by Shannon West
Managing to get his eyes fully open, he squinted up at the man, who kept the gun pressed firmly to his forehead. “Who the fuck are you, boy?”
The words were spit at him by the guy holding the gun, a man a little older than he was, and probably thirty or forty pounds heavier. He was dressed like a hunter in filthy camo, and he stunk like cigarettes and beer with a heavy dose of pot. The whole place reeked of it, as a matter of fact.
Travis straightened up carefully, not wanting to jar his wound and start a fresh torrent of pain. Any more of that and he definitely would throw up his breakfast.
“I said, who the fuck are you?”
“Travis Sutherland,” he managed to get out, his voice sounding rusty and hoarse. “Who the fuck are you?”
The man grinned down at him and slowly pumped the action of his shotgun. “Don’t try me, boy. A Sutherland, huh? What the hell you doin’ up here on MacKay land?”
Deciding not to poke the bear any more than he had to, Travis answered him. “I came up here to go fishing. I’ve been staying at my friend’s cabin.”
“So it’s your wood smoke we been seein’ and smellin’ for the past few days. And just where is this friend of yours?”
“He left early this morning,” Travis lied. “I was hiking down after him and took the wrong fork in the road.”
“Hiking?” The man snorted with contempt. “If that’s true, you’re an unlucky motherfucker, I’ll tell you that, ‘cause you done took a hell of a wrong trail. Is anybody else up here with you?”
Travis bit his lip, unsure of the right answer. If he said no, then that might keep Camron safe, giving him a chance to leave his cabin and get on down the mountain. But if he stalled for time and said yes, they might not be so quick to kill Travis and dispose of his body in the woods. Maybe Camron would check on him and find out he hadn’t gone home and tell Hawke. Another nudge of the gun encouraged him to come up with quicker answer.
“No, but some other friends are on their way up. One of them is the sheriff, Hawke Sutherland. He’s my cousin.”
“Damn it!” Someone from behind Camo said. “I told you not to shoot at him! Damn Hawke Sutherland’s a mean-ass son-of-a-bitch! If we kill his kin, he ain’t never gonna let it go!”
Another man paced restlessly forward and squatted down beside Travis. He was older than the other one with a grizzled growth of gray beard on his face and chewing tobacco stains on the sides of his mouth. He leaned over close enough for Travis to smell the stink of his rotting teeth.
“How soon is he comin’, boy? Does he know we’re here?”
Travis shrugged. “I don’t know when he’s coming. Soon, I think. And I didn’t know you were here, so I doubt he does. Just let me go, and I won’t say anything.”
“Bullshit!’ Camo sneered. He turned to the man with the gray beard before jerking up his gun. “I say shoot him and bury him in the woods.”
“And then what, stupid? You think they won’t be looking for him?”
A series of three shots—one, and then two more close together--sounded from behind them, and they jumped away and ran for the door. Travis tried to get to his feet, but he was dizzy and shaky. His eyes quickly scanned the room, and he found that he was in an old cabin, even smaller and way dirtier than Camron’s. It stunk of old grease and wood smoke, with the sickly sweet odor of pot so strong it hung in the air around them like a curtain. A single, bare window let in weak sunlight over his head and another window was by the open door. Through this door, he could see the two men leaning over the porch rail and gesturing wildly down toward what must be the road. They were having an urgent discussion about somebody named Tim, and wondering what the hell he was shooting at now. As the silence stretched out, they got more and more nervous. Camo-man wanted to go down and check on him, but the other man held him back, whispering something and jerking his head toward Travis. Both men seemed strung out and nervous, a bad combination with a loaded shot gun in hand.
The roar of ATVs sounded from the road below and the effect on the two men would have been funny in any other situation. They began to wave their arms around, and the older man actually threw down his cap and pulled at his hair.
Camo was probably the most dangerous. He was burly and fat, but Travis figured he’d be able to take him down. Even wounded, his strength was much greater than either of the humans. Given his current condition, Travis doubted his ability to get them both, and that shotgun was already primed and pumped. Still, he was going to try it. No way was he going to sit there and let them shoot him. They were becoming more and more agitated and Travis knew one or the other was about to snap. He had to do something and quick if they came back in that door for him or started shooting down the hill.
Because if there was any chance those shots might be directed somehow at Camron…that didn’t bear thinking about. He readied himself to act, managing to get to his knees and getting ready to spring on Camo-man when he walked back through the door. With any luck, he could easily put him out of commission before he got the gun back up.
A sudden loud shout from outside startled him almost as badly as it did the men on the porch. It came from close by and it sounded like Hawke!
“You there on the porch! Throw down your guns and put your hands in the air! This is the Sheriff, and we have you surrounded!”
As if on cue, two more shots fired, this time from the back of the cabin, one on the left and one on the right. It seemed as if they really were surrounded, and for the first time, Travis felt a bit of hope.
The two men scrambled back from the porch, cussing and yelling and Camo came straight for him, the gun stuck out in front of him. “Git on your feet, boy.”
He jerked Travis up before he could react and dragged him to the front door, the barrel of the shotgun stuck in the side of his neck. Dizzy and sick, Travis didn’t try to fight him, just biding his time to see what Hawke had up his sleeve. Camo obviously planned to use him as a bargaining chip, so he let himself be hauled over to the door.
Camo kept the gun tightly wedged against his neck. “Here’s one of your men, sheriff! I’ll blow his head off if any of you come any closer!”
“You shoot him and you’re a dead man! Let him go and it’ll go easier on you!”
“You’re a sheriff! You can’t shoot us down in cold blood.”
“You shoot that boy, and you can just fuckin’ watch me, asshole! Let him go and throw down your damn guns!”
“Hell no! Let us get to our ATV and get out of here. We’ll put him out unharmed by the end of the road.”
Graybeard plucked nervously at Camo-man’s jacket. “Let him go, Earl. We’re caught. Ain’t no sense in makin’ things any worse than they are.”
Travis spoke up, surprised at how weak his voice sounded. “Listen to your friend, Earl. The sheriff will kill you if you don’t throw down your gun.”
“Shut the hell up!” Earl hit Travis with a solid blow to the injured side of his face, and the pain exploded with a bright burst in his head. He cried out helplessly, and all hell suddenly broke loose.
Something seemed to literally fly across the porch and rip him out of Camo’s arms while a shot gun blast sounded so close to his ears that he was deafened by it for a minute or two. Everything around him seemed to go in slow, soundless motion as he was pushed firmly down to his knees and watched Earl’s body hurtling across the rail, with another body—he thought it might be Spencer’s, diving after it. Somebody hunched over him then, cutting off his view, but he could smell the comforting fragrance of Camron’s body, and he relaxed instantly, his hands going up to clutch at Camron’s shirt and pull him closer. Finally able to relax, he let the muted noise of the battle drift over him. The pain faded a little as he felt the brush of Camron’s lips on his cheek, and his arms were strong and comforting around him.
Chapter Nine
Travis lay back on the pillows in Camron’s bed and wished everybody would just go away. The small bedroom was crowded with people, and if it weren�
��t for Camron sitting beside him, holding tightly to his hand, he would have jumped up and left, leaving them to fight it out amongst themselves.
For the past ten minutes, his mama had been trying to convince Camron that Travis needed to come back home with her—just for a few days—but he just kept calmly shaking his head. He was surprised at how placidly Camron was taking her continued insistence. As a matter of fact he’d been uncharacteristically quiet since they arrived back at his house. He’d called for the doctor who’d examined Travis, while Camron stood by the bed and held his hand.
Travis wondered if he was still bothered by what he’d had to do earlier to the man on the trail. He hadn’t known about it until Hawke and Spencer came in talking about it. Camron hadn’t talked about it at all and changed the subject when Travis brought it up.
Travis’s mama was still talking about taking him home while he listened with only half an ear when his dad suddenly spoke up, surprising everybody in the room. “Emma, that’s enough,” he said quietly. “Now you’ve seen Travis, and he’s in good hands here with his mate.” He took her firmly by the arm and began to lead her from the room. “Travis is fine and Camron’s got everything under control, so we’ll be leaving.”
She sputtered a bit, but took one long look at his face and nodded. “Camron, you take care of my baby, and I’ll come back…” A little squeeze of her arm and she winced as she amended her words. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
She gave Travis a little wave and allowed her husband to pull her out of the room, giving Hawke and Spencer a look that blistered their faces and should have peeled the paint off the walls behind them as she passed them near the door. Hawke averted his gaze, and Spencer flinched, as Jace and Travis looked at each other and laughed out loud.
“My big, strong sheriff,” Jace said. “He’ll go up against a man armed with a shotgun any day, but can’t even look at one of the clan females when she’s pissed off.”
“A man with a shotgun isn’t half as scary and talks a lot less,” Spencer muttered.
“Anyway,” Hawke said, shooting Jace a dirty look before looking back at Travis, “we came to see how you were and tell you about what we found out after you left this afternoon.”
“Oh yeah,” Camron said. “All I could think about was getting Travis down the mountain and over to the doctor’s office. I sort of left you and Spencer to clean up the mess, didn’t I?” He grinned up at them ruefully and tightened his hold on Travis’s wrist.
Travis smiled at him. “I told you I was okay—the bullet only grazed me. I lost a little blood, that’s all.”
“A little blood? I thought somebody had been killing hogs in that room!”
“Well, head wounds bleed a lot. I was okay.”
“I don’t blame him for being scared, Travis,” Spencer said. “When that dude brought you out on the porch you were as white as a sheet and pouring blood down your face. And then when that bastard hit you, I didn’t think anyone could move any quicker to get to you than I could, but Camron beat me by a mile.”
Camron flushed a little and shrugged. “It pissed me off. I didn’t like seeing him that way.”
“You think?” Spencer chuckled. “I told you the man who hit him was already dead from the fall off the porch, and you still punched him in the face.”
Camron shrugged and looked ashamed. “Not my finest moment.”
Spencer smiled. “I don’t know--I kind of liked it.”
“You’re both bloodthirsty,” Jace said. “The other man surrendered without a fight, didn’t he, Hawke?”
“Yes. They were growing marijuana up behind the house, near the tree line. We got sixty- some plants from up in there. They were small-time meth cooks, too. They were doing the ‘shake and bake’ method and then using the pot to bring them down off the tweaks. That’s one reason they were so paranoid and crazy, along with probably a natural disposition toward it.” Spencer snorted beside him, and Hawke gave him a disapproving glance. “Everything’s been turned over to DEA, including the prisoner.”
“What were they doing up there, Hawke?” Travis asked. “I mean, were they squatters?”
“No, not exactly. The one Camron killed on the road—the one who shot you, Travis, was some sort of a MacKay by marriage. A human. He was a stepson of Camron’s great-uncle. He moved away from here years ago, but when he drifted back to Huntsville, he was looking for a place to stay. He contacted his mother, and she gave him permission to stay up in the old cabin for a few months until he could get back on his feet. Of course she didn’t have any idea that would involve the growing and selling of marijuana.”
Camron nodded. “Good place for it—it’s pretty remote.”
“According to the one who gave himself up, they had been seeing the smoke from your fire for a few days but were lying low and hoping no one came around. They were paranoid as hell, and when Travis walked down that road, MacKay panicked. He was down on the road scouting around when you came up. The shot from the porch was just to scare you away, but MacKay must have panicked and shot Travis without thinking. He called to the others for help, and they came down and took you up to the cabin while he waited in case anybody else showed up.”
“And that’s where I came in,” Camron said.
“Yes, unfortunately for him,” Hawke said. “And you know the rest of the story. I explained to the agents that came how the man on the road attacked you first, and they could see the evidence with their own eyes. His rifle was cocked, and they could see you killed him in self-defense. The other one fell from the front porch in the fight. Broke his neck.”
“I didn’t mean to knock him over the railing, but after his gun went off next to you, he turned it on me. I had to put him out of commission, or he’d have shot me point blank.”
“Live by the sword, die by it too,” Jace said. “Those men tried to kill Camron and Travis. They would have killed you too Spencer.”
“Anyway,” Hawke said, “there won’t be any trouble about it. They’ll want to talk to you both, but it’s just a formality. All three of them had records for violent crimes as long as my arm.”
Hawke came over to put an arm around Jace. “We’ll get out of here and let you guys rest for now. I’ll come over in the morning to get your sworn statements.”
Camron stood up to shake his hand. “Thanks for everything, Hawke. “I don’t know what would have happened if you all hadn’t come along.”
“I still think you’d have kicked all their asses,” Spencer said, slapping him on the back. “Little brother, you got yourself a good one here.”
“I know,” Travis said softly, smiling over at Camron, who still didn’t meet his gaze.
They all left, with assurances to come by later, leaving Travis alone with Camron at last. Camron came back over immediately to sit down beside Travis again and take hold of his hand.
Travis smiled. “I’m not going anywhere, you know. You don’t have to keep holding onto me.”
“Damn right you’re not going anywhere.” Camron gave him a stern look before bringing his hand up to his lips to kiss the back of it. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m the one who should be sorry. When I saw your cap on the road and thought you’d been shot…and then that bastard dragged you out on the porch. You were bleeding all over the place and then he hit you…I thought I’d go crazy before I got to you.” His voice choked on the words, and he squeezed Travis’s hand so hard it hurt. “I should never have said what I did. I didn’t mean it—you have to believe me.”
“I do. We both said things.”
He shook his head. “No, I was worse. Look, if you want to work for your father, then I’ll find somebody else to help me. We can work it out, kit. Just don’t ever run off like that again.”
“I won’t. From now on, I’ll stay and fight it out, but only on one condition.”
“Which is?”
“That we get to make up like we did on the trail tha
t first day you took me to the cabin.”
“I think that most definitely can be arranged.” He took Travis in his arms, and they didn’t do any more talking for a long time.
The End
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Shannon West lives in the southern United States, and is a lover and avid reader of M/M romances. Shannon began writing gay romance a few years ago, and now has over ninety short stories, novellas, and novels to her credit. Her stories have been translated into French, Italian, and even one Japanese Yaoi. Her favorite genre is paranormal and most of her characters don’t get really interesting to her until they grow a tail. Shannon loves men and everything about them, and writes Romance (with a capital R) unashamedly and unabashedly. She believes, in the words of Helen Steiner Rice that “love is the answer that everyone seeks, love is the language that every heart speaks.” But she also believes wholeheartedly in the words of Woody Allen, that love may be the answer, but “while you’re waiting for that answer, sex raises some pretty interesting questions.” Shannon mostly spends her days at the keyboard, ably assisted by her cats, Scarlett and Taz, and eluding housework, which stalks her relentlessly.
Susan E Scott lives in Northwest GA with her husband and a Labradoodle named Nicky (who just happens to be named after one of her favorite characters in a Shannon West book.) For those who are familiar with the character, it's a perfect name for him because he's very much like that other Nicky - demanding, loving and maybe a little lazy. Susan loves to fish in the lake in her backyard, but has little time for it since she always feels she should be writing. She also loves to read, MM romance of course.
