Someone pounded on my bedroom door and I jumped awake. Shash, cozy atop my feet, lifted his head and wagged his tail.
“What in the …” I looked at my watch and knew something must be wrong. Only bad news came knocking at a quarter past six in the morning. “Oh, no!” I gasped, imagining all sorts of bad news, Mrs. Carpenter’s death topping the list.
I yanked my feet out from under Shash and leaped from bed, completely unconcerned that all I wore were panties and a black wifebeater, and pulled the door wide.
Bridger’s eyes filled with relief when they saw me. “I was worried about you—worried the wolves might have come back,” he said. And then his eyes moved from my face to my legs, then to my tank top and back to my face. He took a small step back.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Is Mrs. Carpenter all right?”
He cleared his throat and focused on my eyes. “Yeah. She’s great. I talked to her last night. She tried calling the house first, but you didn’t answer, so she called me and asked me to relay a message. She is doing well and hopes you had a nice night, and found the barn to your liking.” His eyes narrowed the slightest bit. “She sounded worried about you, but made me promise to wait until morning to give you the message.”
“Oh.” A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. Found the barn to my liking? Yep. I’d chased chickens and rolled in the dirt with the dogs for hours.
I glanced down at my pj’s and closed the door halfway, hiding behind it. Shash, thrilled to see Bridger, tried to nose the door open. “Shash, stop it,” I said, nudging him away with my knee. “If Mrs. Carpenter’s fine, then why are you here so early?”
“You don’t have a phone. I came to see if you wanted to go mountain biking with me.”
“You mean right now?” For the first time I noticed he was wearing biker shorts and a jersey.
“Yeah, right now,” he said with a laugh. “Sunrise is the best time to go; plus this is the only activity I could think of where Katie couldn’t tag along.”
“Your plan is flawed. I don’t have a bike,” I said, stifling a yawn.
“I know. I brought Katie’s bike—hence the reason she can’t come,” he said with a wicked grin.
I laughed. “I’ve never been mountain biking.”
“Do you know how to ride a bike?”
“Of course. I’m a foster child, not an invalid.”
“Then you’ll be able to mountain bike. Get dressed and meet me in the driveway.”
“But … Mrs. Carpenter’s house. It’s a disaster. I need to clean it.”
“Do it this afternoon. Hurry up and get dressed. And in the future, lock the barn at night.”
With that he turned and left.
Mountain biking was like discovering a new world, riding trails where hardly any human ever walked, seeing lizards, chipmunks, hawks, and the occasional snake. Bridger took me on a tree-shrouded trail that switchbacked up the side of a steep mountain. And believe it or not, I was pretty good at mountain biking—until it was time to ride back down.
“I’ll meet you at the bottom,” Bridger said. He stuck his shoes into the clipless pedals of his bike and was gone, yelping and hollering as he sped out of sight.
Thirty minutes later, I finally made it down to the bottom of the mountain, my hands cramping from gripping the brakes so tight. Bridger was lying on a giant shaded boulder, shirt off, eyes closed, no helmet, and hands behind his head. His bear claw necklace gleamed against his tan skin, and I thought about what he’d said the day before—that you can’t tell a person’s beliefs just by looking at them. There had always been something slightly different about Bridger, something more than the eye could see.
“What took you so long?” he asked, cracking one eye to look at me.
“That trail was so steep, if I squeezed the brakes on my front tire, my bike started tipping forward.”
Bridger laughed and sat up.
“Did your friends arrive all right?”
“Who?” he asked, pulling his jersey back on.
“The people you were finding a place to stay?”
“Oh. Yeah, them. They made it.” He put his helmet on. “So, you want some help cleaning up Mrs. C.’s house?”
“You mean from you?”
He looked left and then right. “Who do you think I meant?” he asked with a grin.
“You’d seriously help me clean her house?”
“You’re surprised. Why?”
“I don’t know. Because you’re rich. And rich kids usually don’t help clean old ladies’ ravished houses.”
“Oh, really? And how many rich kids are you basing this observation on?”
I bit my lip and grimaced. “One?”
“Just because my dad makes lots of money doesn’t mean I don’t know how to work. The day I turned sixteen he made me go out and get a job. At his insistence I assembled kids’ bikes at Wal-Mart for two years for minimum wage. He believes the only way to learn to work is by working. There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Maggie.”
“Ditto.”
“And just to warn you, Katie’s going to insist on coming, but she’s not big on cleaning.”
Cleaning the house with Bridger and Kat made it seem more like a pleasure than a chore. Kat followed me around and watched me clean, talking nonstop about Europe, or telling me what pants and accessories I should have been wearing with her hand-me-down shirt, because apparently I’d worn the wrong pair—and no accessories. Bridger did all the hard work, like hauling the destroyed sofa out into the driveway and getting the cushion stuffing off the ceiling fan blades. Kat, finding a way to be useful without actually having to clean anything, called a trash service to remove the sofa and the black garbage bags Bridger and I had piled up on the front porch.
With the living room clean, Bridger helped me move the sewing machine and table where the destroyed sofa had been. Then we took Mrs. Carpenter’s double bed apart and brought it downstairs to the sewing room.
Bridger, with Kat trailing on his heels like a lost puppy, came over every day. And by the time Wednesday came, the house, minus the brown leather sofa, was in pristine order. Bridger had even repaired and painted the front door.
“Are you all right?” Bridger asked as I was fluffing the pillows on Mrs. Carpenter’s love seat, the final touch before she came home. Kat, sitting at the dining table, looked up from the magazine she’d been reading, her eyes moving between Bridger and me.
“You seem sort of …” Bridger trailed off, glancing at his sister.
“I’m fine,” I said, pounding the pillow into submission. Kat went back to reading.
“Would you mind doing me a favor?”
“Yeah, what’s up?”
“Go to your room and get a smudge stick and one of the eagle feathers. I’m going to bless the house before Mrs. C. gets here.”
I ran to the barn room—my room—and stopped inside, giving in to the frown that had been trying to dominate my face all morning. I took a deep breath and grabbed a smudge stick and feather.
Back at the house I removed my frown and handed the smudge stick and feather to Bridger. He lit the sage and began walking from room to room, saying;
“Bless this house, these walls north, east, south, west,
May this be a good place to live again,
May peace enfold the inhabitants,
May harm never pass through the doors,
May joy and love grow within these walls,
May it be a place of healing,
May the sun, my mother’s ancestor, shine upon this house.”
After we’d walked through every room, Bridger laid the smudge stick on a plate and placed it on the dining room table beside Kat’s magazine.
He looked at his watch and then his eyes met mine. “It’s time to pick her up. Do you want to come?”
Kat looked from Bridger to me again, her eyes curious.
“No, I’ll wait here,” I replied.
Kat stood. “I’ll go. I am so bored that even driving to the hospital sounds fun at this point. See ya, Maggie.”
I smiled and watched them go, but as soon as they got into the car, the smile fell from my face and I let the feelings I’d been trying so hard to hide flood to the surface.
I was glad Mrs. Carpenter was coming home—thrilled—but I knew with her return, I wouldn’t see Bridger as much. I’d been with him from sunup to sundown for three days. But now that the house was back in order, I was certain his talk from the night of graduation would come into effect. I could still hear him.…
I wanted to let you know I’m still here for you, as a friend. Nothing more, nothing less. So if you can forgive me for misleading you, maybe we can hang out sometimes. Nothing major, just the occasional movie, or hike, or something.
He’d be busy hanging out with Kat and his friends from out of town.
Yet it was a good thing. Because I was seriously, undeniably attached. Way more than friends.
I opened two cans of chili and dumped them into a pot, then put the pot on the stove. While the food heated, I made sure for the tenth time that Mrs. Carpenter’s new bedroom looked perfect.
Convinced everything was flawless, I stood in the window, breathed in smoldering sage, and stared at the gravel driveway. When Bridger pulled up, I forced a smile to my face and opened the front door.
Bridger got out of the car and opened Mrs. Carpenter’s door. Her voice carried to me.
“If you’ll get the wheelchair, Bridger, I’ll just—”
“There’s no need for the wheelchair yet,” Bridger said. He leaned into the car and lifted Mrs. Carpenter out, carrying her like a baby. Mrs. Carpenter’s pale cheeks warmed to pink and she grinned as she put her arms around Bridger’s neck.
“If I knew it would take a wolf bite to get a young man like you to carry me across the threshold, I’d have got bit years ago. You’re a strong boy,” she said.
“You hardly weigh a thing, Mrs. C.,” Bridger said with a laugh.
He carried her into the living room and gently laid her on the love seat. I stacked pillows beneath her leg. Kat came inside with the wheelchair and sniffed the air.
“Do I smell canned chili?” Kat asked, scrunching up her face. Bridger chucked his keys at her, which she snatched out of the air without blinking.
“If you have a problem with the food, go get dinner somewhere else,” he said.
She glared at her brother. “Why are you so grouchy? I never said anything was wrong with canned chili. And besides, it’s not like we were invited to eat dinner here.”
“Kat, you and your brother are invited to eat dinner with us whenever you are available,” Mrs. Carpenter said with a sly look in my direction. Bridger grinned at me.
With Mrs. Carpenter’s return, Bridger didn’t disappear from my life, like I’d assumed. And neither did Kat. He and I went mountain biking Thursday morning—without Kat—before Mrs. Carpenter woke. On Thursday night, he and Kat drove me to work, hung out with their visiting friends until the end of my shift, and then drove me back home. On Friday morning, Bridger and I went mountain biking again, and that night Bridger, Kat, and I played a card game called Rook with Mrs. Carpenter.
Saturday morning found Bridger and me in the mountains again. But this time Kat was tagging along. On the brand-new mountain bike she’d purchased since someone was always using hers.
With my hands clenched on the brakes, I dodged gnarled tree roots and rocks and maneuvered the bike down a steep, narrow trail. When the ground leveled out, I sighed with relief.
Bridger and Kat sat shaded in some bushes beside their bikes, helmets off, eating trail mix with more chocolate chips than nuts, and sipping water from matching Camelbaks.
“… say you had to stick to me like glue,” Bridger was saying, glaring at his sister.
“I’m keeping you out of trouble. Better safe than sorry,” she said, a self-satisfied grin on her face. I pulled my bike up beside them and yanked my feet out of the pedals, then shook out my cramping hands.
Bridger wiped the glare from his face, held up his hand, and started counting his fingers.
“What are you doing?” I asked, plopping into the weeds beside Kat.
“Counting. We’ve gone biking seven times and you’re still gripping the brakes like a five-year-old every time we lose elevation. I sorta thought you’d catch on by now, but don’t you know that you’re supposed to go faster on the downhill?”
“He’s right,” Kat said, yawning. “You’re slow. We’ve been sitting down here for at least half an hour.”
“I’m scared of going fast,” I explained, a completely reasonable fear. The look of consternation that filled Bridger’s eyes made me laugh.
“This from the girl who sprints faster than the speed of light?” he said around a mouthful of trail mix. “You’ve got to be kidding! Don’t you know that cruising down a mountain at dangerously reckless speed is just like flying?”
“No, there is a freaking huge difference,” I argued.
“Oh, really?”
“Hello! You can’t crash into a tree when you’re flying!”
One black eyebrow shot up. “I beg to differ. When a bird flies through the forest, there are trees all around,” Bridger said. Kat glared at him.
I opened my mouth to argue, but snapped it back shut. He had a point.
“Don’t you want to know how it feels to be a bird soaring through the air, Maggie? Get back on that bike so you can do the downhill again. Flying is quite amazing.”
“You want me to ride back up to the top of that mountain?” I asked, looking at the steep, pine-cloaked path.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Kat whined. “I refuse to do it.”
Bridger smiled wickedly. And, silly me, I couldn’t resist that smile, couldn’t deny him anything. Somehow he’d become my best friend.
“Let’s get this over with,” I said with a sigh.
The ride up was at least ten times harder than the first time around, and I was gasping for air as I neared the top. But I made it. Bridger didn’t seem to think it was any harder, but one glance at his legs, sculpted with muscle from years of biking and track, showed why.
“Okay, my little Magpie, are you ready to fly?” Bridger asked, straddling his bike beside me.
“No,” I answered. “I need a drink of water first.” He looked at the water bottle fastened to the frame of my bike, and then at me like I was stalling. “I’m out of water. Wanna share yours before I keel over from dehydration?”
I climbed off my bike and Bridger climbed off his. He held the straw end of his Camelbak out to me and I took a tentative step forward, practically stepping on his toes to put it in my mouth. I drew in a deep swallow of the warm water, letting it wet my burning throat, and sighed. And then I realized the air between us felt charged with electricity. Being so close to Bridger made me aware of every inch of my body, and every inch of his. I stared at his neck and could see the pulse pounding beneath his skin.
Since our little chat on graduation night, he hadn’t flirted with me. At all. Hadn’t touched me once. I wondered if he could feel my reaction to him, so I looked up at his close face. The breath caught in my throat.
He was staring down at me, frowning, his entire body still as stone. Something in his eyes told me he knew exactly what I was feeling.
Behind us, Kat’s voice interrupted the silence. “Are you guys still up here?” She gasped.
He yanked the rubber straw out of my mouth and turned away. “Yeah. We’re about to start down,” Bridger called. “So move out of the way.”
Kat rode into the clearing at the top of the hill, her face red and slick with sweat.
“Time for you to fly, Magpie,” Bridger said, winking at me.
I took a deep, unsteady breath. “Fine. But if I fall off my bike and get hurt, you’re going to carry me back to the car.” And that means you’ll have to touch me.
“Fair enough.” He climbed onto his bike and looked at me. “What are you waiting for? Go!”
I got off to a wobbly start, struggling to clip my shoes into the pedals. Once they were in, I pointed my bike down and started to bump along the path. It was hard not to cling to the brakes, but I made myself let go and careened down the trail. Trees and foliage began to blur past, wind whipped my face, and tears streamed from my eyes. My delighted scream echoed far and wide, my hair blew out behind me, and for a glorious moment I could imagine how a bird must feel gliding through the air.
Then I was at the bottom, smiling, pulse racing, and ecstatic. I had done it, and while it was a little bumpier than I imagine flying would be, it had been positively exhilarating.
Bridger came to a stop beside me, his dancing eyes studying my face.
Kat zoomed past. “I’ll meet you at the car,” she called.
“So, what do you think of flying?” Bridger asked.
“Awesome.”
A satisfied grin spread over his face. “I knew you’d like it. Let’s go.”
He pedaled hard, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake. My legs were so rubbery I could hardly snap my feet back into the bike pedals. But somehow I managed and began to follow.
The winding trail was narrow, shaded by tall pines and fringed with yellow and purple wildflowers and waist-high weeds, making it impossible to see far. Birds chirped and chipmunks chattered at me.
The farther I rode, the thinner the trees got, the sparser the weeds. I rounded a sharp bend and had my first clear view of the trail. Bridger and Kat were out of sight—probably already at the SUV. I forced my exhausted legs to continue pedaling when something niggled at my senses—I seemed to catch a whiff of an unusual odor. Or maybe I heard something, or saw a flash of color out of the corner of my eye. I wasn’t sure what it was, but … something had changed.
I glanced at the sky, thinking a storm must be blowing in, but it was clear as glass. And then I realized. The only sounds disturbing the woods were my tires scrunching along the ground and my panting.
I jerked the brakes and jolted to a stop. Popping my foot out of the pedal, I placed it on the ground and looked around. I knew this feeling. When I lived with the Simmses and Mr. Simms had been drinking too much, he’d get violent. When he stomped down the hall to my bedroom, I hid under the bed because I knew he was searching for someone to hurt. The way I felt right now, Mr. Simms might as well have been stomping down the hall to get me.
Breathing turned to a chore, the dense air hardly fitting through my constricting windpipe. I needed to hide. Or run.
I put my foot back on the pedal and pushed as hard as I could. Well, I didn’t clip the sole of the shoe into the stupid clipless pedal all the way. Ten feet down the trail I lost control of my bike and totally wiped out. In a daze I stared up at the sky. A big black bird circled overhead, hunting something. Struggling to get free of the bike, I saw a gleam of black in the woods and froze. Someone was there, watching. Me. I was being watched.
My brain decided to freak out, filling with thoughts of the man who’d been looking for me at the Navajo Mexican. Maybe he’d found me.…
In a flash, I was back on my bike and pedaling as fast as I could, my butt not once touching the bike seat. There was a disturbance in the woods behind me, the crash and snap of something big careening through the underbrush. Peering over my shoulder, I caught a glimpse of gold fur. I pedaled harder.
Bridger’s SUV came into view, two bikes beside it. I’d never been so glad to see a big, expensive hunk of metal. I rode up to it, gasping for breath, but Bridger and Kat weren’t there.
Close by, a stick snapped and I flinched, staring at the woods. Bridger emerged from the trees, shirt in hand, pulling a twig out of his midnight hair. Kat followed, eyes wide, face pale.
Bridger looked at me and frowned. “Are you all right, Maggie? Your knee’s bleeding.”
I pressed my lips together.
“You’re scared. What happened?” he asked. Kat stared at me with rapt attention.
I took a ragged breath. “I thought I saw something in the woods.”
Bridger studied me, dark eyes calculating. “But you didn’t?” I shrugged. I had seen something. I just didn’t know exactly what.
“We need to hurry and get out of here. It’s almost ten o’clock. Mrs. Carpenter’s going to wonder where we are,” he said.
I nodded and looked around. The forest was noisy again, alive with birds and chipmunks. With the appearance of Bridger and Kat, everything seemed to go back to normal.