Page 24 of Thunder Pass

“How’s it going at Martha’s? I’ve been wondering about you out there.”

“It’s good. Great. Easy, compared to—” She broke off, since John knew nothing about her history. “It’s good,” she finished.

Gunnar nodded, as if he understood her dilemma. “Okay, see you around, Ruth. Good to meet you, John.”

He didn’t sound as if it was good to meet John. His tone of voice held more of a “watch your step” message.

Bridget shot Gunnar a long glance filled with some kind of silent communication. When it was over, Bridget made a face at him and turned to Ruth. “If you have a chance, could you come by the garage? I’d like to talk to you before I leave town.”

Ruth’s mouth fell open. What on earth could Gunnar’s half-sister want to talk to her about? “Sure,” she managed. “I’ll try my best.”

“I hope you can. I’m leaving in two days, have to get back to work.” Bridget held her gaze, clearly communicating the urgency of her request. “Or if you like, we can come out to Martha’s, right, Gunnar?”

“I’ll come,” Ruth said quickly. Whatever was going on, she didn’t want to burden Martha with it. The poor woman was swamped these days. Harvest season was in full swing, an outbreak of respiratory disease was hitting the flock, and the woofers were all leaving shortly.

After Gunnar and Bridget had left, John planted his elbows on the picnic table and gazed at her curiously. “You haven’t said much about yourself, Ruth. How about I stop talking and you take a turn? Who is the real Ruth Chilkoot?”

She gazed at him blankly, her mind still stuck on Gunnar and Bridget and what they might want to talk about. Besides, how could she possibly begin to explain herself to this college boy from Connecticut via Princeton? Where would she start? I first heard of the state of Connecticut when you mentioned it the other day. That was when I looked up the states and discovered there are fifty of them.

One thing was for sure. She wasn’t going to have sex with John Frank. Her virginity would survive another day.

12

Bridget didn’t say anything until they were safely out of earshot, strolling down Pioneer Road toward the garage.

“You didn’t tell me Ruth was so pretty.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” He hadn’t told Bridget anything about him and Ruth. No kiss and tell was a very serious matter to him.

“Nothing. I’m just surprised you didn’t mention it, since you flirt with everyone else who comes through here.”

He set his jaw, wondering if big sisters were always so annoying. He hadn’t grown up with one, so how would he know? “I’m friendly to everyone who buys gas from me. I’m a businessman.”

She snorted. “I wish my mechanic was your kind of businessman. Didn’t you accept a cooler of salmon for that last brake job?”

“When are you leaving again?”

She laughed, taking no offense at that question, then dodged a kid whizzing past them on a skateboard. “Oh stop, you love having us around. Anyway, after I leave, the baton will be in your hands. I have a kid to raise, you know.”

Gunnar nodded soberly. “Baton” made it sound so simple. But there was nothing simple about unraveling the mystery of their father’s real identity. Bridget hadn’t gotten any further than he had over the past two months. Between the two of them, they’d found exactly one clue. It was in the left pocket of his jeans at this very moment.

“That’s why I invited Ruth to come by. She could be the key to this whole thing. I’ve done everything I can, and now I have to get Nelson back home before school starts.”

“Ruth doesn’t know anything about Dad. I only remember one time that they met, at the gas station.”

“She might know something without even knowing that she knows it. Know what I mean?”

“Amazingly, I sort of do.”

She swatted him on the arm. Bridget was like that—very physical and big-sistery. He wished she and Nelson didn’t live so far away; he was going to miss the kid.

As they approached the garage, a magpie landed on the roof and preened its feathers, which glowed blue-black in the sun. The birds were all busy this time of year, either readying for the winter or for their long migration south. Fewer tourists were wandering the streets, and the Magic Breakfast Bus was on its last week of pancake-serving. By the end of August, the town would be back to normal.

Except for the odd random military type wandering through.

And the camouflage ATVs that had been appearing lately.

And the sense of unease that everyone seemed to feel.

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