Free The Shadow Girl by Jennifer Archer Page B

“Everywhere I look, I see him. Don’t you? He’s a part of this cabin and the mountains and meadows he loved so much.” She lifts the present from the table. “And he’s very much a part of this.”
    I taste tears on my lips as I unwrap the package. Inside, I find a smaller wrapped box. It’s something Dad would do and I’m suddenly laughing as I unwrap it, too. Tingling with excitement, I lift the lid. A ring sits on a black velvet cushion. Symbols are etched into the silver around the band—antelope and stick people, pyramids and spiraling circles. “Oh my gosh! These look like the Indian petroglyphs we saw at Picture Canyon,” I exclaim, referring to a day trip we took last year to see the ancient rock art carved into the canyon walls.
    “I designed it from the photographs we took.” Mom’s eyes shine, and I can tell that she’s pleased by my reaction. “I know you’ve never cared much for jewelry, but now that you’re older, we thought you might like it. Your father made the band and I did the etching. We took advantage of your afternoon hikes.”
    I slip the ring onto my right pointer finger. “It’s perfect. I’ll never take it off.” I hug Mom tightly.
    “I’m sorry about last night,” she murmurs into my hair.
    “I’m sorry, too,” I say.
     
    “Are you sure you wanna do this?” Wyatt asks when I step onto the porch late in the afternoon, dressed to ride.
    “Positive.” I take the steps down into the gravel driveway where the four-wheelers sit behind Mom’s Blazer. The truth is, I’m not sure. Not about riding again so soon. Not about taking the same trail that Dad and I took. Or visiting the scene of the wreck. I’m also not sure that I’m ready to be alone with Wyatt again. But I have to do this. One thing Dad taught me: Postpone facing a fear and it’s sure to grow bigger with each passing day.
    As I’m climbing onto the seat of my ATV, Wyatt asks, “Did you and your mom get the paperwork done?”
    “Not all of it, but we got started.” Which is true. We went through everything and made a list of clients to call, invoices we need to pay, and balances due on accounts receivable. In a few hours, I learned more about Dad’s business than I’ve known all my life.
    Removing my glove, I hold out my hand to Wyatt so he can see my ring. “Look what Mom gave me for my birthday. She and Dad made it.”
    Wyatt comes over and slips his hand beneath my fingers for a closer inspection. “It’s amazing,” he says.
    Two days ago, I wouldn’t have thought twice about Wyatt holding my hand. But now I’m totally tuned in to how warm his skin is against mine, the rough texture of his callused fingers, how close we’re standing. It’s unnerving. Confusing. My instincts tell me to break contact and back away now , but I can’t move. I catch myself wondering what would happen if I leaned in and kissed Wyatt again, but I’m not sure I want our relationship to change. What if it didn’t work out and I lost my best friend?
    I slip my hand from his, and Wyatt backs up a step as I tug on my glove then twist the key in the ignition. The four-wheeler’s engine roars to life.
    Seconds later, as we take off, all my apprehensions about riding disappear. One fear down, three to go. Doing something normal feels fantastic. Like so many times in the past, Wyatt follows me down the road, while Iris whistles a tune in my ear.
    We move deeper into the forest and the temperature drops at least ten degrees. When the curve in the trail where the accident occurred appears ahead, I slow the vehicle, pull off toward the trees at the trail’s edge, and cut the engine. Wyatt stops beside me. We tug off our helmets and hang them on our handlebars.
    “This is the place,” I murmur.
    Wyatt narrows his eyes on mine. “You okay?”
    I nod, but every muscle in my body clenches. I take a deep breath and draw in the musk of the forest, remembering it all. Blink . I rounded the curve. Blink . I saw a deer in the