Sunrise Canyon (New Americana 1)

Dusty came into the room, followed by a hovering Kira. He was looking stronger, but the heart attack had taken its toll. He appeared slower and less vigorous than before. “What’s this all about, Jake?” he asked. “Sit down. You look fit to bust.”

Jake sat, then stood again, too restless to keep still. “What do you know about that motorcycle in the shed?” he asked.

“Oh, that old machine?” Dusty laughed. “It’s been there so long, I’d plumb forgot about it. It’s a ’51 Indian Chief, but you probably know that. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be so excited.”

“Everything on it looks original,” Jake said. “It’s got a few dings, but still, it’s pure vintage gold. Is it yours?”

“That’s a good question. Sometime back in the old days, Steve McQueen brought it here to get around on when he was shooting a movie hereabouts. The picture was about done when the bike broke down and wouldn’t start. McQueen left it here—said somebody’d come by and take it when the film crew packed up to leave. Nobody ever came. So there it sits.”

“Steve McQueen died more than thirty years ago. After all this time, that bike’s got to be worth some serious money.”

“Maybe. But I could end up bashing heads with his estate if I put it up for sale. And with these old bones, I sure as hell can’t ride it. Tell you what, I’ve got no use for the thing. Get it running, and it’s yours.”

“You’re kidding!” Jake had to sit down. “What’s wrong with it?”

Dusty shrugged. “How should I know? I’m a horseman, not a blasted mechanic. There’s no title, but after so many years, it should qualify as abandoned property. I know a fellow at the DMV who can help us with the paperwork. There’s just one thing.” Dusty’s sharp blue eyes narrowed. “If you get that contraption running, there’ll be no revving the engine and spooking the horses. Understood?”

“And there’ll be no takin

g the students for rides,” Kira added. “The liability insurance would go through the roof.”

“Understood,” Jake said. “And any time I spend on it will be off the clock. The repair job is liable to take a while—if I can even get parts.”

After thanking the old cowboy, Jake left the house and walked back toward the shed. The vintage motorcycle was a thing of pure beauty. But it was much more than that. If he could get it running and licensed, it would be his transportation out of here. It would be his ticket to freedom.

He stood in the yard a moment, gazing around him—at the horses dozing in the sunlit paddock, the weathered outbuildings, the desert hills abloom with glorious color. Two golden eagles, mates most likely, circled overhead. The fresh breeze smelled of hay and horses. Far below, on the road, a dynamite blast echoed up the canyon. The sound no longer shot panic along his nerves. It was almost as if, little by little, he was beginning to heal in this peaceful place. But he knew better than to hope. Sooner or later, some trigger or mood swing would push him over the edge. When it happened, he didn’t want to be around people he cared about.

Paige had come out onto the front porch. Glancing to one side, he could see her sitting on the top step with her arm around the dog. As he watched her, she turned and buried her face in the shaggy brown fur. Was she crying? Something in him ached to go to his little girl and cradle her in his arms. But he could only do that as her father—not as Mister Jake, the scruffy stranger who was just passing through.

Was keeping his distance the only way to keep her safe? It would have to be, Jake told himself as he turned away. Kira was right—whatever happened, Paige mustn’t be hurt. And right now, he had a job to finish—cleaning out the shed.

* * *

Faith walked into Kira’s office, her hair French-braided and her makeup flawless. Dressed in skinny jeans and a little black tee with a designer logo on the front, the tall, pretty fifteen-year-old could have stepped straight out of a teen fashion magazine. Even her nails were freshly manicured and painted in a glowing shade of blue.

Kira had reviewed her file before the session. According to her divorced mother, the girl had become withdrawn after some inappropriate texting with her married drama teacher had gotten the man fired. Faith had done well with the horses; but so far, she’d had little interaction with the other students.

“Hello, Faith,” Kira said. “Have a seat. Would you like something to drink?”

“No thanks.” Faith perched on the edge of the chair. “I know I have to be here. But there’s no rule that says I have to talk to you. So don’t ask me anything—especially not about my personal life. That’s none of your business.”

“Fine, if that’s your choice.” What Kira could see was enough. The girl was making an effort to sound worldly and detached, but her lower lip was quivering. Her fingers twisted the birthstone ring on her middle finger.

“I didn’t want to come here,” she said. “My mother made me. She thinks I’m depressed. Do I look depressed to you?”

“What does depressed look like?”

“Oh, you know . . . like, you can’t get out of bed in the morning, or fix yourself up. I can do all that stuff.”

“Well, you seem to be a natural with the horses.” That much was true.

“I love the horses. They’re a lot nicer than people. They don’t lie to you or rip you to pieces behind your back. And they don’t turn on you and blame you for stuff that wasn’t your fault. I mean—like Mr. Halvorson, he was the one who came on to me. I thought it was cool at first, having an older man pay attention to me. But then it got ugly, and people started talking. When the principal called him in, the jerk claimed it was all my fault. He said I’d been stalking him.”

She pulled a tissue from the box on Kira’s desk and wadded it in her fist. “The kids liked him. A lot of them believed his story. They blamed me for getting him fired.” A tear trickled down her cheek, leaving a trail of mascara. “I’m never going back to that school—not ever.”

“Where was your father during all this, Faith?” Kira asked.

The girl shrugged. “Somewhere back East, I guess. He left my mom and me when I was six. Since then, he hasn’t even sent me a birthday card. Mom sells real estate, but she barely makes ends meet. The money to send me here came from my grandpa. Too bad he didn’t just give us tickets to Hawaii. It would’ve been more fun.”