Chapter 2 - The Ride

Casey had never been in a police cruiser before - at least, not with a beautiful Native American deputy driving her to parts unknown. Not to mention the ecstatic black lab in the backseat, frolicking from one open window to another. Hawk rolled the windows mostly down for Moogie and he was in doggie heaven. She couldn't help but turn around and watch him for almost the whole ride. Something very special about a joyful dog, she thought.


Even though her hair was probably completely ruined by now, Casey was still grateful for the wind pouring in from the back of the cruiser. It meant she didn't have to try to make small talk, which she had never been good at. She had a feeling Hawk wasn't good at it either.


Moogie's energy didn't give out when Hawk parked the cruiser on the edge of the woods. He galloped out almost before Casey could get his leash on, and pulled her towards the trees. "Moogie, no tug." She abruptly stopped walking, and the dog stared back with pleading puppy dog eyes. "Well, don't pull me then." She looked up for Hawk, who was already in the woods waiting for them. He gestured for her to follow.


"Where is this person?" she called.


"She lives in a cabin deep among the trees." He looked questioningly at her, and Casey knew she'd lose brownie points if she said another word about the woods. She piled her hair up high with an elastic and set her eyes on the ground, watching for tree roots and branches. Cracking my head open would probably be less than impressive, she thought.


The dog, of course, had differing ideas. After the ride in the cruiser, Moogie had decided Hawk was his new best buddy and relentlessly pulled Casey forward to the deputy's side. In no time at all Casey had tripped over branches, tree roots and rocks, and slipped in a pile of leaves. Hawk tried to keep his face impassive, but Casey noticed a smirk forming when she stole a look at his profile.


This could go on all day, Casey thought. She pulled Moogie's leash tight and planted her feet. "Hawk."


He turned with arms crossed, not even trying to hide the smirk anymore. "Yeah?"


"Who the hell is out here this deep?!"


"Her name is Margaret. She's known to most as Log Lady." Hawk ruffled Moogie's fur roughly and the dog stared up adoringly. "The log tells her things. She says it's the spirit of her dead husband."


"I see. So I guess Log Lady isn't much for condo living, then." Casey had figured Hawk wouldn't be taking her to someone quirky, but a woman who communed with a log?


"You guess right." Hawk smiled widely at her.


"Okay, well I propose one of two things here." Casey handed Hawk the leash and pulled her sweater over her head, revealing a fitted purple t shirt underneath. Hawk let his eyes roam over the shirt once, figuring he might get away with it in the dappled shade of the woods. The sweater and jeans are well suited to her in a way he doesn't quite understand. She was wearing makeup as well, but he would never have noticed if he hadn't seen her without it the day before. "You can either walk more slowly, so city girl here can keep up, or you can take Moogie so he doesn't make road rash out of me trying to follow you."


Hawk slipped the leash handle around his wrist, then he held out his arm, as if asking her to slow dance.


"Are you sure I can't offer you some assistance through the woods?" he asked politely, trying to keep the smirk off his face.


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Abandoned by both dog and deputy, Casey picked her way along Hawk's trail. When the terrain became smoother, she allowed herself the pleasure of watching Hawk walk. He was far enough ahead that she could easily watch his long, sinuous frame dividing the distance footstep by footstep. He moved silently as far as Casey could tell -- although Moogie was making enough noise for all three of them, making it hard to know for sure.


Over the top of the trees a sturdy log cabin appeared, lawn slightly overgrown. Casey noted with some surprise the lack of a driveway. Maybe the log takes her into town, she thought.


Suddenly Moogie was barrel-assing back towards her for that thrilling reunion only dogs experience on a regular basis. She grabbed the leash, expecting him to keep running, but Moogie stopped at her side and panted openmouth, his pink tongue hanging out in an unmistakable doggie smile.


She watched Hawk adjusting his weapons belt. She noticed he had not only a gun on the belt, but what seemed to be throwing knives. Her heart beat a little faster, but not out of fear; in fact, the fear that had gripped her all day was totally gone. She somehow felt as if she was just were she needed to be.


Although a normal person might worry about those throwing knives, she thought.


"The funny thing is, I almost wore a dress today. With sandals." Casey looked down at her dirty jeans and sneakers, wondering how her high-heeled sandals might have fared in the woods.


Hawk raised his eyebrows -- perhaps imagining the dress and sandals -- and replied, "I would've had to carry you here."


Her cheeks burned and she laughed like a schoolgirl. "The way I'm going, you might end up carrying me back." She wriggled her foot in the air. "Somehow I've gotten gravel inside my sock. That takes talent, right?"


Log Lady marched out of the cabin, right up to the patch of lawn where Moogie was happily gnawing on a stick. Casey stepped forward to introduce herself, but Hawk held up his hand by way of telling her not to speak. Moogie chewed the stick for a few tension-filled seconds before sitting on his haunches to give Log Lady his puppy dog eyes, dropping his snout a bit.


"That's right. I don't come to your house and chew your bones, do I?" Margaret patted Moogie on the head and he smiled beatifically, all forgiven and forgotten.


If only humans were so easy.


"I have water brewing for tea." Margaret turned and headed back to the cabin, Moogie obediently at her side. Casey shook her head. It was indeed a day of firsts for her little boy.


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"You don't waste time, do you?" Margaret asked as the four of them crossed the cabin's threshold. It looked perfectly normal inside, if a little antiquated: bookshelves full to the brim, table and chairs next to the picture window, a well-used rocking chair with a bag of knitting beside it. Casey didn't realize Margaret had been speaking to her until Hawk nudged her. "No, I suppose I don't," Casey replied.


"Deputy Hawk is in tune with many things that others - such as yourself, I suspect - would never notice, or even have cause to think about." A big cast iron stove sat to one side of the cabin's main room, and Margaret poured water from an ancient black kettle into a very delicate pink-flowered tea pot. She brought the pot to the table, which was already set with saucers and cups. Three settings, Casey noticed. A bundt cake with white icing drizzled down the sides sat in the middle of the table, on a matching pink-flowered cake stand. Log Lady must enjoy throwing tea parties, she thought.


"Not just cookies this time. I remember this one has a sweet tooth." She looked disapprovingly at Hawk, as a nun might at a pupil. She laid one of the delicate cups at Moogie's feet, filled with plain water. Casey stood up, sure Moogie would destroy Margaret's china. Margaret did not appreciate Casey's concern. "You can sit," she said pointedly. Casey's jaw dropped as she watched Moogie carefully lap water out of the cup, taking pains not to knock it over.


"You cannot trust anyone to take care of anything if you aren't involved somehow. As if the owls don't fly every night and see into your shriveled little soul." Casey plopped back in her seat as Margaret poured the tea. Owls? What the hell do owls have to do with anything? she thought.


"You fear so little and yet the wandering spirit of Harold Smith sends you scurrying. Well, obviously, you were looking for a reason to scurry." Margaret sipped her tea loudly and took an oversized serrated knife to the cake. Casey leaned back, concerned about the trajectory of the blade, as Margaret hacked through the cake.


"I know Harold quite well," said Margaret, giving Hawk an especially big piece. Where the hell does he put it? Casey wondered. Margaret dropped a piece for Moogie, who snapped the piece up in one gulp. "Harold knew most of the outside world wasn't important. He formed a barrier to all forms of atmosphere that tried to break in." Log Lady laid a petite piece on a plate and handed it to Casey. "But like many, he let a she-wolf in and look what happened. She ate him alive and tried to steal his most prized possession." She cradled her log to her chest and stared at Casey with an undecipherable expression.


"It is very simple what you must do. Harold did not invite you into his space, which is all that protects him from the living and the dead." Margaret sipped her tea and put a huge bite of cake in her mouth. Casey forced herself not to giggle. "You must let him know that you can share his space without stealing it from him."


Casey wrinkled her brow. "I don't know how, how do I do that?"


Log Lady took another huge bite and dropped the fork on her plate. She took her teacup again and glanced at Casey's anguished face. "So quick to give up when fear does take you." Margaret placed the log gently beside her chair. "Introduce yourself. Tell him a story. He collected others' stories because he made so few of his own."


She glared at Casey and shook her finger. "And if it's not a true story, he'll know."


Casey narrowed her eyes at Margaret and was about to say something retaliatory when Hawk's hand clasped her knee under the table. Her eyes opened wide at his unexpected touch. She could almost feel that strong, quick hand on the small of her back, or tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck. Hawk took his hand back and contemplated sitting on it.


"Shyness is for little creatures in the woods, scared they'll become prey." Log Lady began to gather the flowered plates. Moogie came to sit at Casey's feet, seeming to know she needed comforting, and she rubbed his ears and hugged his neck. Hawk took the moment to go out on the deck, pretended to check his compass. He no longer found Margaret to be unnerving or strange, as many did, but he was as ready to leave as Casey was.


"Beasts have better senses than us. Better even than yours." He turned to find Margaret standing behind him. She wasn't wearing socks or shoes, and her dress came to her calves, revealing dirty white feet with pink painted toenails.


"He's a good dog though, isn't he?" Hawk attempted to smile and Margaret changed the subject with bewildering ferocity. "You think he's a prankster, a Pan? The animal risked his life to make sure you and that girl would meet. He is nobler than either of you give him credit for." She handed Hawk his deputy jacket and stalked back into the cabin.