by Rain Trueax
“Pupil?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do?”
He was beginning to annoy her. “Teaching magick, mentoring in the dark arts.”
“Dark arts? Oh my, definitely not something I’d do.” She didn’t like the look in his eyes. He wasn’t an unattractive man, so far as features went. His eyes were a sort of hazel and now centered on her. She recognized what he was trying to do and put up barriers as she smiled.
“Interesting as I’ve heard you did.”
“Whoever told you such a ridiculous thing was wrong.” He spread his hands innocently. He stopped trying to send his penetrating energy.
“If you knew her, you know I was no friend of Jane’s, which surprises me you would come here.”
“But you do work for your mother’s detective agency, and I assumed you would be involved in the investigation.”
“You have information about her death then?”
“Not really, just concern.” His smile was snarky. She didn’t like him or anything about the energy he exuded.
“I hope we find the murderer,” she said, but for now we know nothing you can’t read in the paper.” She tried to get past his blocks to read his memories. He smiled as he recognized it. The dueling energies gained her nothing.
“Are you sure?”
She rose and smiled ready to use one of her bolts if required to remove him. He rose with another of those smiles and walked to the door.
“If I can be of assistance,” he said.
“Of course, we’ll let you know.” She closed the door and began an instant cleansing of the bad energies swirling around the room. She even lit a sage smudge and whisked it where he had sat. She wanted none of him left behind. She wondered again what he could possibly have wanted. If it wasn’t to give her information, was he looking for some?
An hour later, Denali had showered and was lying in bed trying to concentrate on a book, where she read the same paragraph five times and didn’t remember any of the words. The sky had darkened and the moon was not yet up. In the distance, she heard an ambulance, then a police siren. While she followed her normal routine, something had gone wrong for someone else. That was so how it was in life.
She thought about Braddock’s visit. If he had a purpose, she was still unable to get to it. She knew he dealt in magick, but she didn’t know enough about what he currently was doing to be sure he had lied. She would ask her mother when she saw her. There was no point in disturbing her over something that seemed at this point to have no meaning.
Adding to her inability to sleep was her frustration with herself over not being more direct with Nick. Part of that had been how he intimidated her on many levels. He wasn’t just a handsome man but something about his rugged countenance seemed almost godlike. Silly feeling, but she couldn’t get past it. He didn’t believe in the other world, and yet he seemed otherworldly to her.
She had nothing solid on which to base that. Although she couldn’t get past whatever blocks he had in place, she didn’t think he was a warlock or shaman. It was something he had learned that kept anyone from going too deep into him. Did he ever let go? Or were his paintings where he did that?
She would have loved to see the works in the room she guessed he used as a studio. She had smelled the turpentine and linseed oil. He’d been working on something. She wondered what. She could have used her powers to see though the walls but it would have been unethical. He had to invite her to view what he was doing.
The work at the gallery had been a mix of men, women, and nature or maybe it was all nature. Did he use models or was it all from his imagination? She was as curious about his work as she was about him. What had given him the gift of looseness she had yet to acquire?
Her other reason for not being more direct regarding the ‘other’ side was how she had been taught to be careful to whom she revealed her real self. While true that witches weren’t still burned at the stake—at least not where she lived-- there was much mistrust and lack of information as to what being a witch meant. She wasn’t part of a coven or a religion. She was a witch by birth, by gift, or as some would claim, by curse.
If she told him her secret, he would likely not believe her right up until she told him she’d not used a Taser on him. That would be hard for a biology-only person to explain any way short of magick. She could even demonstrate it if it was required. Then he’d have to take the rest of what she would tell him with more seriousness.
She couldn’t talk to him with his brother there. She had no reason to trust Peter Coburn. What she had seen of him on the computer yielded nothing. He was a cowboy but had only worked on his family’s ranch. His education records ended with high school and were anything but exemplar. There were no police records, which was good, although she knew powerful people, which would have included his father in that country, had a way of getting infractions swept under the rug. Peter had no Facebook or other social media accounts, so there was little to know about his personal life, except he showed up here at a rather interesting time. Was he into the occult, Satan worship? Those were the things she wanted to know.
What disturbed her was the way he’d look at her and yet nothing behind the eyes. He had either blocked her or…
She decided the best chance to talk to Nick would be to invite him out to the ranch. There she would have the opportunity to gauge more about what was behind his handsome façade and decide if she could trust him with her own secrets. If she didn’t, then there was no way to protect him from what might be out there. He’d be on his own fighting something he had no idea existed. Why the other side would want Nick was a mystery she could not solve unless she and he could really talk. If he wouldn’t come to the ranch with her, then that would be that… She hoped she could let it go, as she’d have no choice. She was a practical woman, and much as she might want to help others, she knew it wasn’t always possible.
Chapter Seven
Nick woke in a cold sweat from the kind of nightmare he hadn’t had in months. PTSD. He had talked to shrinks about it, thought he had it under control, but he supposed the murder, the cops, even his brother showing up had been too much. He lay in bed staring at the ceiling as he tried to remember and then forget the dream. There had been something strange about it. He tried to place where it had been. Was it a real place? One of his assignments. Then he put it together.
The dream had come from the Philippines-- and when he’d led the mission and lost one of his men. He groaned as he remembered the desperate search for the young soldier. The jungle had made it all but impossible. No tracks, no signs, then they found him, nailed to the side of a wall. His team got him down, but it was too late to save his life. He had been left as a warning to them. Leave us alone.
It hadn’t worked as the bandits had hoped. His men had gone crazy. Him too for that matter. They had found the killers and hadn’t bothered trying to take any alive. It wasn’t a proud moment. It also wasn’t how the dream had gone.
Although influenced by it, the dream hadn’t relived that event. Events had been different. The men he was with were unknown to him—except one wasn’t. One had a face he’d only seen in dreams—an almost godlike or was it a monster’s face? He sucked in a breath trying to put the gloating face from him.
The background, where it happened had a mystical setting, desert maybe. He’d never been there. A kind of mist obscured much of it. He was the one running for his life, then captured by what had to be a supernatural being. Forced against his will into a cage, then finally tied to a wooden frame, his arms outstretched, left to die. He woke before he knew if it worked.
He sat up, reached for his cigarettes, and tried to stop shaking as he lit one. Naked, feeling fear, even worse than when he’d faced real guns and action, he worked to push the dream from him.
Would nightmares never stop? Would the flashbacks return too? Why had he changed into the victim? It had been bad enough blaming himself for the death of Richard James. Waking with guilt
or fear, which was worse? He groaned as he knew the answer, based on experience-- neither. He snubbed out the cigarette and took a shower.
Dressing in jeans and a t-shirt, his edginess didn’t lessened. He had learned tricks to put the dreams from him. Nothing was working. Barefoot, he walked into the kitchen to make coffee, fighting to remind himself it was not real, just a dream-- not even overly surprising since the murder. Knowing from where it had come didn’t help.
He was on his third cigarette and fourth cup of coffee when he heard the knock at the door. Pete came in with a small bag. “I bought some breakfast burritos. Want one?” he asked as he accepted a cup of coffee from Nick.
“Sure.”
They ate on the patio. Harvey came in but ignored Pete’s presence totally. He rubbed around Nick’s legs until he opened a can of food.
“You got a cat, huh?” Pete asked when he returned.
“He’s got me mostly. He was here before me. He lets me stay.”
Pete snickered. “Some think black cats are bad luck.”
“Don’t know why. He’s brought me good luck.”
“If you say so.”
“So what do you plan to do while here in Tucson?”
“You mean like a job?”
“Yeah. I am guessing you’re not independently wealthy.”
Pete snorted. “True. The old man doesn’t share, as you likely know.”
“I never asked him for anything, but then he wasn’t my father.”
“I’ll ask around local ranches. I am good with horses, cowboying. I figured there were dude ranches around here who might like a cowboy type to court their female tourists.” He snickered.
“Watch out about the last. It can cost you a job.”
“Or get me a rich wife.”
“Maybe.”
“Didn’t you run into that with the art galleries? Hot old ladies just dying for an artist in their bed?”
Nick found the whole train of conversation distasteful. He supposed he was a bit of a prude or at least not one who found using women acceptable.
“You’re frowning, big brother. You purer than the driven snow where it comes to women?”
Nick sat back and studied his brother. “Why did you really want to stay with me?”
Pete looked away, watching Harvey as he came back into the patio and scratched in the dirt to do his business. “You really like this mangy animal?” he asked.
“He’s not mangy. And yes, I do.” He didn’t like the look on Pete’s face. Something was going on his brother wasn’t sharing. Before he could go after what it might be, another knock stopped him.
Seeing Denali, wearing shorts and sandals again, did nothing for Nick’s mood. “What do you want?” he asked knowing he sounded sour.
“To talk to you.” She walked in without waiting for an invitation. He wasn’t surprised a beautiful woman would expect she could have whatever she wanted.
He saw by the expression on her face that she wasn’t pleased to see Pete. She turned and before she could say anything, he asked if she wanted coffee. She nodded. When he returned, she was sitting across from Pete, the expression on her face pensive. She looked at Nick as she took the coffee. “I wanted to invite you out to the ranch,” she said.
“What ranch?”
“The Circle C, the Cordova ranch. It’s my family place, has been for over a hundred years.”
“Where is it?”
“Out Tanque Verde, way out. Very pretty. Might be a place you’d like to paint someday.”
He considered that.
“You have a ranch big enough to hire wranglers?” Pete asked.
She turned back to him. “We hire some. Why?”
“I need a job. Who does the hiring there?”
“Luke Oliver is our foreman. Mostly he makes the decisions.” She didn’t look pleased with Pete’s questions. It wasn’t stopping Pete.
“Could I go out with you, get an introduction. I am good with horses, cattle, dunging out stalls. I could sure use a job. ” Pete’s charm offensive was on, but Denali wasn’t smiling.
Why the hell had she invited him to this ranch? Maybe if he accepted, he’d find out… or maybe not. She turned back to Nick. “What about you? Will you come out with me?”
“For what?” He wasn’t helping her and didn’t much care.
“Horseback ride. Didn’t you say you liked riding?”
“Am I invited too?” Pete asked clearly not minding being pushy.
“Sure… if Nick comes.” Again, he knew it wasn’t what she wanted to say.
“This morning?” he asked having made up his mind he’d go if for no other reason than to find out what she was up to.
“We could have lunch there. The ranch has a wonderful cook, Lupita. I can let her know we’re coming. All three of us.” Her lip almost curled.
“She pretty?” Pete asked. Now Nick got it. Pete was deliberately being obnoxious but why. He didn’t know his brother well enough to evaluate what he wanted from this. He’d bet it wasn’t a job.
“She’s fifty if that helps you make your decision,” Denali said taking another sip of her coffee before rising. “I’ll be back in an hour. I want to borrow Mom’s truck.”
“You don’t want to ride on the back of my Harley?” Nick asked determined to be as much a jerk as his brother.
She smiled. Her first real smile. “Not this time.”
“She’s sure hot,” Pete said when they heard the door close.
‘You treat her with respect.”
Pete looked offended. “Like why would you think I’d not? Can I unpack my gear? I should probably change to look more the cowboy sort, than these shorts would if I want to impress this foreman.”
“Maybe you should wait to see if he hires you and wants you living there before you do that.”
Again, that smirk. “Good idea.”
><><
An hour later, Denali returned with her mom’s truck. She was still wearing the shorts but had changed into one of her favorite pairs of cowboy boots. When Pete tried to take the front seat, she pointed to the back. She gave him the kind of look that usually let men know where they stood—which was they didn’t. Except Pete ignored it, seemed oblivious and climbed into the back with no objection. Something was wrong, but she couldn’t pinpoint what it was.
She liked having Nick alongside her. His long legs were crunched up even after he pushed the seat back as far as possible. He had changed into jeans, boots, and a shirt with the sleeves torn out. His biceps were muscular, almost sculpted. He didn’t get that body from painting. She wondered where he did. His black Stetson rested on his knee. Every moment reminded her how desirable she considered him. Trying to distract herself to something more innocent, she shifted into gear and pulled onto the highway, merging quickly with the traffic.
“You handle a stick well,” he said with what might have been some surprise.
She was used to men not expecting a woman to do things well that required any level of the skills regarded as masculine. Smiling, she said, “Growing up, I spent a lot of time out at this ranch, and everybody works on a ranch. Driving truck for hay loads was part of it.”
“You been in the military, Ms. Hemstreet?” Pete asked from the backseat.
“Why do you ask?”
“Just wondered if you also know how to kill.”
She glanced into her rearview mirror and saw his smug look. “Don’t have to be in the military for that, Mr. Coburn.”
“Maybe you killed the poor lady.” She had expected some surprise but watching his face in her rearview mirror, she saw only a superior expression.
She changed lanes and then stopped for a light. “Interestingly,” she said, “you turned up rather quickly after it happened. Maybe you got here earlier than you said.”
He snorted. “I don’t know how to kill. Just a poor cowpoke here.”
“Still, it is rather suspicious your showing up now.”
“Is it?”
The
re was silence for a while. She knew one thing-- if she was madly attracted to Nick Beringer with his rugged body and those tortured eyes, she was taking a real dislike to his brother. She hoped Pete wasn’t going to be asking her to help him get a job at the Circle C. He’d be out of luck if it depended on her speaking for him. She wasn’t sure she wanted his energy at her family’s beloved ranch. But she also didn’t want it around Nick. Something bothered her about Pete Coburn, and it went beyond his being a smart aleck.
She turned off the four lane roads and left behind the stores and shops for the beginning of small ranches.
“How far out is this ranch?” Nick asked, she supposed mostly to break the silence.
“Twenty miles or so. It’s in the big ranch country. It’s not the only one out there but one of the largest.”
“And been in your family a long time.”
“Since 1900. Rafe Cordova and Grace O’Brian married and bought it. In the desert, water is like gold. It has six streams off the Catalinas and Rincons. It even has natural hot springs.” She was proud of its history. “My great great great grandparents. They began with fifty-thousand acres-- grassland in the meadows where it’s sub-irrigated. Timber on the slopes. They raise cattle and horses depending on the rains and the grass.”
“Lots of money in the family then,” Pete inserted.
“There was that, but hard work made it into what it is today.”
“Any Cordovas still live on it?” he asked continuing his invasive attitude.
“Not at the moment. My mother was a Cordova before she married my father.”
“Spanish?”
She shot him a glance that was as unfriendly as she could make it. “And you want to know why?”
“Just curious.”
“Did you hear about what curiosity does?”
“Killed the cat.” He chuckled. “Nick’s got a cat he likes a lot. Think he’s at risk?”
“Shut your mouth,” Nick said. “I’ve had all I am going to take from you. One more word, and you’re walking back to town.”
“Hey, cool down,” Pete said. “Just talking to make conversation.”
