Hunter Moon

Chapter Four

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

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

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.”