HOTSHOT BROTHERS: Coyote Shifters

by Hunt, Sabrina

  Sighing I shook my head at him. “You forget what we are, Quickfoot?”

  “Badasses?” he deadpanned, then grinned. “Hey man, I know you’re only being a dick because you got a little thing for her. Go for it. She could be your soulmate.”

  Wes groaned. “Jeez, not that crap again, Quick.”

  “No kidding,” I added, forcing another laugh, and walking away. “Now get out of here. Go do recon and be useful.”

  “I’m just saying!” Cree howled as he shot off into the trees. “Soulmates. Badasses.”

  “Keep us posted, brother, and stay safe,” Wes said in an undertone, before turning over his ATV and rocketing off after Cree.

  Soulmates, I scoffed to myself.

  But as I turned around, I saw Hazel wander out the side door and over to the tree swing that Burr had set up all those years ago for Sil. She sat on it, eyes on the sky, and a low thrum went through my body. Every part of me wanted to go sit next to her, to wrap my arms around her, or lay my head in her lap. To be with her.

  But instead, I clenched my jaw and went to drop off my stuff inside.

  It was going to be a long couple of weeks.

  Chapter 7

  Waking up two weeks to the day I’d arrived at this cabin, I swung my feet towards the cold floor and stared at the now familiar wooden planks. Then, as I had every morning since I got there, I saw Ben’s face in my mind’s eye, drawn and agonized, from the first night we’d spent here.

  Guilt. I thought. Guilt and pain, written all over his face.

  It was a conclusion I’d been wrestling for the whole of the two weeks. I was haunted by that expression, spending countless hours trying to define it.

  And for some reason, on this morning, I knew I was right. Before now, I’d always hedged and then dismissed my conclusions. Then I’d force myself to go about my day and not think about it. But today I couldn’t. A strange sensation built in my chest, a sense of relief mingled with apprehension. Once again, I found myself reliving that first night together all over again.

  Determined to get the lay of the land, I’d spent my first afternoon exploring the area around the cabin. By the time I got back, the sun had set, fireflies were abounding, and I hadn’t eaten in hours. Glumly expecting to stave off hunger with crackers, I was shocked to find Ben had made dinner. Although it was a simple affair of beans, rice, and some ground beef, I’d praised it to the skies in my gratitude.

  Tired, happy, and full, I’d then thoughtlessly chattered on about the day, while looking through my camera photos. It didn’t occur to me that Ben might not want to hear any of that until almost an hour had passed. Upon realizing this, I’d frozen mid-sentence, cursing my thoughtlessness.

  A moment later, I had chanced a look up, expecting to be met with glazed eyes and a thin mouth, a furious Ben, disgusted I’d deigned to talk to him and that he’d been forced to sit there.

  Instead, however, he was staring at me with the oddest expression. His dark eyes were burning, his lips curving down, and cheeks pale.

  As I’d tried to describe it in later days – I’d been too thrown at the time – it seemed to be a look of stark, agonized guilt. The look of a man who was expecting the worst – hell, wanted it – and instead found a reprieve. I even thought, when our eyes met, that I saw warmth there. Gratitude.

  Watching him watch me, heat had flooded my body, and my breath became uneven.

  It’s not fair that he’s looking at me like that after he’s been so horrid all day. Then I chided myself. Maybe I should give him another chance.

  So, heart racing, I’d offered him a tentative smile.

  To my surprise, Ben had smiled back. A real smile breaking through, gentle, and full of joy.

  “Ben?” I’d started to ask. “Could we–?” Start over?

  “What?” Ben seemed to jerk awake, then he swallowed, and looked down. Tension crowded the room. “Oh, damn, sorry, didn’t mean to stare like that.” He muttered. “I’m so exhausted, I guess I’m spacing out. Sorry…”

  “Oh, so I didn’t have something on my face?” I asked lightly, trying to ease the sudden strain.

  He looked back up at me and the bright, wild boy I’d known in Whitsy’s office was sitting across from me. “No, no. Nothing like that.” Yet, after that, just a second later, he’d shut down. Eyes distant, face expressionless, and tone neutral. “Good night, Hazel.”

  Left alone in the kitchen, my heart still jumping around in my chest, I’d picked up my camera and flipped to a specific picture I’d taken earlier that afternoon.

  It was of Ben, smiling a little as he slept among the wildflowers, his face young, gentle, and heartbreaking in its stillness. I’d wanted photographic proof he existed, whether he remembered me or not.

  And as much as I tried to tell myself otherwise, I knew then that I was still drawn to him.

  A messy knot of emotions snarled around my heart as I’d looked at it, one I hadn’t been able to untie in the following days.

  At first staying in the cabin with Ben was awkward; yet, like most things, we fell into a routine, and it became pleasant enough. He gave me space, trying to avoid me whenever he could and only “sleep” there. But of course, there were plenty of times when we shared that space. Sometimes, in those moments, our eyes would meet, and a heady rush would go through my body.

  It was then I became conscious of him, as I never been with anyone else.

  The way his silky black hair caught the light, the way his shirt pulled across his broad back, the way he smelled, and most of all, the space between us – a space I suddenly craved to close.

  But then Ben would always tear his gaze away quickly and awkwardness reappeared again.

  In spite of this, no matter how much I told myself I was setting myself up for hurt again, day after day, my resentment towards Ben faded. Rushing back into that void was ravenous curiosity. My eyes found him whenever he was around. It was almost as though I could sense him. Or was I looking for him?

  For a while Ben tried to keep his distance, acting like a cold, haughty jerk. But some part of me wasn’t buying it anymore. There were too many moments where Ben tripped himself up – making meals, going out of his way to help at the survey, seeing to whatever I needed, and letting me have the run of the cabin. Times where he gave me that warm smile across the kitchen, or laughed, or hovered too close. Time where we had actual conversations.

  Now that we were in close quarters, his rudeness seemed forced. An act to distract me. A mask to divert the eye.

  Oh, now, two weeks later I was certain of one other thing: Benjamin Ofreo had a hell of a secret, and he was desperate to keep it hidden.

  Often, he’d vanish for hours at a time, reappearing with a grim, exhausted look on his face, and then crashing for a few hours. More than once I’d slipped back to the cabin only to find Ben napping on the couch with a plate of half-eaten food next to him. I didn’t bother trying to find out where he’d gone, but I made notes about it in my journal.

  Another thing was that he quietly advised me to keep our living arrangement quiet from the rest of the survey team working on the cave. He said it might create tension since only Whitsy and I had been offered accommodations on Sil’s lands.

  (Although I suppose that might not be terribly suspicious in retrospect – two people in their mid-twenties alone in a cabin together would definitely raise some eyebrows.)

  Also, while he mentioned the rest of his hotshot crew often enough, along with his time in the service, he never talked about his family or his past. It was like his life had started when he was eighteen. Sometimes I thought I’d go crazy if I didn’t fill in those blanks.

  I wanted to know. I had to know.

  And even the details he offered up were sketchy. He could be oddly closed about his brothers. However, one thing I did notice was how protective of his “brothers” he was, and how the only time he seemed to truly relax was when of them was around.

  Finally, Ben had impressive knowledge of scien
ce, medicine, history, archeology, and anthropology. He was educated, that was for certain. Not only did he spend hours reading, he made himself a crucial resource for the team whenever we got stumped. And again, I’d find myself wondering where he’d been educated, and how he’d wound up here.

  In fact, I often thought about how it was a good thing that we were stuck together. I could finally get the answers to my questions.

  I was determined to solve the mystery surrounding this man.

  All of this proved to be a better use of my time when it came to Ben anyways. I’d valiantly failed at ignoring him. Only, as the days passed, sometimes it kept me up at night – that insatiable thirst to know everything about him.

  Tapping my toes on the chilly floor, I stretched my arms over my head and thought about the day ahead. Since the final members of the team had finally arrived a few days ago, it was now like the site had always been set up. Lights inside the cave, people bustling around, and a tent in the clearing filled with equipment.

  We’d settled into a schedule quickly. Every day I was the first to arrive, followed by Whitsy, who was brought by Cree on the ATV. An hour later the rest of the team was there, fifteen people in total, chattering as they swarmed up the trail, laden down with backpacks and carrying travel mugs of steaming coffee. They’d fan out quickly, heading to the cave, the tent, or the woods.

  So far, we’d made good progress on the cave, too. We’d dated it to somewhere between 8,000 and 12,000 years old. This would make it a slightly younger contemporary of another parietal cave, the Cueva de las Manos in South America.

  A lot of discussions centered on the variety of images, as well as speculation about the rest of the cave, which had been deemed too unsafe to explore at the moment. That was fine, as we had plenty to do in the main chamber. Each piece of art needed to be recorded, photographed and analyzed. Even though it could be slow, meticulous work – it was exhilarating.

  Beyond that, I’d also accumulated a lot of disjointed notes about Ben, and watched him out of the corner of my eyes. I’d been curious to see how he’d interact with the team.

  He was always polite, if slightly aloof, and most people liked or at least respected him.

  However Ben didn’t seem to care one way or the other what people thought of him. This was the opposite of buoyant Cree, who’d shown up eager to please and was instantly popular.

  In spite of that, though, more than one person asked me if Ben and Cree were related. And in seeing them together, I could see what someone might think that. Just like with the other hotshots, there was something about their bearing and mannerisms that suggested kinship.

  Somehow, too, people had determined Ben and I had a connection outside of the survey. In fact, one woman, a geologist named Paige, had asked me during the first week if he was my fiancée.

  Dumbfounded, I’d stared at her, at a loss for what to say, and wondering how on earth she’d gotten such an idea. Is it from me trying to see what he’s up to?

  Finally, she’d laughed nervously, breaking the silence, and said, “Sorry, it was just the way you two looked at each other… Sorry, I just assumed as much.”

  The way we’d looked at each other?

  After that, I was more careful in observing Ben, while also trying to catch him out to see if he was watching me. A week later and I never saw it. Silently I’d concluded Paige was dippy.

  Even still, Paige and everyone else were a delight to work with. There was only one pill. Maxwell Dierkis (never Max), a pompous know-it-all professor and archeologist who had just gotten his Ph.D. (which he’d mentioned about a hundred or so times), had a habit of telling people how to do their jobs and avoiding doing his. While I’d known there was always a chance of there being someone who got under your skin, Maxwell was on a whole other level.

  Within hours of knowing him, he’d dropped some offhanded comments at me, borderline unprofessional, and it had made my skin crawl.

  Without giving him the satisfaction of a retort, I’d walked way, and happened to see Ben standing a way off, and for some reason, he was glaring at Maxwell, something he continued to do in the following days. He was too far away to have heard what Maxwell said, though I supposed he could have guessed.

  Of course, too, Ben and Maxwell had taken an instant dislike to each other. Earlier that same day Maxwell had tried to boss him around, assuming him nothing more than an errand boy, and Ben had set him straight with a few words, a cold glance, and a curl of his lip.

  Shaking my head, I stopped procrastinating leaving my warm bed and jumped to my feet. Walking to the window, I pulled back the curtains and let out a sound of dismay.

  Instead of being greeted by a pale blue sky and wisps of gold clouds, gray fog pressed against the window, and the glass was freezing to the touch. The temperature seemed to have dropped a good twenty or so degrees. Then I realized it was also pouring. Swell.

  Still in my pajamas, in no mood to rush out into this weather, I shivered a little as I went to the bathroom, and then into the kitchen. Raising my eyebrows, I gazed around.

  No coffee out, no breakfast, no anything. Usually Ben set it up for me, and I was flustered to feel a twinge of disappointment. Somehow, too, I could tell he wasn’t in the cabin. Even though he was quiet, he had a presence I could always sense.

  A tingle raced up my spine and the front door swung open. Ben hurried in, his clothes soaking wet, shaking his head like a dog. Water flew everywhere. He was grinning in a satisfied way to himself, and quickly shed his shoes, then looked up and saw me.

  Grinning even wider, he said, “Good morning, Hazel.”

  I swallowed, then smiled back and stammered out, “Hey, hi. Good morning.” Realizing my hands were shaking slightly, I gripped the counter behind me. Calm down, girl.

  “Whitsy called earlier – he’s calling off the team for today. So you can stay in your pajamas.” Ben’s voice was teasing and I gaped at him. Then I flushed, glancing down at my matching baby blue flannel top and bottom. “I was out securing everything and making sure nothing got swept away in the deluge last night.” He strode over, raking a hand through his dripping hair, and tilted his head down at me. “You mind making me a cup of coffee?”

  Nodding, unable to speak, I took a deep breath and turned back around. I couldn’t take another second of looking up at Ben in his tank top, drips of water running down his bare, muscled arms, face flushed with exertion. He smelled like rain and the outside, and for a moment, I had to fight the urge to wrap my arms around him.

  “Thanks.” He sounded amused and I realized that missing note was now back – a necessary drop of sweetness in a rich, black brew of coffee.

  My mind began to whirl as I pulled out the coffee grounds. What could have happened? While he’d relaxed somehow over the past fortnight, this morning was different. Glancing over my shoulder at his door, a thought darted into my mind. Is it because of me?

  Flushing, shaking my head to dislodge that presumption, I finished making two mugs and wandered over to the living room with them. I’d stacked books on the table, and I figured if I had the day off, I may as well brush up on my reading to strengthen my theory about the cave.

  I’d discussed it yesterday with Whitsy and the team, but I needed more proof before I could start compiling it into a paper. Of course, Maxwell had been deeply skeptical of my ideas, poking holes at every turn. It had stung, but Whitsy heartened me and urged me to keep looking into it.

  Rubbing my arms, I bit the end of my pen and gazed at my notes. Today my brain felt as foggy as it was outside. Suddenly I didn’t want to work, I just wanted to crawl back into bed, or sit right there and do nothing.

  “Ah, thank you.” Ben reappeared, dressed in loose sweats, a t-shirt tight over his biceps, and no socks. His hair was still wet and he had a towel slung around his neck. As he sat down next to me on the couch, he dropped a stack of papers and books, then picked up his coffee.

  “You’re welcome,” I said, after far too long a moment of sil
ence had passed. But my brain struggled to accept what was happening. Then I thought, filled with determination, whatever this is, I’m going to enjoy it, and see if I can find some things out about him.

  For a while, we sat in a comfortable silence, and alone for once. No awkward elephants in the room. Ben was studying a map, marking spots with an X and writing notes. I tried to read, but I kept getting distracted by him. That’s when I realized I’d been staring at the same page for about ten minutes and hastily flipped it.

  Ben let out a sigh, took another sip of his coffee, and then stood up. He tossed his towel over the back of the couch and looked at me. “Got any objections to me makin’ a fire?”

  “Of course not!” I exclaimed and he walked over to the fireplace. Crouching down, he stacked logs, and then stood, picking up two tools off the mantle. “Is that flint?” I asked eagerly, scrambling to my feet. “May I watch?”

  Ben’s eyebrows raised and his lips quirked. “You wanna do it?”

  “Oh, I’ve no idea how,” I said as I came towards him. “I’ve always wanted to learn, though.”

  “Here.” Ben proffered the tools. “I’ll show you. It’s a good skill to have. Especially for an intrepid explorer trekking all over the world.” His voice drawled a bit on those last words.

  Biting my lip, I had to repress a grin as I took them, as excitement hammered in my heart. Ben kneeled down, gesturing for me to follow, and then explained the tools.

  One was a U-shaped piece of steel, the other was the flint rock which I would use to strike, and the final piece was a piece of char cloth that would catch the sparks.

  “I don’t just send a spark into the fireplace?” I asked nervously, as Ben showed me how to fold the cloth on the flint, his big hands gentle on mine, sparking my nerves into a frenzy.

  He chuckled, the sound resonant and close to my ear. A tingle raced up my neck. “No, that wouldn’t work. You need char cloth or you’re just gonna be making sparks,” he said, adjusting my thumb so that I had a better grip on the steel. His breath stirred my hair and my palms began to sweat. Calm down, Hazel! “And don’t worry, you’re not going to burn yourself.”