Page 3 of Owen

At first, I was certain I’d imagined it. No one in their right mind would venture up there after a storm like the one we’d just lived through. Besides, I very much had the sense that most people around those parts would have been too concerned with rebuilding to spend time camping.

Then, I saw it again. A flash, brighter this time. Like the light from a fire, but one that was small and contained. A campfire. What in the name of everything was a person doing out on a night such as this?

What if they were trapped somehow? Unable to make their way down because of the damage?

I started toward the fire, careful to keep my footing on the rain-soaked ground. A human would have found himself hopelessly mud-slicked by the time he took a dozen steps, but that was not the case for one with my coordination and reflexes.

All the while, I kept the fire in my sights—along with the understanding that whoever happened to be there might be foe rather than friend. Not that I couldn’t handle all comers.

So long as they didn’t carry automatic weapons. How long would it be before I managed to forget that bloody, horrific day?

The wind blew in my direction and carried with it the scent of a human female. Female? A woman? What was she doing out here? I moved with greater confidence once I was certain she was alone and only her scent was on the air.

The fire was a modest one, yet it provided enough light that I could see her.

Short, at least compared to me, with a lean build. She wore traditional outdoor clothing: cargo pants, hiking boots, a thermal shirt beneath a bright green down vest. Long, dark hair in a ponytail. Her posture did not give the impression of fear or uncertainty. She was accustomed to the outdoors, even in such conditions.

I moved as silently as possible, all but holding my breath to keep from being detected. If she was in danger, there would be no choice but to offer help—but it might put the rest of us in an awkward position. How would I explain my presence?

I barely had the time to form the question in my mind before she shot up from the log she’d been using as a seat and whirled on me.

In her hands was a pickaxe which she held poised over one shoulder.

“Okay, buddy,” she spat. “What do you think you’re doing here, and what gives you the right to sneak up on me like that?”

2

It didn’t matter that he was hot.

Or that I was alone and starting to wonder if I was going to die up there on that stupid mountain.

Or that he might have had a way to get me off said stupid mountain.

It was late, and it was dark, and I was cold and hungry, and I didn’t know him, so I didn’t drop the pickaxe. Instead, I held it even higher.

“What do you think you’re going to do with that thing?” He gestured toward it with one ham-sized hand. He was huge. Absolutely enormous in every way. And he could’ve crushed me without thinking twice. His hand was bigger than my head, or maybe it only looked that way when I was terrified and already freaking out before he showed up.

“What do you think?” I asked. “I’m going to cave your skull in if you come near me. I might not look like much, but I can swing this thing like a sonofabitch.”

“I believe you could.”

“I played softball through high school and college. I was the team’s best hitter. They called me Babe, after Babe Ruth.”

“Good for them, whoever they happen to be.”

“So just keep your distance, all right, Scotty?”

He frowned. “My name isn’t Scotty. It’s Owen.”

This was a mess. “Mine is Molly, but that’s not what I meant. I was talking about your accent. Sorry. It probably wasn’t a nice thing for me to say. I… had to say something. I wanted to sound tough.”

“Och, you sounded quite tough.”

“All right, all right. Hilarious. Ha, ha, let’s laugh at the girl on her own in the woods with a strange man bearing down on her.”

He took a backward step. “You would say I was bearing down on you, then?”

“It sure seemed like it.”

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