High Moon

by Kati Wilde

  “She was French,” the bartender tells me.

  Sam frowns at him. “She wasn’t French.”

  “Yeah, she was. You do know they have black people in France, too?”

  “Well, she wasn’t born there.” The older man scowls. “And I’m about done putting up with your shit, Larry.”

  “The first time you told me that was twenty years ago, during my first shift behind this bar. Yet you haven’t left that stool yet.”

  And won’t, I figure. They’re both enjoying this little spat, judging by their scents. Not a hint of aggression is coming off either one. Probably they’ve been entertaining each other this way for all those twenty years.

  But I’m not here for this. “So Makena’s father was Jonas’s brother?”

  Sam nods, his gaze narrowing again. “Some folks in town used to joke that it must be the other way around, but I tell you it wasn’t.”

  He lost me. “What’s the other way around?”

  “That Jonas is Makena’s daddy. But I reckon people just said that because Jonas and Halima seemed like more of a pair. She was the one who taught Makena how to shoot a rifle, how to drive—all that shit. And the horses, the cattle…it was her and Jonas who made that ranch into what it is. I’m not saying that Mikael didn’t work, too—he worked just as hard as any of them. But he was, I dunno…softer. From the way he spoke to the way he spent so much time researching and studying. Like his head was always somewhere else.”

  Halima and Mikael. Realization slams into me and sends my brain reeling. For a second, I’ve never felt stupider in all my life. Here I am in Fortune City looking for the Laines, and I found the daughter—then walked away from her. But I never figured she’d be as old as Makena. Eleven years ago, Makena must have been sixteen or seventeen. Still a minor. But not nearly as young as I’d pictured.

  And somehow I just fell ass over backwards into discovering exactly what I came into this tavern to discover. Nothing that Sam has told me about her family makes me think the Laines had a thing to do with my own family being murdered, though.

  But I’ve still got to be sure. “So you were living next door when Makena lost them?”

  “She told you about that?” Larry sounds surprised.

  I nod, not a bit sorry for the lie, my gaze still on Sam. All at once the old man appears as drunk as he smells, his shoulders slumping, his eyes glassy and tired. “I was. And must have drove past where they were lying a half dozen times—with no idea that Makena was trapped in that goddamn mine. No food, no water. All because I didn’t see what was happening two hundred yards from where I was.”

  “You can’t blame yourself for that, Sam. You can’t even see the mine from the road.”

  The bartender’s absolution only seems to piss off the old man. “I shouldn’t blame myself? That last winter at my place, my wife gone and my kids away, I came down with a flu that knocked the shit out of me so hard I couldn’t get out of bed. And that same goddamn day, Jonas knocks on my door—because he saw that my cattle hadn’t been fed yet. So he knew something was wrong. He noticed even though he didn’t have any reason to drive past my place. Yet Mikael and Halima were lying out there all torn up, for three damn days, until Jonas came home and went looking for them. Another day in that hole and Makena would have been dead, too. As it is, she was barely moving when we got her out. And wasn’t in her right mind for days after.”

  Jesus. “How’d she get trapped in a mine?”

  Larry answers that. “They were apparently at that end of their property when that bear came after them. That old silver mine was probably the nearest place they figured she’d be safe.” He turns to Sam again. “And whose daughter volunteered to go in after her when none of the rescuers could fit through the crawlspace into that hole? Yours. So you did good there, Sam, raising her to be that girl.”

  The old man harrumphs, then takes another drink.

  “Did they ever get the bear?”

  “No.” Regret and frustration carve even deeper lines into Sam’s leathery skin. “Though I knew what we were looking for: I’d seen a black bear and her two cubs down by the river earlier that week. So I figure the Laines stumbled across those cubs while they were out, and that mama bear just…” He sighs and tiredly rubs the back of his neck. “So much time passed before we found them that we lost all trace of her. Though I spent a whole damn month searching those hills up behind our place, I promise you that. But I figure the bears crossed the river.”

  And I figure that the Laines’ mauling didn’t have a thing to do with the bearkin, then. A mama bear defending her young makes a lot more sense, given all that they’ve said. So I won’t be finding clues to my family’s murders here in Fortune City. I’ll have to move on.

  But not yet.

  Sam packs up and staggers out not much later. I sit at the bar until closing time, listening for a hint of who might have ripped out Makena’s fences, listening for any mention of her name. And I’ve got damn good hearing. But not a word.

  Finally I head back to the motel. In my room, I cup my hand over my face and breathe in her scent again. My other hand gets to work stroking my cock, trying to ease the ache of needing her. But it looks like my agony’s just beginning.

  Because my hand doesn’t ease a damn thing.

  5

  Makena

  When my alarm starts blaring at five, only sheer willpower gets me out of bed. I’m used to waking up early, but even after a good night’s sleep, I’m never bright-eyed and bushy-tailed—and last night wasn’t exactly a good night’s sleep. So I blearily haul a sweatshirt on over my camisole, don’t bother to change out of my pajama shorts, and stumble my way downstairs with Alf and Thelma at my heels. The coffeemaker’s on a timer and the fragrant promise of caffeine manages to pry my eyes half open. After filling my insulated mug, I shove my feet into knee-high rubber boots and head out to the barn, shivering in the early-morning chill.

  This part of my morning routine I could do asleep, so it hardly matters that I’m a zombie as I work through it. I feed the chickens and horses, give the dairy cow some grain, and settle in to milk her—by hand, because although we’ve got a milking machine, cleaning and sanitizing it afterward takes more time than it’s worth for a single cow.

  It’s just shy of five-thirty when I head back to the house, weighed down by two gallons of raw milk and a basket of eggs. The dew’s thick on the grass, though it’ll burn off soon. A warm hue brightens the sky over the eastern hills, and the sun won’t be far behind. All around me, birds cheerily greet the morning.

  Probably because they weren’t awake most of the night, feeling sorry for themselves. Probably because they’ve got their little birdy mates and their little birdy babies are all grown up, so they’re just sitting pretty in their empty little nests, tweeting their fool heads off.

  That stupid cowboy. I wish he hadn’t kissed me like that.

  If he hadn’t, then maybe when I got back home last night, it wouldn’t have occurred to me that I was utterly alone. No Julio. No Jonas. It was just me and the dogs. That’s never bothered me before. Not once. All this time, I thought I was content with the way things are. But I’m not. And Jonas should be home again this evening…but last night, it was as if I glimpsed what my future holds. A future where I’m always coming home to a lonely house.

  Maybe I never thought about it before because, for a long time, the ranch was never part of my future. Instead I planned to head off to college, then get a job in Boise or another nearby city—somewhere I could be close enough to visit my family, but far enough that I could live my own life. Then my parents were killed, and staying on the ranch became my new future. And that’s not a choice I’ve regretted. I won’t ever regret it.

  Still, the past decade slipped by like no time at all. I never thought that I’d be twenty-eight years old, with no serious relationships in my past—and none visible on the horizon, either. I thought that by now I’d be married with at least one kid on the way.

 
I thought there’d be someone in my life who always kissed me like I was the world to him.

  Instead that kiss came from a drifter with no intention of sticking around—and it woke up a painful longing inside me. For the first time in my life, it struck me that more decades might slip by the same way. In ten or twenty more years, when my uncle Jonas is gone for good, I might be coming home to an empty house every day. Or end up like Sam Rudder, selling off the ranch and spending every day in a tavern just so that I have someone to talk to.

  That’s not a future I want. Neither is settling for anything less than a man who kisses me as if I’m everything. And I know damn well I won’t find him in Fortune City. But leaving to find one isn’t really an option.

  Maybe I ought to put an ad on Craigslist. “Rancher in rural Idaho seeks mail-order groom. Must enjoy bad cellular service and backbreaking labor, know how to kiss like a house on fire, and love animals (but not too much, considering that they’re sold to people who eat them).”

  I doubt many serious replies would come in. But imagining the silly responses I’d get lightens my mood.

  Maybe the dogs pick up on it, because something lightens their moods, too. They’ve been pouting since we drove away from Ethan—both of them staring through the rear window of my truck until he was out of sight, whimpering like their little doggie hearts were breaking. Then they spent the rest of the night moping around the house. This morning wasn’t much better. Thelma usually gives the chickens hell when I’m feeding them, but this time she flopped down outside the coop and watched me with mournful eyes. Now all of a sudden she’s prancing around my legs, and only a miracle prevents me from tripping over her and spilling the milk and eggs. A few feet away, Alf comes to a sudden stop, his tail whipping back and forth, his head up and his droopy ears perked.

  Perked…toward the road. I frown in the same direction. It’s still dark enough that if someone was coming, I ought to see their headlights.

  Unless he’s not using headlights. My heart lurches as I make out the shadowed shape of an approaching pickup. From this distance, I can’t be sure it’s Ethan’s F-150. But the way the dogs are reacting, I don’t know who else it might be.

  “Don’t get too excited,” I tell the dogs and continue on toward the back porch. “He probably forgot something in our truck and is coming to get it. Then he’ll be gone again.”

  They don’t care. They’ve both abandoned me and hightailed it toward the front of the house, where they usually greet me when I’m coming home.

  Stupid dogs. Entering the house through the back door, I tromp through the mud room and into the kitchen. My heart’s beating like a drum, but that isn’t because Ethan’s coming. It’s just because I’m lugging around this big stainless-steel jug full of milk.

  Of course, as soon as I set the jug and the basket of eggs on the counter, I’ve got to find a new explanation for my racing pulse.

  Through the window over the sink, I watch his pickup turn onto my driveway…and here I am, still wearing my hair wrap. Shit. Couldn’t he have waited until a civilized hour? I take a minute to undo the wrap and shake some life into my flattened curls. For a moment I entertain the thought of running upstairs to change into something other than raggedy pajama shorts and an old sweatshirt, but toss that thought away as quickly as it came. The time for wearing kissing panties is over. And if he doesn’t like my old rubber boots or the way they’re spattered with cow shit…well, it doesn’t matter a bit. Soon enough he’ll be leaving town. So I’ll be neighborly, but not a damn thing more.

  I head outside again, snagging my keys off the hook by the door when it occurs to me that he might still be having problems with his pickup. The dogs are singing up a welcome—Alf’s deep baying and Thelma’s sharp, short barks rolling together in a discordant chorus.

  I stop near the front porch and hope my expression doesn’t seem too welcoming. “Settle down, you two. He probably needs to do more repairs on his engine, and I already told him he could use our tools.” So I’ll unlock the workshop and let him do his thing while I’m busy doing mine. “And if that’s it, he’ll only be here a few hours, at most.”

  The dogs don’t pay attention to me, but I’m not really talking to them, anyway. Instead I’m steeling myself against any stupid impulse that might pop into my head.

  An impulse like asking him to kiss me again. Because look where it got me—wishing for a husband and wallowing in discontent. That lonely, glum person isn’t who I am. And I won’t allow some drifter to turn me inside out.

  Not even if he still hits every single one of my buttons. Because, my god—he really is something to look at. So big and rough-edged all over.

  But it’s more than that. Because the second he steps out of his pickup, the dogs are all over him. Without hesitation, Ethan crouches down to their level. Watching the easy way he greets them by name and affectionately scratches their ears, I remember why I was so willing to put on my kissing panties. He even grins as they slobber him with kisses, like he’s glad to see them again, too.

  Then his gaze lands on me, and my breath catches hard in my throat. An involuntary shiver races over my skin, leaving goosebumps behind. After driving away last night, I almost convinced myself that it was just the situation—me running across a tall stranger on a dark, deserted stretch of road—that lent a hard and feral aspect to his appearance. But fifteen feet away and well-lit by the floodlight off the front porch, he still looks as imposing and as dangerous as when I first saw him.

  Except the real threat he poses isn’t just his size or that feral vibe. Instead it’s my reaction to him. Last night I gave him hell for kissing me as if I was everything to him. But now he’s looking at me the same way—and I’m glad I steeled myself against any response so my face doesn’t betray the longing that fills me up again, squeezing my heart. The floodlight catches a golden gleam in his eyes as he looks me over from head to toe, consuming every inch of me with that intense, possessive gaze.

  Rationally, I know that what I see in his eyes has to either be my imagination or a lie. The lust, I believe. But he doesn’t know me well enough to look at me with tenderness and devotion, or as if I’m the center of his world—or as if I belong to him. My heart and my body don’t care, though. They both want everything that look promises, my heart yearning and my body suddenly hot and restless.

  This man is a danger to me. I suspected it the moment he got into my truck last night, and I know it for sure now.

  With his amber gaze still on me, he murmurs something to the dogs and they instantly settle down. Removing his hat, he slowly rises to his feet. His voice is a rich, deep rumble. “I worried that I’d arrive too early. But I ought to have come a half hour ago.”

  I’m glad he didn’t. Concealing my reaction to him is hard enough now. If I were still half-asleep, a lot more might be tumbling out of my mouth than a simple, “Why?”

  “I’d have helped you with the morning chores. Because I’d like to take that job you mentioned.”

  For a full second, I can’t breathe. So many conflicting emotions and thoughts rip through me that I don’t know what I’m thinking or feeling. But when the onslaught subsides, one overwhelming emotion remains: hope. Because Ethan’s here, his hat literally in his hand, asking to stay.

  Except…that’s not what he intended to do last night. “What about your family obligations? You said you’d be taking off as soon as your business was done here.”

  His eyes darken. “I learned that I’ve got reason to remain in Fortune City a bit longer.”

  Hope deflates. “So you’re looking for something temporary?”

  His jaw clenches, and a struggle seems to wage across his expression. A long moment passes before he says gruffly, “I am. But it sounds like you didn’t expect to lose your last man. So if I’m filling in for him, you can take your time finding a replacement instead of quickly hiring someone who might not work out. In the meantime, I’ll work harder and faster than anyone you’ve had before. And for
a lot cheaper, too.”

  He’s already working hard—and smart. In his effort to persuade me, he just strung together more words at one time than I’ve heard from him before, and he’s dangling the carrot that hits every rancher’s sweet spot: good, cheap labor.

  But I’m not so easily led. And the cost of hiring him might not just be the money spent. “What if my definition of ‘cheaper’ doesn’t match yours? I haven’t even told you what the wage is.”

  “I don’t care what the wage is,” he claims, but there’s something about this job he must care about, or he wouldn’t be here at the crack of dawn, asking me to hire him. “You’ve already told me it includes room and board. I don’t need anything else. Except maybe fuel, if I use my vehicle on the job.”

  The Idaho Department of Labor would have something to say about hiring anyone for that cheap. And I’m not easily led, but I am tempted. Because he’s not wrong. Replacing Julio won’t be easy. Plus there’s always a chance that Julio might return if I can get MDC off my back.

  Yet by hiring Ethan, I might be putting a target on his back. And then there’s the little problem of the danger that I suspect he’ll pose to my heart.

  Silence falls between us as I’m torn by indecision. His posture rigid with tension, Ethan’s utterly still, watching me with that unwavering, predatory gaze. Beside him, Thelma whimpers softly and licks his hand, as if seeking his attention.

  God. Even my dogs are crazy about him. I might be completely screwed by the time he leaves. But I’d be a fool to turn away an experienced, hardworking ranch hand simply because he unsettles my emotions. We do need help around here. Good help.

  Though…maybe that’s the answer. Because if he’s not good help, then there’s not even a question.

  “Do you have references?” I finally ask.

  Immediately the tension vanishes from his shoulders. His taut expression eases into a slow, sexy grin. “I’ve got them ready here.”