Rachel the Warrior Pt. 03

Rachel the Warrior

Part Three

by G. Lawrence

Old friends and new problems

Having fallen out with Tom's parents and lost her pregnancy in an accident, Rachel needs time to think. She is 29 years old, engaged to Tom, wealthy and successful, but controversy continues to follow her, for many distrust the powerful world-wide health database she created. The novel is being presented in eight parts, two chapters per episode.

* * * * * *

Chapter Five

RETURN TO KETCHUM

A black SUV pulled into the trailer village near a narrow blue lake. Tall mountains and pine trees surrounded them. The SUV was followed by an RV, which parked across the tar-covered road.

"Here we are," Pamela said, stopping before a green mobile home resting under a lush oak tree. The red trim looked freshly painted.

"Thank you so much for driving me. It's easier than taking the bus," Rachel said. "It will only take a moment to get my bags."

"Our bags," Pamela corrected.

"What do you mean?" Rachel asked.

"I'm staying. With you. In Ketchum."

"You can't do that. You have a corporation to run."

"My most important responsibility is sitting right here next to me."

"Mother, I can't ask you to do this. I may be here a long time."

"Then we'll be here a long time. Let's get our luggage, I need to use the restroom."

Pamela hopped out and waved to the RV. Big Bob waved back, then motioned to his assistants. Darnell and Maverick began unloading equipment, moving into a mobile home across the lane.

"That's a lot of security," Rachel said.

"The last time you were in Ketchum, no one knew who you were. They thought you were Katie Smith. Now everyone knows who you are, and that means a lot of security."

"Life used to be so much simpler," Rachel sighed.

"Burning bridges, afterglow; life has one true fact. Regardless where the journey goes, the path does not lead back," Pamela recited.

"Have you been reading my poetry again?"

"I brought your poetry books and your Jane Austen books," Pamela explained. "You are not going to spend all your time on a computer."

"I'm getting a job."

"A job?"

"I'm going to ask Mrs. Johnson for my job back. Cooking in the diner."

"Honey, you're a billionaire. You don't need to work in a kitchen."

"Yes, I do."

Rachel took a duffel bag from the back of the truck and went up the steps to her old trailer. Donated to the town clinic for visiting specialists, Dr. Meadows was quick to let her have it back for a few months. It hadn't changed. Forty feet long, with two bedrooms, a living room and kitchen, and a customized bathroom, the trailer had all the amenities she needed. Rachel remembered doing much of the repair work herself, while referring to the internet. But as her pregnancy became difficult, the villagers pitched in to make it a home.

Pamela was right behind her. It had taken two years to find Rachel after her mysterious disappearance, and this is where she'd finally found her. The modest décor felt like Rachel. The real Rachel. Not big houses and fancy clothes.

"I was so clueless," Pamela suddenly said.

"Clueless?"

"When we first met, I thought you were a gold-digger. Using that sexy body of yours to get what you wanted."

"You fired me," Rachel recalled.

"And worse. Not a day goes by that I don't regret what I did."

"Mother, you've made up for that so many times. I love you so much. That doesn't mean you need to exile yourself in the mountains."

"I am not leaving you alone. Not now, when you need me most. Are we communicating?"

"Yes, Mother," Rachel conceded.

There was a tap on the door.

"Don't mean to bother anyone," McLane said. "Crew's digging in at my mother's old trailer, and we have a motel down in Harley Flats to screen cars coming up the road."

"You aren't bothering us, Bob. Use whatever resources you need. You realize money is no object?" Pamela said.

"Yes, Mrs. Benson. We'll be discreet, but I won't be taking any chances," McLane replied. He paused, looking at Rachel. "Yes, Missy?"

"Nothing, Mr. McLane. I don't care for myself, but Mother must be safe. Do what you need to," Rachel said.

McLane went back to his headquarters. He was no stranger to Ketchum, activating a map to mark strategic locations.

The ladies unpacked. Rachel was surprised to find Pamela had loaded more into the SUV than she realized, including extra clothes, hiking boots, and a selection of fine wines.

"You came prepared," Rachel observed.

"We aren't going to spend our time together hunched in a dark room," Pamela insisted. "You're planning to work on Level 14, aren't you? Even though it's dangerous?"

"Yes."

"You devoted yourself to the Level 12 extension, and though it was hard, I sensed your joy in the project. You were bringing affordable healthcare to the whole world. There is no joy in Level 14. What makes it so different?"

"I've discovered troubling complications. I'm not sure what the consequences will be."

"I can't stop you, but I will protect you. Don't think I won't."

"I'm a grown woman. I don't need a babysitter."

"You're my daughter."

Rachel tried to give Pamela the stare. The one that couldn't be argued with. Pamela would not relent.

"I get the first bath," Rachel said, finding her robe.

They had guests that evening. Sadie Johnson arrived with Dr. Catherine Meadows. Rachel made meatloaf. Pamela poured the wine.

"It's good to see you again, Sadie," Pamela said when Rachel seemed too quiet. "How's business been?"

"Stayed good, even after Katie left. Thanks again for teaching Manuel, Alice, and Little Manuel how to make all those dishes," Sadie said, a buxom black lady with curly gray hair and vivid brown eyes.

"It wasn't hard," Rachel replied.

"Are you back as Katie Smith, or Rachel Montgomery?" Dr. Meadows asked, slim and medium height, now in her late forties. She kept her touched-up blonde hair trimmed short. Blue eyes gazed out from behind wire-rimmed glasses.

"I don't know. It would be nice to be Katie again."

Pamela, Sadie, and Catherine shared glances.

"Katie it is," Sadie said. "I'll spread the word. All of your friends will want to see you."

"I'm sorry not to have stayed in touch. I've never been good at that," Rachel apologized.

"Honey, you invented a company that's providing healthcare to a hundred million people," Sadie said.

"And we know about the rest," Cathy said. "How has your condition been? Is your medication working?"

"Rachel still has episodes," Pamela answered when Rachel didn't respond. "But she keeps getting better all the time. She has a therapist who makes house calls."

"Dr. Belcher doesn't make house calls," Rachel disagreed.

"Susanne does when I ask her to," Pamela insisted with a frown.

"What are your plans?" Sadie asked. "Fishing? Hiking?"

"I want my job back," Rachel said.

"At the café?" Sadie asked.

"Yes."

"I already have three cooks, honey," Sadie said.

"You don't need to pay me," Rachel offered. "Or I can buy the diner. How much do you want for it?"

"You can make breakfast, same pay as before," Sadie agreed. "And I'm not selling my restaurant."

"Need a waitress?" Pamela asked.

"You?" Cathy said. "Aren't you a billionaire two or three times over?"

"I need to stay close to my daughter," Pamela explained.

Sadie and Cathy looked at each other. There was more going on than they thought.

"Have you ever been a waitress?" Sadie asked.

"No," Pamela replied.

"What have you done?" Sadie said.

"I'm a corporate lawyer."

"No doubt you could get an order right, but I don't need my customers cross-examined. How about you be a hostess? That way I don't have to worry about you dropping my dishes."

"Thank you, Sadie. Thank you very much," Pamela said. "I won't be taking a paycheck. It would put me in a bad tax bracket."

They all laughed.

* * * * * *

Rachel was up before dawn, putting on her warmest coat. The mid-January weather was frosty. Finding Pamela still asleep, she gave her a kiss on the cheek and quietly slipped outside. McLane was waiting for her.

"I can walk. It's not far," Rachel said.

"Walk or drive, I don't care. But I'm going with you," McLane replied.

Rachel saw he'd found a small pickup truck for getting around town. Easier than moving the RV. She climbed in, puffing against the cold. The drive to Sadie's only took a few minutes.

The small café, nestled between the general store and the gas station, was best suited to sixteen patrons, but could squeeze in twenty. A checkerboard floor and candy-striped wallpaper were reminiscent of the 1960s. Framed photos showed local landmarks. Mountains. Lakes. A waterfall.

"Early as always," Sadie said, letting them in the back door. McLane quickly found a table that would allow him to see the kitchen while watching the dining area. He had a laptop for his consulting work. Rachel rushed into the kitchen.

"Hi, Katie. Heard you were back," Manuel greeted, dressed in whites and firing up the stove. A big man in his early forties, the longtime cook had thick arms, curly black hair, and a ready smile.

"Not mad I'll be annoying you again?" Rachel said.

"Never," he replied.

"You're the chef now. Just tell me what you need," Rachel offered.

"Thank you for that, but we both know who the chef is."

"How's the family? How's Little Manuel?"

"Graduated in June, but he's called Manny nowadays. Dating is awkward when everyone still calls him Little Manuel."

"He's a fine young man. Is he still working for Sadie?"

"Part-time. He'll be along soon."

Rachel found white pants, a white jacket, and an apron. She began pulling out eggs, onions, tomatoes, cheeses, diced ham, green peppers, and her favorite spices. Nothing had changed much since she'd left Ketchum ten months before.

"Oh my God," they heard Sadie exclaim from the front. Rachel and Manuel went to look. There was a crowd waiting for them to open.

"There's twenty people out there. Maybe more," Manuel said.

They heard a knock on the back door. Rachel went to answer.

"You left without me, sweetheart," Pamela said, shaking from the frost.

"You looked so warm and comfy," Rachel replied.

"I'm not now. Do we have coffee?"

They went out to the counter. Sadie had all the coffee pots going.

"I didn't expect this," Sadie said. "What do you think, Manuel?"

"I don't think we can keep them out there in this weather," Manuel answered.

Sadie looked at her staff, sorry she hadn't called more in.

"Okay, everyone, let's do this," Sadie said. "Pam, you're up."

Pamela had barely touched her coffee. She found a stack of menus, unlocked the door, and prepared to let the mob in a few at a time, wondering how she was going to seat so many. None of them waited for instructions.

"Welcome to Sadie's Diner," Pamela said as the crowd surged past her. A few took menus. Most were scrambling for chairs or places at the counter. Unlucky customers lined up along the back wall. It was a motley assortment. Truck drivers and firefighters. Lumberjacks. Shopkeepers. Seniors. Nurses from the clinic. Two were Highway Patrol.

"Sorry, Pam, looks like you're a waitress after all," Sadie said. "Start serving the coffee."

Pamela rushed from table to table, setting out cups while asking who wanted cream and sugar. No one gave her a second look. The younger Manuel arrived a moment later with his girlfriend, Gabriela. They rolled up their sleeves and got to work.

"This is crazy," Pamela said to Sadie. "Was it always like this?"

"Folks may have taken Katie a bit for granted. Now that she's back, it's their way of saying welcome home," Sadie replied.

"Not because she's Rachel Montgomery?"

"No one around here cares about that. This is for her."

The room remained noisy. Sadie got rolls and biscuits going.

"Katie!" someone shouted, followed by more shouts. "Katie! Katie! Katie!"

Rachel burst through the kitchen's swinging doors, causing the throng to fall silent. She had her hair up in a net covered by a white cap. Rose-colored glasses disguised her big brown eyes.

"We'll serve everyone as fast as we can," Rachel said in a firm voice. "But those who are served first will be having omelets. Who wants omelets?"

"Omelets! Omelets! Omelets!" they chanted, pounding the tables with their forks.

Pamela saw Rachel burst into a big smile. She looked relaxed. Happy. Pamela finally realized why coming back was so important.

The morning stayed busy. As some left, more arrived. Sadie ordered extra supplies from the general store. Pamela saw a chair open next to Big Willy and got off her feet.

"Enjoying breakfast?" Pamela asked.

She'd known Big Willy from her earlier visit, a fiftyish gray-haired Native American, mildly overweight, with a round face and long silver hair. He wore a carved turquoise eagle on a silver chain around his neck.

"It's great, Mrs. Smith. Always has been."

Incognito after finding Rachel in Ketchum, that had been Pamela's alias.

"My real name is Benson. Pamela Benson."

"I'm still William Horse Chief."

"They all seem to relish the food. I do, too. But ... Katie ... isn't a professional chef. She's never been to a school that I know of."

"That's what makes it so good," Big Willy said. "Katie ain't pretentious. She don't put on airs. She knows what people like, and knows how to make it. And she makes it with love."

Pamela noticed Big Willy gaze into the kitchen, seeing Rachel dashing back and forth between the stove and the preparation station. He clearly adored her.

Needing to get away for a few minutes, Pamela slipped into the kitchen and put on an apron. Rachel briefly frowned, then relented, handing her a wooden spoon.

"Stir the grits," Rachel ordered.

"Busy morning, isn't it?" Pamela said.

Rachel didn't look up. She was stuffing baked ham and green onions into four omelets at once, carefully combining peppered cheeses, milk, and low salts.

"No talking now, Mrs. Benson," Manuel advised. "Wait 'til table five has their order."

As the plates were filled with omelets, hash browns, toast, and fruit, the dishes were pushed through the serving window where young Manny whisked them away.

"Hello, Mother," Rachel said, a bright look in her eyes. "Having fun?"

"Fun? We're working like dogs."

"It's wonderful."

"Table two, Katie. #2, #3, two #5's," Sadie called out.

Rachel was instantly back at the stove, moving with a thoroughness that had Pamela astonished. She'd seen Rachel make hundreds of meals for the family, but never anything on such a large scale.

"Pam! Table six," Sadie summoned.

"It never ends," Pamela said, returning to the dining room.

"Your mom seems nice," Manuel said. "What does she do in real life?"

"She's a lawyer," Rachel replied.

Manuel glanced back and shook his head.

"No one's perfect," he muttered.

* * * * * *

Pamela followed Sadie back to her residence after a long day. It was the largest house in town, two stories with eaves and tall chimneys, but needing paint.

"Sure I can't help?" Pamela asked, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

"You've done more than your share," Sadie said, finding a bottle of white wine and two glasses.

"This is a lovely home," Pamela complimented. "Victorian houses like this have always fascinated me."

"Me and my Frank bought it when we first came to Ketchum twenty-five years ago. He passed on ten years after, so it's bigger than I need. But I still like it."

"Are you okay with money? The diner can't bring in that much."

Sadie gave Pamela a slow smile.

"I do fine," she said.

"If--"

"Pam, I realize money means different things to us, you being a billionaire and all. All I need are my friends, these mountains, and the trees."

"You've been so good to my daughter. I'll do anything for her. And I'll do anything for those who love her. To give her peace of mind, if nothing else."

"I appreciate that," Sadie said, filling their glasses. "Though Rachel will always be Katie to me. Can you tell me what's got her so worked up?"

"She became engaged to a nice man, and pregnant again. There was an accident, and Rachel lost the baby. Relations with Tom's family have gone badly."

"That poor girl. Trouble just seems to follow her around."

"That's an understatement."

"Katie was three months pregnant the first time she came here. She got off the bus where she shouldn't have, ordered a cheeseburger, then almost wandered off into the forest. She seemed so aimless. Is that why she's come back? To find herself?"

"I don't know. But whatever she's facing, she's not going to face it alone. Not this time."

"Don't mean to pry none, but people talk. Katie's your daughter?"

"Yes, I adopted her four years ago."

"And before that, she was your ex-husband's girlfriend?"

"It does sound strange, doesn't it?"

"Bit more than strange."

Pamela sighed, picked up her wine, and went to sit next to the window. Sadie joined her.

"I was married to Daniel for twenty-five years," Pamela said, "and he cheated on me for all of them. We had three children, businesses, deep family connections, and we were constantly in the press. I turned a blind eye to avoid bad publicity, but that doesn't mean I didn't resent it."

"That must have been hard."

"It finally led to our divorce. My children were grown, so I backed away from the business. Spent my time at the country club. Skiing. Playing tennis. In a way, I was aimless, too. And sad, and angry. Then Daniel suddenly died. You know the story. Everyone does. After tying up his young girlfriend, his heart gave out. The blogs. The gossip. The humiliation. It was too much. I was furious. Our family became a joke, and the scandal put our business interests at risk. And I blamed Rachel for everything."

"Katie? What did she do? It wasn't her fault that--"

"I know, I know. I was so wrong. I knew the type of women Danny liked. Aggressive. Greedy. Brazen. Beautiful to a fault. I just assumed that's who Rachel was, out to get Danny's money. Money that belonged to my children.

"I went to confront Rachel in her tiny slum apartment, but she was half-dead from pneumonia. I summoned my daughter to take care of her so the press wouldn't find out, and a few days later, Rory stormed into my office madder than I'd ever seen her. She totally called me out. So, I went to see Rachel again. By then, Rory had moved her to Canby Place. I showed up to catch her by surprise. In her sick bed."

Pamela paused, using a napkin to wipe tears from her eyes.

"God, she was just the sweetest little thing. So kind, and shy, and forgiving. But also lonely and damaged. Before I knew it, I wanted to help her. And protect her. And I grew to love her like a daughter. Rachel thinks I saved her, but she saved me."

"Katie is lucky to have you. She can be a handful," Sadie remarked.

"You have no idea," Pamela agreed.

"She didn't come back just to cook in my café. How can we help her?"

"I haven't figured that out yet."

* * * * * *

It was a quiet evening at Hatter's Tavern, only an hour from closing. Mr. Simmons was washing glasses. Pamela sat at the bar sipping a vodka martini, reading the Wall Street Journal. Big Willy was in the backroom, causing a fuss.

"What is it, Willy?" Pamela asked, strolling into the billiard parlor.

"Katie beat me again. Four times in a row," he said, leaning on his que stick. "I've lost eight dollars."

Rachel sat on a stool in the corner, toying with the 8-ball.

"Rachel? I didn't know you even played pool," Pamela said.

"Daniel taught me years ago," Rachel answered.

"Did he teach you to be a hustler?" Pamela asked.

"I don't know what that means."

"It means making your opponent think you're not good, and then betting money on the game."

"Well, Daniel did eventually mention that," Rachel explained. "When we first started playing, he wanted me to bet my clothes. He won a lot. Bending over the table almost naked was so embarrassing. He would slap me on the ass when I tried to make a shot. When he couldn't beat me anymore, he lost interest."

Pamela's face turned red. She had no problem imagining her late ex-husband's eagerness for such a game.

"Daniel was a good player. A very good player," Pamela mentioned.

"He didn't know math," Rachel responded.

"I want a chance to win my eight dollars back," Willy said. "Double or nothing."

"Do you have sixteen dollars?" Rachel asked.

"I can borrow it," Willy insisted.

"Rack the balls," Rachel agreed, finding chalk for her que stick.

As Big Willy rushed to put the balls in a triangle, Pamela drew Rachel aside.

"Are you really going to take that poor man's money?" Pamela whispered.

"No, Mother," Rachel said. "We've done this before. Willy has so much fun when he finally wins. I'll let him buy me a beer."

"You are quite the gamester," Pamela suggested with a smile.

"It's taken me time, but I'm learning."

* * * * * *

It only took a few days for strangers to start filtering into town, Rachel's presence having spread to the internet. Locals were polite without being encouraging. Rachel avoided them. Sadie brought in extra help, her diner being the only restaurant in town. The occasional overzealous guest was asked to leave.

"I'm sorry about this," Rachel apologized to an assembly of friends. They were in the community center, two dozen neighbors sitting in folding chairs. "I didn't expect to be a secret, but I didn't think they'd follow me around like this, either."

"We're taking steps," Fire Chief Jonas Hasselhoff said.

"Steps?" Pamela asked.

"There aren't any motels in Ketchum," Hasselhoff explained. "No public campgrounds. Merchants have a right to restrict their parking. Sheriff Campbell is arranging to impound unauthorized vehicles."

"Will he arrest anyone who harasses my daughter?" Pamela asked.

"It will need to be overt, but he's keeping a deputy here," Hasselhoff replied.

"Thank you, Jonas," Sadie said. "Everyone, these tourists may be pests, but let's not overreact. Katie is a celebrity. Smile, be polite, and shoo them on their way."

"I hope that's enough," Dr. Meadows said. "A small clinic like ours can't handle too many patients."

"Maybe I should go?" Rachel suggested.

"No," several answered.

"Katie, this is your home away from home," Sadie insisted. "You're one of us, and we stand by our own."

"You got that straight," Big Willy said, clenching a fist.

"What do you think, Mr. McLane?" young Manny asked.

"We're recruiting extra help. My mother's trailer sleeps six," McLane said. "We won't interfere with anyone's business. I know this is bringing extra money into town."

"Screw extra money," old Mr. Hammer said, sitting next to his elderly collie. "These outsiders are a nuisance. We'll close the road if we have to."

Many heads nodded, even some of the shopkeepers. Only Martin Simmons, who owned the saloon, found the sentiment distressing.

"Don't worry, Mr. Simmons," Pamela said, reading his expression. "I won't let you suffer for my daughter. Would a check for $10,000 help?"

"No, Pam, don't do that," Sadie protested. "No one in this town needs to be bribed. Do we, Marty?"

"It's true I like the extra business," Martin confessed. "But Sadie's right. Half the men in this town wouldn't be here if Katie hadn't saved them from the Ringwood Fire. Including my nephew. This goes beyond money."

"I wouldn't be here, either," Hasselhoff said.

"Or my son," Manuel added.

"Or my Goldie," Mr. Hammer said, hugging his dog.

"Just the same, if anyone has financial trouble, come to me," Pamela insisted. "You've made yourselves Katie's family, and that means you're my family."

After the meeting broke up, Rachel, Pamela, and Dr. Meadows went for a walk near the ice-covered lake. Rachel drifted off, climbing an outcrop for a better view.

"I'm really impressed, Cathy," Pamela said. "The way this town has rallied around Rachel. I'm starting to get it now."

"Is it that hard to understand?"

"I was born in Philadelphia. Attended Yale, then Columbia. Moved to Los Angeles. I've always lived in big cities. Here everyone knows everybody else. They depend on each other."

"Small towns are like that," Meadows agreed.

"Rachel seems to fit in easily enough."

"Which is surprising for someone born in a big city."

"Rachel was born in Palmdale. It's mostly desert. Partially rural. Hell, it wasn't even a city until fifteen years ago. She lived alone at Harvard. Until my late husband started dating her, she'd never had a boyfriend. Until Rory barged into Rachel's life, she'd never had a close friend. This town has helped her open up."

"When I learned about Rachel's dissociative disorder, I did some studying," Cathy mentioned. "Apparently, for some, forming attachments is difficult."

"It can be very sad. Maybe that's why I worry so much."

When Rachel didn't return, Pamela went looking for her. There was a good trail near the lake, but climbing the rugged slopes could be challenging. She found Rachel sitting cross-legged on a ledge twenty feet above the path. It took a few minutes to reach her.

"Is everything all right, honey? Honey?" Pamela asked.

She discovered Rachel in a mild haze, her eyes glassy. Pamela had Rachel turn to face her, took her hands, and softly whispered her name. Rachel gradually came around.

"Hello, Mother," she said. "What are you doing up here?"

"Spending time with you."

"It's pretty, isn't it?"

"It's very pretty. It's also cold."

"How long do you think it will last?" Rachel asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Climates are changing, and not in a good way. Will all of this be gone someday? The trees? The lake? The wildlife? Will people still be able to live here?"

"I'm sure we'll figure everything out," Pamela assured her. "Maybe we should go back?"

"Go back?"

"To the trailer. We can have dinner."

"That sounds good. I'll make pork chops," Rachel offered, helping Pamela down the hill.

"You're stronger than ever," Pamela remarked.

"Not for much longer. I'm almost thirty."

"Let's face that crisis six months from now."

"I have a new concept for Level 14. Some people may not like it."

"What wouldn't they like?"

"They would lose conveniences they think are important."

"Let's be careful about that," Pamela warned.

* * * * * *

It was a pleasant March morning. Snow had fallen the night before, leaving a light frost outside the small white church. Rachel and Pamela came down the steps dressed modestly, befitting the local custom. They found a crowd of fifty tourists, their cars parked illegally along the highway.

"Hold back," McLane ordered, sending Darnell forward. Rachel noticed Big Willy and Captain Hasselhoff off to the side. She didn't see Deputy Vega. Manny and Gabriela were selling coffee and donuts from a cart.

"Five weeks in a row," Dr. Meadows said. "This is becoming a regular event."

"At least they aren't waving signs this time," Pamela responded. "What was that last idiot blathering? Kiss me, Rachel?"

"I didn't kiss him. I have a fiancé," Rachel protested.

"No one expected you to kiss him, honey," Pamela said.

"Those other cranks bothered me more. The ones shouting about WHD," Meadows complained. "There are too many crazies blaming Rachel for a program that's helping millions."

"They bothered me, too. Where's that deputy?" Pamela asked.

"He must be here somewhere," Meadows replied.

"I'll find him. Stay with Katie," Pamela said, moving toward the edge of the crowd.

"How have the numbers been?" Meadows asked.

"Pesky," Rachel confessed. "No deep hazes, but they've been annoying."

"Any clue what the trouble is?"

"Something is wrong. I don't know what, it's just a feeling."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"No. Thank you, though. I have a doctor in Switzerland who prescribes medication. It helps most of the time. This is different. A matrix problem."

"Level 12?"

"It functions okay. My cousin Sheba has techs for that."

"Level 14? Oh, I've always wanted to ask. Why isn't there a Level 13?"

"I'm not allowed to talk about that, but it doesn't have anything to do with me."

"Someone else invented a Level 13?"

"They tried."

"Tried?"

"There are design flaws."

A little girl no more than seven approached with an autograph book. She seemed shy. Rachel urged her forward.

"What can I do for you, sweetheart?" Rachel asked.

"Will you sign my book, Miss Montgomery?" the little girl requested.

"Of course. What's your name?" Rachel said.

"Marley Chen," she answered, offering a curtsy. Rachel thought she was very cute. She took the book, scribbling Montgomery rather than Marbury.

There was an altercation near the road. Someone shouted, "Freedom stealer!" A voice cried out in alarm as a fight erupted. Darrel rushed over, McLane providing back-up. A tall, skinny woman with wild yellow hair appeared waving a sign. It read, "WHD is the Devil's Tool."

"Those people are such pests," Meadows said, watching the pushing and shoving.

Rachel looked up from the autograph book to see an overweight man in a black baseball cap moving in front of her. When he was fifteen feet away, he raised a double-barreled shotgun from under his coat, pointing it directly at her.

"Time's up, freedom stealer," the bloated man declared. The black eyes were hard set, his chin tucked tight.

Rachel pulled the little girl behind her as Meadows stared in disbelief. Then Rachel dropped her handbag, causing the angry man to watch it fall. When he looked back up, Rachel was holding a.40 caliber pistol. It was aimed at his head.

"You don't got the nerve," her would-be attacker said.

The cold gleam in Rachel's dark brown eyes told a different story. Her posture was erect, the arm held straight. He realized she wasn't afraid to kill him. She didn't look afraid of anything.

The moment hung in silence. Rachel said nothing. Her attacker stood frozen. Dozens of onlookers were backing away. Others were recording the confrontation with their phones. A press photographer took a picture. If there was any shooting, none doubted Rachel would get off the first shot.

Suddenly, Big Willy charged from the retreating crowd to grab the black-hatted man in a bear hug, dragging him to the ground. The shotgun went off, scattering the crowd further. There were screams of terror. Rachel knelt, shielding Marley with her body.

McLane and his security came running. There was shouting. They tackled two of the assailant's big friends. McLane clubbed another with his pistol. His team went after the protesters, shoving them back into the roadway. Deputy Vega arrived with handcuffs.

Meadows called for help. A piece of the assailant's boot was missing, and part of his foot with it. The red blood was bright on the white snow.

Rachel picked up her handbag, put the pistol away, and turned to Marley.

"I'm so sorry. Are you all right?" Rachel asked.

"That was awesome," Marely replied. "You kicked that guy's ass."

"Go find your folks, honey. Let them know you're okay," Rachel urged.

Meadows was working on the big idiot's shattered foot, trying not to let him bleed out. Rachel knelt next to Big Willy, still on the ground trying to catch his breath.

"Are you okay?" Rachel asked.

"Just a few scratches. How are you?"

"Relieved I didn't need to shoot anybody."

"Would you have shot him?"

"I was doing the math," she replied. And then she bent over, giving Big Willy a kiss on the cheek. His face turned red.

"Thank you so much," she whispered. "Thank you for always being my friend."

McLane came up as the crowd loitered in the area, taking pictures.

"You had him cold," McLane complimented.

"If he was going to shoot me, he shouldn't have wasted time making speeches," Rachel criticized.

Pamela burst through the mob, grabbing her daughter.

"Oh my God, oh my God," Pamela exclaimed, hugging her tight. "Let's get you out of here."

"Relax, Mother. Everything is okay," Rachel said. "Let's not be undignified."

* * * * * *

Chapter Six

THE WILD WEST

"It's gone viral," Pamela reported, looking at her phone.

"We knew it would," McLane said.

They were drinking coffee in the mobile home's breakfast nook. Rachel sat at the window looking out at the lake. The photo of her with the raised gun, staring down her attacker, was all over the internet. Cable news was running the story nonstop. Witnesses were giving interviews.

"The poor town is overrun with reporters," Rachel said. "This has been wonderful, but I think it's time we move on. I gave Mrs. Johnson notice today."

"Time to go home?" Pamela asked.

"Briefly," Rachel replied.

"Only briefly?" McLane said.

"I have business in Nevada," Rachel answered.

"Sweetheart, the last time you were in Nevada, you were kidnapped, beat up, and shot," Pamela pointed out.

"Mr. McLane will be there to protect me. Won't you?" Rachel asked.

"Always," he confirmed.

"Please help me understand. Juniper Springs is a ghost town in the middle of nowhere," Pamela requested.

"I haven't been completely honest about that," Rachel admitted.

"Explain," Pamela demanded, brow furrowed.

"Let's have dinner. And drinks," Rachel suggested. She went to the narrow kitchen, digging in the refrigerator for ingredients. They soon smelled chicken fettucine, Rachel's favorite.

"She's got me nervous," McLane whispered, leaning over the table. "She's hardly reacted at all to that scumbag pointing a shotgun at her. It's like it didn't happen."

"Whatever's been on her mind, apparently getting shot doesn't rate very highly."

"Has she mentioned anything?"

"I think it has to do with Level 14," Pamela said. "She's had several breakthroughs. Instead of getting excited, it seems to trouble her."

"If that matrix works, wouldn't it repair the planet's ecology? Remove poisons from the air and water. Clean the oceans. Undo hundreds of years of abuse. Why wouldn't she want that?"

"Maybe we just need to be patient. I don't know if we can even imagine the things that go on in her head. Half the time she's on another plane of existence."

Rachel returned with three steaming dishes, then opened a bottle of Pamela's vintage red wine. Though she was quiet, she didn't seem unhappy or preoccupied. Her food was eagerly devoured.

"Come on, eat. It's really good," Rachel encouraged when she caught Pamela and McLane watching her.

"Okay, what's this about Juniper?" Pamela asked.

"Back in the covered wagon days, the town was called Juniper Hot Springs. When mining operations began blasting the hills for gold and silver, the springs dried up. Or so everyone thought. That's why Mason and his gang were accumulating land along Highway 93. He discovered the hydrothermal channels are still active."

"What does that mean?" McLane inquired.

"If the hot springs are restored, Juniper won't be a ghost town anymore," Rachel explained. "Tourists will pour in. They'll need a hotel. Stores. Restaurants. A casino. The land will be worth a fortune. My friends in Juniper are buying up all of Mason's forfeited parcels, and I'm doing the financing."

"You? I've never heard you give a damn about money," McLane said.

"It's not about money, Mr. McLane," Rachel protested. "It's about renewal. Jobs. Schools. Churches. Maybe a hospital and a university. Giving hope. It's going to be exciting."

Rachel looked perky, her eyes bright. Anticipating a challenge that had nothing to do with engineering a matrix.

* * * * * *

Two days later, Rachel said a tearful goodbye to Ketchum, climbing aboard McLane's RV for better security on the way down the mountain. It only took three hours to reach Canby Place, perched on its ridge above the Pacific Ocean.

"It will be quiet without the children," Rachel said as they entered the long, rambling ranch house. They were greeted at the door by Rachel's housekeeper, a plump, older woman with white hair and a Southern accent.

"They'll only be in Denver for a week," Martha explained. "Your Aunt Hattie is anxious to spoil them."

"Where is Mrs. McLane?" Rachel asked.

"Jackie is taking the break to visit her granddaughters," Martha said. "It's just been me and your beau."

"Tom's here?"

"Been working on your cottage."

"Mr. McLane, this is a good time for you to spend time at home," Rachel said. "I keep you away too much."

"My team is setting up in the new gatehouse," McLane agreed. "Push a red button and they'll pour in."

"Let's hope that doesn't happen," Rachel said. "Mother, this has been wonderful. Thank you so much. But you have a business to run. I'll be okay."

"I'm just a phone call away, sweetheart," Pamela said, giving her a hug.

Pamela and McLane returned to the parking circle. The late winter roses were beautiful, the trees preparing to sprout spring flowers.

"Have you been working hard?" Rachel asked.

"No, honey. With everyone gone, I sit around all day reading my magazines," Martha replied. Rachel knew she was joking. Maintaining such a big house was a full-time job.

"Take a few days off, if you want. I can have my jet fly you to Laughlin to visit your daughter."

"You have a jet?"

"Sheba made me buy it. Something about a tax write-off. I don't fly it, though. A pilot does that. I'm just a passenger."

"Honey, last I heard, you didn't even have a driver's license."

"I can't drive. What if I fell into a haze and crashed into somebody?"

"I'm sorry."

"It is what it is. One less thing to worry about. Is Tom on the hill?"

"Last I saw."

"We should have some privacy."

"The caretaker's cottage needs sprucing up. I'll see to it," Martha agreed.

Rachel dragged her bag into the master bedroom, took a shower, worked on her makeup, and found the prettiest dress she had that was warm enough for the chilly weather. Then she cautiously opened the back door.

In day's past, she'd have gone for a swim despite the cold. She was glad to see the pool fenced off to protect the children. The terraces leading to the top of the ridge were rich with broad green lawns, ancient trees and flower gardens. She felt Mr. Garcia was doing a wonderful job of maintaining the grounds.

Where an old red barn once stood on the top of the hill, there was now a new house under construction. The shingle roof was already in place. The oak floors laid. A broad-shouldered man stood on a ladder, framing windows. Rachel caught her breath, nervously walking up the brick path.

"Hello, handsome," she said, stopping ten feet away.

Tom nearly fell off the ladder, seeing big brown eyes staring up at him.

"Rach, you're home," he said, scrambling down.

"Observant as always."

They stood for a moment, unsure. Then Rachel smiled and jumped into his arms.

"Take me to bed," she boldly whispered.

Two hours later, in the Roman tub, Rachel was relaxing in the soapy bubbles while Tom washed her hair.

"Good trip?" he asked.

"Until that guy tried to shoot me, it was a great trip. I hope you weren't worried."

"I saw the videos. Everyone did. That idiot is the one who was scared. Whatever happened to him?"

"Probably going to jail. Once they find crutches for him."

"Did you hear about Lupe Manners?"

"No, what about her?"

"Apparently her network was egging on those protesters. Aunt Hattie finally had enough."

"Aunt Hattie?"

"Your great-aunt used Marbury Industries to put pressure on Manners' cable advertisers, waited for the stock to drop, and took control of the network. Then she blackballed the entire staff."

"I don't know what that means," Rachel said.

"It means Aunt Hattie has drawn a line in the sand."

"I don't know what that means, either."

"Aunt Hattie loves you, Rach. She's made it clear that anyone attacking you is going to pay a price. A big price."

"I love Aunt Hattie, too. She shouldn't get so worked up over this."

"Manners has been spreading lies about you for years, and now she's inspired her conspiracy-loving freaks to go after you."

"I guess."

"Speaking of conspiracy-loving freaks, can we talk about my father?"

"What about him?"

"I'm no happier with him than you are, but he is sorry. And it was an accident."

"I know. General Taylor showed me the security videos. I got scared and overreacted."

"You were in a haze."

"Maybe if I hadn't kept my condition secret, your father would have been more careful."

"It wasn't your fault, Rach."

"I didn't want your parents to know you were marrying a crazy woman. Not on our first meeting. And I lost our baby."

Tom pulled her closer.

"We'll have more babies," he whispered.

"I hope so."

"If you never want to talk to Dad again, I understand. And if you don't want me to talk to him, I won't."

"Oh, no, Tom. That can't happen. Nothing is more important than family."

"What should we do?"

"Your father scares me. Like my father scared me. I can't help that. Maybe with Dr. Belcher's help, that will change. For now, let's not look for trouble. I'll be polite and keep my distance."

"Mom will be relieved to hear this."

"I respect your mother. I like your brothers. Eric and Rory are friends. Let's not let my issues get in the way of our families."

"You're amazing. You know that, don't you?"

"Colossians 3:13."

"I'll never be as good at that than you are."

"Forbearing one another, and forgiving one another, if any man have a quarrel against any: even as Christ forgave you, so also do ye."

"Thanks, Rach. I was worried this would be a problem forever."

"I don't ever want you worried because of me. I love you so much."

"I love you even more, and that's why I'll always worry about you."

They went back in the bedroom, Rachel nestling in his arms under a thick quilt.

"Rach, did you know there's a steel reinforced basement under the old barn? It looks like a bomb shelter."

"That was Daniel's dungeon," she explained.

"Dungeon? You mean--"

"Don't ask questions if you aren't prepared for the answers."

Tom chose not to ask.

"Want to come to Nevada with me?" Rachel invited.

"Why in the world would you ever go back to Nevada?"

"I own a town there."

* * * * * *

They arrived in Juniper Springs late in the afternoon. Rachel jumped out of the rented town car first, heading for a tavern called Casper's Ghost. Tom and Rory were on her heels. It was a fine winter day, cold and clear. The Nevada desert reached out to the surrounding foothills filled with cactus, scraggily trees, and sagebrush.

"Rach, wait up!" Rory called out, unable to catch her.

"No!" Rachel shouted back.

McLane's RV was right behind them, rushing into a parking spot. Rachel burst through the front doors.

"Hi, Sam. What's on tap?" Rachel said, taking her usual seat at the bar.

"Katie! Or is it Rachel Montgomery?" Sam replied, a burly fortyish man with dark curly hair and a big grin. His white vest and black fedora were his trademark.

"Better call me Rachel now that we're business partners."

A moment later, Rory and Tom ran in, frantically looking in every direction. They found elk heads mounted on the walls, a jukebox, a pool table, and sawdust on the floor. And Rachel sitting on a tall stool, getting a beer, smiling in their direction.

"You remember Sam Bridger, don't you?" Rachel said.

"Of course. Good to see you again, Sam," Tom said, shaking the big man's hand.

"We only saw each other for a minute last summer," Rory said, also reaching for a handshake. "I'm Rory Benson, Rachel's sister. I'm not an international party girl anymore. I'm a nurse."

"A very good nurse, as I recall. Patty Rogers still talks about you," Sam mentioned. "But if you want to party, that's okay, too. This is a saloon."

"Thank you, Sam. I'll have what Rachel's having," Rory replied.

"Me, too," Tom said.

"Squirrel Nut it is," Sam announced.

The bar had eight customers, all on their phones, texting. McLane arrived with a frown, placing Darnell at the door.

"You are a pill," McLane complained.

"I was thirsty," Rachel responded.

"We're setting up at the motel across the street. Maverick is watching the road," McLane informed.

"Don't worry. I have my gun," Rachel said, shaking her shoulder bag. "Say hello to Maisie for me. We'll want suites."

"You be careful," McLane replied. "Just because those fanatics in Ketchum are going down hard doesn't mean others won't copycat them."

"I'll be fine," Rachel assured. "Sam, let's have cheeseburgers. You still have chili, don't you?"

"Best chili north of Wells," Sam confirmed.

Rachel moved everybody to a red leather booth. Music played in the background, mostly pop and country western. Tom knew Rachel would want dancing. She always did. A newcomer arrived.

"Why hello there, Pebble. What brings you back to nowhere?" Grubby Barnes asked. The squat grubstake miner was still wearing overalls with suspenders, a black and red checkered shirt, and a long yellow scarf. His bushy beard was gray as ever.

"Hi, Grubby. I thought you were in New York on a book tour?" Rachel said, shifting over to make room for him. "How's Hank?"

"That old mule is ornery as ever," Grubby replied. "The book tours got old. City folks kin git a bit oppressive, always askin' questions and wantin' autographs. You read my book, didn't you?"

"No."

"It's about you."

"I don't need to read about me. Have you made money?"

"More than I expected. Though them pesky reporter fellows kept claimin' I was embellishing your adventures a might."

"Didn't you?" Rachel said.

"Reckon I did, Pebble. Reckon I did." He pulled a bottle of Jack Daniels from his coat pocket, pouring some into everyone's beer glasses without asking. "Can't stay. Got a new girlie waitin' fer me down at the Roadhouse. We goin' after them springs?"

"Friday morning," Rachel said. "We'll need mules, lots of rope, flashlights, and four sticks of TNT."

"Sounds like a rollickin' time. Pick you up at seven. Wear your clothes this time."

"Yes, sir," Rachel agreed.

There was a pause. Rory and Tom looked curious.

"When I still had amnesia, Grubby came by one morning to take me prospecting. I got dressed in front of him," Rachel explained.

"Stripped herself stark naked. Damn near gave me a heart attack," Grubby said.

"I promise to be more careful," Rachel responded with a grin.

"See that you do," Grubby said before jumping up and running out. He nodded to McLane as he passed.

"He's a character," Rory remarked.

"TNT?" Tom asked.

"I need it for sounding the caves," Rachel explained.

"Who's going to handle it?" Tom said.

"I will. It's not hard. As long as you don't make a mistake."

It didn't take long for the saloon to fill up, forty patrons in the booths and at the bar. Old comrades, those who had protected Rachel during the Juniper standoff, were quick to resume fond acquaintances. Leather boots and cowboy hats were common.

Patty and Miles Rogers, the town's nurse and paramedic, soon joined them in the booth. The only black couple in Juniper. LeRoy Beggs, owner of the Golden Shovel Casino across the highway, stopped by to say hello. Rachel had worked in his kitchen for a month during her memory lapse.

"Welcome back, Katie. I have your rooms for you," Maisie greeted, a short, buxom woman who owned the Blue Bell Motel.

"Bought that tea you like," Flo said, a white-haired Hispanic lady who ran the coffee shop.

A few minutes later, the Reverend Jaime arrived, tall and thin, wearing a top hat and frock coat. He spent fifteen minutes trying to out-Bible Rachel. Unsuccessfully.

"What happened to Peter? Does he still live here?" Rachel asked.

No one wanted to answer her question. Rachel pressed them.

"After the district attorney dropped the charges, he came back. He's not a deputy sheriff anymore," Miles reported. "Pete opened a construction company, but few want to do business with him."

"Why?" Rachel asked.

"Why?" Maisie said. "His father had you kidnapped. He told Gus and Bradwell to bury you in the desert."

"They let Mason's thugs run roughshod over the county," Flo added. "They murdered Joanna Silverhawk and left her baby in the woods to starve."

"Peter didn't have anything to do with that," Rachel objected. "Any more than Patty and Miles did. They were on Mason's payroll, too."

"They didn't kill anybody," Flo insisted.

"Peter didn't, either," Rachel responded.

"Rachel, no one really knows what happened out there in the desert that night," Patty said. "We only know that Sheriff Cassell, Gus, and Bradwell were killed, and you and Peter were both shot. No one is really sure who shot who. Peter says that after Gus shot him, he doesn't remember the rest."

Patty paused, waiting for Rachel to elaborate. Rachel sipped her beer.

"Well?" Patty said.

"Well what?" Rachel replied.

"What happened?" Patty pressed.

"On the advice of counsel, I decline to elaborate," Rachel finally said.

"So, there is a mystery?" Miles asked.

"On the advice of counsel, I decline to elaborate," Rachel repeated. They let the subject drop.

After cheeseburgers, Buffalo wings, several pitchers of beer, and dancing, Rachel's party crossed the highway to the Blue Bell. Maisie had her two best rooms ready for them, on the northside next to the parking lot. McLane rented the rooms on either side and had his RV parked in front. Rory visited with Rachel and Tom before turning in.

"Did Mom tell you not to discuss the shooting?" Rory asked, making sure the door was closed.

"All of Mom's lawyers told me to say quiet," Rachel confirmed.

"In Mr. Beggs' casino, when you were bleeding out, you said you shot Peter. Not Gus. And you said you shot Peter's father," Rory recalled.

"It's complicated," Rachel replied.

"You don't have to tell us, if you don't want to," Tom said.

Rachel found three glasses in the cabinet and a bottle of Jim Beam. She poured shots and passed them around before taking a seat on the bed.

"After Joanna and Little Bear were kidnapped, no one was doing anything. Everyone was scared. I pretended to call the FBI, saying I had evidence, so they'd kidnap me. And I programmed a drone to follow us, hoping to find out where Joanna was."

"Everyone has seen that video. You tricked the kidnappers into revealing everything. Even where Joanna's body was, and that her baby was still alive," Rory said.

"It was a good plan," Rachel boasted.

"Except for the part where they made you dig your own grave with a gun to your head," Tom pointed out.

"No plan is perfect," Rachell admitted. "Earlier that day, Grubby showed me where Gus and Bradwell had started digging the grave. We planted a gun there, and after I learned what I could, I shot both of them."

"You did? The cops said they shot each other," Rory said.

"That's how I needed it to look. After erasing that part of the drone's video, I ran to the highway hoping for a ride to Twin Falls. That's when Peter and his father drove up. Sheriff Cassell ordered Peter to check out the gravesite and put me in the backseat of his patrol car. I would have run away, if I could, but there was no place to go."

Rachel paused to take a deep sip of her drink. She didn't sound nervous or stressed.

"Sheriff Cassel got a phone call. It was Mason. While Peter's father was promising to kill me, and Grubby, I slipped my hand out of the handcuffs, picked up his gun, and shot him in the head. Then I went back to the grave and told Peter that if he didn't shoot me, I'd shoot him. And I did. I shot him in the leg, and was going to shoot him again. I fired four or five times. That's why he shot me. He had to. I still don't know why I did that. I must have gotten crazy."

Tom and Rory were quiet.

"I'm glad you have good lawyers," Tom suggested. "It was self-defense, but an ambitious prosecutor could have made it something else."

"No PTSD?" Rory asked.

"Not much, Ro. I did what was necessary," Rachel replied. "I had a plan, and I was listening to the numbers. Maybe little more than I should have."

* * * * * *

They were up early. It wasn't really a ghost town, just a roadside village fallen on hard times. A dozen rustic buildings offered a general store, hardware store, gas station, and a few merchants. Another dozen buildings stood empty. An old warehouse near the creek was the town clinic where Patty and Miles worked. The schoolhouse had closed a few years before.

"Guess this place will be looking different soon," Rory said.

"If they want it to," Tom remarked. "They might not want outsiders coming in and tearing everything up."

His opinion caught Rachel by surprise. She hadn't thought of that.

There wasn't much traffic, except for the occasional freight truck. Most travelers going north preferred the 95 to Oregon or the 80 to Salt Lake City. Small ranches and a few modest mining operations supplied most of the commerce.

The town's only coffee shop was across the highway next to the gas station. It wasn't fancy but looked clean, with big windows, a long counter, and half a dozen booths. Tom and Rory took seats in the corner. Flo rushed to serve coffee. Rachel hesitated.

"I'll be back in a minute," she said, crossing a vacant lot to the clinic. Half an hour later, while Tom and Rory were eating pancakes and sausages, Rachel returned, having changed her clothes. Everybody stopped. Several men stood up to stare.

"What do you think? Patty was holding this for me," Rachel said.

She was wearing a distinctly western ensemble. Tight blue jeans, tall black boots, a calico shirt with a crimson vest, and a brown wide-brim cowboy hat. More striking, she wore a leather holster around her waist holding her pistol, the gun positioned quick-draw style on her hip. The shirt wasn't buttoned at the top, and she wasn't wearing a bra.

"You know how to shoot that, little lady?" a truck driver asked.

"I'm Rachel Montgomery," Rachel replied with a bent brow. Everyone had seen her videos from Ketchum. It answered the man's question.

"That outfit is asking for trouble," Tom said as Rachel slid into their booth.

"How much trouble, Mr. Harper? More than I gave you last night?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

"What is going on with you?" Rory asked.

"What do you mean, Ro?" Rachel replied.

"You've always dressed so ... demurely. Now you look ready for a calendar. I'm the one who's supposed to raise eyebrows."

"I'm almost thirty. Not much time left to have fun," Rachel said.

"I wish you'd stop saying that," Rory complained. "I'm thirty-two. Tom is thirty-four. Our lives haven't ground to a halt."

"You're old," Rachel said with a laugh.

"Are you on your meds?" Rory asked.

"Yes, sister who I love, I'm on my meds," Rachel answered.

"So, what's the plan?" Tom inquired,

"Over the next few days, I need to meet with landowners about the redevelopment plans. Then Grubby and I need to confirm the geological surveys and find the hot springs. I want to visit Jay Silverhawk at his ranch and see my goddaughter, too. At night, we're going to eat thick steaks, drink tons of beer, and have dancing. Lots and lots of dancing."

Flo brought her scrambled eggs, grits, and fruit. Rory and Tom refilled their coffee cups. Rachel drank tea. And then suddenly, Rachel was off again without saying a word, McLane running to keep pace.

"What's going on with her?" Rory asked.

"Something. She's been different since coming back from Ketchum. She won't talk about getting married, or the kids, or anything personal. It's like she's detached."

"It must be Level 14," Rory decided. "She was like this in the final weeks before solving Level 12. At least she's eating. Is she sleeping?"

"Rachel has been especially ... energetic ... in the sack lately. And then she sleeps like a rock."

"At least that's something."

They noticed people in the coffee shop looking up at the TV and murmuring. Some were checking their phones.

"Flo, what happened?" Rory asked.

"Looks like another of them cyberattacks," Flo said, increasing the volume. "They hit Las Vegas. All the electricity is out."

"The whole city?" Tom said.

"Yes, just like they did to those hospitals in Miami, and the transit lines in Chicago. FBI says it's those Nomad guys again," Flo replied.

"This is getting bad," Tom said. "Someone needs to do something."

* * * * * *

Rachel swaggered down the dusty street drawing plenty of attention. She smiled and acknowledged greetings with a tip of her hat. Many still called her Katie.

The old hardware store had a second floor. Leaving McLane at the door, Rachel bounced up the wooden stairs, saw the name on the office, and burst in.

"Hello, Peter, guess who's back?" Rachel said.

Peter Cassel glanced up from his drawing table in surprise. Tall, blond, broad-shouldered, and square-jawed, he resembled Tom in appearance. He was shocked at first, then dared to grin.

"You look amazing," he said, stepping forward. Rachel noticed a slight limp.

"What have you been doing?" Rachel asked, finding a chair and putting her boots up on the desk.

"Started my own company."

"Getting work?"

"A little."

"Want more?"

"More work?"

"I need an architect. Know where I can find one?"

Peter retook his seat, gazing at her.

"I thought you'd never speak to me again, after what happened."

"I killed your father, Peter. I thought you'd never speak to me again. Then you called Patty and Miles, warning them I needed help. It saved my life."

"I'm still in love with you," he said.

"I have a fiancé. He's very smart and handsome. You'll need to wait your turn."

"What's this about a job?"

"We're going to reopen the hot springs. I bought land on the 93 for a park. There'll be a visitor center named for Joanna. It will need a campground, restrooms, plugs for electric vehicles, a supply store, and all kinds of other stuff. Can you design it for me?"

"You want me to do that?"

"Didn't you tell me this is what you wanted? Instead of being a deputy sheriff."

"I thought you'd forgotten."

"I don't forget very much, except when flawed government machines scramble my brain and leave me with half a memory."

"Is that what happened? Is that why you showed up in Juniper all confused?"

"Yes, but I had Joanna to help me. And you, and Patty, and Mr. Beggs. And many others. I haven't forgotten that, either."

"There is a problem, Katie. There are no hot springs."

"You let me worry about that," Rachel replied. "Why didn't you tell the grand jury what really happened that night?"

"I don't know what really happened. Dad ordered me away from the car, I found Bradwell and Gus dead, and then there was a gunshot. You appeared a few minutes later, covered in blood."

"Shooting your father isn't what I wanted."

"I know. I heard everything over my radio. I should never have left you alone with him."

"I shot you. You said Gus did it."

"My lawyer thought it best to blame all the shootings on Bradwell and Gus. Admitting I shot a traumatized kidnap victim wasn't going to help my case."

"That works for me."

"I'll get started on those plans."

"Think big," Rachel said, shaking his hand.

* * * * * *

The gathering was held at Casper's Ghost, reserved for the event. Most of the local landowners and shopkeepers were there. LeRoy Beggs, a crusty sixty-year-old Pacific Islander and owner of Juniper's only casino, chaired the meeting. Rachel stayed in the background, wearing a floral print dress from the general store.

"Okay, folks, settle down," Beggs said, raising his hands for attention. "We all knew this day was coming. It's time to make decisions."

"I don't want them tearing down my store," Archie Deaver said, a heavyset grocer with a strong Swedish accent.

"I can't be closed for too long," Flo added. "Business is already slow."

"We need a modern clinic," Miles said. "But we won't have a suitable place to practice after the warehouse is demolished."

"Folks, this town is dead," Maisie insisted. "If we don't bring in fresh blood, it will dry up and blow away. I love the Blue Bell, but I'll love my new motel more."

"Maisie's right," Sam said. "We need to lose a few of these dilapidated hulks if we're going to get a new start."

"Easy for you to say, Bridger. They ain't gonna tear down the Ghost. Or the Golden Shovel. Are they, Beggs?" Deaver said. "You guys got historical importance."

"My casino was a trading post two hundred years ago," Beggs protested. "Casper's is the oldest saloon between Wells and the Idaho border."

"Ain't that sweet for you," Jacob Barman said, the silver-haired owner of town's only gas station. "You got sweet deals with Katie, too. Don't you?"

"We're business partners," Sam protested. "We share the risk."

"You share the risk with her money. Because we all know you don't got none," Deaver said.

"This is a chance to make money," Beggs said.

"That's what Mason kept telling us, and look what happened to him," Barman replied.

"My land is affected, too," Randy Oaks pointed out, a red-headed youngster with the build of a lumberjack. "It may not lie at the center of the action, but I've got my creek. And a tourist or two might want to inspect the old gold mines. Don't think to cut me out."

"Listen here, Oakie," Deaver scorned. "No one gives a flying damn about your dried-out piece of shit ranch. You've been trying to sell it since your Pa died, and it still ain't worth a flock of dead crows."

"What will your falling-down termite-ridden store be worth when they build a Walmart across the street?" Oaks shot back.

"There may not even be any hot springs. Nothing's been proved yet," Barman said.

"I am also taking a risk," Jay Silverhawk remarked, getting to his feet. He was a tall, broad-chested Te-Moak, with a square jaw and piercing dark eyes. "Mason killed my wife, in case any of you have forgotten. And Katie risked her life to save my daughter. I trust her. If this is what she wants for the town, we should support her."

All eyes looked to Rachel, sitting quietly in the corner next to McLane.

"Katie?" Beggs urged.

Rachel shyly went to the end of the bar, getting up on a chair. Her head was down, the long hair nearly covering her face. She mumbled, but no one could hear her.

"Speak up!" Deaver shouted.

"Shut your damn mouth, Archie," Flo said. "She'll talk when she's ready."

The room grew quiet. Waiting.

"I need to apologize," Rachel said. "When I heard the hot springs might be restored, I didn't think about the changes it would bring. I thought that, instead of Mason stealing your land and making the money, the town would make the money."

There were a few embarrassed glances.

"I was born in Palmdale. In a rundown shack near the railroad tracks. Then I lived in foster homes. I don't know what it's like to have roots. Or a heritage. You do, and I'm sorry I've threatened that.

"There's a stretch of land five miles south of here. It's an abandoned quarry now, but I can pipe in water and build the hotel there. That way, we can leave the town as it is. I'll call my cousin in the morning and tell her about the change in plans."

Rachel started to get down. Beggs stopped her.

"Before we go off halfcocked, let's think about this," Beggs urged. "You folks really want the development moved down the road? Because that's where the restaurants will be. And the casino. A new gas station. And the stores. It's not fair to Katie to say she can't build what's needed."

"Is that true, Katie?" Flo asked.

"I don't know. I'm not an urban planner. I don't know that much about money. I'm a matrix engineer. I've spent my life in laboratories. When something doesn't work, I tear it down and build something better. You need to make this decision."

"We don't need to decide tonight," Silverhawk said, stepping into the middle of the room. "It's obvious Katie wants what's best for us. Let's figure out what we really want, and then sit down again. What do you think?"

"Sounds reasonable," Deaver agreed.

"Don't want no tricks," Barman insisted.

"You should all be clear about one thing," Beggs said. "If Katie can restore the hot springs, there's going to be tourists. A park. Facilities. I'm going to build a whole new casino and turn the Golden Shovel into a heritage site. Maisie is tearing down the Blue Bell and building a bigger motel. Unless Katie won't help us with the money. What about it, Katie? Will you help us even if this ungrateful town says no?"

"Of course, Mr. Beggs," Rachel said. "You gave me a job, and protected me. I owe you everything."

Rachel had tears in her eyes. Rory raced up to give her a tissue while Tom lifted her down from the chair. Silverhawk went to stand by her before McLane needed to.

"We'll talk about this," Sam promised. "Don't say anything to your cousin yet."

"I won't, Sam," Rachel agreed. "If the meeting is over, can we have cheeseburgers?"

* * * * * *

Seeking new ideas and new beginnings, Rachel seems to be finding her way, but a terrible threat is about to change everything.