The Eagle and the Fox (A Snowy Range Mystery, #1)

by Nya Rawlyns

  Telling the truth usually worked so Marcus twisted it into a white lie because he didn’t trust the skinny bag of bones as far as he could throw him. “Josiah Foxglove took her to a safe house in Laramie. Friends of his.”

  The kid barked, “What the fuck... Laramie? What’s she doing there?”

  Leaning forward, Marcus glared at the kid. “Petilune was so upset about what happened on Sunday, she damn near had a breakdown. When we tried taking her home, she threatened to run away.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. Lying didn’t come easy to Marcus, but he was on a roll. “What would you have us do? Dump her with those two no account brothers of hers and a mother who doesn’t give a shit where her daughter is, is that what we should have done?”

  He let the boy chew on that for a few minutes, then said, “That sweet girl needed a woman’s touch.” He waved his arms around, and asked, “You see any gals here who could offer that, huh?”

  Kit grumbled, “I guess.” He wasn’t quite buying it, but in lieu of evidence to the contrary, he didn’t have a lot of choice. But his expression made it clear he wasn’t happy. “I want to see her.”

  “No.”

  “Listen, old man...”

  Marcus bolted to his feet and stalked to where the kid sat on the stool. Looming over him, he shouted loud enough to rattle the rafters. “Listen, you little pissant piss of shit, that child’s barely hanging on by a thread right now. If you care about her...”

  The boy cringed but his eyes lit with a fire that damn near liquefied Marcus’ gut. “I love her and if you think...”

  Bingo.

  “Let’s get one thing straight, Giniw, I care about Petilune and I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that child is safe and happy.” He poked a finger at the boy’s chest. “Can you do that... keep her safe? If you could, then you wouldn’t have come around waving your fucking big gun, telling Josh Foxglove to look after her, now would you?” The kid jutted his chin, prepared to argue. Marcus leaned closer and growled, “Well, guess what, kiddo. That’s exactly what we’re doing, taking care of her.”

  He stepped back, not so much because he was afraid Kit Giniw was going to shove that fucking big gun down his throat, but because of how the kid’s features had crumbled into a well of misery and despair.

  Was it possible he was looking at a damn Shakespearean tragedy in the offing, with two star-crossed lovers at the whims of... of what, exactly? Goddam, he needed Josh and his law enforcement skills. He sensed all he was doing was building a wall between him and the boy—that he was letting his own feelings for the girl translate into destructive protectiveness. The fact was, Petilune was not his kin. She was his employee and his friend. And she was underage. That combination did not make for a comfortable situation, at least not to outside eyes.

  It might take a village to raise a child, but he had no doubt the townsfolk would draw a line when it came to a middle aged gay man going all daddy dearest. Not that they knew for a fact he was gay, but his motives were already suspect, though with Polly’s help the gossip mongers had finally eased up after seeing that nothing bad had come of the arrangement.

  In desperation, he asked, “Why are you here, son? You’re not from around these parts.” The boy withdrew, his face set in stone. Marcus had a million more questions and no clue which ones would matter, so he went with his gut and said, “You got yourself into a pickle, that’s pretty clear. And I think you need help getting out of it.” He laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “What can we do to help?”

  Shrugging off Marcus’ hand, Kit stood up. He was nearly Marcus’ height but with a lean and stringy build. A strong wind would blow him away. Marcus saw what attracted Petilune—soft, sad, dark brown eyes, full lips in a perpetual pout, cheekbones sharp enough to slice paper, and an air of isolation that probably spoke directly to the sweet child’s heart. Petilune had mothering instincts coming out the whazoo. Where she got them from, given that useless piece of work who birthed her, was anybody’s guess.

  As for Kit, the kid walked a fine line between a boy still needing adult guidance and a man making his own way in the world. Marcus wasn’t good at guessing ages, but he’d put the kid at sixteen or seventeen. There was no point in asking, the kid would lie.

  The boy turned toward the door, his intention clear. Marcus moved fast, blocking his escape. He begged, “Kit, please stop and think about what you’re doing. I don’t know what the hell’s going on, but it looks to me like you’re in over your head. Let me and Josh help.”

  “You can’t.”

  “Then why come here? What was the point?”

  Kit grimaced and looked away. Whatever the reason for showing up like he had, the kid had decided against opening up. Marcus wanted to kick himself from one end of the loft to the other. This was his doing. If he’d handled it better, he might have built some trust, gotten the boy to confide in him instead of backing off and leaving Marcus more in the dark than before.

  “Kit. Give me something. Is Petilune in danger? If you love her like you say, than dammit, boy, you need to give me ammunition to fight whatever might be coming after her.”

  Chewing his lip, Kit angled around Marcus and opened the door, but before tearing down the stairs, he said, “Keep her away from her brothers.”

  Confused, Marcus hesitated just long enough for Kit to disappear from view. He shouted, “Her brothers? Wait, Kit...” but it was too late. The emergency exit door to the loading dock opened and closed with a solid clang, leaving Marcus teetering between fear for Petilune and anger that Kit Golden Eagle had brought discord into the young girl’s life.

  What the hell did her brothers have to do with anything? And what about the four delinquents causing trouble throughout the valley? He was almost one hundred percent convinced the Goggles boys and that gang of Caucasian teens were connected. But how?

  His belly growled, reminding him he’d given his dinner to Kit. He needed food, but first he needed to contact Josh and bring him up-to-speed. It wasn’t every day he got a gun waved in his face or had his home double as a triage unit.

  He found his cell phone still on the couch and idly checked the numbers. They were both from Josh. For some reason, knowing the big man had called him helped calm his nerves. He tapped the number and waited for Josh to pick up.

  When Josh answered, Marcus forgot about being starved. Voice shaky, he whispered, “Hey,” as the adrenalin washed away and the inevitable shakes began.

  Josh hissed, “What’s wrong?”

  “Kit was here.”

  “I’ll be right over.”

  Josh disconnected, leaving Marcus sighing with relief. He reached for his notepad and pen lying on the crate next to the couch, intending to write down everything Kit had said. He was Josh’s eyes and ears, his backup man. At least that was the plan.

  The pen wavered over the notepad as Marcus listened for the uneven footfalls on the stairs, holding his breath in anticipation of Josh barging through the door and taking him in his arms...

  Muttering, “Damn,” he rousted himself out of his daydream and trudged downstairs to put on the lights and wait on the porch for his rescuer to arrive.

  Chapter Ten

  Flare Up

  When the call had come from Marcus, Josh had been taking inventory of their grain supplies, making a list he could take to the feed store. Staring at that list reminded him he’d still not gotten around to asking Marcus if he would allow for a bit more time on the ranch’s account. He had buyers coming to look at some reining prospects, but there was a vast divide between looking and writing a check.

  If he could sell two or three of the geldings, they’d have enough to squeak by for a few months. At least until the next disaster or humungous vet bill put them in the red again.

  The minute he heard Marcus’ voice, he knew something was wrong. While he’d hoped that Kit would come out of the woodwork and contact them, it wasn’t part of his game plan to involve Marcus with a guy likely to shoot first and not bother with
questions.

  He called his sister, asked after Petilune and told Becca he had to run to the feed store to talk to Marcus. Her is that right echoed long after he’d signed off. He muttered, “Busybody,” but he couldn’t stay angry with her. She worried about him, it’s what she did, what she’d always done.

  Yeah, he could have just talked with Marcus on the phone, found out what had happened, maybe offered some advice and support, but doing that at a distance wasn’t right, not right at all. Truth was, when he wasn’t thinking about the oddball crap going on, it was Marcus Colton who occupied his thoughts. The man seemed to get him in ways even his sister didn’t, knowing to tease him if he got a little tense, offering his friendship and asking nothing in return. He recalled how the sound of Marcus’ voice had drawn him out of an episode, thread by thread, then knitted him back together until he was the rancher with a family to care for instead of a wounded animal lashing out in every direction.

  Ever since that night, he’d had fewer nightmares and virtually no recurring descents into hell. It wasn’t the drugs or him thinking on the keywords or images that acted like a lifeline that had made a difference. He’d had those in his arsenal for a couple years. They worked until they didn’t. And he’d had plenty of triggers to confront in the last few days as well, yet each one slipped past with barely a ripple in his consciousness.

  That it was unfair to lay the responsibility for the turnaround on Marcus was a given. His new friend neither asked for nor did he deserve to carry that burden. Josh understood he had to walk a fine line and not allow himself to become dependent on a man who was too generous by a country mile. He had no right to pull the shopkeeper into his dysfunction, yet...

  Sitting on the couch, sharing a smoke and a drink, shooting the breeze about nothing, puzzling over how best to care for Petilune... Little things that, on the sliding scale of all the crazy shit that happened in life, didn’t mean much, but in the sharing those individual bits took on relevance. They were worth remembering, and those new memories—playing peekaboo with the mire that usually clogged his brain—they helped. More than helped, they soothed and gave him a measure of peace he never believed he’d find again.

  He slapped the steering wheel and muttered, “Wake up, cowboy,” using Marcus’ favorite term. He made the left toward Centurion, bumping over the cattle guard as the back end of the truck shimmied and bucked before settling. The store sat off to the left, sitting atop a small rise. The parking area was packed down sand and gravel. The headlights cut a swath across the porch and the figure of a man sitting on the steps.

  Marcus was waiting for him. Outside. He wondered at that. Then the man stood up, shotgun in hand, and Josh’s gut clenched. He let the truck idle as his friend approached, the steps hesitant, almost jerky—as if he carried a great weight. When he got into the passenger side, he took a deep breath and said, “I’ll tell you everything, but can we run up to Polly’s? My blood sugar’s crashing and if I don’t get something to eat, I won’t be fit for anything.”

  At Josh’s, “Sure,” he placed the shotgun on the rack behind the seat, then settled himself with a sigh.

  Reaching over to give Marcus’ thigh a squeeze, Josh re-considered and instead let his hand drop to the seat, his fingers digging into the ancient cloth cover. They drove in silence and it wasn’t until they were seated, with mugs of coffee and steaming corn chowder in front of each of them, that Marcus carefully explained what had happened. He pulled a notebook out of his shirt pocket and opened it to the first page.

  Frowning at the scribbling, Marcus said, “I wrote down what I could remember. It’s not word for word but I think it’s close enough.”

  “You did good, detective.” Marcus looked up, his eyes troubled. Josh felt the need to reassure the man. “I mean it. What you did took guts. Real guts.”

  “But I fucked it up, Josh. Fucked it bad. Kit Giniw’s in the wind, and I have no clue where he’s gone or what he’s doing here, let alone how Petilune, her brothers and those four assholes figure into any of this.” He stirred the soup, mindlessly swirling the thick broth, his hand shaking. “I had a chance and I blew it.”

  Josh pointed to the notebook. “Mind if I look at that?” He pushed his empty bowl to the side and twirled the notebook so he could read Marcus’ chicken scratch. It looked a lot like his own so he was able to decipher most of it. He jutted his chin in the direction of Marcus’ soup bowl. “Why don’t you finish that while I read through this one more time?” Marcus was poised to object, so he immediately countered with, “You got more here than you know. Especially after what I learned today. If we put it all together, the picture just might be clearer than mud.”

  Marcus had written, why is he here, circling it and adding a few question marks for good measure. Josh added his own... passing through or looking to settle? Neither of them had thought to ask how long Kit had been hanging around.

  He snickered at Marcus’ true love WTF? and jotted down underneath it, not your type? He meant it in jest, then immediately regretted what his sister would call his crass impertinence. He wasn’t really sure what that meant, but if running off at the mouth qualified, then he was gold. In any case, it was there to stay in all its inked glory.

  A bump on his hip signaled Marcus sliding onto the bench seat with him. He said, “I can’t read upside down. Easier this way.”

  Polly arrived with their burgers and coleslaw. She looked at their new seating arrangement with only the smallest twitch to her lips, set the plates down and left with, “Enjoy, fellas. Yell if you need something else.”

  The restaurant was empty except for them. Josh moved over only enough to allow Marcus room to park his butt completely on the worn vinyl, but not so much as to avoid contact with Josh’s thigh. Between bites, Josh continued to review the extensive notes. Marcus finished off his hamburger and was reaching for an errant pickle on Josh’s plate when he snorted and dropped the pickle on the table.

  “What’s so funny?” Josh grabbed a napkin and tapped at the spots of pickle juice on the notebook.

  Marcus squirmed, mumbled something that sounded like three second rule, then popped the slice in his mouth. He moved away just enough to open a space between their thighs. Josh was sorely tempted to follow and re-establish contact. He liked the feel of the man next to him, liked how he shared space without being self-conscious. Granted, there was only Polly and the cook left in the restaurant, but it spoke volumes about how comfortable they’d gotten with each other in such a short space of time.

  “Come on, man, don’t keep me hanging here. I had a shitty day. I could use a laugh.”

  Josh could have sworn Marcus was blushing when he pointed to the not your type? comment in the margins. He mumbled, “I don’t do jail bait,” then clamped his mouth shut, the blood draining from his face.

  His heart thudding double time, Josh considered that admission. He could let it go, pretend he hadn’t heard or didn’t understand the meaning behind it, or...

  “Not mine either. Like you said, way too young and skinny.” He took a sip of water and grinned, keeping his eyes on a spot across the room. “Pretty impressive weapon though. Did he, um, whip it out for you?”

  Marcus’ shoulders shook as he edged off the seat and slid onto the bench opposite. He nodded and admitted, “Indeed he did. I damn near messed my shorts.” He paused for a tick, then smiled. “Seen bigger in my time, though.”

  Josh heard his sister’s voice in the back of his head saying, “Ask him, don’t forget...” Was now the time to extend an invitation to dinner on Sunday? He was pretty sure they’d both just laid their cards on the table, opening up an opportunity to take the next step.

  Except he wasn’t sure what the next step was. Dinner at his sisters? Maybe a trail ride with the girls up the mountain. But that was family, neighborly stuff. Marcus might think it lame or so neutral as to indicate Josh was looking to be friends only. How the samhill was he supposed to play this?

  Do I want to play this?
<
br />   The answer was hell yeah, but he was all too aware that his friend was also still a mourner. Marcus had been living for years with his cousin and business partner, and Josh would lay money it had been way more than platonic. When did a man stop grieving and start considering other possibilities? Was three years long enough? Could a man even measure time by how the ache lessened by day or month or year. Or was it something you carried with you, baggage you towed into each and every new relationship, testing the waters, dumping some ballast if it looked promising?

  Josh had never been in a relationship long term. He’d never been promiscuous, but he hadn’t been exactly the bastion of stability either. For the last couple years, he’d sequestered himself on the ranch, content to have his sister and the girls nearby, the animals to tend to, and a chance to work through teaching his crippled body to function. Yes, he was lonely, but it was the price he willingly paid to see to his family and to assure that their parents and their grandparents’ legacy continued into the next generation.

  He was never again going to be normal. He accepted that. Would Marcus accept it?

  Josh opened his mouth, shut it, and stared at the notebook, the words a blur. Ask him, ask him, ask him...

  “Um, listen, Marcus, I was wondering... You don’t have to, I’d understand. It’s short notice and everything, but...”

  Polly can running toward their table waving her cell phone. She shouted, “Fire. Over at the Barnes’ place. They need every hand they can get.”

  Marcus was off the seat first. He reached out a hand and helped Josh to stand. He turned to Polly and asked, “What kind of fire, you know?”

  “Brush fire. One of the hands saw smoke, went to investigate. Started on the west side, between the creek and the barn. Moving fast.”