Page 97 of York

Stepping off the back patio, I breathed in the crisp air, the slightly sweet scent of hay from the cattle feed, and the lodgepole pine trees all around the property.

The tension that had been creeping in melted. My shoulders softened. My heartbeat evened out.

It was like the whole ranch was there telling me it was all going to be okay.

I took a walk over to the cattle, petting a few soft heads, then walking along the fence until I veered off into a thick cluster of trees.

The land started a slow ascent that would turn into a sharp drop-off if I kept going.

I’d lost my footing on the way down once, falling hard and fast, making my stomach take up temporary residence in my throat as I tried to protect my head from the jagged juts of rock.

I’d bruised a rib and hid it from my grandfather so he wouldn’t lecture me about it. I nearly threw up from the pain when he’d demanded I take a horseback ride with him the next day.

Once I’d made my way down the hill, the ground started a punishing incline, making my thighs burn, reminding me how out of shape I’d gotten, until I reached the top, turning in a circle to take in the view.

I expected to feel that same floating, wonder-filled sensation I always had as a teen.

Instead, it was something dangerously close to anxiety that crept up my spine, curled around, and tightened around my throat.

Weird.

Maybe it was just that my prefrontal cortex had finally finished developing, stripping me of the careless recklessness of youth, making me see danger where I’d once seen freedom.

Because eighteen-year-old me never would have stood in that spot and worried about breaking a leg and how much a hospital cast might cost without insurance. Or, worse yet, surgery. That younger me would likely be thinking that if I ran, I would be able to make it to the rock formation and back for dinner.

That was my destination now.

The geological dike was one of my favorite parts of the property. It was a giant, ancient crack in the earth where magma had forced its way inside to create wild, ragged rock formations.

As reckless as I was as a kid, I only went down into the crack a few times. Even then, I’d been heart-poundingly nervous, too aware that if a rock slipped, I could easily get trapped and never be found, leaving me to slowly dehydrate to death. Or how easily I could trip, whack my head, and bleed out.

Still, it was a place of peace for me.

But as I got to the top of the hill that scaled down toward the site, I saw things that had never been there before: stakes and warning tape, a truck, and heavy-duty construction equipment.

Was this where they found the minerals?

In my old safe space?

There was a quick twist of anger at the idea of one of my favorite spaces being gutted. And also a small bit of regret that my dumb teenage ass hadn’t seen the rocks for what they were. One stolen one and I might have set myself up for years.

Greg’s words came back to me about the rare earth minerals.

Mineralized carbonatite.

When I’d looked into it, it turned out they use the stuff for permanent magnets for electric cars, wind turbines, and handheld electronics. But there were other potential uses for lasers and guidance systems for the military.

I knew they’d done testing and a survey to come up with estimates for how many rare earth minerals were found. But I couldn’t remember how much Greg said. And I had no reference for what that amount would be worth anyway.

That said, from what I understood, the site was shut down. Everything had to be put on hold until I was found and consulted about what I wanted to do with the property.

That should have been done years ago.

Yet that truck bed had piles of plain-looking rocks in it. There was a coffee cup on the roof.

Had I misunderstood what Greg said? Was there a small operation underway just to continue to pay for the upkeep of the house, staff, and the cattle operation?

I mean, there had to be money for that, right?