Chapter 5
“Are you okay?”
Reuben simply lay there, clutching Gilly to his chest, his heart somewhere on the outside of his body, trying to catch his breath.
She, too, seemed shocked, or dazed, or—
He pushed himself up, still holding her. “Gilly?”
“Yeah. I’m okay.” But she was shaking, and for a second he had a replay of their incident on the dance floor.
But when she looked at him, something akin to disbelief filled her eyes. “You caught me.”
“You didn’t think I’d just let you land on your head, did you?”
She frowned. Then, “Thanks.”
And that’s when he reverted back to his stupid self, something idiotic emerging from his mouth. “That’s what teammates are for.”
Really, Reuben? Because he’d pretty much stopped thinking of her as a teammate, well, honestly, years ago, but it suddenly became a crashing reality maybe five seconds ago. Especially since he had no desire to pull Conner, Pete, or even Kate into his arms.
And that forbidden thought kept going through his head as he helped Gilly up, coiled the rope, and headed downstream. He’d spotted a place where they might get out, a tumble of boulders that made climbing easy. Something that might not injure her knee any further. She was trying to hide it, but by the way she babied it, it had to be hurting.
But she didn’t mention it—didn’t even grunt—as she climbed up the boulders onto the other side.
He didn’t want to think that she was out to prove something—especially to him—but he couldn’t shake it.
He knew that kind of bullheaded stubbornness, the kind that could get a person hurt, could damage relationships. Could keep a man from going home.
From his estimation, they had about a mile to the road, maybe less. Overhead, the sky had begun to turn a deep umber, the shadows waxing the mountains in lavender and magenta.
They needed to reach the forest service road by twilight, make some progress toward finding the path to the tower. If he had to, he could leave Gilly at the service road to maybe flag down a passerby.
She tripped, and he reached out to grab her elbow.
“I’m fine.” She yanked away, but offered a smile. “Really.”
“I know,” he said, lying, not sure what to do with her determination to press on.
Half of him wanted to pick her up, throw her over his shoulder. He should have listened to his gut and demanded she stay behind. With the sun dipping and Jed and CJ in serious danger, they needed to move faster. He didn’t want to mention it, but frankly, he could have made twice the time without her.
The other half understood how regret had teeth, how it bit down, wouldn’t shake loose.
Her foot kicked a log and she grunted, something that suggested she’d wrenched her knee.
“Do you want to stop?” He said it, but—
“No. Of course not.” She leaned on a tree, then another as she made her way forward. But at the third tree, she did stop.
Let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry.” She turned to him, her expression angry, fierce. “I should have stayed back.”
He didn’t want to agree, so he pinched his mouth shut in a tight line.
“I’ll be okay—it flares up when I put a lot of pressure on it. I just need a second here.”
He glanced at the sun, hazy over the mountains. The line of smoke, bigger than before, tufted the horizon. The Davis Canyon fire was growing. They’d probably need a full team of jumpers to put it out now.
She straightened up from the tree. “I probably wouldn’t have made a very good smokejumper, limping all over the place.”
She started walking again, but her words had reached out, nudged him.
“We have plenty of turned ankles, wrenched knees, and pulled groins when we land—we’re often hobbling all over out here,” Reuben said.
She looked back then. “Really?”
He startled at the surprise that lit her eyes at his words. “Yeah. Of course.”
She nodded, then worked her way over a downed log. “I think I told myself my knee would have held me back. Used it as a justification.”
He had to ask—it was drilling a hole through him. “What happened, Gilly? If you passed the pack test—what did you fail?”
She sighed then. “Guess. And you can use the rappel as a hint.”
He traced the quick and easy memory of her abysmal descent down the cliff. Her lack of balance, the way the rope slipped too fast through her hand, her scream as she pulled the wrong rope, releasing the rappel. “Did you fail the letdown portion?”
“Nope. But that was only from twenty feet up.”
Hmm.
And then—wait. Her expression when he’d told her they’d have to rappel.
“You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”
“That’s the one.” She shook her head. “I froze—not just once, but three times—right in the door of the plane, and that’s the deal. Three strikes you’re out, no matter if you’ve passed every test, scored better in every other category, and outlasted every man. And especially no matter if you’ve spent years dreaming about being a smokejumper. If you can’t get out of the plane…”
She raised a shoulder, and he had the strangest urge to reach out, to turn her around, look her in the eyes, and tell her that if he could, he’d figure out a way to get her out of a plane and onto their team.
Because no one should have to watch everything they thought they wanted slide by, out of reach.
“So you decided to become a pilot?”
She laughed, the sound of it sweet, stirring. “I know, right? But my dad had this missionary friend, Dwayne King, who flew planes in Alaska, and he was visiting our church, found out about my failure, and said he’d teach me to fly. I spent the summer at his base, Kingdom Air, in Alaska and came back with my pilot’s license.” She held a branch for him. “The thing is, I’m not afraid in the cockpit. Just when I step out into thin air.”
“That’s when I stop being afraid,” he said, emitting his own low chuckle. “When I know I can disembark the canister in the sky, spread my wings, and fly.”
She made a little sound, one he didn’t know how to interpret.
“What?”
“It’s just—yeah. I’d love to do it. Just once. Jump out of a plane.”
Again, that crazy urge welled in his chest. And the words nearly emerged—I’ll take you jumping. “So why smokejumping, though?”
Now leaning on a tree, Gilly glanced back at him.
Or maybe she was just resting. He paused, dug out a water bottle, and offered it to her.
Reuben thought through his response and found one that didn’t dig out his regrets, his bitterness with it. “Remember how I told you that I broke both legs when the plane crashed?”
She wiped her mouth, nodded.
“Well, I was doing most of the work on the ranch at the time with Dad. I had a few colleges lined up to play ball at, but I was thinking I’d stick around, help run the ranch, maybe take it over someday. But that winter, because I was confined to a bed or a wheelchair, my brother Knox stepped in. He’s only fourteen months younger than I am and has a good head for numbers, was a straight-A student.” He took back the water bottle, took a chug.
“I wasn’t. I played football. And I was pretty good at roping cattle, herding, branding, and generally the grunt stuff any hand could manage. It was that winter that I realized, as I saw Knox and Dad spend more and more time together, as Dad explained the working of the ranch books, holdings, and finances to Knox, that he wanted Knox to take over.”
He put the water bottle back into the pack, took a breath to shake out the acid forming in his chest. Affected a smile. “It didn’t really sink in until later, but when it did, I realized there was no room for me at the ranch—at least not at the helm. And I didn’t want to play second fiddle to my younger brother. So—I did the next best thing.”
“Smokejumping?”
“Bull riding.”
She frowned at him, but then she pushed off the tree, started out again.
He looked away, not able to bear the way she shuffled along.
“The thing is, my dad didn’t stop me from leaving. I sort of hoped he would—that he’d tell me we’d run the ranch together, all three of us, that I might not be as smart as Knox, but I had what it took to get it done. But he didn’t. He stayed silent, walked me out to the truck, told me to keep in touch. Let me drive away without a word.”
He couldn’t voice the rest, but clearly the success of the ranch had meant more to his dad than working with his eldest son.
He shook the thought away lest it burn a hole through him.
“I started hiring myself out as a cowhand, bull riding on the weekends, and that’s where I met Miles. He was also a rodeoer, but he said during the summer he worked with the Jude County Hotshots. It sounded like good, hard work, something I could do, so I came up to Ember, met Jock, and signed on. Two summers later, I tried out to be a smokejumper.”
He nearly reached out again when she tripped, but he held back.
She steadied herself on a tree.
Okay, that was enough. “Really, Gilly, let me—”
“I can do this! I’m fine. I just need to rest. I—” She stopped, hung her head. “I’m sorry.”
He stood there, nonplussed. “For what?”
“For being weak!” She rounded, her eyes flashing. “For demanding I go along—I’m just slowing us down, and CJ and Jed need us to go faster!”
He couldn’t argue with that. But he wanted to, seeing the agony in her expression.
“I just—I hate it when women can’t keep up. Or act—”
“Like the weaker sex?”
“Yes! My sisters run a cupcake shop, for Pete’s sake. Can you get any more…sweet?”
“What’s wrong with sweet? I love Hot Cakes,” he said.
She looked up at him, her jaw tight. “Of course you do. You can’t see the…embarrassment.”
“I see hard work. And two businesswomen who are getting it done.”
She stared at him, frowning. Then shook her head, starting off again. This time she didn’t bother to hold back her grunts as she walked.
A part of him turned to agony with every little sound she made.
She kept talking, and he didn’t miss the strain in her voice. “They want me to join them.” She shook her head. “Can you imagine me—baking? I nearly burned the place down this morning.”
He couldn’t help a smile. “I doubt that.”
“Have you ever eaten my baking?”
“No, but I’d like to.”
Or—shoot, had he really said that? He wanted to gulp it back the minute she stopped, looked at him, her mouth open.
Because to his ears, it sorta sounded like...
“No. You wouldn’t. Trust me. I’m not a girly-girl, and I can’t cook.”
Huh. “What does cooking—or baking—have to do with being a girly-girl? Some of the world’s best chefs are men.”
She started moving again. “You don’t get it.”
“Enlighten me.”
“I don’t want people to look at me like that—”
“Like what?”
“Like…I’m a hot cake.”
She stopped, turned and stood there, her hands on her hips, looking up at him, so much ferocity in her gaze that he just wanted to burst out laughing.
Because that was exactly what she was. Sweet and hot. So she didn’t have the traditional curves. She was strong and lithe, even hidden under her pilot jumpsuit, and could too easily resurrect the way, however briefly, she’d moved with him on the dance floor. Graceful. She embodied all sorts of hotness.
And that package came with a giant-sized allotment of kindness and determination to save his hide.
Yeah, she had hot cake written all over her.
Oh shoot, his humor must have shown on his face, because her expression changed from ferocious to incredulous.
“You—what you are you thinking, Reuben Marshall?”
“Nothing.”
He strode out ahead of her.
“I don’t believe you.”
He was grinning, but slowed his pace, not wanting to aggravate her knee more.
“It’s just—” No. No. He couldn’t actually say the word.
And then, abruptly, he stopped. Through the thinning trees, under the waning of the sun, he made it out—the forest road. A gravelly strip of salvation.
She caught up to him, and before she could launch into another barrage, he pointed to the road. “We follow that, and we’ll find the trail to the lookout tower. We’ll have a chopper in here by midnight.”
She seemed relieved enough to let him off the hook as they came out to the road. Asphalt and gravel, it cut north from Yaak. One could follow it all the way to Canada.
“If we follow this about a mile or two, we’ll be about a half mile from the Garver lookout tower road. We’ll have to do more bushwhacking and maybe cross Pete Creek again—”
“No—”
“Sorry. The road intersects it just north of here. But…” He turned to her. “Are you sure you don’t want to hunker down here and wait? I’m sure someone will come by—”
“No. I can make it.”
And by the way her jaw clenched, he knew she meant it.
“But your knee—”
“I’m fine. Don’t leave me here, Reuben. I’ll keep up.”
“Hey, hey—calm down. I know you will. You’re a real trooper…” And then the nickname just slipped out, unintended, but it sat right there, on the forefront of his tongue, his brain, and he couldn’t help it. “Hot Cake.”
Her mouth opened. “No, you did not just say that.”
He made a face, wincing. “Sorry, I just—but you are. Totally a hot cake. Feisty and tough, and—I’m sorry, Gilly, but you are hot. You about knocked me over in that dress, and I know we probably shouldn’t ever talk about it again, but I loved dancing with you, even if I embarrassed us. I’m so sorry about that. But you’re also really sweet and kind and—”
“I am not.” Her mouth closed in a tight, thin line.
“You saved my life. And could have died doing it. So, yeah, I’m calling it. Sweet. Kind.”
And that shut her down. She folded her arms over her chest. Looked away.
“Not so good at taking compliments, though. C’mon.” He started down the road, north, listening to her shuffle after him.
“Fine,” she said finally, quietly. “Just…don’t tell anyone.”
He waited for her to catch up. “It’ll be our secret.”
She glanced up at him then, the barest of smiles on her face.
No, he wouldn’t mind so much carrying her if it came to that.
The road had turned into a dusky ribbon, the gravel shiny under the glow of the fading sun. They walked along in silence, and he noticed her gait had picked up on the smoother surface.
Common sense said that he should leave her—he had no idea how she’d climb the route to the tower. But the expression on her face when he’d suggested it…
If they didn’t get help soon, well, he had no idea how long Jed had before he turned septic with his injury. As for CJ…
Gravel crunching, a motor—the sound of an approaching vehicle—made Reuben reach out for Gilly, draw her to the side of the road.
He could hardly believe it when he turned and spotted an ancient station wagon—it looked like a 1970s Ford Pinto Cruising Wagon, with the round safari windows—heading toward them, kicking up dust on the dirt road.
It slowed and strangely, Gilly reached out, touched his arm. Slid her hand down to his.
Held on.
Huh.
The driver leaned over, rolled down the window. In his early seventies, good looking, with short gray hair, white at the temples, the man wore a graying scuff of whiskers, a blue denim shirt rolled up at the elbows, and a fishing vest, the pockets empty.
Reuben startled, recognizing the man. “Hey, Brownie, what are you doing out here?”
Jim Browning—Brownie—owned the buffalo ranch just outside town. His son, Patrick, fixed planes for the base. And of course Reuben had known the grandson, Tom, the best—he’d been on his team, had died in the flare-up last fall.
Brownie squinted at them. “Reuben? Is that you?”
“And Gilly Priest.” Weird that she wasn’t more excited. Even more strange was the solid grip on his hand. “Our jump plane went down about ten miles due west.”
“Oh no. Anyone hurt?”
“Yeah, actually. We could use a lift to get to a radio. Call in help.”
Strange, now that he thought about it, that he hadn’t heard one flight overhead all day. Didn’t anyone know they were down? After Gilly hadn’t returned, the folks at headquarters should have started getting suspicious. The thought niggled at him, but he tucked it into the back of his brain as Brownie opened the passenger door.
“Get in. I have a radio at the cabin.”
Reuben started toward the door, but a tug on his hand stopped him. He shot a look at Gilly. She was frowning, her lips tight.
“What—”
“I don’t...maybe we should just hike to the tower.”
He touched her shoulders, leaned down to meet her eyes. “What’s the matter? We’re running out of time, Brownie has a radio, and your knee is about to give out.”
She swallowed, glanced at Brownie. Back to Reuben. “I…” Then she sighed. “You’re probably right. I’m fine.”
He didn’t believe her. Still, their options were fading with the sunlight. “Gilly—everything is going to be okay. I promise.”
She offered a smile, but it felt fake, everything about it forced.
What—?
“Now or never, kids,” Brownie said. “But I’ll be glad to call it in for you if you decide to stay.”
“No, we’re coming,” Gilly said and let go of Reuben’s hand.
But as she got into the backseat and shut the door, he felt that same niggle in his gut, the one he’d had when he’d seen Jock run back into the flames. When he’d followed Pete to the black.
They should be running the other direction.
Run.
Gilly slid into the backseat, refusing to acknowledge the word booming in the back of her brain. But something about the car, everything from the color, an orange-red, to the interior—aged with layers of dirt, fishing tackle, and the scent of dead animal—all conspired to weave through her, constrict her heart, her throat.
She knew this car. Or at least something similar to it. The memory raised the fine hairs on the back of her neck.
“Are you okay?” This from Reuben, who’d climbed into the front seat then turned around to look at her.
She looked away. Nodded.
She didn’t know why she couldn’t look at him. Why a second ago she’d been holding his hand—yes, for nearly dear life. A reflex she couldn’t explain—and the next she felt like he’d sold her into slavery.
Her heart thundered in her throat, her palms dappled with sweat, she couldn’t breathe.
Yeah, she was just fine.
“Okay,” Reuben said, frowning. He turned back around to look at Brownie. “Thanks for the ride.”
“I’m going up to the cabin to do some fly fishing,” Brownie said as they headed north up the road.
Away from the lookout tower. But if Brownie had a radio, then they wouldn’t need the tower.
Gilly curled her arms around her waist, fought the tremor that snaked up her spine. Her knee ached—she desperately needed ice—and her head throbbed from the crash. She put her hand to her forehead. It was hot. Maybe she had a concussion—that could attribute for the pitching of her stomach.
But not the way the smells of the backseat racked up the shudder or the quiet, building urge to throw herself from the car.
This couldn’t be the same car.
She shook her head, tried to pay attention to what Reuben was saying, his explanation of the plane crash.
“So she put us down in this creek bed, but it was a harder landing than we’d expected, and a few of us are pretty hurt.”
She noticed how he avoided putting the blame on her, but, well—
If CJ and Jed died, she’d know exactly whom to blame.
Then Reuben flashed another look at her, a half smile that fell into concern again when she couldn’t return it. Then, suddenly, he draped his hand over the seat, touching her good knee, as if hoping to reassure her.
Oddly, the gesture soothed the roil in her stomach, settled it. She reached out for his big hand and slid hers into it. Squeezed, just for a second. His hand enveloped hers, warm, scarred, a little roughened, but strong.
Yes, she was with Reuben. She’d be fine—they’d all be fine.
Hadn’t he caught her from crashing into the river?
She let his hand go as a new heat started in her stomach, worked its way out to her body, into her heart. You about knocked me over in that dress.
That silly, too-girly dress that had her feeling half naked all over again.
They hadn’t driven very far when they pulled off the main road, turning east, cutting through a hunting path in the woods, the wagon slowing to bump over roots and under low-hanging branches. Brownie had flicked on his lights, and they cast a pale swath through the lurking purple and green shadows of the woolly forest.
“If we can raise our team on the radio, we can get a chopper to our location.”
“I can drive you folks back to town, if that helps,” Brownie said. “Or Patrick can. He should be back from fishing by now.”
Her ears perked up. “Patrick is here?”
“Our annual trip at the end of every summer for Tom’s birthday.” He was silent for a moment, then added, “It’s a hard day, and Patrick needed some time alone, so…”
Gilly looked out the window, rubbing her arms against the strangest rush of chill.
They emerged to the dark cabin, nestled in a small clearing. She guessed it couldn’t be more than two rooms, tiny as it was. It sat under a ruff of towering cottonwood, tucked into the embrace of a stand of white pine. A small porch led up to the front door.
Brownie parked. “Looks like Patrick isn’t back yet. Go on in. I’ll turn on the gas to the cabin, and we’ll stir together some grub while we wait for him.”
“We just need to use the radio,” Reuben said, getting out and grabbing his pack. Gilly followed him, climbing up the steps into the tiny cabin.
Brownie disappeared for a bit, then came around the side of the cabin, where he’d probably turned on the gas, and unlocked the door, flicking on a flashlight to illuminate the interior. The light skidded across a linoleum table and metal chairs circa 1950 in a tiny kitchen area with dishes drying in a rack over the sink. A separate propane tank powered the stove and refrigerator from the same era.
“I think there are some eggs in the refrigerator, Gilly,” Brownie said. “Reuben, I’ll power up the ham.”
She glanced at Reuben, who was suppressing a smile at Brownie’s immediate assignment of her to the kitchen.
Brownie lit a lamp on the table, the wick saturated in oil, and a warm glow puddled around the cabin. It illuminated the small room, a doorway to what Gilly guessed was a bedroom. A ratty tweed sofa lined one wall, anchored by an old desk. A chipped coffee table that showed boot scuff marks sat in front of the sofa.
On the desk sat a small square silver box, a large dial in the middle surrounded by smaller dials. A speaker sat beside the radio, an old silver microphone connected with a wire to the assembly.
“My parents had one of these on the ranch,” Reuben said, picking up the microphone. “An old HR0-500 ham.”
Brownie lit the gas lamp over the desk. “We use it for making calls back to the ranch in Ember. Patrick must have taken the mobile device.”
Reuben pulled out a chair. “Hopefully I can pick up someone—I remember Conner’s frequency, but he might not be listening.”
“Better to use the emergency frequency,” Brownie said.
Gilly went to the fridge, opened it. No light, but a cool breath cascaded over her, and her stomach immediately emitted a growl.
Inside, a carton of eggs, a piece of salami, and a shelf of beer suggested a fishing weekend rife with hope. She pulled out the eggs. Set the gear pack on the counter while she found the cast-iron pan.
A layer of bacon grease coated the bottom.
Maybe she wasn’t so hungry.
She glanced at Reuben, watched as he worked the radio.
“It doesn’t seem to want to power on,” Brownie said. He was fiddling with the connection to the battery, a large 12-volt.
Brownie got up, made a face. “We might have to use the battery from the car. It’ll drain it, but if we only use it for a short burst, the radio’ll power up.” He turned to Gilly. “Did you find everything?”
She managed a nod, not sure what to say.
“I’ll be right back. Make yourselves at home,” Brownie said and headed outside.
The door shut behind him with a click, and she looked at Reuben.
He stood up, watching Brownie go, then turned to Gilly.
“What is it?” He walked over to her. “You’re freaking me out a little. Why didn’t you want to get into the car with him?”
She ran her hands over her arms, suddenly aware of the chill that had gathered in the cabin. “It’s nothing—I was being…it doesn’t matter. The important thing is that we get help.”
He must have seen her shiver, because he reached out and touched her shoulders. Ran his hands over them, down her arms.
He had warm, big hands, a solid grip, and she had an insane urge to lean into him, to let him enfold her in his embrace.
She was just tired. And hurting. And— “The fact is, the car reminded me of something that happened. Years ago—it’s not a big deal, but…”
And then she swallowed, because it was a big deal and her lie would lodge there, right in the center of her chest. Her throat suddenly thickened and she shook her head and stepped out of his grip. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. Really, it’s not important.”
She headed for the kitchen, but Reuben’s voice stopped her.
“Gilly.”
He came up behind her, and she could feel his solid presence. “What happened?”
She shook her head, crazy tears burrowing behind her eyes. Now? Really? But maybe if she could get it out, he could tell her she was just overreacting, letting the past manhandle her. She could break free, find her footing, not let her fears turn her weak.
“I was attacked when I was sixteen by a man in a station wagon.”
She said it plain out, hoping that by voicing it, it might dispel the silent hold the secret had on her.
She felt his hand on her shoulder, turning her. And when she looked up at him, Reuben wore horror in his eyes. “Did you say you were…attacked?”
She made a face, trying to shake away the rush of emotion. “He didn’t really hurt me—someone came along and scared him off. But, yeah. I was walking alone late at night, going home from the fire base. It was summer, and nothing ever happens in Ember—we all know each other, right? And I only live about a mile away. It was late, though, and dark. I reached the gravel road and heard a car behind me, slowing, pulling up. I turned, and I saw it—this station wagon. Just like Brownie’s—with the round window in the back.
“I freaked out a little, started to run, and that’s when I heard footsteps. It was dark and I tripped, otherwise I would have outrun him. That’s when I hurt my knee—I landed hard on a boulder, and it hurt so bad. I didn’t realize I’d broken my kneecap. I couldn’t get away.”
He swallowed, looked stricken.
“I don’t know what he looked like. And it was dark. He came over, picked me up, threw his hand over my mouth, and I was just—helpless. I kicked and tore at him, but he wrestled me back to the car. Opened the back door and threw me in. And it smelled…” She pressed her hand to her mouth, the bile rising. “Dirty. Old. Feral. He was ripping at my shorts, and I was kicking him, but he was big—really big—and strong, and I was no match for him.”
“Oh no.” Reuben’s jaw hardened, and he shook his head, something fierce in his eyes. “Tell me he didn’t—”
“No, that’s the thing. Jock, Kate’s dad, came driving up the road—I could hear his motorcycle from a distance, and I started screaming. I think maybe the man realized that he couldn’t, well…so he let me go. Just threw me out of the car, into the ditch, and drove off. Jock found me there and took me home.”
“And you never saw him? Never pressed charges?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t know who it was—I could never have recognized him. I didn’t tell my parents for years. And they were so worried about my knee, and I felt so angry and…weak. And helpless. And stupid for walking home in the dark.” She looked away, not able to tell him the rest, the real reason she was walking home so late, so she cut to the important part. “I vowed that I’d never let anything like that happen again. Ever.” Tough, not tender. Brave, not beautiful.
Reuben took a long breath, nodding. “I’m so sorry, Gilly.” For a big, tough man, he wore a surprising amount of emotion in his eyes, and she had to look away. “I need to know, right now—do you think it was Brownie?”
She shook her head. “No. It was just the memory…”
She felt his hand on her arm, and then, suddenly, he tugged her into his embrace.
Holding on, protecting her.
And, strangely, she sank into him. Just let the past shudder out against him.
Yes, maybe Reuben was exactly the man to keep her safe, help her finally break free of her fears.
The door creaked open then, and she took a breath, started to untangle herself from Reuben’s embrace.
But oddly, he didn’t let her go. Instead, he put her behind him, stepping out in front of her.
“Hey, Patrick,” Reuben said calmly. “Why don’t you put that gun down, huh?”