Sue Swift - The Ranger and The Rescue

Later that day, Serenity exited the shower and rubbed her wet hair with a towel. Examining her blond roots in the mirror, she decided to tint them the next time she shampooed. Combing her short “do,” she smiled at the scant five seconds it took to complete the task.

After wrapping the towel around her body, she opened the window to let out the steam. She’d better get a move on. The Labor Day festival, which the Lost Creek New Age community had planned to jump-start the fall tourist season, was only a few days away. She needed to string more crystal necklaces and meditate to put herself in the right frame of mind.

Her new and returning customers would demand scores of tarot fortunes. Sometimes they’d bring their friends or tape record their sessions until she became hoarse and exhausted by the strain. But she couldn’t say no. Her fortune-telling income was crucial to her survival since she’d fled from Hank.

She leaned her elbows on the frame of the window, which faced east. Hank. The merest thought of her abusive ex-husband made her innards cramp. She breathed deeply of the crisp, clean wind, seeking inner peace.

Perhaps she’d jumped to conclusions. If the stranger came from Hank, Hank knew her address. But he would have come for her himself. Her darling ex-husband wouldn’t have deprived himself of the pleasure of beating her to a pulp.

Again.

On the other hand, maybe Hank was nearby, watching, torturing her with uncertainty and suspense. Her flesh shivered and chilled at the thought.

No. One of the hallmarks of her beloved ex-husband’s character was his complete lack of patience.

Sucking in another deep breath, she ruthlessly forced Hank out of her consciousness, then left the bathroom. On the way to her bedroom, she encountered the stranger in the hall. Her pulse jumped. Conscious of his semi-nude state, and hers, she wrapped her towel more closely around her body.

“Afternoon, Serenity.”

He was so courtly, so polite. Her heart melted. By his tone of voice, she knew that if it were proper to wear a hat inside the house, he would have tipped his Stetson for her. “H-hello, Justus.”

His eyebrows arched. “Feelin’ better?” Full of concern, his rich, brown eyes scanned her face.

“Yes. I’m…I’m sorry I blew up at you like that. You didn’t deserve it.”

He reached out, though not for her towel. One finger stroked her cheek. She tried to not flinch, but failed when he gently touched the scar on her forehead Hank had inflicted.

She remembered the occasion: their first fight. Six months into their marriage, he’d made mai tais and shoved pineapple rinds down their cheap garbage disposal. When she’d tried to stop him, he’d backhanded her across the face into a kitchen cabinet, and the sharp handle had cut her forehead.

Happy memories indeed.

“I can tell something’s troubling you.” Her cowboy’s Texas twang brought her back to the present.

Serenity flinched again.

“You don’t have to talk about it until you’re ready.”

“I know that.” She hated the defensiveness edging her voice. Serenity had worked hard to become someone other than Hank’s victim. She wanted to destroy the protective shell she’d developed, but couldn’t seem to grow beyond it.

“But I do want to talk.” His scrutiny shifted to the peach-colored towel cloaking her body.

Uh-huh. Talk. “Perhaps later.” Serenity retreated to her bedroom, clutching the towel around her.

By late afternoon his jeans had dried, so Justus explored the streets of Lost Creek with Serenity at his side. Her wild grass fragrance mingled with the chaparral scent of the desert town. The sun slanted through dust motes, turning the wooden planks of the walk-ways to white-hot gold. Some of the buildings had hitching rails and false fronts that he remembered from Wild West shows. Part of the tourist attraction of the place, he supposed.

Strange that he recalled scenes from old movies but not his own name or life.

“Late in August, it’s pretty quiet here.” Serenity’s wide-brimmed straw hat shielded her face from the sun’s fury. “Too hot for tourists. We hope some will come back for the Labor Day weekend festival, but it isn’t until Samhain that the place really starts to rock and roll.”

“‘Samhain’?”

“What most people call Halloween.”

He blinked, taking that in.

“There’s the police station.” She pointed across Main Street.

He started across the dusty avenue without going to the corner or checking stoplights. He halted in the middle of the asphalt. Jaywalking felt…funny to him, as though he normally obeyed traffic signals without question. What had he been, a crossing guard?

He looked left, then right. Of course there was no traffic. Serenity was right. The August heat had turned Lost Creek into a ghost town.

The deserted police station reflected the general sleepiness of the place. Peering in a window, he tried to peek through battered Venetian blinds. He saw only a wooden counter behind which sat a couple of tired-looking chairs near a beat-up metal desk.

The scene looked…wrong to him. He didn’t know where the images came from, but he knew he should see a bunch of busy people inside, working on computers and answering phone calls. Maps with push-pins should paper the walls, with the acrid smell of burned coffee tainting the air.

Perhaps he’d watched a lot of cop shows on TV.

He heard the soft slap of Serenity’s sandals on the plank sidewalk behind him. “There’s funding from the State of New Mexico for a full-time lawman, but no one wants the job.” She shrugged. “I guess cops want to be in a big city capturing crooks and making a name for themselves.”

“Maybe if you become a policeman, you go for excitement.” He turned away from the window. No answers there. “Is there a doctor in town?”

“Um, we’re pretty small. No. Won’t you try my friends? They’re talented holistic healers. They’ve helped a lot of people.” Sweet of Serenity to look so anxious about his welfare.

“Okay.” What did he have to lose? “I s’pose I can go see a regular doctor if these, er, healers can’t help me.”

“What can a doctor do except give you drugs?” She frowned. Serenity clearly didn’t approve of drugs.

He didn’t, either. “No drugs. I won’t take any pills.” He wondered about the immediacy and firmness of his reaction. Maybe he’d had a bad experience with drugs in the past.

She looked relieved. “Good. Let’s go see Mairen.” Taking his arm, she led him down the street.

“Who’s Mairen?”

“I told you. Mairen can fix you up.” Serenity strolled down the planking, towing him along. “I’m sure that the division within your spirit can be healed with the application of the right crystals and breathing methods.”

Was she nuts? “No.”

She stopped, looking a tad upset. “Why not?”

His mind went blank. Why not, indeed? Besides, he liked Serenity and didn’t want to offend her. “Um, will it hurt?”

“No, of course not. Mairen is the gentlest of souls. You’ll see.”

At the intersection of First and Main, Serenity paused in front of a bookshop at the corner. Its sign, painted on wood with colorful rainbows, read Great Bear’s Book Nook. As she pushed open the door, a bell tinkled, heralding their arrival. He followed her when she entered.

Inside, he smelled sage and incense. Crystals winked from shelves, reflecting the afternoon sunlight. Racks of esoteric books lined the store while an oval counter in the center displayed Native American jewelry and artifacts. Soft flute music played, interspersed pleasantly with the murmur of several table fountains.