Sunrise Canyon (New Americana 1)

“Smart-ass!” Mack poked Calvin in the ribs.

“None of that.” Dusty gave him a scowl. “Now, watch Kira’s hand, how she holds it flat for the horse to smell—palm down so he’ll know she’s not offering any treats. When he’s had a good sniff, she’ll pet him—not on the nose or the face, but back by his shoulder, on his withers. Now watch how she walks away, easy, looking out for the other horses. That’s what each of you will be doing today, just to get acquainted. Your helmets are right here, by the fence.” He glanced around the group. “So who wants to go first?”

* * *

The metal storage shed was about ten feet by twenty and crammed shoulder high with what looked like sixty years’ worth of junk. Standing in front of the open double doors, Jake shook his head. He was no longer concerned about Dusty having enough work for him. Sorting out this mess would keep him busy for at least a solid week. Maybe he could put his entire wage toward paying the old man back—twenty dollars an hour instead of ten. He could manage it, as long as he had food and lodging. And that would get him out of here in half the time.

He took a few moments to analyze the task. A triage approach might work—one pile for worthless trash to be hauled off, one pile for things that were clearly worth keeping and a third pile for items that Dusty would need to look at before deciding what to do with them. With no rain in the forecast, it wouldn’t hurt to leave things outside for a few days.

Taking a deep breath, he set to work. A crushed wicker basket? Trash. A worn-out saddle? Almost trash, unless it had sentimental value. Ask Dusty. A box of what looked like old family photographs? Keep. A set of half-worn truck tires? Ask.

A shaggy brown dog came trotting around the cabins and lay down in a shady spot next to the shed. Jake liked dogs. He’d made friends with one or two that hung around the camps in Afghanistan. Unlike people, they didn’t get on his nerves or try to sneak up on him. This one seemed more interested in having something to watch and a comfortable place to nap than in making friends. Jake spoke a word to the animal, then went on working.

He was making slow progress, but the task was like shoveling away at a mountain. The desert sun beat down on him, hot in spite of the mild spring day. As he paused to lift the brim of his baseball cap and wipe the sweat off his forehead, he sensed a movement behind him—and it wasn’t the dog.

Danger instincts on hair-trigger alert, he dropped to a half crouch and spun around, prepared to fight for his life.

Standing a few feet away was a small person in shorts and a pink tee with a kitten on the front. Russet curls framed a heart-shaped face. Dark eyes, fringed by long lashes, widened as Jake straightened and exhaled. The little girl looked startled, but she stood her ground, one hand holding out a peace offering—a can of root beer. The can was so cold that moisture trickled down the outside.

“Hi, mister,” she said. “I’m Paige.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Jake’s mouth went dry. His daughter was a younger image of Wendy, except for her eyes. Those eyes were his.

“You looked thirsty.” She held out the root beer can. Jake took it and popped the tab.

“Thanks,” he said, finding his voice. “Does anybody know you’re out here?”

She shook her head. “Everybody’s busy. What’s your name, mister?”

“My name is Jake. I guess you can call me Mister Jake.”

She studied him with a thoughtful frown. “My daddy’s name is Jake,” she said. “But he doesn’t look like you. He doesn’t have whiskers.”

“There are a lot of Jakes around.” He turned his back on her and began rummaging in the shed, holding the can in one hand. The ice-cold root beer tasted good, but his throat was so tight he could barely swallow it. Maybe if he ignored her, she’d go away. He needed her gone. Having her here, so close, was tearing into his heart.

“What are you doing, Mister Jake?” she asked.

“I’m working for Dusty. He’s paying me to clean out this shed.” He hoisted part of a rusty bedframe and dumped it on the designated trash pile.

“Can I help?”

“You’re too little. This stuff is pretty heavy. And some things have sharp edges. You could get hurt.”

“Okay. I’ll just watch.” She plopped down onto a tire that had rolled off the pile.

Jake glanced at her from beneath the rim of his baseball cap. She had fair skin, like Wendy’s, and she was sitting in the hot sun. “You’d better go someplace shady,” he said. “You’ll get sunburned out here.”

“No, I won’t. Aunt Kira makes me wear sunscreen every day. She likes me to wear a hat, too, but sometimes I forget.”

Jake lifted a heavy cardboard box off the stack in the shed and lowered it to the ground. “It sounds like your aunt Kira takes pretty good care of you.”

“Uh-huh,” Paige said. “Aunt Kira’s like my mom. But she isn’t my real mom. My real mom died when I was little. She was in a car crash.”

Jake felt the familiar sensation, like a steel auger boring between his ribs. He knew he should stop right there, but he felt compelled to go on, to drive the pain a little deeper. “Do you remember your mother?” he asked.

“Not much. But I’ve got her picture. She was really pretty. She’s up in heaven now. But I still talk to her. Sometimes it’s like I can feel her listening.”