Chapter 19: Rhiannon - Hunter or Hunted

At 5 A.M., Rhiannon awoke to the sound of birds accompanied by a slow yellow glow. Not real birds, and not the glow of the sun. One of those new alarm clocks that simulated both. When Simone gave it to Rhiannon two years ago for Christmas, she’d said that it was good for her circadian rhythm.

So far, it had been. Rhiannon found herself waking up a little lighter, a little brighter.

By 5:05, she stood in front of the bathroom mirror. She washed her face and swiped on some tinted moisturizer. So far, the greatest part about living in a post-menopausal body. Her skin had evened out, and all she needed was a tinted moisturizer.

And eyeshadow. Rhiannon needed eyeshadow.

No ladies at the ranch would judge her if she went bare faced. And she had stopped worrying about impressing men with her appearance decades ago, not that she was around many men to impress these days. The eyeshadow added a much needed pop of color.

Rhiannon loved color. Yellow and orange in the sunset, blue in the sky, green grass in spring. The world looked awfully white lately, all that snow out there. Between her wake-up lamp and some pink eye shadow on her eyes, Rhiannon had confidence she’d make it through the winter.

At 5:15, Rhiannon’s phone dinged with a reminder. 5:30 appointment with Iniya. Her watch read 5:18 as she headed out the door. Her snowsuit and boots did enough to protect her from the winter wind on her walk to the rec center. She swiped her card for entrance and flicked on all the cozy lamps, but the air inside still felt cold against her cheeks. She headed for the thermostat just as the door behind her clicked open.

Making small talk, she squinted at the numbers on the digital screen. She set the damn thing to 72 degrees, but it still read 64.

Iniya bundled herself in a blanket as she told Rhiannon about her week. Rhiannon stayed attentive, as she always did in the session, even as she dragged the space heater from the closet. She made a mental note to report the issue to Billy. A good young man—if 38 counted as young—who led maintenance on the big buildings in town.

At 6:30, the end of Iniya’s session, her shoulders looked softer, eyes calmer. While Rhiannon knew she couldn’t save them all, girls like Iniya reminded her why she did this job. Why she loved this job.

When Iniya headed out, Rhiannon shot Billy a text. He wouldn’t reply until noon. He never replied until noon.

As such, Rhiannon printed out a notice. Something’s going on with the thermostat, ladies. Blankets are in the closet! She pinned it to the front door.

Glancing at her watch, reading 6:52, Rhiannon walked to the cafeteria next door. She chatted with a few women, a couple kids, as she spooned scrambled eggs and yogurt onto her plate. One of the ladies, Jaylynn, asked if Rhiannon had a moment. Rhiannon had made it to breakfast seven minutes earlier than usual, so she sat down at Jaylynn’s table. While they ate, Jaylynn told Rhiannon that juggling all her college work, alongside therapy, her mothering duties, and her job at the restaurant two towns over had taken a toll. She almost fell asleep on the way home last night.

“Well, you can’t drop out of school,” Rhiannon told her, rubbing a napkin against her lip. “And I don’t think you want to get rid of the kid, either.”

Jaylynn laughed. “He’s here for good, I’m afraid.”

“Can’t cut therapy either,” Rhiannon said. “So quit the job. You’re not making much money anyway.”

“But that’s one of the rules of the ranch, isn’t it?” Jaylynn asked. “We have to work to live here, right?”

“I’ve got a few hours open at the general store.” It sat a mile or two down the road from the ranch’s entrance. They sold surplus vegetables they grew in the greenhouses there, as well as some random oddities the ladies in town made in their free time. “It’s almost walking distance, so you won’t be falling asleep on your way home. You can do one shift a week and make a little extra pocket money. At least until we’re out of this intensive phase of therapy. Soon, you’ll only need biweekly sessions. Maybe monthly. Then we can revisit your job. But you’ve got the cafeteria for food, you’ve got a roof in the apartment. Spend this time to focus on your studies, your baby, and your mental health. We can figure out the rest later, all right?”

Jaylynn gushed her thanks, Rhiannon waved her off, and her watch dinged again.

7:15.

Self-defense training.

Off to the gym she went.

A long with Axel, she trained two classes by 9 A.M. At which point, her watch dinged, reminding her of her 9:15 appointment with Kylie. That went on until 10, another followed until 11, and a third that ended at noon. At 12 on the dot, Billy texted her back, confirming he would investigate the thermostat in the rec center.

From noon ‘til 1, she coached a botany class in the greenhouse. A small thing, a silly thing, but a heart hobby. Rhiannon only had a few of those, and she nurtured them. If she didn’t, if she didn’t prioritize the few little things in her life that she’d loved before this ranch, she wouldn’t be able to run the ranch.

She spent 2 to 3 in the cafeteria, chatting with at least thirty different women. She knew them all by name, but reciting every conversation would take an hour. They all mattered, they all needed help in their own ways, but one of those women was walking around with her clothes on fire. She needed to stop, drop, and roll, but she kept walking through that cafeteria, hand in hand with a little pigtailed girl. As if everyone around her didn’t smell the smoke.

While Simone spooned mac and cheese onto Junie’s plate, Rhiannon snatched a cookie from further down the buffet, pasted on a smile and walked to the little girl, holding it out. “Have you ever tried a rodeo cookie, kiddo?”

“I don’t think so.” Junie studied it and cocked her head to the side. “What’s in it?”

“You try it first, and then I’ll tell you.” But just as Junie reached for it, Simone looked at it with hearts in her eyes. Which worked well. “Actually, how about we give this one to Mommy, and you can go grab a few of your own?” Rhiannon handed it to Simone, then gestured down the buffet for Junie. “They’re down there, at the end.”

Grinning, Junie all but skipped past them.

“Thanks,” Simone managed out between chews, shaking the cookie. “Pretty damn good.”

“One of my favorites.” Rhiannon smiled again, surveying the dark circles under Simone’s eyes, the heaviness of her posture. “How are you doing, kid?”

Simone raised a shoulder. “Honestly, ready for the holiday to be over and get back to work. I’ve had way too much time alone with my thoughts lately.”

“How about we squeeze you in an extra session tonight?” Rhiannon would have to push back her other heart hobby, but she could make up for it tomorrow. “Letting some of those thoughts out might help.”

“No, that’s alright. I got Junie a new gaming system for Christmas and she wants to play it with me tonight.” Simone smiled back, but it was a little sad. “I’ll make it ‘til our session next week. Thank you, though.”

“If you insist.” Rhiannon raised both hands in surrender, walking backward toward the exit to make her 3 o’clock appointment. “But if you need anything, you give me a call.”

* * *

Simone didn’t call. Rhiannon’s schedule was so packed she didn’t really mind, but she did worry. If Rhiannon were good at anything, it was scheduling and worrying. Her mom used to say that it was because she was a Virgo. Rhiannon’s psychology education taught her that it had far more to do with the way her mother had raised her.

She had a few more appointments, then a quick dinner at the cafeteria, followed by a group therapy session at 7 P.M. Billy got the heat working by then. The girls still bundled in blankets as they talked about their feelings and their trauma. By 8 P.M., with things winding down, Rhiannon concluded she would have just enough time for her other heart hobby.

After loading into her Jeep, she drove up the ridge, down the mountain, to the big red barn. Rhiannon shut down her engine, slid open the door, and headed inside. Andrea tended to a young horse in the stall at the end.

She greeted Rhiannon. “Here I was, thinking you wouldn’t make it down here today.”

“By the hair on my chinny chin chin.” Rhiannon stretched into the closet and gathered up all her necessities. The saddle, the blanket, her boots. Stepping into them, she said, “How’s my girl today?”

“In a surprisingly good mood,” Andrea said, still hunched over the last stall. “She even let me brush her.”

“That’s a step in the right direction.” Rhiannon carted all the odds and ends past the first few stalls, cooing at the horses inside. When she made it to the last, warmth spread all through her body, casting away the chill in the air.

Bubbles stood on the other side. The light caught her eyes just right and flickered off her amber irises. Her copper coat practically glowed in the moonlight out the window behind her.

Rhiannon would never call Bubbles a noble steed. She’d gotten her for free at only a few months old from a farmer who couldn’t give Rhiannon much information on her origins. She had a temper, no one could ride her, and she wasn’t fast enough to keep for sport. If someone didn’t take her, he was going to sell her for glue.

But Rhiannon liked her temper, and Bubbles always let Rhiannon ride her. She had kicked a time or two but never bucked when Rhiannon sat on her back. The other folks who worked at the stables could never get a handle on her.

Rhiannon greeted her with a pat on the cheek. She trailed a hand down her mane, whispering sweet nothings. Bubbles relaxed into Rhiannon’s touch. After she planted a kiss onto the horse’s snout, she ushered her from the stall. Once outside, Rhiannon fixed a blanket around her frame, followed by the saddle and reigns. When she was all set up, Rhiannon climbed onto Bubbles’ back and flicked the reins.

In no time, the two of them were sprinting down the winding trail. The bitter wind slapped against Rhiannon’s cheeks, fluttered through Bubbles’ mane, and for a while, all was right with the world. Riding in the dark could be a treacherous feat in these conditions, but Bubbles knew the trails, and maintenance did their best to clear them. The snowflakes fluttering from above passed by Rhiannon like stars in a spaceship. She could hardly make out where they were, everything on the trail, but she hunched forward and enjoyed the breeze. The freedom.

Rhiannon had always loved horses. Even as a child. When she’d first started working here, before the ranch became the ranch, the horses had been her favorite part. She loved working with the kids, but she loved the horses more. The uniqueness of their personalities, the beautiful definition of their muscles, the skill they navigated the mountainous trail with, and most of all, this. Venturing with them through nature. Dissolving into the peace of the wilderness.

Rhiannon envied their freedom. To gallop through a field all day, then retire to a warm stall for the night.

Sometimes, Rhiannon wondered how it would feel to live that way. She loved her silence, her peace, her independence. Sometimes she wanted nothing more than to disappear into the mountains, alone, unbothered.

But her work at the ranch kept her fulfilled. Besides, life on her own, without her friends, her girls, would never be enough.

These treks in the woods with Bubbles gave Rhiannon that ounce of silence and independence that she needed. Rhiannon’s watch buzzed, informing her it was 9 o’clock. She would love to stay out here with Bubbles longer, but she needed to do it all over again tomorrow. She would get through the night and the following day knowing that when it was over, she would get another run through the woods with a quiet horse who asked for nothing, needed nothing, and wanted only what Rhiannon wanted. An hour long run.

Rhiannon returned to the stables just after 9:15. Once she dismounted, she led Bubbles into her stall. Given the time, Rhiannon needed to get back to the house and turn in for the night. But she didn’t want to. Not yet.

She grabbed a brush from the closet, came back to Bubbles’ stall, and threaded the bristles through Bubbles’ mane. Little ice crystals had formed on the ends, tugging at Bubbles’ skin. She tilted her head away, and that was all Rhiannon needed to see.

“Alright, alright. We’ll worry about the mane tomorrow. Is here okay?” She dragged the brush over Bubbles’ shoulder. Ever so slightly, Bubbles stepped closer. As if to say, God, yes, that’s the spot. Rhiannon laughed, trailing the brush over her some more. “See? It’s not so bad.”

Bubbles chuffed.

“Horses, huh?”

Unsure if she heard that correctly, Rhiannon called, “What was that, Andrea?”

Hay shuffled underfoot. The voice came from just behind her now, saying, “I don’t know any Andrea, but the lady working here left a few minutes ago. Right before you got here.”

Rhiannon turned, and ice flooded her veins. She never heard this woman’s voice, but she had seen her mug shot.

Angela Burke.

Rhiannon laid the brush on the wooden post to her right. “How the hell did you get in here?”

“Does it matter?” Angela crossed her arms against her chest, giving Rhiannon a once-over, then the barn. “Quite a place you got here. So much to do. Horses to ride. Big fancy pool to swim in. Cafeteria full of food. Auditorium for concerts. It’s like your own little world, isn’t it?”

“You’re not welcome here, Miss Burke.” Rhiannon’s hand fell to the gun against her hip. The one she had brought in case she encountered a coyote or bear while on her ride. “I’m gonna ask you once, and only once, to leave.”

“Not gonna ask for my sob story first?” Angela propped her forearms on the wooden gate between them. “That’s what this place is for, right?”

Fighting hard to keep from clenching her jaw, Rhiannon said, “That’s really none of your concern. But you are on private property, my private property, and I already asked you to leave once⁠—”

“Relax, would you?” Angela’s shoulders fell as she took a step back, giving the place another look around. “I’m leaving. I was just hoping you and I could have a couple words first.”

Rhiannon kept her hand on the holstered gun. “About what?”

“My granddaughter. And her mother.” Angela trailed her tongue over crusted lips. “I see what you’re doing here, and it’s real nice. Running a safe place for victims and everything. Give them a place to stay, food in their bellies—I’d never hold that against you. But I don’t think you know who you’re dealing with. Jess is no victim.”

Simone—formerly Jess—was the walking, talking definition of a victim. Rhiannon had seen the police reports, the marks on her skin when she’d arrived, and the ones David had left her with the last time they’d seen one another.

Angela refused to see her as such because doing so would mean facing the reality of the man she’d raised. It would mean facing that her son was the type of man who would’ve abused her if the roles were different. Probably, at least in part, because David grew up watching his mom’s boyfriends and husbands abuse her. That normalized behavior in his household enforced the idea that, when he abused his partners, nothing bad would happen. Angela never made her horrible partners take accountability for what they did, so he’d never take accountability either.

But Rhiannon couldn’t save Angela. Angela didn’t need saving anymore. From what Rhiannon could tell through the records Colleen had obtained, Angela’s most recent partner died in prison eight months ago. In time, she may share her life with another shitty man who would take advantage of her and beat her the way the others had, but Angela accepted this behavior. She didn’t want out. Angela was a victim, but Rhiannon wouldn’t assign herself responsibility for her pain.

“I’m not interested in hearing what you have to say about her,” Rhiannon said. “Please leave. Or I will contact security.”

“Contact them,” Angela said, arms raised at her sides in surrender. “But I have something to say first.”

So be it. Rhiannon grabbed the walkie-talkie from her other hip, held it to her lips, and said, “Level yellow breach at the stables.”

Axel came back with a quick, “On my way.”

Slouching, Angela rolled her eyes. “Look, ma’am, like I said a minute ago, it seems like you’re running a real nice place here. I respect that. I’m sure you’re a real nice lady, and that’s why I’m here to warn you. One of your little victims is a murderer. Jess killed my son. And you have her in here, running around with all these innocent people, and someone else is gonna get hurt. I don’t know if it will be my granddaughter, or one of your friends, or one of these girls you love so much, but it will happen.”

“I’ve spoken with the local police, and they have no evidence that suggests Jess did any harm to your son.”

But Rhiannon didn’t care if she had.

In Angela’s shoes, maybe Rhiannon would act similarly. She didn’t have kids, so she didn’t know for sure. But these girls, these women, she considered many of them sorts of proxy children. At the very least, family. And if someone hurt one of them, she’d want them to pay for it.

Which was why Rhiannon didn’t care if Simone had killed David.

Given the state of Simone’s injuries, Rhiannon doubted that had happened. She wouldn’t have had enough physical strength to harm him. But if somehow, some way, she had slit his throat or knocked him down hard enough that he never woke up, good riddance. She’d defended herself. She’d fought back.

These girls, by definition, may have been victims. More than that, though, they were fighters. Warriors. Enduring what they had, living with an enemy, watching every breath they took, every word they spoke, every move they made for the months or years their relationships had gone on—it made them warriors. They’d survived war in their own home.

If, to escape, Simone had taken a life to protect her own, Rhiannon applauded her for that.

She wouldn’t take part in a cover-up. That would endanger everyone here. But she lost no sleep over the possibility.

“He was here,” Angela snapped. “He was here, and then he vanished. She did it, I know she did, and she’s gonna pay for it. She’s gonna⁠—”

“Is that a threat, Angela?”

Angela’s jaw snapped shut. She gritted her teeth so hard Rhiannon practically heard them cracking.

“You got something wrong a minute ago. You got me wrong.” Rhiannon took a step forward, still holding that gun on her hip. “I’m not nice. I’m compassionate, I’m kind, but I’m not nice. You’re nice. The way you’re going about this, your sweet little voice, your compliments—that’s nice. That attitude has probably rewarded you throughout your life. You play all soft and sweet, and then you lie to the cops when they ask what happened to your son’s girlfriend. Why she has those bruises all over her face while she’s birthing your granddaughter. You are nice, Angela. But I’m not.”

Rhiannon unholstered her weapon. She kept it down at her side.

“I’m not sure what the laws are back in Wyoming, but Montana is a stand-your-ground state. That means that if someone enters my property and threatens harm, I’m well within my rights to use lethal force to protect myself and the people I care about. Do you understand what I’m getting at here, Angela?”

Angela glanced at the gun, then back up at Rhiannon. “You’ll kill me. You’ll kill me to protect the woman who killed my son? Is that the point you’re trying to make, Rhiannon?”

She said her name with a certain sickness. Like it tasted like vinegar on her tongue.

“I’ll protect my property and my people until my dying breath,” Rhiannon said. “Don’t come around here again making threats.”

Angela huffed, accompanied by the sound of an engine, and then a car door closing outside. “Isn’t your goal to protect innocent women? Isn’t that the point of this place? Now you’re threatening to kill one?”

“If memory serves, you’re the one who came in here making threats.”

“Bullshit.” Angela let out a slow, humorless laugh. “I bet it’s worked for you. Teaching all these women to play victim. Letting them ruin innocent men’s lives, steal their children away, but⁠—”

“If a man faces consequences because he hurts the woman he loves, he’s the one who ruined his life,” Rhiannon snapped. “Let’s be honest about your son. He ruined his life well before Jess left him. I know the stories. I know what he did to Junie. I also know that he never fought to get his daughter back, because I handled the cases. Don’t give me that shit, Angela. Your little mind games might work on the men in your life, but they’re not gonna work on me.”

“You know what? You better hope David’s dead.” Angela came closer, propping her forearms on the wooden gate again. “Because when he realizes all this pain that she has caused his mother, that she’s isolated his little girl, he’ll make that”—she held up air quotes—“‘abuse’ look like a walk in the park.”

“Rhiannon?” Axel’s voice came from the door. “Is this her?”

“Yeah. Take her to her car, wherever that is, or drop her off in town.” Rhiannon kept her eyes on Angela. Axel came into view, grabbing Angela’s elbow. She tried to shake it off, but Rhiannon continued. “But you know what, Angela? I’m never going to change your opinions about Jess. David is your precious little baby, so you’re never gonna acknowledge the monster he was to her. Let alone the monster he was to Junie. But I want you to look at her life. She’s got a career, a family, more friends than she’s got time for. That’s what happens when your world revolves around growth. When you’re focused on community and kindness. I want you to look at that, and then look at your life.

“All the men you’ve pandered to, and where are you now? You’re alone, you’re miserable, and you’re attacking another woman. Stalking her, hell-bent on making her life harder, because of something a man did. Because he ruined your chances at a relationship with your granddaughter. You blame her, and I can’t change that, but I hope you think about it. I hope you reflect on what catering to men your whole life has done for you.”

Tongue in her cheek, Angela gave Rhiannon a twisted half smile. She snorted and shook her head. “Are you gonna take me to my car now?”