Shine Not Burn(45)

I made it almost to the gate of the fence that circled a large plot of land around the house before I took my last trip down to face-plant alley. My toe caught another rock or pit or snake or something and the road rose up to greet me in a very unwelcoming way. I got a real up-close and personal taste of what Baker City, Oregon has to offer. I was spitting a mouthful of it out when I rolled over onto my back in the middle of the road.

Above my head was a giant archway of wood with a crest in the middle of it. There were flames and a rope carved into it, and above it all were three Latin words: Luceo non uro.

I whispered them aloud. “Luceo non uro. Shine, not burn.” I closed my eyes and drifted off, remembering a man wearing a cowboy hat and a pair of jeans with a brass-colored belt buckle riding around his waist. That phrase was the last thing I remember that cowboy saying to me.

Shine, not burn.





Chapter Nineteen





“WELL, PICK HER UP THEN, dammit,” said a woman’s voice. “What’s wrong with you, son, you know better than that!”

“Aw, she’s fine. She’s just being dramatic. What’s that thing in her hand?”

“Look at her dry lips, fool. She’s dehydrated and she’s hurt her ankle or her leg. Look at the bottom of her foot there. Tsk-tsk, that one without the shoe is bleeding.” The woman sounded very concerned and caring, unlike the male voice.

“Mack should be the one out here hauling her around. She came out here for him, not me.”

“We’ll hear all about that later, but right now I want her out of the sun and in the living room, pronto. And if you sass me again, you’re going to be on branding duty alone for the next three weeks.”

“For shit’s sake, Ma, you don’t have to get ugly about it! I didn’t say I wasn’t going to do it, I just said it should be Mack taking care of his problems, not me. I’m tired of taking care of his problems.”

The sound of a face getting slapped made me smile in my half-conscious state.

“Don’t you dare, Ian MacKenzie. You might think you’re a grown man, but I have absolutely no problem getting my spatula out and serving you up a heaping helping of bare butt flap jacks, you hear me?”

A loud sigh preceded a subdued, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Now do what I told you to do, and be nice to her. She’s going to think all the MacKenzies are a bunch of savage retards.”

“Ma!” said the man, trying to talk but laughing instead. “That’s not nice at all, is it? Calling your children savage retards… Jesus.”

“I call it like I see it. I’ll be waiting for you inside. Now get to it.”

The sound of gravel-crunching footsteps faded in the distance, leaving me alone with the savage retard, Ian MacKenzie.

“I see you smiling down there. You can stop playing possum with your little purple-haired friend and help me get your big butt up off the ground any day now.”

My eyes flew open. “Excuse me? Did you just insult my butt?”

He shrugged, zero expression on his face. “I call it like I see it and make no apologies.”

I wanted to get up now just so I could give him a heaping helping of whatever his mother had just promised him. “I don’t need your stupid help,” I said, struggling to stand. I slapped his proffered hand away. “Don’t touch me, you savage retard.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Demeaning people with handicaps by using their condition as an insult.” He backed away, giving me plenty of space. “Go ahead then, take care of yourself. I’ll just stand over here and shoot that rattler that’s behind you.”

I spun around, screaming, “What?!” I tried to back up at the same time as I turned, and the combination of movement I’m woefully not qualified to make while wearing one heel sent me once more to the ground. I crabwalk-dragged and scrambled my big butt across the road to put as much distance between me and the serpent as possible.

“Where is it?” I asked breathlessly, staring desperately first into the bushes and then up at him.

The bastard was laughing.

Realization dawned. “There wasn’t a rattlesnake there, was there?”

He shook his head while he laughed at me, tears coming to his eyes. “Damn, girl, you sure can scoot when you have to.”

I whacked him in the leg, making my hand sting from the slap against his leather pant covers. “Help me up, jerk. My ankle’s messed up and now my clothes are ruined too, thanks to you.” Not even crazy drycleaner magic was going to be able to save this suit. And I’d just bought it last month in my favorite store, too. They should put a slogan on the sign coming into town: Baker City, The Dustiest Place on Earth.