Over the Edge by Kathleen Bryant

Author:Kathleen Bryant
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CROOKED LANE BOOKS

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The alarm jolted me from sleep, and I woke feeling the world had slipped off its axis. Dull orange light seeped through the loft’s windows. The usual cacophony of quail and towhees was muted, and the air carried an odd metallic scent tinged with a hint of smoke. I got out of bed, my muscles complaining, and the previous day’s events rolled back through my mind.

After my Lee Ranch misadventure, I’d stumbled through my evening routine like an automaton and fallen into bed early, only to startle awake at one AM, heart pounding, chilly with sweat. I got up to switch off the swamp cooler and heard wind beating against the stable doors below. The wind howled all night, entering my dreams and spinning a sense of dread that still clung to me like the haze dimming the view outside my window.

The heaviness of my limbs had to be the aftereffects of heat exhaustion. The heaviness in my heart wasn’t as easy to explain. I was tempted to crawl back into bed, but I’d set the alarm for a reason. I was going to crash Teejay’s sunrise tour.

I listened to a news podcast as I got ready. A massive dust storm had plowed through Phoenix, snarling rush hour traffic and downing power lines before moving north overnight. At the Grand Canyon, firefighters struggled to hold the containment lines on the Antelope Fire. Meanwhile, the winds had whipped up two new fires in the Tonto National Forest, with crews scrambling to respond.

I switched off the grim report. Though the storm had blown away some of yesterday’s oppressive humidity, we’d top a hundred degrees by afternoon. Even so, I swapped my usual shorts for hiking pants to hide my scratched legs. I drank a glass of water to ease the headache throbbing behind my temples, then took a quick tour around the house and barn to check for damage. A peek into the tack room—no messier than before—reminded me to load the painting into the wagon.

When I pulled into Blue Sky’s driveway, I discovered the gate’s padlock and chain had been replaced with heavier versions. My key was useless. The upgrade was likely in response to the bumper-sticker incident, though if anyone wanted to get to the Jeeps parked behind the building, it would be easy enough to find a cooperative juniper to help scale the cyclone fence. I tried to remember if all the Jeeps had been stickered, or only the ones parked outside, but then I heard Teejay’s truck coming up Airport Road, and I got back in the wagon to wait. If he was surprised to see me, he didn’t show it, sweeping his arm to usher me through with mock gallantry.

Despite the morning chill, the sleeves of his chambray shirt were rolled up past his biceps. He was wearing a leather cuff with a rectangle of stamped silver—a ketoh or Navajo-style bow guard. For some reason, it reminded me of his private tour in the box canyon and underlined why I was here.

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