Miriam pointed a finger at him.
“You want me to start shooting?”
Samuel raised both hands.
“Just checking.”
Ghosts in the Night
That night, after most of the riders had gone, Miriam sat alone on her porch.
Barnaby slept beside her chair.
The desert had returned to silence.
For the first time in years, the house felt different.
Not lonely.
She hated that feeling.
It frightened her.
Inside, everything still carried traces of Amos.
His old chair.
His tools.
The faded photograph on the mantel.
Miriam poured herself a glass of bourbon.
Then she heard footsteps.
Rebecca emerged from the darkness, moving slowly on her crutches.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
Miriam looked at her.
“Couldn’t drink in peace.”
Rebecca smiled and sat on the porch steps.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then Rebecca said, “They told me you were a combat nurse.”
Miriam stared into the desert.
“Long time ago.”
“Vietnam?”
“Yes.”
Rebecca waited.
Miriam had spent decades avoiding that word.
Vietnam.
Sometimes she thought she had left it behind.
Then she would smell blood, or hear a helicopter, or wake from a dream with her hands clenched.
“You ever lose anyone?” Rebecca asked.
Miriam laughed once.
“That’s a stupid question.”
Rebecca lowered her eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
Miriam took another drink.
“You learn something when you spend enough time around death.”
“What?”
Miriam looked toward the highway.
“You can’t always save everyone.”
Rebecca was silent.
“But sometimes,” Miriam continued, “you get lucky.”
Rebecca touched the crutch beside her.
“You saved me.”
Miriam shook her head.
“You survived.”
“You were there.”
Miriam did not respond.
Rebecca smiled.
“Maybe that’s enough.”
For the first time in many years, Miriam allowed herself to believe it might be.
The Debt Collector
The next morning, Miriam received a visitor.
Not a biker.
Not a friend.
A man in a dark suit.
His name was Randall Price.
He represented a mining company.
He stood beside a black SUV and smiled as if he had practiced the expression in a mirror.
“Miriam Vale?”
“What do you want?”
“I represent Silver Horizon Mining.”
“I don’t own a mine.”
“No.”
He glanced toward the property.
“But you own land.”
Miriam immediately understood.
Years earlier, Amos had received several offers for the property.
He had refused them all.
Miriam had never asked why.
Randall handed her a document.
“We’re prepared to make you a very generous offer.”
Miriam looked at the number.
It was more money than she had ever seen attached to her name.
“Why?”
Randall’s smile did not change.
“Expansion.”
“Expansion of what?”
“I’m not authorized to discuss details.”
Miriam handed the paper back.
“Then I’m not authorized to sell.”
Randall’s smile faded.
“You may want to reconsider.”
“No.”
“Mrs. Vale—”
“Miss.”
He paused.
“My husband has been dead eleven years. I’m not letting you make him part of a conversation he’d hate.”
Randall stepped closer.
“Think carefully. People your age should consider the future.”
Miriam looked at him.
Then at her newly repaired house.
Then at Barnaby.
Then back at him.
“Son.”
Her voice became very calm.
“I have been considering the future since before you learned how to shave.”