Black Bird of the Gallows(16)

I gaze up at him, full of skepticism. “You don’t get to lecture me about creepy”—I have to be very careful what I say—“when you’re the one who snuggles with crows.”

His eyes turn amused. “They’re highly misunderstood animals.”

“Sorry, not buying it.” I pick up a sliver of shale and flip it between my fingers like a coin. “So, how did you find this place?”

“I followed the trail,” he replies.

“This mine isn’t on the main trail.”

“Then I followed a trail of death and destruction.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” he insists. “I like to do research when we move someplace new. I read that about sixty years ago parts of this mine collapsed, killing some miners, trapping a bunch more.”

“That’s true,” I say. “What are you, some kind of history buff?” It wouldn’t surprise me. He appears quite interested in Mrs. Bryan’s U.S. History class.

“Yeah.” He takes a headlamp on a strap from his pocket. “See? Nothing diabolical. I like local lore stories. Just came to check this one out, being it was so close to home and all. Want to go inside with me?”

I peer into the tunnel. Although I know the miners died deep, deep inside, the tunnels are a tomb. “No. Thank you.”

“You’re terribly sensible.” Reece drops into a crouch and scratches Roger behind the ears. The dog melts into his touch with a pleased grunt. “Is it true this dog belonged to the homeowners before us?”

“Yeah,” I say, resisting the urge to tug Roger back. “Who told you that?”

“Do you always have so many questions?”

“For you? Yes. Do you ever answer them?”

“Not without motivation.” He raises one brow in what could be a challenge, or a joke. I can’t tell which.

Maybe I should have gone after him with a stick. “We took Roger after the Ortleys…passed. We didn’t want him going to the shelter.”

“He’s a lucky boy, then,” Reece murmurs, delving his fingers into the thick rolls at the dog’s neck. His eyes go soft and heavy in a close mirror of Roger’s blissful expression. The dog leans in to Reece’s scratching fingers, lifts a hind leg, and scratches the air. “He’s not sad about them anymore, by the way.”

“Who?”

“His dead family. He’s over it.”

I blink slowly. “Now you’re a history buff and an animal psychic?”

“Tsk, tsk. No, Angie.” He raises one eyebrow. “He’s just clearly happy. That’s all I’m saying.”

That is definitely not all he’s saying. “So are you going to explain the crows?”

“There’s nothing to explain.” He squints into the woods. “I told you—the nature shows say not to display fear to the wildlife.”

“Oh, you are so full of—”

“We aren’t going to be here too long,” he blurts. “My mom is a consulting doctor at the hospital. A month, maybe a little more, and we’ll be gone.” He runs a hand through his hair, knuckles tense.

“Why are you telling me this?” My mouth goes dry. Leaving?

He angles into the sun, throwing the shadows under his cheeks into relief. “Just thought I should.”

The headache I woke up with had subsided, but it rattles back to life. It’s as though we’re having a conversation about something that’s really about something else, but I’m too dense to grasp the subtext.

Suddenly, I can’t stay here another minute. If I do, I’m going to blow my cover, tell him it was me in the parking lot last night—if he hasn’t figured it out already—and bombard him with every question backed up in my mouth. I get to my feet, giving Roger a tug. The dog reluctantly moves to my side. Face-to-face, Reece’s eyes are as soft and as sad as they always are when it’s just him and me. He sighs. “I didn’t mean to chase you off,” he says. “I’ll leave.”

I shake my head. “It’s okay. I need to get back. Just tell me one thing, if you can.”

His gaze moves over my face. He steps closer. I can smell him—fresh pine and clean air. He swallows, pushes his hands deep into his pockets. He’s hard to look at right now, with the light turning his hair to gold and those smoldering eyes gazing into mine. It’s like looking into the sun.

“Okay. One thing.” His soft voice clashes with the intensity of his gaze. “You’re adorable when you’re trying to be mad at me. You needn’t work so hard at it, though. We aren’t meant to be adversaries.”

“I, um…” My thoughts disband, leaving nothing for communication purposes. I’m adorable? Adorable has many definitions. I think Roger is adorable, for example. “That…wasn’t what I was going to ask you.”

He inclines his head. “Okay, then. Ask.”

But that “adorable” echoes through me, clinking around like a penny down a well. “What are we meant to be, then?”

His lips curl up at the corners. “That wasn’t your question, either.”

I swallow with effort. If Lacey were here, she’d be subtly pinching my arm right now. Get a grip, Angie! “Am I in some kind of danger?”