But if they were so damn different, why did it feel as though losing her would mean losing a piece of his heart?
Chapter Sixteen
Harvey Stagefeather lived at the end of a long gravel road, the turnoff for which was three miles down another gravel road. Haphazard wires hung from a series of poles that Ross was fairly certain were not electric industry standard, and when they reached the house he was unsurprised to see an enormous satellite dish in the front yard, and an antenna big enough to contact Mars on the roof.
The man himself was a bit of a surprise. Ross had envisioned everything from a hermit, complete with bushy gray beard and suspenders, to a Native American elder, with long gray hair and a piercing gaze. Harvey, it turned out, was a small, well-groomed man in his sixties, with a large nose and close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair. Despite his surroundings he wore a pair of neat khaki pants, a white button-down shirt, and a wool suit-vest.
And he carried a shotgun.
Upside down.
Before Ross could react, Kelsey had grabbed the handle of her door. “You stay in the car,” she said. “I’ll talk to him.”
Even as he began to protest, she was opening the door, holding her hands high over her head. “Mr. Stagefeather?” she called.
Ross threw the car into park, silently uttering every swear word he could think of in his mind. “Kids,” he snapped, “stay in the car.” He opened his door slowly, mimicking Kelsey’s posture with his hands above his head. Despite the absurdity of the situation, adrenaline began coursing through him, sending his heart beating in a crazy, staccato pattern. All he could see was the gun, still clutched in the old man’s hands.
“Who are you?” the incongruous figure demanded. “What do you want?” Stagefeather stared balefully at Kelsey. Ross wondered if he realized that he had the barrel of the gun pointed directly at his own foot.
Keeping her hands high above her head, Kelsey called back. “My name is Kelsey Hanson. I’m here with my friend Ross Bencher. He talked to you about coming by this weekend.”
“Kelsey?” He squinted at the car. “Ross Bencher? From New York?” He brightened. “I wouldn’t have recognized you. You look like a native.”
With obvious relief, the older man set the gun against the front porch railing, the muzzle pointing down. The heavy stock of the gun made it unstable, and Harvey had to lurch to keep it from falling down. With a sigh, he flipped it around and set it with the butt on the ground.
Ross peered down at himself, realizing that after two nights on the trail, he did have a nice thick shadow on his chin—he’d always been able to grow a beard in a weekend—and a small collection of stains on his shorts. His hair likely tufted from his head the way hair did when it hadn’t been washed for a couple of days, and his hiking boots, which had once been miserable and stiff, were now scuffed and covered with a layer of dirt.
“Mr. Stagefeather, you remember that we talked about my coming by this weekend, don’t you?” Though he suspected that the old man was unlikely to use it, he kept a watchful eye on the weapon even as he edged closer to the porch.
Stagefeather nodded. “Of course. Did you bring your children?”
“I did, but they’re in the car. Hiding from your gun.” Ross fixed him with a dark gaze.
“Oh, I’m sorry about that.” Stagefeather lifted a hand to his face in shame. “I get a lot of crazy folk this way. Can’t be too careful.”
“Of course not,” Kelsey said, her voice soothing. “Any chance you could put that gun somewhere inside, though?”
He paused to consider it, then gave a nod. “Good idea. You don’t have to worry, though. I’ve never really liked guns. I just keep it around for the effect. It’s not loaded.”
With a quick turn, he had grabbed the gun and headed inside. Ross shot a look at Kelsey, not entirely comforted by Stagefeather’s confession. “What the hell were you thinking, jumping out of the car like that?” he hissed. “You could have been killed.”
“I had a feeling it was a bluff when I noticed him holding the gun upside down,” she whispered back.
Not yet ready to laugh about the situation, Ross jogged back to the car and poked his head inside the window. “Nothing to worry about, kids,” he said.
Julia’s eyes were wide and round. “Was that a gun? I’ve never seen a real gun before.”
“Dad, I think maybe we should leave,” Luke said. He pushed up his glasses with an unsteady hand. Ross had a vision of punching Stagefeather in the gut for scaring his kids.
Matt was grinning from ear to ear. “Did you see that? Kelsey totally jumped out of the car—while it was moving. Did you see that?”