Power of the Raven

“It’s low in calories and tastes better than regular beer. It’s brewed from barley and hops, but hasn’t been fermented. Think of it as nonalcoholic young beer, or wheat soda.”

“It’s smooth.” He went to the window and, standing to the side and out of view, looked toward the street. It was quiet and no one was lurking about outside. Satisfied, he returned to where they were sitting.

“Did you hear something?”

He noticed the way she gripped the bottle. Her knuckles were pearly-white. “No. Everything’s fine, just as it should be.”

“Good,” she said, relieved. Lori looked at her bottle, lost in thought, then spoke. “I really should take the plunge and buy at least two matching beer steins.”

“So your clothing budget trumps anything in the domesticity department?”

“Yeah, but there’s a reason for that.” Lori paused, as if trying to find the right words. “I can pack my clothes in several suitcases and be ready to go at a moment’s notice, but it’s different when it comes to household things. Some people equate filling every nook and cranny of their homes with security. I find that…constricting. Too many possessions can slow you down.”

“It sounds to me like you’re in a hurry to get someplace, or maybe just restless.”

Lori shook her head, her expression serious. “Neither. My life is in transition, that’s all. I’m searching for something that’ll give me a sense of purpose, that’ll make me greet each morning with a smile, or maybe just renewed determination.” She sighed. “It’s hard to put into words, but until I figure things out, I want to make sure my options stay open.” She glanced over at him. “What about you?”

“I’m where I want to be,” he said. “I’m a rancher, and though the days are long and the work’s hard, it’s what I was meant to do.”

“I envy you. You have what I’m searching for,” she said.

“A ranch?”

“No, your life’s passion. You’ve found your place in life, so your work is the embodiment of who you are.”

As they talked, time slipped by. After about an hour, a patrolman came by and took their statements. Unfortunately, the officer couldn’t offer any hope that he’d be able to do much more than file the report. Without a positive ID, the department had no evidence to go on.

After the officer left, Gene could see how the interview had worn Lori down. He stayed with her until he was sure she’d be okay, then looked at his watch. It was shortly after ten. It surprised him to see how quickly the evening had gone.

Gene gave her his cell number. “Call me if you run into any more problems. I’m staying at my brother Preston’s apartment while I’m in town on business.”

“Then back to the ranch?”

He smiled and nodded. “Maybe you could visit me there someday. It’s a real special place.”

As they said good-night at the door, their eyes met. The power of that one look shot through him like a bolt of lightning. He was aware of everything about her. He heard the catch in her breath and saw her breathing quicken. When she used the tip of her tongue to moisten her lips, he nearly groaned.

He wasn’t an impulsive man. He tested the water before diving in, but the temptation was too great to resist. He reached out to pull her to him, but instead of yielding, she suddenly stood on tiptoes and gave him a light kiss on the cheek.

“Good night, Gene, and thank you so much for all your help,” she said softly. “If you ever need a friend, you can count on me.”

“I’ll see you again, Lori.” Even as he spoke he knew it wasn’t an idle promise. Something inside told him that he would, and sooner than either of them expected.

As she turned on the porch light and closed the door behind him, he started down the path to his truck. He’d gone only about ten feet when he caught a glimpse of movement off to his left.

It was probably just someone’s stray cat, judging from the barking dog next door, but he needed to make sure. Stopping, he reached into his pocket and pretended to be searching for his keys.

Although he never turned his head, his focus was on the bushes by the house. Next door, the neighbor’s dog continued to growl and bark, its head popping up intermittently as it jumped up and down just beyond the block wall.

A second later Gene saw the bushes beneath one of the windows sway slightly, odd because the breeze had died down after sunset. Uncertain of the threat, he took a few things out of his pocket, glanced down at his hand, then, as if he’d forgotten something, headed back to her door.

Gene walked slowly, furtively, studying the ground to his left in the glow of the yellow porch light. The footprints on the sandy earth didn’t belong to an animal, and were too large to belong to Lori. If he’d had to take a guess, he would have said they belonged to a size ten or eleven boot—not his own size twelve.

Gene knocked on her front door and Lori answered almost instantly. “Couldn’t stay away?” she said with a teasing smile.

“What can I say? You’re great company,” he said, laughing, then leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Don’t react, just go call the police. You’ve got a trespasser out here beside the house.”

Lori pulled him inside. “Come back in,” she said, shutting the door behind him.

“Don’t worry,” he said quickly. “I’ve got this covered. I’m going to slip out your back door and go after the guy. Keep the kitchen lights off and call the police.”

“Are you crazy? You don’t know what you might be up against. He could be armed! Wait here with me for the police.”

“I’ll surprise him before he even knows I’m coming. Stay here.”

Gene opened the door a crack and slipped outside. He knew how to move through the shadows without making a sound. Hosteen Silver had said that his ability was the natural result of always being in harmony with his surroundings. He wasn’t sure about that, but he knew he was a match for whoever was out there sneaking around.

As Gene slipped around the far corner of the house he heard a low scraping sound. He waited, peering into the darkness, allowing his eyes to adjust. Despite the long gray shadows, he could see a shape huddled below the window directly ahead.

Gene moved toward the man cautiously, scarcely breathing and carefully placing each footstep to avoid making any noise. In the muted half-light, he could see the figure ahead. From the sheen and flattened appearance of his face, it was obvious the person was wearing a stocking mask. He could see something in his gloved hand, too, some kind of tool. It was probably a screwdriver, undoubtedly intended to help the intruder pry the window open.

Gene moved even closer, then stopped, hearing slow footsteps behind him. Nobody had ever been able to successfully sneak up on him—that was one skill he’d had as far back as he could remember. More than once, as a kid, that ability had helped him avoid getting beaten up by a bully.

He flattened against the wall of the house, farther into the shadows. A second later, Lori appeared, crouched low and holding something in her hand.

He grabbed her and covered her mouth with his hand as he pulled her toward him.

She slammed her elbow into his gut.

“Be still. It’s me,” he whispered.

The intruder must have also heard, because quick footsteps sounded up ahead.

Gene placed himself between her and the intruder just as something came flying in his direction. Gene blocked the object with his forearm, and it bounced off the house with a loud thud. It was the screwdriver.

“Wait here,” Gene told Lori, then took off after the running man, who’d now ducked around to the front of the house.

As Gene raced around the corner, the fleeing man stumbled over a lawn sprinkler and nearly lost his balance. Seeing Gene closing in, he grabbed a rake from the neighbor’s yard and hurled it at him.

Gene dodged, but it slowed him down, and when he looked up, the man had reached a car parked on the opposite side of the street. Before Gene could narrow the distance separating them, the guy raced off and Gene had no chance to read the plates.

Gene cursed as he stared at the fading taillights. If Lori hadn’t come outside and tipped the guy off, he would have had him for sure. He was crossing back across the street when Lori came out toward him, holding a mop handle in one hand and a flashlight in the other.

“I wish you’d stayed inside,” Gene said, his voice calm now. It was no use getting riled up after the fact. “He heard you coming and spooked.”

“I won’t abandon a friend and you were out here alone. I grabbed the closest thing I had to a weapon, and came to help you.”

The tremor in her voice sliced through what was left of his anger. Although she’d been terrified, she’d risked her own safety to help him. The gesture was touching. With the exception of his foster family, no one had ever done that.