Power of the Raven. Aimee Thurlo

Moments later her car was safely inside and the door closed and locked. Gene followed her through a side door.

       He stepped inside what appeared to be a pantry, then into the kitchen.

       “My house is a work in progress. This room’s already finished, so we can sit here without tripping over paintbrushes and cans.”

       Gene followed her into the dining alcove that faced the front. “How long have you lived here?”

       “I was born and raised in the Four Corners, but in this house, only about five months. I wanted to own, not rent, and I got a really good deal on this place. The important things like the heating and cooling and the plumbing all work fine, so I figured I’d add all the finishing touches as time and money allowed.”

       Lori waved him to a chair by the table, but he shook his head. “Let’s find a place in the living room so I can have a better view of the front yard and street. I’d like to keep a lookout for a while longer.”

       “You think he’ll come here?” she asked, her voice rising slightly.

       “Even assuming he knows where you live, he probably wouldn’t push it right now. This guy has no way of knowing what the police will do next, like maybe set up a neighborhood patrol. Still, it doesn’t hurt to be careful.”

       “Maybe I should turn on more lights,” she said, leading the way into the living room.

       “Not necessary. The one in the kitchen is enough. Any more, and it’ll be harder to see outside because of the glare on the windows,” Gene said, walking past the ladder propped against the wall. The living room held more paint buckets, brushes, drop cloths and assorted tools than furniture.

       She waved him to the sofa after removing a cardboard box containing paint rollers and a plastic tray. “It’s cold in here,” she said. “Why don’t you put one of the logs in the fireplace? I’ll bring us something to drink. I’ve got beer and colas.”

       “Beer’s good.”

       She went into the kitchen and came back a second later. “I should have told you. It’s not alcoholic beer.”

       He stared at her. “There’s another kind?”

       “Yes, and it tastes much better,” she said, laughing. “Want to give it a try?”

       “Sure.” He watched her leave. Everything about this woman was just a little out of the ordinary. Even the firewood wasn’t firewood, but one of those artificial logs wrapped in paper. He placed it on the fireplace grate, found a matchbox on the mantel and lit the paper wrapping below the arrows.

       Lori soon brought out two amber bottles and, seeing him sitting on the hearth, placed one bottle in front of him. “All my glasses were jelly jars at one time, so I figured you’d prefer to have it straight from the bottle.”

       He laughed. He’d been right. Everything about Lori came with a qualifier. Yet despite that, or maybe because of it, he found himself liking her anyway. Except for those heels, there was a down-to-earth quality about her. She was who she was and made no apologies for it. That took confidence and it appealed to him.

       Moments later they sat on the hearth rug in front of the fireplace with a huge paper bowl of popcorn between them. “I see you’re still using paper dinnerware,” he said with a quick half smile. “Is this left over from when the kitchen was being redone?”

       She shook her head. “No, actually, since I don’t really know how long I’ll be staying here, I try not to weigh myself down with stuff. The only exception to that rule is shoes and purses. They’re my weakness.”

       “So you’re planning on selling this place after you fix it up?”

       “Hopefully, but as far as the timing goes, that’ll depend on the housing market. I consider this my starter home, something that will eventually allow me to buy up.”

       He unscrewed the top off his bottle and did the same for hers. After taking a cautious sip, he smiled. “Hey, this is pretty good.”

       “It’s low in calories and tastes better than regular beer. It’s brewed from barley and hops, but hasn’t been fermented. Think of it as nonalcoholic young beer, or wheat soda.”

       “It’s smooth.” He went to the window and, standing to the side and out of view, looked toward the street. It was quiet and no one was lurking about outside. Satisfied, he returned to where they were sitting.

       “Did you hear something?”

       He noticed the way she gripped the bottle. Her knuckles were pearly-white. “No. Everything’s fine, just as it should be.”

       “Good,” she said, relieved. Lori looked at her bottle, lost in thought, then spoke. “I really should take the plunge and buy at least two matching beer steins.”

       “So your clothing budget trumps anything in the domesticity department?”

       “Yeah, but there’s a reason for that.” Lori paused, as if trying to find the right words. “I can pack my clothes in several suitcases and be ready to go at a moment’s notice, but it’s different when it comes to household things. Some people equate filling every nook and cranny of their homes with security. I find that…constricting. Too many possessions can slow you down.”

       “It sounds to me like you’re in a hurry to get someplace, or maybe just restless.”

       Lori shook her head, her expression serious. “Neither. My life is in transition, that’s all. I’m searching for something that’ll give me a sense of purpose, that’ll make me greet each morning with a smile, or maybe just renewed determination.” She sighed. “It’s hard to put into words, but until I figure things out, I want to make sure my options stay open.” She glanced over at him. “What about you?”

       “I’m where I want to be,” he said. “I’m a rancher, and though the days are long and the work’s hard, it’s what I was meant to do.”

       “I envy you. You have what I’m searching for,” she said.

       “A ranch?”

       “No, your life’s passion. You’ve found your place in life, so your work is the embodiment of who you are.”

       As they talked, time slipped by. After about an hour, a patrolman came by and took their statements. Unfortunately, the officer couldn’t offer any hope that he’d be able to do much more than file the report. Without a positive ID, the department had no evidence to go on.

       After the officer left, Gene could see how the interview had worn Lori down. He stayed with her until he was sure she’d be okay, then looked at his watch. It was shortly after ten. It surprised him to see how quickly the evening had gone.

       Gene gave her his cell number. “Call me if you run into any more problems. I’m staying at my brother Preston’s apartment while I’m in town on business.”

       “Then back to the ranch?”

       He smiled and nodded. “Maybe you could visit me there someday. It’s a real special place.”

       As they said good-night at the door, their eyes met. The power of that one look shot through him like a bolt of lightning. He was aware of everything about her. He heard the catch in her breath and saw her breathing quicken. When she used the tip of her tongue to moisten her lips, he nearly groaned.

       He wasn’t an impulsive man. He tested the water before diving in, but the temptation was too great to resist. He reached out to pull her to him, but instead of yielding, she suddenly stood on tiptoes and gave him a light kiss on the cheek.

       “Good night, Gene, and thank you so much for all your help,” she said softly. “If you ever need a friend, you can count on me.”

       “I’ll see you again, Lori.” Even as he spoke he knew it wasn’t an idle promise. Something inside told him that he would, and sooner than either