Page 47 of Mountain Man’s Mystic Touch

“I can manage it.”

“I know. May I?”

She considers me, then gives it to me. Progress.

We leave through the restricted vendor lane to avoid the crowd. My hand remains at the center of her back without applying pressure. She does not need me to support her now, but I am close enough if that changes. At the vehicle, I open the passenger door.

Loralee stops. “You drive something other than a black truck?”

“It’s an SUV.”

“It’s still black.”

“Black is practical.”

“Black absorbs heat.”

“Useful in winter.”

“It also absorbs every other color.”

I place her bag behind the seat. “Get in.”

Her eyebrows lift.

“Please.”

“That must have hurt.”

“More than my shoulder.”

She smiles faintly and climbs inside. I wait until she fastens her seat belt before closing the door.

The drive takes nine minutes. Loralee remains quiet for the first five, watching the pines pass outside her window. The radio stays low enough for her to hear but not loud enough to overwhelm the silence.

My team reports no sighting of the man from yesterday. We have increased coverage around cash-heavy vendors and the children’s area without announcing a specific threat. There is no reason to create panic based on information I cannot verify. That does not mean I dismiss it.

“What exactly did you see?” I ask.

Loralee turns from the window. “Are you asking because you believe me?”

“I believe you experienced something.”

“That is not the same thing.”

“No.”

The look she gives me says she’s closing down the subject, at least for now. I keep my attention on the road.

“I cannot tell dozens of vendors and several thousand visitors that a weapon may appear because you saw blood that isn’t there.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“You warned me.”

“Because it was your blood.”

Her words boomerang off the vehicle’s interior. I feel the rose quartz in my pocket.