by Jenna Kernan
Clay sighted the low gray clouds sweeping in, predicting a change in the weather. He was glad he had his fleece coat and lined gloves.
After lunch they started the task of checking the mother’s brands and collecting the right irons. Each member of the tribe with cattle had a registered brand and those families with only a cow or two often preferred to keep them in the communal herd.
Donner’s men worked well as a team. Matching the brands, roping, tying. Since Roger Tolino was the slightest and least competent with a rope, he had the job of sorting and branding. That left Clay and Dodge to catch and rope the calves and Tolino to let them go. Clay liked roping and riding, and usually such days passed quickly. But today even the coffee could not erase his general buzz of fatigue.
Clay took off after another calf, but, maybe because of the wedding, he couldn’t stop fantasizing about what it would be like to go away with Izzie and then return to make a home. Not that Izzie wanted to play house with him, and the truth was, if he didn’t quit messing with her, he might lose his job.
He roped the next calf, and his horse backed up, making the rope tight and his job of flipping the yearling to his side much easier. He placed a knee on the furry side and expertly tied the front and one back leg together. Then he stood and dusted off his jeans before retrieving his lariat.
He glanced at the sun and realized they’d be quitting soon. Donner did not pay overtime. Clay turned to the north and wondered how far the newlyweds had gotten. They planned to stop in Denver for two nights and then visit Yellowstone on their way east to South Dakota.
His grandmother had tried once more to get Clay to head up there first and track their sister. He closed his eyes and imagined what that little girl of three would look like now as a child of twelve. Would she have their mother’s high arching brow or the broad nose of their father? Did she wear her hair to her waist or in a short, modern style? An image of a teen with a blue stripe of dyed hair caused him to growl, as he mounted his horse.
His boss showed up to watch. Clay heard him calling something like, “So you decided to work for me today, did you?” Clay just waved and kept riding. Keeping his head down and his seat in the saddle.
When he finished work, he might go tell Izzie that even her neighbor, Patch, was gossiping about her mom’s debts. He hoped her troubles had not caused her to do something stupid. If there was anyone who knew more about doing something stupid than him, Clay had yet to meet them. He knew Izzie was smarter than he was, but desperation could cause even a good girl to go bad. Honestly, he would have used any excuse to see her again. Pathetic, he thought.
Donner called a halt, and Clay turned his horse toward the communal pasture. His mount would get some extra grain, and he’d curry him down before turning him loose with the others.
Then he’d head back to his empty house to shower and change. This morning, with Kino gone, the place had been unnaturally quiet. And he’d had the misfortune of having to drink his own coffee. He wondered if Izzie made good coffee. Then he wondered how he might get Izzie over to his empty house and keep her there until morning. He needed to separate his fantasy world from his real life, where Izzie needed only his help. That didn’t mean she needed him. Not the way he needed her, anyway.
Clay tied up his horse and removed the saddle, carrying it to his truck and then returning to curry the horse’s sweaty barrel, his strokes rhythmic and practiced.
Izzie had been in trouble, and she had called him. Him. That meant something, right? She had not let her mother’s dictates control her. And he had helped her, hadn’t he? Maybe there could be more between them. Maybe she was the one person outside his family who was willing to give him a second chance.
He’d left the marriage ceremony hopeful. But now the doubts had caught up with him. First, Izzie was too good for him. Second, she might be playing him.
He said goodbye to the others, turning down an offer to join them for supper. He walked stiffly back to his truck, grit covered, dirty and satisfied that he had earned his pay.
Diego Azar pulled in beside his truck. Diego was a few years younger with a persistent five o’clock shadow and a bushy mustache. His father was Mexican, giving him more beard and less height than the rest of them. Nice guy and one of the first to befriend Clay. Today he’d been manning the office so Donner could get out in the field.
The younger man’s excited expression said he had news. Clay paused, waiting.
“We got the report on the cattle.”
He perked up. Clay knew what cattle, but he asked just to be sure. “Izzie’s cattle?”
“Yeah. They were released this morning from quarantine.”
“Why didn’t they call me? I could have driven them back.”
Azar nibbled the ends of one side of his mustache as if considering his reply. “Donner said you’d ask that. So he told me to tell you that if he catches you moonlighting for her again, he’ll fire you.”
Clay stilled. He needed this job, but more than that he needed the clean reputation that came with working for a man like Mr. Donner. In addition, it would be poor thanks to his uncle if he lost this position.
“She hasn’t asked me to do anything else.” Which was the truth, much to his chagrin. “When does she get her herd?”
“Already did. Some, anyway. They’re keeping the strays we impounded from the road. Let loose the rest. She drove them out this morning.”
“Drove? You mean we didn’t offer to return them?”
“Guess not. Owner’s responsibility. Right?”
Clay took a step toward Azar, who raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, not my call, man. Donner was there.”
Clay knew they often used the tribe’s vehicles to transport private stock. But not Izzie’s cattle.
Clay looked toward Donner, who was talking to Tolino and Dodge. Clay resisted the urge to march over there. Donner met his eye, held it and then returned to his conversation.
“Oh,” said Azar. “Almost forgot. He told me to give you this.” Azar withdrew several neatly folded pages from his breast pocket. “He said I should wait while you read it.”
Clay accepted the offering, unfolding the pages. It was the necropsy report from the state. Another glance showed Donner watching him like a raven from the top of a tall pine. Clay turned his attention to the report.
“It’s bad stuff, Cosen. Really, really bad.”
Clay scanned the results. The long and short of it was that the cattle had been poisoned, and the poison had been phosphine, a by-product of cooking crystal meth. He glanced from the report to meet Donner’s expressionless stare.
Donner ambled over.
Clay folded the pages and offered them back to Donner as Azar looked from one man to another.
“Thank you,” said Clay.
“Figured you’d get a hold of it one way or another.”
Did he mean from Izzie or Gabe, or was he insinuating that Clay would resort to theft? He didn’t know, and let the comment slide. But he didn’t like the implication.
Donner accepted the report and thrust it in his back pocket. “I’ve already called Chief Cosen to notify him of the cause of death. He’s bringing in the FBI. You need to stay way the heck away from this.”
“This or her?”
Donner rubbed his neck. “You work for me, so I have to say it because you don’t have a reputation for being the best judge of character.”
And there it was. “No one tells me who I can and can’t speak to. Not even my boss.” But his skin was now tingling, and the hairs on his neck stood up just the same way they had that day when he’d looked in his rearview mirror and seen his brother’s police cruiser with lights flashing.
He turned to go and Donner spoke again.
“Clay, they think she’s involved.”
There was a whooshing soun
d in his ears now. Had Izzie become so desperate that she would allow such things to happen on her land? He didn’t want to believe it. But his stomach cramped with his doubts. He never would have thought Martin would have picked up a gun and shot an innocent man just so he could get laid. How could Clay really know what was in the heart of a man?
Or a woman?
Donner headed in the opposite direction, leaving Azar hovering with wide worried eyes.
“I gotta go,” said Clay.
Clay climbed into his truck and pulled the door closed. Azar stepped forward and gripped the ledge of the open window.
“Why don’t you come have a drink with us?” asked Azar.
“Rain check, okay?”
Azar released his hold and stepped back. “Be careful, Clay.”
Chapter Thirteen
Supper time approached, and Izzie was still in the barn with Biscuit. She’d curried her horse down, cleaned the tack and wiped her eyes before her brothers piled off the bus. They’d headed to the house to change and grab a snack, but then they’d return dressed in work clothes and buzzing with excitement over the return of half the herd. That gave her a chance to pull her work shirt over the documents in her back pocket that revoked the family’s permits and to practice her expressionless mask of stoicism. It was easier than forcing a smile and easier on the boys than crying in front of them.
“You got them back,” shouted Will, by way of a greeting as he charged into the barn.
At eleven, he was one of the tallest in the sixth grade, but also one of the thinnest. All arms and legs, he did not yet resemble their father for whom he was named. He wore his hair very short, as was the style now for boys. Behind him came Jerry, a fourth grader, who was losing teeth but not yet gaining inches. As a result he was more coordinated and compact.
Izzie kept brushing, hoping that her brothers would be so preoccupied with the cattle, now filling the pasture behind their home, that they would not notice their sister’s red and puffy eyes.
“Yes, most of them,” she said, thinking her voice sounded nearly normal.
Will stood in the barn door, looking up at the hillside and the herd that grazed as if they had not ever left. Jerry reached her side, his eyes dancing with excitement.
“How did you do it?”
“The report came back from the state. They’re not sick.”
“So what killed the three we lost?”
Izzie had thought about this, wondering how much to tell them. She wanted to protect them but did not want to leave them ill-equipped to deal with what their classmates might hear from their parents. They were still children. How much did they really need to know?
“Well, nothing catching. That’s the important thing.” She glanced down from Biscuit’s withers and met Jerry’s gaze. “How about you two see to the sheep. I’ll feed the horses today.”
“Hurray!” shouted Jerry, pumping his fist as if he’d just scored the game-winning basket. Then he wheeled away.
“Don’t forget the chickens!” she shouted to their backs.
Izzie prepared four buckets of oats and some vitamins. She placed Biscuit’s feed before her and headed out to the pasture. At sight of the buckets the other three horses came trotting back to the barn for supper. That was where she was when she saw a familiar rusty pickup pull into her drive.
Clay, she realized, and her heart did a little flutter. He swung out of the cab and strode in her direction. She breathed deep for the first time since the papers were delivered. The dread, which she carried since receiving that envelope, began to slip away.
“Heard about your cattle,” he said by way of a greeting.
“Yeah.” She tried for a smile but fell short, managing only a grimace.
“And the report. The cows weren’t sick.” He reached her now, and only the thin wire fence separated them.
Izzie glanced toward the house, wondering if her mother stood at the window, watching. Izzie’s stomach knotted tighter, and her need to touch him warred with the worry that her mother would embarrass her. She shouldn’t care, but her mother thought him responsible for Martin’s death. Martin, Izzie’s mother believed, was a good boy who had paid with his life for his involvement with Clay. If she only knew the truth. But there was no point in arguing. She would not believe a word Izzie said.
“Would you rather they be sick?” he asked. He was studying her face, and his expression was as somber as a funeral mourner. He lifted a hand and placed one gloved finger under her chin, tilting her face upward. “Izzie, have you been crying?”
He noticed. Of course he did. Clay had always noticed everything about her. A new shirt, a change in mood. Her eyes started to burn again.
She drew back a step and nodded. Then she pulled the papers from her back pocket and offered them to Clay. “I got these today.”
He took them and read them as the horses finished their meal and ambled back into the pasture. Izzie retrieved the buckets and placed them by the fence, then slipped out between the wires, expertly missing the barbs both top and bottom. She noticed Will and Jerry leaving the chicken coop and pausing to stare at their unexpected visitor. Will started toward them.
Clay lowered the pages. “Immediate renourishment?”
The knot filled her throat again, so she nodded.
“What’s this about? You’ve had this grazing permit forever.”
Actually since her grandfather had applied for them, back when no one wanted this far-off corner of the Rez. Her grandfather and father had cleared many of the trees by hand, making the wooded area suitable for grazing.
“Maybe it’s just time,” she offered.
“No way, Izzie. This has to do with the state report. You know that, don’t you?”
Before she could answer, Will and Jerry drew up, hands in back pockets, trying to look like the men of the place.
“Ya’atch,” said Clay, using the Apache greeting.
They both answered in unison.
“Boys, this is Clay Cosen.”
Jerry’s eyes went wide, and he and Will exchanged looks. Clearly it was a name they knew.
“Clay and I went to school together.”
The two stood staring like two baby owls.
“Well? Shake his hand,” she ordered.
Jerry, the outgoing one, offered his hand first. Her brother stared at his hand while Clay shook, as if expecting something to happen. Then Will offered his, and Clay accepted it.
“You two done with your chores?” she asked.
“Not yet,” said Will.
“Best get to them. Daylight’s burning.”
They hesitated and then walked toward the sheep pen, casting several backward glances.
“Afraid to leave you alone with me, I’ll bet,” said Clay.
“They’re only boys,” she said, dismissing his concerns.
“They’re your brothers. No matter how old they are, they want to protect you.”
“I think this is a bigger threat,” she said, retrieving the papers.
“I’d say so. What do you plan to do?”
“I’m not sure. Apply for a new permit?”
Clay shook his head. “You can fight it, you know?”
She didn’t know that and told him so with her blank stare.
“You appeal to the council. Call the office and ask to be placed on the agenda. They’re meeting Wednesday night.”
“I can’t speak before the council.”
“Why not?”
“I just... I’ve never done anything like that before.”
“Izzie, you’re under attack here. Half your herd is still impounded. Three were poisoned, and now your permits have been pulled. Am I the only one who smells a rat?”
He’d confirmed her fears. The tears
started again, running down her cheeks as her lip trembled like a seismometer predicting an earthquake.
Clay pulled her in his arms. His hand rubbed her back, and he made soothing sounds. That only made her cry harder because it felt so good to be back in his embrace again.
“I got you, Izzie. I’ll get you through this.”
She sagged against him, letting him take her weight and her fear and her sorrow. He took it all, standing solid as Black Mountain as he cradled her. She finally reined herself in and straightened to find both her brothers staring at them from across the yard. She stepped back from Clay, and he cast a glance over his shoulder. Then he returned his attention to her.
“You’re going to be all right?”
She didn’t think so. Everything around her seemed to be breaking loose, and she couldn’t hold the pieces together any longer. She should go and reassure the boys. Tell them that everything was all right. But it wasn’t all right. It was so not all right.
“I’ll talk to Clyne and make sure you get on the agenda,” said Clay and inclined his head toward the house. “You want me to stay?”
She did. So much it frightened her.
“No. Call me, please.”
“Have you seen the state report yet—the necropsy?”
“No. I heard a summary over the phone.”
“Call my boss. Ask for a copy. You’re entitled to one. And I’ll see if I can get it.”
She didn’t even remember walking him to his truck. He took hold of her hand. The act was as natural as breathing. She laced her fingers with his, cherishing the warmth of his palm pressed to hers. Suddenly she didn’t feel all alone. It was just like before this all happened. Back when the world was full of nothing but anticipation for their bright future. She looked up at him, taller now, changed in ways she couldn’t even imagine. His smile was endearing and made her heart beat faster. How had she ever managed all this time without him? Izzie didn’t know. But she did know that she didn’t want to do that again.
He released her hand and climbed behind the wheel.
“I’ll call tonight.”
