Critique_This_WIP

It's time for Friday Fiction! Dying to know what's going to happen next to Erica and Shane? Read on and you'll find out.
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Erica crouched beneath the arm of a cactus at the top of the rise and she raised a hand to block the sun. She peered across the rugged terrain in a desperate search for faded blue jeans and a white t-shirt. Though she hadn’t known Shane long he’d worked his way into her heart as smoothly as he’d made his way under her blanket last night. The air felt thin and her chest heavy as a shiver of dread crawled its way from the pit of her stomach to wrap itself around her heart in a tight fist.

Where is he?

“Your man will be fine.”

The low timbered voice gave Erica a shock that sent her careening into the cactus. “Ouch!” She collected her wits, stood up and turned. Twenty feet away stood an old man in a pair of jeans and a buckskin shirt. A pair of moccasins covered his feet and stretched to his knees. His grey hair was loose to his shoulders and he wore a beaded dear skin headband.

For a moment Erica forgot to be afraid as she was mentally transported to an ancient time when Apache Indians roamed the lands of Arizona.

“He’s not my man.” Erica realized the ridiculous nature of her response simultaneous to it leaving her lips. “What have you done with him? Where is Shane?”

“The winds carried the sounds of love to our camp last night. The great spirit knows he is your man.” His wrinkled face made no expression but his eyes carried a hint of amusement as he squatted and scratched Rags behind his ears.

She felt the heat in her face and suspected she’d turned three shades of red. “Yes, well, the great spirit shouldn’t practice voyeurism and should mind its own business.” She frowned. He didn’t look like a serial killer and the dog seemed to have taken to him. “What have you done to Shane?”

Rags cocked his head to the side and his tongue lolled out in contentment.

The man grunted and stood. “It is not my fault your man is uncoordinated.” He turned and walked down the hill.

Rags took off after the old man and Erica shrugged her shoulders and followed.

Around the turn she saw an old beat up Volkswagon VW covered in seventies style painted graffiti complete with peace signs and with the words love and groovy showing up more than once.

This man can’t possibly be dangerous.

The back door of the van was open and Shane sat on the seat with his head down and a bag of ice on his temple. An old Indian woman in a buckskin dress wearing a beautiful turquoise necklace leaned against the van with her arms crossed and a toothpick sticking out of her mouth.

The man nodded towards the woman. “This is my wife, Kasa. I am Mako. You two came close to our camp last night.” He gave a short laugh that sounded more like a grunt. “We heard someone take a fall and scream like a goat. You two are a clumsy pair. And you burn rabbit too.” He grimaced.

Shane took down the ice pack and grinned at Erica. “We’re new to camping.”

Mako grunted again.

Erica raised her eyebrows at Shane and nodded to the old man.

Shane cleared his throat. “Listen Mako, Kasa. We’ve run into a bit of bad luck and could really use a lift into town.”

Mako pulled a pipe out of his shirt pocket and lit it. After a few puffs he glanced over at Kasa and she nodded. Looking back at Shane, he said, “Would the bad luck have anything to do with the RV burning up last night about five miles back or the murder back at the Rusty Nail Saloon?”