Hunter Moon

by Jenna Kernan

“Thank you.” She waved him away and then walked past her brothers, who gawked at her. She made it into the house to find her mother, red-faced with fury.

  It was a confrontation that was long overdue. But this time, Izzie would not turn tail like a whipped dog.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Clay arrived late for dinner at his grandmother’s home. He stepped into the living room and was greeted with the aroma of onions and garlic and beef. The heavenly blend reminded him how long it had been since he’d eaten. His grandmother appeared from the kitchen doorway, face bright with her smile. In her hands she held a wet dish towel showing she had already cleaned up. Clay hugged her, and she patted his shoulder, still clutching the rag.

  “You’re late,” she said. She stood on her tiptoes and inhaled. “You smell good.” Now she stepped back, still holding him by each upper arm and beaming up at him. “Showered, dressed. I hope that isn’t all for me.”

  He recalled a time when her face had creased with disappointment in him. He never wanted to see that expression again. Glendora Clawson had already seen more than her share of tragedy, and it showed on her lined face and the silver strands in her dark hair.

  “I stopped by to see Izzie.”

  Gabe appeared from the dining room, pausing in the doorway, an empty coffee mug held absently in one hand and a tight expression on his face.

  Clay returned his attention to his grandmother.

  “Have you eaten?” she asked.

  Clay shook his head, and Glendora went to work, darting into the kitchen. Clay followed, watching her bustle to the cupboards and then to the stove, ladling out a portion of stew from a steaming pot.

  “Just let me warm up the fry bread.” She set aside the stew and recovered three large disks of the fried dough that all her boys loved. The golden flat bread was wrapped in paper towels and popped in the microwave. She handed over the stew in a bowl with a large spoon.

  “Coffee, water or milk?”

  “Water, please,” said Clay.

  She motioned him toward the dining room. Gabe followed a moment later with a steaming cup of coffee. That and the uniform he still wore meant his brother was working tonight.

  Clay took the seat adjoining Gabe’s. Behind Clay sat a small television on a wobbly table. A weather girl from Phoenix reported clear skies and cold nights.

  “Can I get a copy of the state vet report on Izzie’s cows?” asked Clay.

  Gabe glanced from the television back to him. “Public record.”

  “Do you have it?”

  Gabe fiddled with his phone and then glanced up. “Emailed as an attachment.”

  “Thanks.”

  No moss ever grew on Gabe.

  From the kitchen came the long plaintiff beep of the microwave and the sound of the door opening. His grandmother appeared with three thick pieces of fry bread. She gave Clay two and Gabe one.

  “I had supper,” said Gabe.

  “Not enough. You’re too skinny. All of you.” Glendora returned the salt and pepper to the table before Clay and pushed the butter closer. Then she retreated to the kitchen, leaving Gabe and Clay alone.

  “Is Luke coming?” asked Clay and then dug into the stew.

  “Yeah.” Gabe sipped his coffee. “Oh, and he’s bringing his new partner, Cassidy something. They were reassigned as a team and have agreed to review my investigation.”

  Most tribal police were loath to bring in the federal authorities. Not Gabe. He knew when they were needed, and he didn’t hesitate.

  “Is Izzie under investigation?”

  Gabe gave him a blank stare and lifted his mug, taking a long swallow.

  No answer is still an answer, their mother used to say.

  “Luke wants to speak to you, too.”

  Clay nodded, shoveling the stew now, barely tasting the warm, delicious mixture as his famine took control. When he straightened, his grandmother appeared and retrieved the bowl. Clay tore into the fry bread.

  “Might be best to keep away from Izzie until they clear her.”

  Clay sighed, knowing that once again, he wouldn’t do what was best or wise or expected. His grandmother returned with another full bowl of stew, and Clay dug in, savoring this helping now that the hunger had eased. Finally he pushed the bowl away and regarded his brother.

  “She’s not cooking meth,” said Clay.

  “What if she just gets paid to look the other way?” His brother was a good investigator, and his suspicion worried Clay deeply. He was paid to get to the bottom of things. Sometimes that made him a real pain in the neck. Clay knew for a fact that it was Gabe’s unwillingness to ignore things that had broken up his engagement to Selena Dosela. He just had to poke around, and Selena must have felt that he had used her, which he had and would always do to solve a crime. Clay knew Gabe would do his job even if that meant arresting his brother, again.

  “If she’s involved, then why ask me to track those cows?”

  “A mistake, maybe,” said Gabe. “Or unrelated.”

  “Why go up in the woods where they were cooking, and why would they shoot at her?”

  “Didn’t recognize her?”

  “Or she’s innocent.”

  Gabe dropped his police chief persona and gave Clay a worried look. “Don’t put me through this again.”

  “I haven’t done anything.”

  “I still believe you didn’t do anything the last time. But being in the wrong place at the wrong time was enough. Remember?”

  Clay nodded and went into the kitchen. Clyne appeared from the hall leading to his bedroom and stopped when he noticed Clay.

  “Moving back?”

  “Not today.”

  Clyne nodded and rummaged in the refrigerator for a bottle of beer. Clearly Clyne was off duty for the night. Unlike Gabe, Clyne’s schedule was regular, except for the occasional emergency, but often they called the tribal council chair first.

  His grandmother stowed away the leftovers as Clyne leaned against the counter regarding Clay. Oh, boy, Clay thought. Here comes the other barrel of the Clyne-Gabe shotgun. Two-on-one, that’s how it was and always has been.

  “I need you to put Izzie on the council agenda. She is contesting the impoundment and fine.”

  “Okay.”

  “She is also contesting her permits being pulled.”

  Clyne set aside his beer, and Glendora stopped shuffling. Gabe propped himself in the doorway, all ears. Clay told him about the renourishment, and Gabe chimed in about getting the orders from Tessay and delivering them in person, as required.

  “I forgot about that,” said Clyne absently. “Voted last week on all renourishment recommendations.”

  “Last week?” asked Gabe, eyes sharp.

  Clay caught Clyne and Gabe exchanging a look.

  “I’ll make a motion for a delay,” said Clyne, “if you promise to keep away from that upper pasture.”

  “Deal,” said Clay. The trail would be cold, anyway. “You know that road on her upper pasture? The one in the woods?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can you find out who built it and why?”

  “I’ll give it a shot.”

  “Thanks.”

  Clyne retrieved his beer, and Clay headed to the living room to call Izzie. She sounded stressed but refused his offer to meet somewhere. He got her email address and agreed to send over the necropsy report. As he returned the receiver to the cradle he worried over the tension that had rung clear in her voice.

  Clay wished he could see her, but he abided by her wishes and headed home alone. The house was dark and unnaturally quiet. He wasn’t used to being alone, except in the woods, of course, where he preferred it.

  * * *

  ON TUESDAY THEY finished the branding. That n
ight Clay ate with his brothers at his grandmother’s home. Kino called during their dinner hour to check in. They expected to be in South Dakota by Friday. Their grandmother Glendora recalled for him the name of the retired trooper who Clyne and Gabe had discovered had witnessed Jovanna removed from the scene of the accident. It was a reminder that none of them needed. Clay spoke to Kino briefly and thought he’d never sounded so happy. Clay pushed down the tiny stirring of jealousy at his brother’s good fortune as his thoughts went to Izzie Nosie again.

  On Wednesday, Clay picked up several strays off one of the tribal highways. There was a council meeting tonight, and Izzie was on the agenda. He mentally reviewed all the information Clyne had given him on procedure for the meeting. He went home, showered, ate some leftovers and rattled around the empty place until he could stand it no longer. Then he headed to the meeting early.

  Izzie was already there. She came to greet him, her eyes darting nervously about as she licked her lips. He took her hand and kissed her on the cheek in hello, then felt he had overstepped when her face flushed, and she glanced around to see if anyone had noticed them. Was she still ashamed to be seen with him? Had she accepted his help merely out of desperation?

  That thought made his insides ache. If it were true, it just might kill him. All he could think of since Monday was Izzie. He was determined to do his best to help her. But was that all she wanted from him—his help?

  Clay and Izzie waited in the hall until the doors to the chamber opened at six thirty and then walked side by side down the center aisle. The council table was empty, but the room was not. Filling the front row on the left side sat the tribes’ general livestock board, including their clerk. On the aisle was Franklin Soto. Donner filled the next two seats, lounging back in his chair with legs crossed at the ankle and his fingers laced over his generous stomach. Pizarro sat next to Donner and leaned over to speak to him. Clay would have loved to know what he was up to since he had the authority to choose which of the tribe’s pastures were subject to renourishment. On the end, closest to the wall, huddled Victor Bustros, Pizarro’s clerk, who dealt with the mountains of paperwork necessary to hold and sell cattle including the lists of all the individual brands. Though not actually on the board, he attended all meetings with the livestock board. Bustos had his head inclined to listen toward Pizarro and Donner but was not engaged in the conversation.

  Clay chose the front row as well, taking a seat closest to the general livestock board. The choice was intentional and reminded Clay of the two sides of a legal battle, prosecution and defense. Donner noticed him and sat forward to greet him, but as Izzie moved past Clay and sat to his right, Donner’s smile morphed to a grim line joined with a hard stare. His boss glanced from Clay to Izzie and then back to Clay, giving him a withering look at Clay’s decision to ignore his warning.

  Over the next ten minutes, members of all three tribal communities filtered in. Finally, about fifteen minutes after the meeting was scheduled to begin, the tribe’s council appeared. They always met in private sessions prior to the public meeting. Clyne said that was where the real business was done.

  Clay knew them all—three women and three men. With Council Chairman Ralph Siqueria still absent, there was the possibility of a tied vote on any issue. Clay watched his brother take his seat behind a nameplate and smiled; the pride still rose every time he saw Clyne there among the tribe’s leadership. Their mom would have been so happy. Arnold Tessay, the longest-serving member of the council, sat beside Clay. Their clerk, Martha Juniper, a broad woman notable for her fry bread and her owlish glasses, asked them to rise and honor both the American flag and the tribal flag. That done, the tribe’s acting chairman, Dennis Faden, called the meeting to order.

  Clay waited for their turn. When the matter of the permits was raised, Izzie asked for the explanation, just as Clyne had advised. No one seemed to know why that land was scheduled for renourishment. Pizarro, who was in charge of such matters, stated that it was a rotation, and this land was overdue.

  Izzie replied that the land had not been overgrazed and then asked for an extension to allow for the council to inspect the property in question.

  Tessay said they didn’t have time to check every cow pasture, and that was why they had a general livestock coordinator. Clyne proposed that he and Pizarro have a look at the pasture in question and report back to the council. The council voted to delay the question, and the motion passed with Tessay and Faden against, Cosen, and the three remaining council members for. Izzie had her stay. Her cattle could remain until the council met again in one week’s time.

  Clay’s delight was diminished when he and Izzie stood to leave and walked past Gabe, who still wore his uniform and looked less than pleased to see him here.

  They made it out into the parking lot. The weather girl had been right. The sky was clear and glistening with silver stars. He tugged his denim coat closed against the chill as he halted beside Izzie’s truck. For some reason, his brain chose that moment to remind him of the empty house waiting for his return and the privacy he would have if he managed to convince Izzie to join him.

  “Well, you have a few more days,” said Clay.

  “Thank you for all your help. I never would have known what to do, procedure and all. And Clyne calling for a motion, I know that was you, too.” She lifted up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek.

  He froze for only a moment before sweeping her up in his arms for a real kiss, the kind he’d been wanting to give her since the tenth grade.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Izzie’s blood surged as Clay deepened the kiss. She pushed toward him and relished the hard pressure of his mouth on hers. His hand came up, gripping the back of her neck, and she let him take some of her weight. She lifted on her toes to get even closer, sliding her tongue against his. But he pulled away, setting her at arms’ distance.

  She was about to object, but then she heard the voices, other members of the community moving through the lot to their vehicles. How had she not even heard them? And why was it that he had?

  Izzie had been completely lost in their kiss, and it irked her that Clay still had the wherewithal to notice what was going on around them. But she was grateful, too. She did not wish to be the subject of more gossip, mostly because the idea of facing something like what Clay had endured scared her to the core.

  “Isn’t that your neighbor?” Clay asked and drew her farther into the shadows.

  It was, and he was deep in conversation with Clay’s boss. Izzie strained to hear anything of the exchange between them.

  “Did you know Floyd offered to buy my cattle?” she said.

  “You said he asked you out.”

  “Yes. But yesterday he offered to buy me out. Right after my permits notice arrived. It was like he knew.”

  “Could be. News travels fast.” Clay looked back at the man in question, gesturing with his hands as he spoke to Donner. “He got that kind of money?”

  “No, which is why he gave me a low-ball offer. Take them off my hands, he said. You’d have to be a fool to take that kind of deal.”

  “Or desperate,” said Clay. “Maybe with the troubles you’ve been having, he figured you might be wanting to get out of the cattle business.”

  “Victor Bustros called me, too. This morning. Said he’d heard about my troubles and offered to auction my herd.”

  Bustros worked under Pizarro. But as brand inspector one of his duties was to oversee the tribe’s auctions.

  “I didn’t know.”

  “They’re like sharks smelling blood.”

  All round them came the sound of cars and trucks starting. Headlights flashed on, and vehicles pulled out from the gravel lot on to the highway. Izzie lingered, hands shoved in her pockets. She wanted another kiss, and another and another. She tried to remember why that was such a bad idea, but all she could recall w
as how right it felt to be in Clay’s arms.

  “You want to go get something to eat?” he asked.

  She didn’t want food. The want she had was much deeper, more primal. Izzie wanted the pressing of flesh to flesh. His heart beating beside hers. She wanted the heat and the wetness and the friction. But she didn’t want to be the subject of gossip. She knew the viciousness of the wagging tongues around here. It was a small community in a small reservation. Clay was living proof that people didn’t forgive or forget a misstep. She had to guard her reputation. She was a businesswoman with a mother and two brothers to provide for. She should walk away.

  Instead, she asked, “Isn’t Kino away on his honeymoon?”

  Clay’s brow quirked and he went very still. Had she really just said that? She didn’t know who was more surprised, she or Clay.

  “Yes,” he said, not making the offer that she wanted.

  “So you’re alone out there.” She couldn’t be less subtle than that.

  “I am. You like to come over for...”

  She gave him a wicked smile and nodded.

  “Okay. Two trucks or one?”

  She didn’t want to leave her truck out here where anyone could see it and make assumptions. Besides, someone would surely see Clay driving her back here in the morning.

  “I’ll follow you.”

  “Great.” But his expression didn’t say great. The tightness at his mouth and the lack of enthusiasm in his tone told her he’d pegged this for what it was, a quick hook-up that no one else needed to know about.

  He opened the door to her truck and gently caressed her arm as she swept inside.

  Izzie had ten long minutes to reconsider. But she didn’t. She just sat in the parking lot for a full minute, giving Clay a head start before she drove after him. When she came to the turn that would take her home, she didn’t take it. Instead she pressed her foot down, accelerating into the curve as the anticipation built. How many years had she dreamed of spending the night in Clay Cosen’s bed?

  “Just one night,” she whispered, giving herself permission.