old bones can’t handle the mountain climate much.”
“When it’s all finished, you’ll have to come,” I replied emptily. I didn’t mean it of course.
I sped up my shopping as Cane continued to ramble in my ear, my mind only half registering what he was saying.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the door open and a strange looking man wandered inside. I was hardly one to notice an oddity in someone else but there was something about this man which stood out to me for some elusive reason.
“Randolph, how are you?” Cane called, excusing himself from my side. I was grateful for the distraction and I turned my full attention back to my shopping, the newcomer all but forgotten.
I finished up as Cane talked to the pale, emaciated man standing at the counter.
Snatches of Cane’s end of the conversation flittered toward me but I really had no interest in anything but getting my shit and getting out of there.
I ventured toward the cash as the strange man stepped aside to let me unload my purchases.
“Go ahead,” the too-thin man said to me before turning back to the proprietor. “Cane, you will let me know if you hear anything?”
“Of course,” Cane called. “Damned shame.”
I noticed the man (Rudolph?) cast Cane a warning look but the owner didn’t seem to notice.
“Tell Denton I will spread the word, Randolph,” Cane assured him. “Should we put out flyers or – ”
Randolph, not Rudolph. Not that I cared much. Both names were stupid.
“NO!” the man cried and even I was startled by the vehemence in
his words. Instantly, he caught himself, offering a tight smile.
“I mean, there is no cause for alarm. I’m sure she’ll turn up.”
Cane shrugged and Randolph turned to leave.
I felt my eyes narrowing as the skinny man excused himself, hurrying from the store.
Although I was curious, I didn’t bother to ask. I didn’t want to give Cane more reasons to talk.
Anyway, I knew he would volunteer his own information.
“You haven’t seen a young girl around in these parts, have you?” Cane asked and I snickered.
“Have you checked Wendy Lou’s? That’s where they all seem to end up these days,” I joked but Cane shook his weathered head.
“Not this one. Blonde girl? Skinny?”
“That doesn’t narrow it down,” I told him and Cane chuckled.
“I suppose you’re right,” he replied. “But I’ll be damned if I can remember what she looks like now. It’s been years since I’ve seen Eloise Danzer.”
I reached for my wallet as he slowly rang up my selections, eyeing him as he laboriously worked on the task at hand.
Almost done here, I thought, willing myself not to lose my patience with the old man.
“Has she gone missing?” I asked reluctantly, hoping that filling the silence would make the process less painful.
“Looks like,” Cane replied. “Probably runoff. That was her step-brother. Strange family over there.”
I could relate to that assessment.
Once upon a time, the Jacksons were the strange family, I thought wryly.
“Hope they find her,” I replied without any real sincerity.
What the hell did I care if the runaway was found or not? Who could blame her for wanting to flee Utah?
Suddenly, I remembered the blonde girl I had seen on the road that morning and a slight chill slid through my body.
Could that have been Eloise Danzer?
I opened my mouth to ask for more details about the missing girl but Cane cut me off.
“One hundred twelve dollars, six cents, Harding.”
I stared at him for a second, my mind whirling.
If the girl I had seen was Eloise and she had been in trouble, she would have flagged me down for help, wouldn’t she?
She clearly did not want to be found and I was not about to get involved in some teenaged domestic situation.