Rain Dance

Rain Dance Rain Mystery Trilogy Book 2 David Homick Rain Dance Copyright © 2018 David Homick All rights reserved Published by Blue Knight Media This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher or author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated. The characters, incidents and dialogs in this book are fictional and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental. “If you think it’s going to rain, it will.” ~ Clint Eastwood Chapter One My peace had always been the harbinger of a coming storm. I awoke this morning with an uneasy feeling for the first time in over a month and recognized the pattern. I told myself this time would be different, but something inside disagreed. The snow-covered mountains in the distance were a bigger-than-life reminder that I was no longer in Texas, but the memories remained. I’m stronger now and able to keep them at bay most of the time. I believe I put enough distance in my rearview mirror when I left a month ago with Jenny Lee Myles, the woman who may have saved me from myself. The contentment that I’d felt for the past month was not unfamiliar; however, previous encounters had been fleeting. Like two prizefighters, pleasure and pain took turns trading punches. For most of my twenty-eight years, I’d been on the ropes, taking many more punches than I could throw. Time to stop feeling sorry for myself and wasting opportunities. Time to grow up. It had been quite a shock to find the boy here when I arrived. It bothered me that I still referred to him as the boy. He called me GI Joe when I rescued him from a bombed-out village in Afghanistan. Our Humvee took a hit from an RPG before I learned his name. The boy still had no name when I returned stateside and saw him in my dreams. I know him now as Alex. Something up on the ridge interrupted my reverie. I caught a fleeting glimpse of a dark form moving quickly through the woods. I squinted my eyes against the sun to get a better look, but it was gone. My PTSD symptoms had been in check for more than a month. Too benign to be a flashback or residual battlefield memory, I wrote it off as my mind playing tricks. Then, I saw it again. A chill traveled the length of my spine, even as I quickly dismissed the notion that I’d been witness to one of the mythical creatures that I’d read about as a child. The figure I’d just seen was too small and graceful. It darted through the trees like a deer or other nimble-footed animal, but its shape was unmistakably human. The chill returned when I realized that the odds of seeing a person in these woods were nearly as great as seeing a Sasquatch or Yeti. I sat in the shadow of Pikes Peak, on the northern edge of a parcel known as the Red Valley Ranch. We moved here from Bradley, Texas, three weeks ago to live on the ranch with Jenn. By we, I mean me and Mama, but that’s a long story. Jenn and her cousin Seth inherited the ranch when their Uncle Roy passed away six months ago. Red Valley is a 640-acre horse ranch in eastern Teller County, approximately three miles from Redfield, Colorado. Jenn hopes to carry on the tradition of raising horses, many of them rescued from abuse, neglect, or abandonment. Much like these rescues, I’d also been given a second chance. I took a few deep breaths. An unknown intruder had violated my Fortress of Solitude, and I struggled to return to the relative safety of my thoughts. Perhaps it was time to head back to see if Jenn could shed any light on who or what might be running around in these woods. I returned home and found Jenn in the barn brushing down one of the horses. She seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time cleaning the animals. I’d asked her why she stayed so involved with the mundane, day-to-day activities of the ranch when I’d seen a young ranch hand regularly performing other chores. She told me that her cleaning rituals helped her to relax and strengthened the bond with her horses. I wondered if it might work that way with people, and I made a mental note to remind her of that the next time I needed a shower. I watched for a few minutes before I announced my presence. “You know,” I said, “I get a little jealous when I see you like this.” She turned and smiled. “You’ll get your turn.” Good answer. “Where have you been?” “Remember the place on the ridge about a half mile north of here? You took me there the day I arrived.” “Sure. What were you doing up there?” “I’ve gone there a few times. It’s become my Fortress of Solitude.” “Don’t get me wrong…” She grinned. “You’re a great guy, Dillon, but you’re no Superman.” I raised an eyebrow. “You know about the Fortress?” “I grew up with three brothers, remember?” “I saw something strange up there.” She stopped her brushing. “What do you mean?” “Someone or something ran through the woods up on the ridge.” “Which was it?” “I don’t know.” “We’ve been known to have a bear or two up there.” “No, this was quicker and more sure-footed.” I paused. “Does anyone live on the land north of the ranch?” “Y’all think it was a person?” “I said I don’t know.” “I doubt anyone lives there. It’s mostly wilderness.” She resumed her brushing. “There’s a small