The dog on the left stood on all fours as Summer came within striking distance. She sucked in a gulp of air and held it, forcing her insides to remain calm. They were just the opposite, but the oversized puppy didn’t need to know about it. Or sense it.
The Shepherd came a step closer.
Summer didn’t change her pace, continuing as if nothing was wrong.
Slow is steady and steady is fast, she reminded herself, remembering a military saying she’d heard Krista use before. She wasn’t sure why her mind sent that flash at her. Perhaps when you’re fighting panic mode, it opens your brain up for random thoughts.
A moment later, the animal’s ears plopped up, no longer angled back like a dart. Its tail began to wag. Not in an all-out manner. More like a gentle sway.
Summer let out the breath in her lungs, feeling the tension in her chest release. She let her hand drift forward an inch or two.
The dog sniffed her fingers, but he didn’t bite. When the cold of his snout touched her hand, she could feel the wetness across her skin.
Summer got the impression she was supposed to pet him. She wanted to but wasn’t sure of the rules. The cowboys probably wouldn’t like some stranger touching their animal.
She sauntered past the dog, keeping her hand steady, sending her most pleasant thoughts at the four-legged garbage disposal. She was just as big an asshole as Krista, but maybe the dogs couldn’t detect it. Not unless she changed her aura or made a sudden move they didn’t expect.
Edison looked back at her for a moment and said, “You okay back there?”
Summer turned her head and peered at the dogs, their eyes still trained on her. “Yep. Mostly.”
“One more step to go,” Edison said. “Just let them do their thing.”
Summer closed the distance to the professor, remembering she needed to escort him. She’d gotten distracted, leaving him exposed with his stiff bones and aching back.
The remaining guard ran his hands over Edison for a minute before waving him forward. Then he turned his attention to Summer. She put her arms out to her side, giving him total access.
His touch brought back memories of Wicks feeling her up in the jailhouse. However, the cowboy’s hands didn’t linger or fondle, simply doing their job and moving on like a pro.
“Serious men with serious business,” she mumbled to herself, increasing her pace to support the professor. It wasn’t easy helping him through the narrow path of fencing. She felt like a mouse trapped in an endless maze. A maze with guns pointed at her. Edison didn’t seem fazed at all, shuffling his feet a step at a time.
After they cleared the last section and were free of the confinement, Krista and her men met them with curious eyes. “Everyone okay?”
Summer remained at Edison’s side, clutching his elbow. “Damn, that was intense.”
“It can be for a first-timer,” Edison answered.
“Do they know I’m part of this meeting?”
“No. And they don’t need to. In fact, I probably won’t even introduce you by name. I’ll just tell them you’re my new assistant.”
“Heston won’t care?”
Krista answered instead of the professor. “It’s really not up to Heston, now is it?”
Edison put a hand on Krista’s wrist, as if he were calling back one of the German Shepherds from attack mode. Then he shifted his focus to Summer. “If he does, I’ll smooth it over. Nothing to be concerned about.”
“Okay, so you do have a say—”
“Sure, if you want to call it that. Heston knows his place. So do Frost and his men. As long as everyone stays calm, we’ll get our business done today and be on our way.”
“Do you think they’re here already?” Summer asked, her eyes scanning the area for Frost.
“We’ll know shortly. Just stay calm and listen once we’re inside. There’s an art to this that I want you to learn.”
Dead ahead was a stand of booths on either side of the main walkway. Summer held onto Edison as they walked the aisle together, with Krista and her men forging ahead.
Summer ran a quick count, figuring there were almost twenty stands. Most had men milling about, some in front of the tables with gunny sacks over their shoulders. Others stood behind, looking attentive. There were a few women and children, too.
The place had an eerie feel to it, almost like nobody wanted to move too fast or say the wrong thing. It was strange to see everyone on their best behavior, but at least she didn’t see any Scabs. That was a plus, though the armed cowboys watching the area made her skin crawl.
She wondered how long it took for the men, women, and children to get through the security station. Nobody had a bandage around their arms or legs, so no dog attacks. “Place is busier than I thought.”
“Seems to be increasing each month. Word must be spreading.”
“But how did all they all survive?”
“Necessity is the mother of invention,” Edison said as they cleared the last booth.
“Desperation would be more like it,” Summer quipped.
“That too,” Edison added.
Summer noticed an old backhoe parked beyond the next building near the fence line, its fading yellow paint easy to spot. Several fifty-gallon drums sat next to it, not far from the front bucket. Fuel, she assumed.
Edison stopped his feet when an old cowboy stepped out of a building dead ahead.
“Here we go. Look sharp, men,” Krista told the members of Team One.
CHAPTER 32
Krista Carr stood behind Edison as Heston, the leader of the Trading Post, walked toward them with two of his guards following behind. She didn’t know the other men’s names, but they were the same pair from the last several meetings. Both were tall and bearded, their thick hips carrying a pair of revolvers, dual-holster style.
Heston wore a tan-colored cowboy hat that had been evenly rolled up on each side, with a cloth hatband around the base of the crown. It was a white wrap and carried a buckle set on the left. The crown had a slight dent on each side and a well-formed crease down the middle, looking both purposeful and meticulous.
Heston wasn’t armed, nor was he a lofty man, standing only an inch or two above Krista’s height. He never seemed to change his clothes, either, wearing the same get-up for each of their monthly meets.
Perhaps it was superstition or Heston just preferred consistency. She couldn’t be sure. Then again, maybe he only had one outfit.
His trademark jeans looked clean, though there was a light blue patch over one knee—something new and different. Everything wears out eventually, usually patience, but this man seemed to have plenty of that in reserve, especially when the monthly meetings with Frost became contentious and heated. That’s when Heston’s calm demeanor would step in and keep the peace.
Heston’s pointed boots gleamed with polish, holding a steady black shine that seemed to be one of his trademarks. That and his dark gray dress shirt that never carried a single wrinkle, at least the part she could see under the heavy denim jacket.
Even his neck-wrapped bandana was the same—red and hanging loosely with a heavy knot on the front. It didn’t serve much of a purpose other than to complete whatever message the man was trying to send with his choice of clothing and accessories.
His most noticeable features were his thin, ever-squinting eyes and thick brown mustache, like the whiskers of a push broom, obscuring both of his lips when they were pressed together.
She figured he spent most of the night picking food out of that hairy caterpillar, one that she assumed had been taking refuge below his nose since he first was able to grow facial hair.