Hunter Moon
Jenna Kernan
The Warrior's RedemptionClay Cosen wants nothing more than to put his dark past behind him, but his work impounding free-roaming cattle is creating new enemies. Rancher Isabel Nosie has her own reasons to mistrust him. She loved him once, and she’s never forgiven him for fiancé’s death—a death she thinks Clay could have prevented. When someone starts killing her cattle, though, she has no choice but to turn to the best tracker on the reservation.Soon, Izzie herself is in danger, and Clay’s attempts to protect her and clear her name make him a target—and a suspect. Clay risks losing everything: the respect of his family and his tribe, and the woman he’s never stopped loving.
“I got you, Izzie. I’ll get you through this.”
She sagged against him, letting him take her weight and her fear and her sorrow. He took it all, standing solid as Black Mountain as he cradled her. She finally reined herself in and straightened to find both her brothers staring at them from across the yard. She stepped back from Clay and he cast a glance over his shoulder. Then he returned his attention to her.
“You going to be all right?”
She didn’t think so. Everything around her seemed to be breaking loose and she couldn’t hold the pieces together any longer. She should go and reassure the boys. Tell them that everything was all right. But it wasn’t all right. It was so not all right.
Hunter Moon
Jenna Kernan
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
JENNA KERNAN has penned over two dozen novels and has received two RITA® Award nominations. Jenna is every bit as adventurous as her heroines. Her hobbies include recreational gold prospecting, scuba diving and gem hunting. Jenna grew up in the Catskills and currently lives in the Hudson Valley of New York State with her husband. Follow Jenna on Twitter, @jennakernan (https://twitter.com/jennakernan), on Facebook or at www.jennakernan.com (http://www.jennakernan.com).
For Jim, always.
Contents
Cover (#uba43d732-28b1-5c40-b272-bee6b2c9688f)
Introduction (#u5cb773c3-98de-52c6-b813-b59645a2b816)
Title Page (#u2dff9e21-0250-5318-b4bc-ee77fdda2544)
About the Author (#ufee0138a-52cb-5d84-ad90-0960a10eaaae)
Dedication (#u2003a1fc-df7d-58f2-980f-199b11a36ac0)
Chapter One (#u2f3fb50f-ef23-5c5f-96b2-21808922e4a0)
Chapter Two (#uab6ab7de-f6fe-5c9f-b8ca-a295b84615a3)
Chapter Three (#uff520f86-55c4-5cf2-a894-aec87eee258c)
Chapter Four (#u1e5467fa-7c10-5967-be34-2b81f8259f53)
Chapter Five (#uc582f349-6395-5e9d-959f-e407f7e632b2)
Chapter Six (#u152a502d-e08c-5070-ab36-9897988ddeeb)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_c152dd7e-8751-5de4-bd3a-0c64ea65839d)
Black Mountain Apache Reservation
Izzie Nosie lay low over the mare’s neck hoping to make herself less of a target for whoever was shooting at her.
Damn, this was her land.
What was going on?
Her legs flapped as she kicked her chestnut quarter horse, Biscuit, to greater speeds. Who was up there shooting at her?
She leaned to the right, touching the leather bridle to her horse’s strong neck. The signal was received, and Biscuit darted between two pines, jumping the downed log that blocked escape. She knew her pursuers were not on horseback, so she did her best to take the route hardest to maneuver on foot. Still, she couldn’t outrun a bullet. The next shot hit the tree to her left, sending shards of bark and splintered wood flying out against her cheek, barely missing her eye. She ignored the sting, focusing on flight.
Just a little farther and she’d be below range. She knew the terrain as well as she knew the layout of her barn. Fifty feet more and she could cut down a sharp hill and be clear. It’d take them a few minutes to reach the embankment for another shot, and she meant to be long gone by then. She broke from the woods and right into the path of another gunman. This one was mounted on a tall buckskin.
She drew up short, causing poor Biscuit to rear back as her mare tried to go from a gallop to a stop and nearly made it. The rider was Indian, big, lean and aiming a rifle. She used a trick of her ancestors, throwing her near leg over the pommel and falling until she lay pressed to Biscuit’s opposite side. Her fingers gripped the coarse hair of her mare’s neck, and she squeezed the pommel with her upper knee to keep from tumbling to the ground.
“Izzie. It’s me. Clay Cosen.”
She felt her already galloping heart pound painfully as emotion bled through her. What was Clay doing here? Was he one of them?
No. Never. But the doubt lifted its head like a rattlesnake in a bed of bluebonnets. Her mother’s words echoed in her mind.
He’s a convicted criminal.
“This way,” he called. “I’ve got a truck.”
She hesitated just long enough to cause him to look back. She saw his face go hard. Somehow he knew at a glance that she no longer trusted him. His tight, guarded expression filled her with regrets. So many regrets.
“You coming?”
Emotion paralyzed her, and she lost her balance, slipping from her saddle and tumbling along the ground. The jolt of pain made her suck wind between her teeth. She fell, rolling to her feet. Clay was there, rifle gripped in one hand and the other extended out to her, as he guided his horse with only the pressure of his legs. She knew the man could ride. His rodeo titles proved that, and he was a sight to see approaching at a full gallop. She didn’t think. She just acted, grasping his gloved hand as he charged by and leaped into the air as he pulled. He swung her up behind him. His horse never broke stride as he continued on, down the embankment. Behind them one more shot sounded.
Then they were racing over her pasture and down the steep incline. She could not see past his slate-gray cowboy hat and broad shoulders sheathed in a navy blue gingham check. He wore a battered leather vest the color of his horse, work gloves and faded denim jeans over cowboy boots that had seen better days.
Izzie wrapped her arms about his narrow waist and glanced behind them. There came Biscuit, galloping after her mistress. Izzie looked beyond but saw no one step from the cover of the aspen and pines and heard no more gunshots.
Her ears buzzed, and she trembled as the adrenaline ebbed. Izzie gave herself permission to hold him again and pressed a cheek to Clay’s back. The horse’s breath sounded like a great bellows as they charged on and on through the tall, yellowing grass. She held tight, feeling the taut muscles of his abdomen beneath her splayed fingers. Their bodies moved together with the horse, rocking, and Izzie closed her eyes and savored this moment, because, regardless of the reason, it had brought Clay back into her arms again.
It wasn’t until his mount began to slow and Clay’s posture became more erect that her mind reengaged.
Why was Clay Cosen here in her pasture? How could she know that he was not with them? But instead of thinking, she had just jumped right into his arms like the damn fool she always was every time she got around this particular man.
Poison, that’s what her mother, Carol Nosie, called him. The kind of man to ruin a girl and not just her reputation. Look what Clay’s father had done to his poor mother. A cautionary tale of the consequences that came of choosing the wrong kind of man. This one would take everything, her position in the community, her self-respect, her obligations to her family and, most importantly, her heart.
So why did holding him again feel so right?
Izzie’s hands slipped from his middle, paused for one instant on his hips and then let go.
Clay twisted and glanced back at her.
“You okay?”
What kind of a question was that? She’d been shot at, lost her seat and then her horse and now sat tucked against his body as if she belonged to him.
“Hell, no, I’m not all right.”
Clay made a sound that might have been a laugh. Then he turned the horse, so they could see the way they had come. Biscuit was trailing her at a trot.
“I don’t see any sign of them.” He glanced back at her, giving her an enticing view of his strong jawline and the slight stubble that already grew there. His russet skin was so beautiful, taut and tanned. Izzie lifted her hand and had it halfway to his cheek when she realized what she was doing and forced it back down.
“Who were they?” asked Clay.
“No idea. I noticed I was missing cattle and thought they got up into the woods. There’s another small pasture up in that draw. But the next thing I know, I see someone on foot, and when I called out, the idiot started shooting at me.”
“I’d say at least two idiots from the sound of the shots. One was using a semiautomatic weapon.”
Her body went cold at that news.
He scowled at her, and still he was a welcome sight. His expression was a mix of concern and aggravation, as if she had intentionally put herself in danger.
Clay had been born a month earlier to the day, but at twenty-four, she no longer needed him shepherding her, did she?
“You’re bleeding,” he said and leaned in her direction. She held still as he removed one glove and swiped a thumb gently over the crest of her cheek. She felt the sting of pain, and his fingers came away bloody. He held her chin and tilted her head as if she were a child. Well, they weren’t thirteen anymore, and he was not hers. So why was it so hard to draw back?
“It’s fine.”
Clay motioned with his head. “Let’s go.”
They rode at a canter across the pasture, and she noted her herd had moved far down field. Good, she thought. Farther away from the bullets. That’s all she needed—dead cows. It was hard enough to make ends meet with the water restrictions.
“Why are you here, Cosen?” she asked, refusing herself the intimacy of his first name.
He pointed to a truck parked along her fence line. “Collecting strays.”
Clay worked for Dale Donner, the general livestock coordinator. One of their jobs was gathering strays from all reservation highways, which included this out-of-the-way road snaking along her grazing land. But she kept her fences in good repair, mostly because she could not afford to lose any cattle. Yet he was here, working. Her mouth went dry.
“Strays?” she repeated.
Her cattle were the only ones up here, and she was missing more than a few. Izzie had a sick feeling in her stomach.
“You catch any?”
His expression was serious. “Some.”
“How many?”
“Izzie, someone just shot at you. I’d feel a whole lot better if we had this conversation out of range and behind cover. I’ve got room in my trailer for Biscuit.”
He remembered the name of her favorite horse. What else did he remember? Their first kiss? The night she let him go a little too far? Or the day she told him she could not see him anymore?
They rode through her downed fence, the wire lying on the ground. She didn’t see any cattle on the road, but she swung down to lift the wire.
“It’s been cut,” she said.
He dismounted, too, glancing back toward the woods, his rifle still out and ready.
“Get behind the trailer.”
“The fence,” she said.
“The hell with the fence.”
“Did you do this?” she asked.
In answer, his color rose and his jaw set. Then he grabbed her with more force than necessary and hustled her over to the horse trailer.
Clay opened the gate and lowered the ramp. She loaded Biscuit and exited the trailer to find his mount tied to the ring on the side of the trailer. She watched him disconnect the trailer hitch.
He jerked his head toward the truck. “Get in, Bella.”
He hadn’t called her that since her sophomore year in high school on the night she told him she must stop seeing him.
Why, Bella? Why?
Clay rounded the trailer, and she heard the gate shut with a resounding clang.
“I can’t leave Biscuit.”
Clay took hold of her arm and muscled her along. He was much bigger and stronger than she recalled. He had to release her or the gun to get the door open, and he chose her. He motioned to the interior, and she slipped into the cab. Then he jogged around the front of the grille and slid the rifle into place on the rack behind them.
She caught the movement and shouted.
“There!” she said, pointing.
Someone moved on the top of the tree line. Clay leaped into his seat and started the truck, accelerating into the U-turn and narrowly missing the opposite ditch.
They traveled a half mile down the hill before he lifted the radio from his hip.
“My brothers are coming. Don’t want them riding into gunfire.”
She nodded her agreement to that. He must mean Gabe and Kino. Gabe was the new chief, and Kino was now a police officer for the tribal police. Izzie had heard that Clay’s little brother was about to be married.
Clay called his office, relayed the details and clipped the radio to his belt. He glanced in the side mirror and then back to the road. “Who are they?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I didn’t get a good look.” She dabbed at her cheek and winced. The blood was already drying on her face. “Why would men with automatic rifles be sneaking around in those woods?”
“A good question,” he said. “What’s up there?”
“Just another pasture. Oh, and a road. The tribe just improved it. It’s gravel now. They did a really nice job.”
“Why would the tribe improve a road going to pastureland?”
Izzie wrinkled her brow as she thought about that. “I don’t know.”
“It’s just an open field?” he asked.
“Well, there’s some dry fill up beyond the pasture, some digging. The tribe uses the dirt to fill holes. Maybe that’s why they need the road. To bring in bigger equipment?”
“Maybe.”
But he didn’t sound convinced, and his tone made her realize she should know what was happening on the land she leased. Izzie needed to get some answers.
Chapter Two (#ulink_b098a20e-0d39-5bc0-b3b5-82ccf3c2f044)
Clay had sworn he’d never be back here.
But here he was, sitting in the police station interview room. The room that he had hoped to never see the inside of again. The very same room where he had been brought in handcuffs. Had it really been eight years? Seemed like yesterday.
Clay felt the sheen of cold sweat cover him, and he tried to tell himself that this was different.
Was it? Or was he in that kind of trouble all over again?
They had met the authorities at the bottom of the pasture. After the tribal police had cleared the scene and found no sign of the gunmen, one of Gabe’s officers had taken Clay’s rifle, and they had told Izzie that fifty-one of her cows had been impounded for trespass on tribal lands by a representative of the General Livestock Coordinator—in other words, by Clay. After hearing that news, Izzie hadn’t spoken to him once on the long drive to the station, and he expected that she’d never speak to him again. That realization was more disturbing than sitting in this damned room again.
But he hadn’t done anything wrong. Unless he had. You didn’t have to know it to have done it. He’d learned that lesson well enough. Maybe this was just like the last time, only it was Izzie setting him up. Letting the cows out, calling the manager’s number, drawing him into a gunfight.
No, that was just crazy, his stupid paranoid fears rearing up like a horse in the shoot at a rodeo. Tighten the cinch. Open the gate. Watch it buck. Eight seconds and all you could do was hold on. Clay held on now. He’d tried to make the right decisions. Tried to think before he acted. Tried not to take everything at face value, not be so gullible. But when he’d seen Izzie running for her life, he hadn’t thought about the consequences. He had just ridden full speed into gunfire.
Clay rested his head in his hands and drew a deep breath. He still felt sick to his stomach.
He’d asked Gabe to call his boss and tell him where he was. Clay knew that if there was even a whiff of misdeeds, Donner would fire him. He’d do anything to keep this job. Anything.
He’d been lucky to get hired in the first place—with unemployment so high on the Rez and so many men searching for honest work, men without his priors.
His younger brother, Kino, came in to speak to him. Kino had been on the force about a year, acting as a patrolman. It was something Clay could never be. They didn’t take men with criminal records into the police or the FBI, where his uncle Luke Forrest worked. Kino had been surprised that they had let Clay work with the Shadow Wolves on Immigration and Customs Enforcement. But Clay was a special case because he was Native American, which was a requirement, a very good tracker and his conviction was not a felony. Though it nearly had been.
“So, busy day?” asked Kino, taking a seat and opening his laptop.
Clay didn’t laugh. The last time he was here, Kino had been thirteen years old.
What was his boss going to say? He’d sent him to clear strays and he’d ended up in jail, again.
“Where’s Izzie?”
Kino thumbed over his shoulder. “Captain’s office.”
“You mean Gabe’s office.”
“I call him captain here. We only have one interrogation room.”
Clay knew that.
“She says you had no right to impound her cattle.”
“They were on the road.”
“She’s claiming that they were released.”
“Upper fences were cut,” said Clay.
“Yeah, I heard that.”
“I saw that. Don’t know about the lower pasture. I didn’t see anything, but I wasn’t looking.”
“We’ll check. You didn’t cut them, did you?”
Clay blinked in astonishment, expecting Kino to laugh or smile or say this was some joke. He didn’t. He just sat there, waiting.
“No.”
“I think all our guys are up in the woods,” said Kino. “I’ll ask them to run the fence lines.”
“They’re going to ruin the scene.”
“You and I are not the only ones who know how to track, brother.”
Clay nodded.
“So you want to do this, or would you prefer one of the other guys handled it?”
“No. Go on.”
His kid brother asked the questions, and Clay answered. He’d picked up four truckloads of cattle with Roger Tolino. They’d gotten a second call about cattle on the upper road. He’d sent Roger back with the cattle truck. Clay had found the cut fence after Roger left.
“Clean cut. All three lines, right by the post.” Clay had searched the ground. “One man was wearing boots, weight about two-fifty, judging from the depth of the tracks and recovery of the grass inside the tread.” He had seen the strays and thought it easier to just steer them back into the pasture. He was just repairing the fences when he’d heard the first shots. “I couldn’t call it in because there’s no cell service up there.” So he’d used his radio. Called Veronica in the office and asked her to call Gabe.
Getting his statement took a while because Kino had to type his replies. Clay waited as Kino pecked away on the laptop, feeling like a damned fool. Eventually, Kino closed the computer and regarded Clay.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” said Kino.
“That’s what I thought the last time.”
Kino nodded. “You really didn’t know what they were doing?”
Clay stared at his kid brother in astonishment and then realized they had never spoken of the crime.
“Who?” asked Clay, making sure he wasn’t talking about today.
“Martin and Rubin.”
“Martin said he wanted some pop. I stopped. They went in. I waited. They came out, and I drove away.”
“Just like that. Didn’t you see the blood on Martin’s shirt?”
Kino stared. Clay knew what he was thinking. His older brother was guilty or he was a fool. Clay never liked the choice. He lowered his head. “Are we finished?”
Kino stood. “Yeah. Sure. So, I’ll see you Saturday?”
Clay rose. “Saturday?”
Kino’s voice held impatience. “The wedding?”
Clay’s mouth dropped open as he realized he’d forgotten. His kid brother was getting married and then honeymooning in the Badlands of South Dakota, so he could pick up the trail of their missing little sister.
“Yeah, of course. Sorry. My mind is just... Like you said, long day.”
Kino walked him out.
“Want to go for a beer after work?” asked Clay.
Kino rubbed his neck. “Sorry. Can’t. Wedding stuff.”
“Oh, right. Well, see you Saturday.”
“Don’t forget the barbecue. Thursday night. Rehearsal and dinner at Salt River on Friday.”
Clay nodded and left the station, shedding the stale heated atmosphere for the crisp air of a perfect September day. Relief poured down on him with the sunshine. He looked to the west, to Black Mountain. Emerald-green Ponderosa pines that were broken by patches of brilliant yellow aspen ringed the base. Nearer the top, forest gave way to the browning grass. The crown looked as if someone had scraped away all vegetation. This was where the reservation got its name, from the dark of the tallest mountain in Arizona. Eleven thousand two hundred and twenty feet. On this cool day, the crown looked black against the bright blue sky, but soon the snow would cover it again. He’d been to the windy peak. All Apache boys climbed it. There, on the top the Crown Spirits lived. The Gaan, as his people call them, had been sent by the Creator to teach them to live in harmony.
When Clay told outsiders he was Black Mountain Apache, they assumed he lived in the desert and wore a red head scarf and a long belted shirt. The truth was that he did wear a red kerchief, but about his neck, and his reservation was mountainous with a ski resort in addition to a casino. They had plenty of lakes and some of the best trout fishing and elk hunting anywhere. But mostly what they had was the grassland, and much of it had been broken into permitted grazing areas. Raising cattle was still big business here. Some pastures had been in certain families for generations. Like Isabella Nosie’s grazing rights. It had been her grandfather’s and her father’s—William’s—and now it was hers for as long as she kept filling out the application.
Some folks thought that system unfair. That they should have a lottery. Clay had no cattle, so he stayed out of the debate.
He took one final look back at the station. Was she still in there?
Clay had missed Isabella more than he’d ever admit. She came to him in dreams sometimes, and on a good day he might see her in town. He’d caught her looking back at him once, but she never spoke to him. He didn’t blame her. Lots of folks looked right through him now. Or they hurried the other way as if he was contagious.
Clay recovered the truck he drove for his job, headed back to the offices and checked in with Dale Donner. Besides managing the communal cattle and horse herds, Donner’s offices collected fines, cared for impounded livestock and sold unclaimed stock at auction. That meant showing up in tribal court and dealing with the tribe’s various livestock associations over disputes. Donner was also on the tribe’s general livestock board, along with Boone Pizzaro, Franklin Soto and two members of the tribal council. Boone Pizarro was the general livestock coordinator, in charge of managing the tribe’s cattle holdings including all grazing permits issued to ranchers on the reservation. Franklin Soto oversaw the health of the herds on the Rez and made sure all Black Mountain cattle complied with regulations with the state’s livestock sanitary board.
Clay drove the two blocks, parked and entered Donner’s office. He felt as if he had been away for a week.
Donner did not glance up as Clay came to a stop before the battered wooden desk littered with piles of paper. His boss was a barrel-chested Apache with dark braided hair that framed a face deeply lined and aged by the sun to the color of a well-oiled saddle. He seemed perpetually impatient with the stupidity of both his cattle and his men. Behind him, various clipboards hung on nails beside a calendar featuring a large longhorn steer’s photo. On the lower half of the calendar, Donner had crossed off all the days in the month up to and including today, Monday, September 7.
His boss glanced up, and his flint eyes fixed on Clay.
“We registered fifty-one cows with Nosie’s brand,” said Donner.
“There were four more, but I shooed them back into their pasture. Mr. Donner, those fences on the upper pasture were cut.”
Donner lowered the clipboard. “What do you mean cut?”
“I mean with a wire cutter. Someone came in from the road, parked, cut the fences and left.”
“What about the lower pasture?”
“I didn’t see anything, but I was pretty busy rounding up cattle.”
“Well, heck. We got to call your brother about that.”
“Didn’t he call you?” Had Gabe forgotten to alert his boss?
“Yup. Said you’d been delayed.”
Clay realized Donner didn’t know about what happened with Izzie and the shooters. It took several minutes to relate the story, and his boss’s mouth hung open for most of it. Clay didn’t think he’d ever talked so much in his life. Except that day in court. When he finished, his shoulders sagged.
“Well, a heck of a day.” Donner sat back and scratched his head, sending one of his long graying braids wiggling. “I’ll call Pizzaro and Bustros. Update them and have them take a look at the fences and the cattle.”
Victor Bustros was not technically on the general livestock board, but worked under Pizarro, the livestock coordinator. Bustros’s title was livestock brand inspector. Because of the record keeping of individual brands, Bustros had a clerk who helped him keep up with the paperwork. Bustros’s job also including overseeing the weekly cattle auctions.
Cattle were still the tribe’s main source of income, though tourism was catching up. These four men—Bustros, Pizzaro, Soto and his boss, Donner—held positions of importance in this enterprise overseeing the care, business and health of the tribe’s holdings. Clay felt lucky to work with them. Now Clay hoped that his actions today had not jeopardized that.
“Sir, would you like me to have a look at Nosie’s lower pasture?”
“Leave that to your brothers. If what you say is true, that might be a crime scene.”
If it were true? Clay felt his face heat. Even after six-and-a-half spotless years of work, his boss did not take his word at face value.
If the impounded stock hadn’t belonged to Izzie, then Clay would have let it go. But instead, he opened his mouth again.
“Sir, I could...”
Donner’s gaze snapped to his, and he gave a slow shake of his head. It was a gesture Clay recognized as a warning. Clay closed his mouth.
“You’ve done enough.”
Clay accepted the long, hard look Donner gave him.
“Finish your paperwork before you leave.”
Knowing he’d been dismissed, Clay returned to his desk in the outer office to wake up his ancient computer. An hour later he had his hat back on his head and was leaving for the day.
Clyne and Gabe, his older brothers, still lived in their grandmother Glendora’s place. But he and Kino had a small house outside of Black River, one of four towns on the reservation and the one that housed the tribal headquarters. Since Kino and Lea Altaha would like their own place, Clay planned to move back to his grandmother’s while they waited for placement. It could take over a year for the newlyweds to get their house through the tribe’s housing organization, and Clay recognized that they needed privacy.
Clay climbed into his own truck, which was older, smaller and dustier than the one he used for tribe business. He drove by his grandmother’s house, knowing he was always welcome for dinner. But the prospect of telling his story one more time did not appeal, and so he skipped the chance at the best fry bread in Black Mountain in favor of frozen pizza and privacy. Since Kino would be out, there might still be one last beer in the frig.
When he pulled in the driveway, he realized he wasn’t getting that pizza or that beer or any peace, because Izzie Nosie stood, leaning against her pickup with her arms folded beneath her beautiful bosom. She looked ready for battle.
She lifted her chin as he stepped out of his truck. Was it only a few hours ago that she had clung to him while they raced together across the wide stretch of open pasture?
“Izzie, what are you doing here?”
“I want to know who let my cows out.”
“I’ll bet.”
“You are the best tracker on this reservation. So I want to hire you, Cosen.”
Clay could only imagine how hard it was for her to ask the likes of him for help.
“You might be better to ask Kino or Gabe. They’re the investigators.”
“And they are investigating. But I want someone who is looking out for my interests. That’s you.”
“That’s a conflict of interest, Izzie. Or did you forget that I work for the livestock manager?”
Her eyebrows rose. “Still?”
That stung. “You think he fired me? For what, doing my job?”
She held on to her scowl, but her cheeks flushed a becoming rose. Then she pressed a finger into his chest. “You should have told me that my cows were on the highway, Cosen.”
“They pay me to collect them. Not to contact the owners.”
“Do you know how much it will cost me to get them out?” She ticked off the amounts on her fingers. “Gathering fee, five dollars a head. That’s two-hundred and sixty dollars, and that’s only if I can sell some cows and get that money to them in twenty-four hours, which I can’t. Then it’s two dollars a day per cow for every day you have them. That’s a hundred and four dollars more.”
“Izzie, your strays were scattered all over the highway.”
“Cosen, my fences are good. I need you to help me prove that, so I can appeal.”
He leaned against his truck, trying to think, but his eyes kept dipping to her lovely face and those soft lips. Izzie’s hair was dark brown, and she often wore it pulled back to reveal her small, perfectly shaped ears and long, slender neck. She knew he liked her hair loose; it was loose now and had been recently combed. She wore pink lip gloss that made her full mouth look ripe and tempting.
Clay frowned.
She lifted her pointed chin, and her fine brows rose. She rested a hand on his chest. His heartbeat accelerated and his skin tingled. He had to force himself not to reach out and gather her in his arms.
He stared down at her hand, fingers splayed across his chest, the left ring finger still somehow bare. Then he followed the slim line of her arm to her narrow shoulders. Her soft hair brushed her collarbone, and she wore no jewelry except the gold crucifix about her neck, the one her father had given her at her first communion. Her face was heart-shaped and her upper lip more full than the bottom, giving the impression that she was forever freshly kissed. Her skin was soft brown, and her eyes sloped downward at the corners. He stared a moment at the light brown eyes that were flecked with gold, but it was like looking at the sun—dangerous and alluring all at once.
He knew what she wanted, and it wasn’t him. But his body still remembered her touch. And the memories of her threatened to make him do something stupid, like risk his job for this woman.
“You haven’t spoken to me in seven years,” he said. “Now you’re asking for my help?”
* * *
A STAB OF guilt spiked inside Izzie, and she couldn’t hold his gaze. He was right. She’d avoided him and the scorn she knew would come by association. This was a small community. A person’s place in the tribe depended on many things—character, family and who you chose to love. Loving Clay had cost too much. So she had let him go. Now she wanted a favor. She thought of her two little brothers and stiffened her spine. Then she met the accusation in his gaze.
“I’m asking,” she said.
He exhaled loudly through his nose. “Izzie, I need this job. I won’t do anything to jeopardize it.”
“And I’m not asking you to. Just take a look at the tracks.”
He was staring at her again, debating. She saw it now. The anger in his stance and the unwillingness.
“Call Gabe. He’s the chief of police.”
“I want someone who is working for me—not the tribe. Plus he made it very clear that I’m a suspect in whatever is going on up there.”
“You?” He laughed right in her face. The sound was hard. “Isabella Nosie? The girl with all As in high school. The good girl, sings in the choir, took over for her dad, helps raise her brothers and has never made a mistake in her life?”
That was just one step too far. She planted a fist on her hip.
“I made one.”
His laughter died and their eyes met. She read the hurt in his expression as her words hit their target. They both knew the mistake she meant. She had loved him.
Clay sagged back against the truck bed as if she’d slapped him. Izzie felt terrible.
“I’m sorry, Clay. I didn’t mean it.” Actually, going out with Clay had been the best thing that ever happened to her. Until she’d let her parents run him off. Why hadn’t she stood up for herself?
Because she’d been sixteen with dreams of college and a career, and, after his mom had been killed by that drunk driver, Clay was so angry and reckless, she barely recognized him. Then her father got sick and she’d made that promise. The next thing she knew, she had become responsible for her brothers and mother, and now she might lose it all.
“Will you help me?” she asked.
“No.”
“Fine. Then I’ll just do it myself.”
She turned to go, and he captured her wrist. She paused and he released her.
Clay removed his hat and struck it against his leg. His face went bright, with two streaks of color across his prominent cheekbones. Did that mean he did care what happened to her? Her heart fluttered at the possibility, and she cursed herself for a fool.
Clay regrouped, releasing her as he looked down his broad straight nose at her. He was scowling now and his nostrils flared. He’d never looked more handsome.
Clay didn’t wear his hair long, like his brothers Kino and Clyne. Neither did he wear it buzzed short like Gabe. Clay chose a length that was neither fashionable, functional nor traditional. His black hair ended bluntly at his strong jawline with bangs that he either swept back or let fall over his piercing eyes. His brow was prominent and his eyebrows thick. His black lashes were long and framed his deep brown eyes. She’d always wondered why he didn’t recognize his model good looks, but Clay seemed unaware of how he turned heads.
She met his hard stare, gnawing on her lower lip.
“If you are involved with anything illegal up there, you best tell me right now.”
She gaped as the shock hit her like a slap. He couldn’t really think she had anything to do with this. Could he?
He looked serious enough. “Because I will not be dragged into another mess.”
“I’m not involved with anything illegal.”
He continued to stare, lips pressed thin and colorless.
She threw up her hands in disgust. “Okay! I swear! I’m not involved in anything, and all I know is someone cut my fences, half my herd is gone, I’m missing cattle and now I owe a fine.”
“What is it you want me to do, exactly?” he asked.
“Check the fields for tracks. Tell me everything you can. Maybe poke around in the upper pasture.”
“The crime scene, you mean.”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Fifty bucks?”
He shook his head. “I want a cow for my sister’s Sunrise Ceremony.”
“Your sister?” Some of the fight drained out of her, replaced by shock. Izzie touched the gold crucifix, rubbing it between her thumb and index finger before letting it drop. “I thought Jovanna was...”
“So did we. She’s not. Just missing. We are going to find her.”
Izzie absorbed that bit of news. It was really none of her business, but she remembered the bright and happy little girl who left with her mother for her first contest and never came back. If they could find her, they’d need every bit of that cow to feed all the company and relatives who would attend. A homecoming and a Sunrise Ceremony. Goodness, there would be hundreds of people.
“She’s been gone a long time,” said Izzie.
Clay said nothing to that.
“All right, then.”
He replaced his hat. They were close to a deal. Once she’d known him intimately. But then he had been a boy. This man before her had become a stranger.
He made a sound of frustration in his throat.
When he met her gaze, she braced, knowing he had reached a decision. And also knowing that once Clay Cosen settled on a course it was nearly impossible to change his mind.
Chapter Three (#ulink_e3b7c2a5-b378-5e1d-a1dd-982a8706aa81)
When he finally spoke, his voice was tight, clipped and frosty as the snow off Black Mountain.
“All right. One cow. My pick.”
It took a moment for Izzie to realize that she had won. She blinked up at Clay, recovered herself and nodded.
“My pick,” he repeated. “And if you are lying to me or dragging me into something illegal, I will turn you over to Gabe so fast, little brothers or no little brothers.”
It was a threat that hit home, for while her mother still ran the household, Izzie owned the cattle. It was a sticking point between her and her mother, for her father had left the entire herd to his eldest daughter instead of his wife. Her mother, a righteous woman with a knack for scripture, also had a habit of spending more than her husband could make. And though her father had had trouble telling his wife no, Izzie did not. Which was why she had increased the herd by forty head and also why her mother was equally furious and proud of her. Izzie planned to keep her promise and pass her father’s legacy to her brothers. Up until today she had done well. Up until today when she had lost fifty-one head. Her shoulders slumped a little, but she managed to keep her chin up.
“That’s a deal.” She stuck out her hand and pushed down the hope that he would take it.
He stared at her hand and then back to her and then back to her hand. Finally he clasped it. The contact was brief. But her reaction was not. She felt the tingle of his palm pressing to hers clear up to her jaw. Why, oh why did she have to have a thing for this man?
Clay broke the contact, leaving Izzie with her hand sticking out like a fool. Clay rubbed his palm on his thigh as if anxious to be rid of all traces of their touch. She scowled, recalling a time when things were different.
“When do we start?” she asked.
“Sooner is better. Tracks don’t improve with time.”
“Let’s go, then. We can take my truck.”
He hesitated, glancing to his vehicle. She followed his gaze, noticing he did not have a gun rack.
“You want to bring your rifle?”
“Don’t carry one.”
She frowned, thinking she had not heard him correctly. Clay hunted. He fished. Surely he had a rifle. It was part of life here. Shooting at coyotes and gophers and rattlesnakes, though she usually took a shovel to the snakes. Everyone she knew carried a firearm. But everyone she knew had not been charged with a crime.
He was allowed to carry one. His rescue earlier today proved that. Was it because he now knew the difference between robbery and armed robbery?
“What did you use earlier?”
“Belongs to the office.”
She eyed him critically. He didn’t just look different. He was different in ways she could only guess at.
“You don’t hunt anymore?”
“Sometimes with my brothers. I mostly fish.” He glanced away, and his hands slid into his back pockets as he rocked nervously from toe to heel, heel to toe.
Finally he looked up. She met Clay’s gaze, and his expression gave nothing away.
“Still want my help?” he asked.
Izzie nodded.
He glanced toward his house, and she realized that he must not have eaten yet, since she’d caught him before he even made it to his front door.
“I’ll buy you a burger after,” she promised.
His mouth quirked. “Okay.”
He strode past his battered pickup toward her newer-model Ram with the double wheels front and back and the trailer hitch behind. Oh, how her mother hated this truck, even though it was a used model.
Izzie watched Clay pass. His easy gait and graceful stride mesmerized her until she realized he was headed toward the driver’s side. For a minute she thought he meant to drive. Izzie still had two years’ worth of payments on her truck, and nobody drove it but her. But instead of taking the wheel, Clay opened her door for her and stepped back.
She felt her mouth drop open but managed to hold on as she nodded her thanks and swept inside the cab. He waited a moment and then closed the door before rounding the hood and removing his hat. Then he slid in beside her, hat in his lap. He fiddled with the seat controls, sending his seat as far back as it would go, and still his knees were flexed past ninety degrees. Then he sat motionless as she headed home.
“Who do you think cut your fences?” he asked as they rolled down the narrow mountain road from his place and toward hers out past Pinyon Lake. Here the forest lined both sides of the road with the pavement creating a narrow gap in the walls of pines.
“I have no idea.”
“Anyone threatening you or trying to buy you out?”
“Buy me out, no.” She remembered something, and she squeezed the wheel. “But my neighbor did ask me out a few times.”
“Who?”
“Floyd.”
Clay straightened. “Floyd Patch? He must be close to forty.”
She and Clay were both twenty-four. He was born in February and she was born on the same day in March. There was a time she had joked that she liked older men. But that didn’t seem funny right now.
“He’s only thirty-six.”
Clay rolled his eyes and brushed the crown of his felt hat, but said nothing. He considered the ceiling of the cab for a long moment. His usual posture, Izzie recalled, when he was thinking.
She smiled at the familiarity. It seemed that so much about him was the same. But not everything. Izzie steered them onto the main road, deciding to take the long way back to keep from the possibility of encountering her mother on the road. Izzie glanced at the clock, realizing her mother would likely be home because the boys should be climbing off the school’s late bus about now. Clay’s voice dragged her back to the present.
“Clyne said he was on the agenda a while back. I saw him talking to my boss a time ago about the tribe’s communal pastures.”
Who was he talking about?
“Which ones to close for renourishment.”
Patch, she realized. Her neighbor.
“I heard Donner say that Patch was asking the council to impose a lottery for grazing permits again.”
Izzie clenched the wheel. “But that doesn’t make any sense. Lotteries mean ranchers might get grazing land clean on the other side of the reservation.”
Clay shrugged. He had no horse in this particular race.
“You think Floyd wants my permits?”
“Don’t know. But if he can’t get the council to change the way permits are distributed, he could get them by marrying you.”
Izzie let out a sound of frustration. “Those permits and the cattle don’t belong to me. They are my brothers’.”
“Whose name is on the permits?”
Izzie said nothing because they both knew that a minor could not own permits. Of course you had to be of age and Apache to even apply. As long as she didn’t miss the October first application date, which she never did, then the permits were hers until her brother Will was old enough to apply in her place. That was the way it had always been. She hadn’t come up with the system, but now she was starting to wonder if Floyd was indeed interested in her permits.
She turned on the cutoff that took her up the mountain, and Clay cast her a glance, wondering, no doubt, about her choice of routes. This way wasn’t faster.
“Daylight is burning,” he said.
“I know.” She increased her speed and leaned forward, as if that would make them climb the hill quicker.
“Did you go out with him?”
She had to think for a minute about who he meant.
“No. No, of course not.”
“He’s got twice your herd.”
“But not enough land to graze them. He’ll have to sell some or apply for another permit.”
“Or add them to the communal herd.”
She and Clay shared a concerned look.
“Can you tell if he is the one who cut the fences?”
“Maybe.” He toyed with his hat. “Let’s start on the lower pasture?”
“Sure.” She’d have to drive by the upper area where the shooting had been. Would the police still be there? “Then I want you to see the road and the place where the tribe is taking fill. They’ve leveled a wide area, for their trucks, I guess.”
“To get at the hillside?”
“All they told me was that pasture permits didn’t keep them from timbering the forest or exercising mineral rights. But this isn’t timbering. Well, some is.”
“What do you mean?”
“They aren’t choosing which trees to take to thin the forest or clear the brush or whatever. They clear-cut a patch in the middle of the forest about fifty-by-fifty feet.”
Clay frowned and rubbed the brim of his hat with his thumb and index finger, deep in thought.
Both she and Clay stretched their necks as they passed the new gravel road leading into the forest, but she saw nothing remarkable and no evidence of police activity. Whoever had shot at them was long gone. They passed the spot where his truck had been parked and arrived a few minutes later at the lower pasture, where most of her remaining cows milled close to the fence.
Izzie wished she had risked the shorter ride, as the sun was already descending toward sunset. It had been hard to give up the long days of August, but the air was already cool up here at the higher elevations, and so she shrugged into her denim coat, then realized Clay did not have one.
Clay pointed at her rifle, hooked neatly to her gun rack behind the seats.
“Take that,” he said.
She did. He had told her to take one of her rifles but left the second firearm in place. Was that because he knew she was a better shot or for some other reason?
“You had a gun earlier,” she said checking the load and adding a box of cartridges to her coat pocket for good measure.
“Have to. Part of my job.” He tried to step past her. She blocked his path. He stopped and faced her.
“Why don’t you own a gun, Clay?”
“No one wants to see an ex-con with a rifle in his hands.”
“But you weren’t charged with a felony. You are allowed to own one, right?”
“Right.”
He raked his fingers past his temples and lowered his hat over his glossy black hair that brushed the collar of his shirt.
“Can we get started?”
She extended an arm in invitation. He continued, walking the highway, scanning the ground.
“Do you think the police are done investigating up there?” she asked, indicating the site of the shooting. “I didn’t see any activity.”
“For the day, maybe. But I’m not poking around in their crime scene.”
Clay already had his eyes on the ground; she kept hers on the trees far above them, perhaps two miles away. For a shot you would need a scope and some luck to make the target. But still she held her rifle ready as she searched for more gunmen.
She followed behind him as he walked the highway. No one drove past. This road was too far from anything or anyone and was rarely used, except for today, of course.
Clay headed toward the pasture, and all the curious cows that had crowded the fence line fled in the opposite direction. She resisted the urge to count them.
He had already stepped through the fencing and stood lifting the upper strand of barbed wire to make her passage less difficult. Then he continued on, following some trail clear only to himself. She could see the routes the cows took along the fence line. She followed until he stopped and then glanced past him at the knee-high yellowing grass. The parallel tracks of a small vehicle were clear even to her.
“What the heck is that?” she said.
“ATV. Came from up there where the fence was cut. Saw the tracks this morning, but with the shooting, it slipped my mind until you showed up in my driveway. He rode down this way, in a circle, gathering your herd. Cattle tracked that way.” He pointed.
“He?” she said.
“Could be a she. Won’t know unless they get out of the vehicle.”
They walked a bit farther on. The grass was flat by the fence. She could imagine her cattle pressed up against the barbed wire.
“Stopped here and then headed that way.” He pointed back the way the vehicle had come.
“What was it doing on my land?” She had a sick feeling in her stomach as she looked at the grass flattened on both sides of the fence line. They’d exited there. But how?
Clay advanced to the fence and touched one of the wires. It fell, snagging the one below it and bringing that down, as well. Clay pointed to the splice, where someone had reconnected the cut line exactly beside one of the barbs using thin pieces of wire.
“You’ve been rustled,” said Clay.
“But they didn’t steal them.”
“No. Just drove them to the road and called the livestock manager so we’d come scoop up your cows.”
“Who made the call?”
“Don’t know. But you best ask and take a few photos of this. You got a phone that does that?”
She shook her head. Clay withdrew an older model smartphone and began photographing the line and the break and the one remaining patch. Then he photographed the pasture and, for good measure, took a short movie.
“That should do it.”
“I’m calling the cops again,” she muttered.
“Let’s check up top first.”
She nodded glumly. Then realized something and stopped.
“I can get my cows back. If someone cut the fences and drove them out, I shouldn’t have to pay the fine.”
“If you can prove it.”
“You just did.”
Now he looked glum.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said, continuing back the way they came, exiting through the broken fence and replacing the small bits of wire.
“Why didn’t they fix the upper one?” she asked pausing as Clay took more photos.
Clay tucked away his camera. “Don’t know. Maybe they ran out of time or someone saw them. Where were you this morning?”
Chapter Four (#ulink_e711e7c7-a893-5a8b-907c-445f09596187)
Izzie stilled at Clay’s accusation as heat flooded her face. Indignation rose with the pitch of her voice.
“You think I did this?”
“What? No! I just asked where you were.”
Now her face flamed with embarrassment.
“I don’t accuse folks of things, Izzie. That’s Gabe’s job.”
She touched his arm and felt his bicep flex beneath the worn cotton. “I’m sorry.”
He nodded his acceptance.
“I was with the ferrier. Biscuit and the other horses were getting their feet trimmed and teeth filed.”
“So the ferrier was here. I wonder who else knew you’d be with him.”
She started to compile a list in her mind. When she got to ten people she sighed and gave up. Clay trailed back out on to the road. Izzie went to her truck to grab some wire to fix the gaping hole.
“I wouldn’t do that until after they have a look. The police, I mean.”
Izzie wasn’t leaving a hole between two posts, so Clay helped her rig a temporary closure.
When they got back to the truck Clay got her door again. After she climbed up into the cab, he hesitated before closing the door.
“Somebody is after your herd, Izzie. You need to watch your back.”
Izzie met the concern in his gaze and tried to look brave. But inside her fears gobbled her up. Keeping the herd was hard. Keeping them while under attack...
She reached out and Clay took her hand. He gave a squeeze.
“Thank you for helping me.”
He flushed and released her, stepping back, closing the door. She watched him round the front of her truck.
She started the engine and waited as he climbed in. She was so darn lucky that he was a big enough man to put aside her snub and help her when she really needed him. Would she have done the same?
Izzie swallowed her uncertainty as these questions made her shift with discomfort.
The motor idled, and Clay glanced her way, his hat in his hands and brows raised in an unspoken question.
“I don’t know what I would have done if you didn’t agree to help me.”
His voice was quiet. Intimate. “I’ll always help you, Izzie.”
“Maybe we can be friends again.”
His brows lifted higher. “Is that what we are?”
Was he thinking of what she had been? How could you ever be friends after you loved someone? Was it even possible to mend the fences cut between them?
“We could be,” she whispered.
Clay faced forward and said nothing as she drove them up the hill.
“There is cell service at the top of the mountain here. I can call the police from up there.” She hoped the gunmen and the police were gone. Really, she wanted nothing more than to wake up and find this day was all a nightmare. But then she looked at Clay sitting beside her again and wondered if it was all worth it just for these few minutes together.
At the top of the pasture, she turned onto the improved road. The sun shone through the tall pines to the west in flashing bands of brilliance, but it was starting to go down now. Clay directed her where to park and then exited the truck. Izzie followed, just as she always had. What would he do if he knew the reason she’d dated Martin? Would he be flattered or angry?
It had been a stupid, childish idea, and it had blown up in her face.
The entire episode was embarrassing. Funny that Martin had charmed her mother into believing he was a good guy. A good Christian boy, Carol Nosie had called him. He’d fooled a lot of folks with his manners. But she’d known what he was, and she’d still agreed to go out with him, for a while.
She could see nothing on the gravel that Clay studied, so she watched him, enjoying the way the light gilded his skin and the stretch of denim and cotton as he stooped and rose.
On the gravel road the rocks crunched beneath his feet. He walked slowly, his eyes scanning back and forth. At last they reached the wide bulldozed stretch that had been muddy the last time she’d been up here but now was packed earth. Clay made a sound in his throat, and Izzie wanted to ask him what he saw, but she cultivated patience. He walked back and forth, ventured into the woods, knelt a few times, lifted a stone, and examined a branch. The only thing Izzie saw for sure were the prints of her cattle that had made it up this far. She tried to count the number of cows, but they circled back on themselves, so she gave up.
“Look,” she said, finding an interesting track at the edge of a drying puddle. “Dog.”
“Coyote,” he said from some forty feet off.
She gripped her rifle tight as she squatted to examine the print. Why hadn’t she learned to track?
“This way,” Clay said, and she followed him past the cut of dirt, up the steep incline sprinkled with quaking aspen. She glanced up at sunlight shining its last rays on the golden leaves and smiled at the beauty. With her focus elsewhere, she did not see Clay stop and nearly ran right into him. He stood with hands on hips, staring down. She heard the buzz of many flies before her attention snapped to the three cows all lying motionless in the tall grass. Her cows.
Izzie gave a little cry and tried to rush past him. But he halted her with one hand, effortlessly bringing her back to his side.
“That your brand?” he asked.
She glanced at the flank of the closest cow and recognized the two interlocking circles.
“Yes. Are they dead?”
The question was answered by their absolute stillness. It was two heifers and one yearling. Their legs stuck out straight as if they had been stuffed and then toppled, and their eyes were a ghostly white. Izzie calculated her herd. One hundred and eleven in all, minus one to Clay, minus three to death was a hundred and eight. But that included the fifty-one now impounded. She glanced around, searching for more dead cows. This was a disaster.
She threw up her hands in frustration. “What are they doing way up here?”
“You got a fence between this and the upper pasture?”
“Too much ground to cover. They mostly just stay together in the pasture.”
Clay pointed at the grass. “Coyotes chased them.”
Izzie fumed and lifted her rifle to her shoulder, searching for the coyotes. Then her brain reengaged, and she realized coyotes couldn’t take down two heifers. They’d been after the yearling.
Clay rested a hand on her shoulder and gave a squeeze before releasing her. She turned from her dead cattle to glance up at him.
“Coyotes didn’t do that! There’s not a mark on them.”
He nodded his head and glanced back at the carcasses. Flies buzzed and landed in their nostrils and on their filmy white eyes. She looked at the lolling tongues and noted the saliva was a neon-green color. She’d never seen anything like it before.
“What’s that?” she asked, her voice a whisper.
He shook his head. “Not sure. Sick?”
The very thought of that caused a surge of terror to crash through her like a wave, the impact rocking her on her feet. Clay steadied her with a gentle clasping of her elbow. She shook him off, looking for a fight.
“My cows aren’t sick!” she said, more to herself than to him. She could think of no greater catastrophe than sick cows. But her eyes locked on the green sputum. Oh, Lord help her if they had something contagious. The tribe would order them slaughtered. She’d be left with nothing. And without the cattle, she couldn’t maintain the permits. She gripped the rifle tight and tried to think.
Clay withdrew his phone from his front pocket.
She clasped his wrist, feeling the cool skin and the roping tendons beneath.
“Wait a minute.”
He did, but his face was granite.
“Give me a second.” She glanced around as if someone would come to her rescue. But no one ever did that. She stared up at Clay. “Someone chased my herd onto the road. Now they are trying to make it look like my cattle are sick. It’s another setup.”
“Maybe. Need a vet to know for sure.”
She gripped the forearm of the hand that held the phone.
“Don’t call them,” she begged.
His eyes widened, and his mouth gaped. Then his look went cold and his posture still. Her cheeks burned with shame. Had she just asked him to break the law?
He lifted his arm, and she let her numb fingers slip from his sleeve as the shame burned her up with the last of the sunlight.
Clay drew up a number and pressed the call button. A moment later she heard a familiar voice. “Gabe? It’s Clay. I’ve got a problem.”
Chapter Five (#ulink_e7bd6248-e108-5ddd-a824-70224ddb1a81)
Clay and Kino had gone over the tracks using floodlights. Kino agreed with what Clay saw. Gabe was busy directing the investigation, but he took a look at some of the more important signs. All the Cosen boys had learned to read sign from both their father and from their maternal grandfather. Reading sign was a part of their inheritance and the skill that had made their ancestors so valuable to the US Cavalry. And Clay’s ancestors had found Geronimo. It was why their tribe was still on their ancestral land, an anomaly for most Native peoples.
Some things never changed because now Apache trackers were in demand with Border Patrol, Immigration and Customs and, lately, the US military. Clyne had spent six months as a special instructor in Afghanistan teaching elite military units how to track terrorists in the desert. And Clay and Kino had only just returned from the Sonora Desert, where they had tracked drug traffickers entering over the Mexican border.
Clay was cold, hungry and surly by the time Gabe got the go-ahead to call the Office of the State Veterinarian, from tribal officer Arnold Tessay. Clearly, Izzie had forgotten her offer to buy him dinner. Right now, he could eat that frozen pizza cold.
Both Tessay and Clyne arrived well past dark. The tribe’s president was in Washington testifying before the House of Representatives on Indian Affairs. Gabe also had called Donner, since he managed the tribal livestock and needed to be made aware that there might be some new illness killing cows on the Rez. Gabe told Clay that Donner was calling both Pizarro, who covered the tribe’s cattle business, and Soto, who oversaw livestock health. Donner and Pizarro arrived together. Clay knew from his boss’s angry stride that he was pissed. He was a big man, nearly as tall as Clay, though twenty years and forty pounds separated them. His face was fleshy and had been pulled by time and gravity. Behind him came Boone Pizarro. By contrast, Pizarro’s skin stretched tight as a drumhead over his angular face, and his body was thin with ropy muscles. Clay heard that his wife preferred the casinos to cooking, but whatever the reason, Pizarro had a perpetual hungry look. Both men stopped before him, expressions stern.
“I don’t remember sending you over here again,” Donner said to Clay.
“No, sir. Ms. Nosie asked me to check for sign. Her herd didn’t break loose. The fences were cut.”
Pizarro’s mouth went thin. “Cutting is a serious charge.”
Thankfully Gabe stepped up at that moment. “They were cut, all right.”
“And you didn’t see this earlier?” said Donner.
Izzie interjected now. “Maybe it was the bullets that distracted him, or being pulled in for questioning.”
Donner cast her a sour look. While Pizarro laughed, Clay gave her a slow shake of his head. He didn’t need that kind of help. His boss was angry enough. Plus sarcasm might not be the best option against a man who had the authority to quarantine her entire herd. Beside him, Izzie fumed but said no more.
“You got any suspects?” Pizarro asked Gabe.
Tessay moved closer to Clyne, making Izzie the lone woman in a circle of men. She always had been, he realized, as a rancher and before that with her two brothers and father. But Clay noticed they’d closed Izzie out. He stepped back, and she wedged in beside him.
“Nope,” said Gabe, his posture relaxed. “Just starting the investigation.”
If he was stressed by the late hour or the presence of his superiors from the tribal council, he gave no sign and instead only radiated confidence and authority. Clay admired that. Gabe was a keen observer of everything, and he was very good at noticing inconsistencies. Perhaps that was why he went into law enforcement. Or it could have been to make up for their father. That was a tough legacy.
Gabe hitched a thumb in his utility belt, as comfortable with his sidearm as Clay was uncomfortable with one.
“We got shots fired, cut fences, repaired fences intended, I believe, to give the illusion of an intact fence. We’ve also got three dead cows with no sign of predation.”
“Disease?” asked Tessay.
“Vets will tell us that. They’re en route.”
Pizarro and Donner exchanged looks.
“Where’s Soto?” asked Pizarro. “He should be here.”
“On his way,” said Gabe, failing to be sidetracked. “Either of you have any idea why this area has been improved?” Gabe directed his attention to his brother Clyne and Arnold Tessay. As tribal leaders, they were the logical ones to ask.
“Not me,” said Clyne.
Tessay hesitated and then shook his head. “Don’t know.”
“Looks like a pretty nice level area. Not sure why it’s here,” said Gabe.
His comment went without reply from any of those gathered, but Izzie was shifting from side to side. Did she know more than she had told him? Clay watched Gabe’s attention flick to Izzie, and Clay resisted the urge to still her nervous motion.
“We need to quarantine Nosie’s herd,” said Pizarro.
“I don’t want to get folks all in a tizzy over nothing,” said Tessay.
“We don’t know what killed those cows, yet,” said Gabe. “But better safe than sorry.”
Donner looked to Clay. “Pick them up in the morning. I’ve got no budget for overtime.”
“You can’t just take my cows,” said Izzie, but her voice lacked confidence, for she surely knew that they could and would do just that. Keeping all cattle certified and disease free was essential to their survival.
Clyne rested a hand on Izzie’s shoulder. It was a fatherly gesture, and still it raised the hackles on Clay’s neck. He had to resist the urge to shove his brother as if they were still kids. Not that he’d ever won a fight against his eldest brother. Clyne was eight years his senior. Clay thought he might just be able to take him now. Instead he reined himself in.
“Izzie, we’ll expedite this. I promise. If possible, we’ll get your cows a clean bill of health and get the ones that were impounded returned to you as soon as we can. But you have to help us here.”
“Councilman,” said Izzie, “my family depends on our herd.”
“She’s no different than the rest of us in that,” said Tessay, whom Clay recalled had a cow or two pastured in the tribe’s communal herd.
“She is different,” argued Clay, wondering when he’d suddenly decided to pursue a career in public speaking. “Because she has more cattle than most of the other members of the tribe and because her family has been herding on this land since before they built Pinyon Fort.”
Gabe was rubbing the back of his neck in discomfort. Clay wondered if he were the one causing that pain. He glanced to Clyne to find him grinning at him like a fool. Izzie gaped at him as if he had just sprouted a crown like one of the mountain spirits.
Donner grasped Clay’s arm. “Will you excuse us for a minute?”
Clay had a sinking feeling he was about to get fired as his boss led him out of earshot. Donner stopped them a short distance from the others.
“That’s my boss you’re dressing down,” he said.
Clay stared at the ground. Outside of the circle of the headlights, there wasn’t much to see.
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“What’s gotten into you? I mean, what does it matter to you, anyway?”
“Nothing,” Clay admitted. “Izzie is an old friend.”
Donner snorted. “Friend, huh?”
Izzie had stopped being his concern long ago. She’d made it very clear that she didn’t want any part of him...until today, or was it yesterday? He glanced at the sky, glittering with stars, and decided from the angle of Orion that it was past midnight. He stretched his shoulders.
“You working for her?”
“No. Well, she asked me to read sign.”
His boss flapped his arms. “It’s called moonlighting, and I can fire you for it. You can’t work for someone else while you’re working for me.”
“I—I didn’t know,” Clay said.
Donner made a face. “I believe you, son. But this isn’t just about what’s right and wrong. It’s about the appearance of right and wrong. Appearance is the same as reality.”
Clay scratched the stubble on his chin. “I’m interested in the truth.”
“Son, an inspector working for a rancher is a conflict of interest. That didn’t occur to you?”
It had. In fact he’d warned Izzie that he would not be a part of anything illegal.
“I just read the signs.”
“Okay. You read the signs. It’s done. I’m giving you a warning and telling you to stay out of it. She needs help, she can hire your kid brother to track. Anyone on the Rez but you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You know I went to school with your father?”
Clay did know because his uncle Luke had told him when he’d spoken to Donner about hiring Clay. His uncle Luke Forrest was his father’s half brother and so was not a Cosen.
“And your uncle put in a word for you. So do us both a favor. Keep out of politics. When Tessay or Clyne are talking, you hush up unless you need to say, ‘Yes, sir.’ You got that?”
“Yes, sir.” He said it without sarcasm but still gleaned a long, hard stare.
His boss left him standing there and returned to the circle. Clay swiped his hand at the long grass in frustration. Izzie needed his help. But he sure needed this job. Kino found him first.
“They’re wrapping it up for tonight. Can’t see anything, anyway.”
“The vet here?”
“Yeah. And Soto finally made it. They’re gonna set up tents and do the necropsy right here. Damn, that green puss is something. Ever seen anything like it?”
Clay gave his head a slow shake. “How long for results?”
“Couple days, at least.” Kino rested his hands on his hips, tucking his thumbs under the utility belt and staring out at the investigation, winding down as men headed for their vehicles.
“What?” said Clay. He knew his brother well enough to know that he wasn’t done talking.
Kino shrugged. “Clyne is worried about you and Izzie.”
“What about us?”
“None of my business. His, either. I told him that. But you took it pretty hard the last time is all.”
When she’d dumped him. Great, now his brothers where discussing his love life. Add it to the long list of his failures. Must make a nice change from gossiping about his other shortcomings.
“She hired me to read sign.”
“Okay. Just be careful.”
Did Kino mean because of the shooting or because he’d been a complete train wreck when Izzie had broken it off?
“Yeah. I’ll tell her to ask you if she needs any more help reading sign.” He called himself a liar even as he uttered the words. “Told her all I could. That should be that.” But he hoped it wasn’t. He wanted to see her again, was already plotting how he could make that happen. She owed him dinner.
“Good, because Gabe told me to remind you to leave the police work to us.” He kept his head down now as he delivered his message.
Clay tore off his hat and raked his fingers through his hair.
“Sorry,” muttered Kino.
Clay turned his back on Kino and headed toward the group of men. He noted that Izzie’s truck was already gone. What had he expected, a good-night kiss?
Clay glanced down out of habit, scanning the ground, and saw something he hadn’t before. A track—a big one, one that did not belong up here in the middle of nowhere.
Clay lifted his head. He had to find Gabe.
Chapter Six (#ulink_d84c4d43-3796-5903-8ab8-0ec0ee1e1fd2)
Izzie did not sleep well or much. Her wake-up call the next morning was Gabe Cosen serving her with notice that the remainder of her cows would be seized and quarantined. Her mother returned from running errands and confronted her about seeing “that Cosen boy again.” Her mother loved gossip, unless she or her family were the subject of talk. Izzie wondered if her mother ever tired of being above reproach.
“Of all the people in this tribe to call. Really, Isabella. What were you thinking? What about that nice Mr. Patch? He certainly has made his interest known. And he has all that cattle.”
Izzie cringed, and her mother’s hands went to her hips.
“What’s wrong with him? I mean, we could certainly use some help around here.”
“We’re doing fine.” At least they had been yesterday. Now she felt as if the ground beneath her was sliding away.
“I mean, Clay Cosen, do you honestly want our name and his linked? Your father certainly didn’t.”
The below-the-belt blow hit home. Izzie flinched. It had been her father’s opposition that had finally gotten her to break it off with Clay. She’d been so sure her parents would change their minds about Clay, and then he had been arrested. Case closed. Her mother had basked in smug satisfaction at being right again while her father had offered comfort. How she missed her father, still, every single day.
“I don’t want that man on my land again,” she said to Izzie.
Izzie wanted to tell her mother that the land did not belong to them, but to the tribe. They had use of it by permit only. She wanted to tell her mother that she was a grown woman who could see who she liked, and she wanted to tell her mother that running the ranch was not her business because her husband had left that job to Izzie. Instead she said, “I’ve got chores.”
“But wait. I want to hear what is going on up there.”
Izzie kept going, knowing that her mother didn’t want anything badly enough to walk into a pasture dotted with cow pies and buzzing with flies. Izzie changed direction and headed for her pickup, deciding that would be faster than riding Biscuit.
“He’s trouble,” her mother called after her.
Izzie swung up behind the wheel. “Mom, I’ve got bigger trouble right now than Clay Cosen.” So why was she thinking of him instead of how to get back her cows? “I just got notice. They’re taking the rest of the herd, Mom.”
Carol pressed a hand to her chest. “But why?”
“Quarantined.”
“But...you... They... Isabella Nosie, you have to get them back.”
Finally, something on which they agreed.
“Working on it.” She pulled the truck door closed and started the engine, using the wipers to move the dust that blanketed her windshield.
Izzie headed up to the area where Clay had found the dead cows and now saw that a large white tent had been erected over the spot. Several pickups were parked beside the police cars in the gravel pad. Only one was familiar. It belonged to her neighbor Floyd Patch.
Izzie groaned as Floyd headed straight toward her. His gait was rushed, almost a jog. His skinny legs carried his round body along, reminding Izzie of a running ostrich. He was short, prematurely gray, with bulging eyes and skin that shone as if it had been recently waxed. His usual smile had been replaced by a look that hovered between stormy and category-five tornado.
She didn’t even have the driver’s-side door shut when he was on her like a hungry flea on a hound. He hitched his fists against his narrow hips and drew himself up, making his shirt draw tight across his paunch. It was hard for Izzie to recall that she’d initially found his attentions flattering. Now she greeted his occasional appearances with the reluctant resignation of an oncoming headache.
“I don’t appreciate you sending the police to my door,” said Floyd, his voice higher than usual.
“I did no such thing.”
“Asking me where I was yesterday and checking the tires of my truck, as if I’m some kind of criminal. They ought to check Clay Cosen’s tires. I heard he was up here yesterday. What did you tell them, that I poisoned your cattle?”
“No, I never—”
“And I have to find out from the police that you’ve got cows dying up here.”
“Floyd, it only just happened.”
“Yesterday. And you didn’t think I might want to know? I’ve got my own herd to protect.” He pointed in the direction of his pastures, across the road and down the hill. His pasture was rocky and more wooded, because her ancestors had invested more sweat in clearing the land.
“There’s been no contact between your cattle and mine, and you haven’t been on my property in two weeks or more. Your herd is in no danger.”
Floyd’s gaze flicked away, and he pursed his lips. Had he been on her land?
His gaze swung back to hers. “If there is no danger, then why did they quarantine your herd?”
“A precaution.”
“I understand that one of your dead cows had green stuff in its mouth. That’s not normal.”
If Floyd knew that, then everyone else did. “Who told you that?”
He didn’t answer, just continued on. “What if it gets in the water? What if it’s airborne? Three cows don’t just drop. Something killed them.”
“Floyd, I have to go,” she said.
The day just got worse from there. Izzie spent the afternoon waiting for information outside the necropsy tent of the State Office of Veterinarian Services. By day’s end, she knew only that the cows had showed renal and liver damage, mucus in the lungs and swelling in their brains. Cause of death was ruled as sudden cardiac arrest in all three. As to why, well, that was the question. What was it, and was it contagious?
The best answer she received was that more tests were needed. On the way back to her truck, Izzie found Chief Gabe Cosen speaking to Clay, who was sweat-stained, saddle-worn and sexy as hell. Clay noticed her approach and gave her a sad smile.
“Didn’t think you’d be back up here,” she said to Clay. “After your boss warned you off.”
Chief Gabe Cosen quirked his brow at her. Clay’s brother was handsome with classic good looks and that distinctive angular jaw shared by all the Cosen brothers. But it was only Clay who made her heart pound.
“I was just telling Clay that I’d served you notice to collect the rest of your herd. I’m sorry, Izzie.”
She pressed her lips together to resist the temptation of tears.
“And he told me that you hired him to have a look around yesterday.”
Of course Clay told his brother. Did she really expect him to pick her needs over his brother’s investigation?
“I’m looking into who cut your fences. Sorry for your troubles.” Gabe tipped his hat, the gray Stetson the tribal police wore in the cold season. He turned to Clay. “Well, I’ve got to verify what you found.” With that the chief of police made a hasty retreat.
“What did you find?”
“I wanted to tell you yesterday, but you’d gone when I got back here, and I didn’t think you wanted me knocking on your front door.”
That made her flush.
“Was I wrong about that?”
Izzie thought of her mother’s earlier tizzy and shook her head. She let her shoulders slump. She lived for the day that her brothers were old enough to take over, and she could live her own life. But from the way it looked now, there would be nothing to pass along to them. Izzie rallied. She could not let that happen. No one and nothing would stop her from retrieving every last cow.
“I’ve got to get them back,” she said.
Clay motioned to her truck and lowered the back gate. Then he offered her a hand up. They sat side by side amid the comings and goings of inspectors, livestock managers, tribal council. More than one cast them a cursory glance, and she wondered which ones would be reporting to their wives, who would report to her mother later on. Her mother had connections like the roots of an ancient pinyon pine. They were branched and deep.
“It looks like the rodeo,” Izzie muttered.
“Yeah.” Clay surveyed their surroundings and then focused on her. “Izzie, you hired me to give you a report.”
“I can’t pay you now.” She lowered her head, fighting against the burning in her throat. Crying in front of Clay was too humiliating, so she cleared her throat and gritted her teeth until the constriction eased.
Clay placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. She glanced up, eyes somehow still dry.
“Izzie, you had a heck of a big truck up here. Only left yesterday.”
“You mean the earth-moving machinery, bulldozer and dump trucks?”
“No, I mean an eighteen-wheeler, actually, two of them.”
“Eighteen-wheelers? Yesterday. Eighteen-wheelers can’t haul dirt.”
“That’s right. But they were here. And they were loading and unloading the trucks. Moving contents from one to another. Five guys.”
“What were they doing up here?”
“Not certain.”
She knew that look. He had suspicions.
“What, Clay?”
“Moonshining, maybe, or drugs.”
“You mean stashing drugs here?” She glanced around, half expecting to see a pile of boxes. She’d heard about the Mexican cartels using Rez land for holding their illegal merchandise, guns, drugs and people because treaty restrictions prevented federal authorities from entering sacred lands and from conducting investigations without obtaining permission first.
“But that wouldn’t kill my cows.”
“It might. If they were cooking up here.”
“Cooking what?”
“Crystal meth.”
Izzie rocked backward as confusion wrinkled her brow.
“I don’t understand.”
“There are fumes, by-products. They are poisonous.”
“Poisonous?”
“Gabe is checking for residue.”
Izzie straightened as a ray of light broke through the clouds. If Clay was right, then there was nothing wrong with her herd. She could get them back. She could still keep her promise to her father.
“They’re not sick!” Izzie threw herself into Clay’s arms. “Oh, thank you!”
He stiffened for just a moment, and then he wrapped his arms around her. She didn’t know how it happened. She was pressed against him as relief flooded through her, replaced a moment later with blinding white heat. Her body tingled. She tipped her head back, offering Clay her mouth. He did not hesitate but swooped down, angling his head as he kissed her greedily. Her fingers raked his back as she hovered between the sweetness of the contact of their mouths and the need for so much more.
“Isabella Mary Nosie!”
Izzie recognized her mother’s sharp admonition and pushed off Clay’s chest at the same moment he released her. The result was that she rocked dangerously on the tailgate, and only Clay’s quick reflexes kept her from toppling to the ground. He freed her arm the moment she regained her equilibrium and slid to his feet.
Izzie faced her mother, who stood with eyes blazing with fury as she glared at her eldest daughter. Izzie tried to keep her head up, but she found herself shrinking under her mother’s censure and the curious stares of the men she had forgotten were even there.
“What do you think you are doing?” asked her mother.
Clay looked to her, but all she could do was stammer, so he answered instead.
“Izzie asked me to help her figure out what happened to her cows.”
Her mother shot her a look, and Izzie nodded.
“Well, that’s a fine how-do-you-do.” She turned to Izzie. “He’s a felon. You don’t ask felons to do police work.”
Izzie found her tongue. “He’s not a felon.”
Her mother laughed. “Criminal, then. A skunk can’t change his stripe, and this one is just like his father. Now you come along home with me this instant. If word of this gets out, I’ll die of shame.”
Izzie straightened her spine. “No, Mom. I can’t. I’ve got work to do.”
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/jenna-kernan/hunter-moon/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.