CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Looks like you’re in some trouble,” said the man on the back of the horse.
I couldn’t decide which of them was prettier. The horse was a patchwork of colors and the man was broad chested and thick in the thighs, wearing a pair of those leather-pant-cover thingies that cowboys have on over their jeans in commercials. If I were to guess, I would have said he was younger than me by a few years. He reminded me of someone I’d seen before, but who it was exactly escaped me. It crossed my mind that it was some movie star I’d seen in some indie film a while back, maybe. This would be a good place for celebrities to hang out. No paparazzi would bother coming all the way out into this wasteland for a stupid photo.
“What kind of car is that anyway? Is it electric?” He rode the horse up closer, walking around to inspect my clown car.
“It’s not electric. It’s a Smart Car. Are you from the MacKenzie clan by any chance?”
“Could be,” he said. “Depends on who’s asking.” He got down off his horse and walked over to stand by my out-of-commission tire, crouching down and putting his hand on it.
“My name’s Andie, and I’m here to find Gavin. Is that you?” I was fairly sure it wasn’t him. Surely I would have recognized something about the man I allowed into the golden palace and married, for God’s sake. This man was a stranger to me.
He stood, still looking at the tire but shaking his head. “Nope. I’m sure as hell not Gavin.” He got back up on his horse in one smooth maneuver, swinging his leg over the saddle like he did it every day of his life. With a creak and shift of the worn leather, he used the reins to turn the beast’s head in the direction Boog’s car had gone. He made a clicking sound with his tongue and jabbed his boots into the horse’s sides. It moved off with a flick of its tail.
My mouth dropped open as my brain computed what my eyes were seeing. Is he . . . is he leaving me? I couldn’t believe he was actually riding away, but that’s exactly what he was doing, without even a backward glance.
“Are you just going to leave me out here?” I asked in a raised voice.
He didn’t answer, so I started running after him. “Hey! I’m talking to you! Are you just going to leave me out here to die?!”
“House isn’t that far,” he said calmly, not looking back. “You won’t die.”
His horse’s giant ass end was the last hope of transportation I saw on that road for the next hour. It wasn’t, however, the last living thing I saw on that road.
“Ack! Jesus!” I yelled a half hour later, jumping to the side at the sound of rattling coming from a pile of rocks about five feet from the side of the road. My voice became a half screech, half whisper when something moved out from a crevice and started slithering toward the road. “Rattlesnakes?! Are you kidding me?!” My heels were the world’s worst running shoes, but running shoes they became. My satchel banged against my hip as I took off sprinting down the road, heedless of the rough terrain and my sore toe, thinking only of how I’d definitely miss my wedding if I was chock full of snake venom. I could totally picture myself, a bloated, poisoned mess on the side of this road, and that vision gave me a speed I hadn’t known I was capable of reaching in three-inch heels.
I fell to my knees twice before I was hurt enough to have to slow down. I was being beaten to death by my own purse every time I bit the dust, which wasn’t helping. “Dammit,” I growled, bending down and holding onto my ankle as I tried to stand while my bag once again whacked me in the side of the head. I’d twisted my foot good when the front of my shoe ended up balanced on a rock instead of the dirt road. I looked up through the strap of my bag and blew my hair out of my face. Everything was the same color out here—golden brown—and it was impossible to see what was rock, what was road, and what was a frigging pit to fall into.
“Ooohhhh mmmmm rrrrr.” I moaned like a wild woman, trying to force the pain out of my foot and into the atmosphere. It wasn’t working. I tried to limp with the shoe on, but that wasn’t working either, so I took it off. It wouldn’t fit into my bag, so I just held it. “Baker City sucks!” I shouted at the snakes and the spiders and the horses’ asses I’d met so far. “I can’t wait to get out of this hellhole and back to the East Coast where all the normal people live!” I pulled the troll doll out of the bag and looked at it. “You were supposed to be good luck, you little bastard.” I arched my arm back, ready to launch the little traitor out into the dust, but at the last minute I held back, thinking about how Ruby had looked up to the heavens when talking about the damn thing. She’d never forgive me. I started walking again, the troll doll gripped tightly in my hand.
The sun beat down on my head and neck, making me wish I’d brought sunscreen. I could feel my skin frying, the smell of my roasting skin nauseating for the pain I knew I’d be in later. I put my satchel on top of my head as a temporary shelter for a few minutes but eventually gave up. It was too heavy, and I had my stupid shoe and the troll to carry, which left me one handed. Eventually, I gave up trying to carry the bag on my shoulder and just dragged it in the dust behind me.
It was when I’d reached the point where I’d estimated my chances of survival at less than twenty-five percent that I caught a glimpse of a building ahead. A house, maybe. Or a barn. It was tough to tell in the wavering heat with my blurring vision. Whatever it was, it had a roof on it and probably a faucet inside. “Water,” I said, holding my shoe out toward the house as I limped painfully along. I heard more rattling sounds behind and to the sides of me, but I could no more run from them than I could conjure an ice-cold lemonade out of thin air. Oh, what I wouldn’t have given for such a thing right then. I would have chugged it down and then thrown the glass at all the snakes probably right behind me on the road, a giant league of them just waiting for me to fall one last time.
I made it almost to the gate of the fence that circled a large plot of land around the house before I took my last trip down to face-plant alley. My toe caught another rock or pit or snake or something, and the road rose up to greet me in a very unwelcoming way. I got a real up-close and personal taste of what Baker City, Oregon, has to offer. I was spitting a mouthful of it out when I rolled over onto my back in the middle of the road.
Above my head was a giant archway of wood with a crest in the middle of it. There were flames and a rope carved into it, and above it all were three Latin words: Luceo non uro.
I whispered them aloud. “Luceo non uro. Shine, not burn.” I closed my eyes and drifted off, remembering a man wearing a cowboy hat and a pair of jeans with a brass-colored belt buckle riding around his waist. That phrase was the last thing I remember that cowboy saying to me.
Shine, not burn.