Next to him was Wes Young, a black man with buzzed dark hair starting to grow out in neat, wiry curls. He was leaning against the counter with a slight scowl, folded arms, and an unwavering hazel gaze. Wes radiated a certain military stiffness, but there was a grace to him as well. Splotches of paint decorated his knuckles and wrist, evidence of a late night or early morning session in his studio. Aunt Sil had cleaned it out and we all marveled at how Wes could wield a brush or a pencil, creating whole worlds on a canvas. But he was also quiet about it, not caring to be interrupted or praised too much. Due to his ninja-like skills in tracking, we called him Stealth.
Ben Ofreo, the youngest of us, was running a hand through his recently cut black hair, sticking up all over the place and his dark eyes studied me carefully. He was sitting on the counter on the other side of Wes, gripping the edges of it. He was clearly holding himself back from saying or doing something to me, but as to what, I could only guess.
Once I would have known. In a way, I wondered if Ben would be the most sympathetic to the dark whispers in the back of my mind. There’d been a time when he’d struggled so much with his destiny that his gift of healing had been stunted.
Of course, he’d come leaps and bounds since then, a fully recognized healer and shifter in his own right. His nickname was Doc.
Finally, Burr Santana was sitting in a chair, his boots up on another and his hands clasped behind his head. Everything about Burr was tall and broad; he was a giant of a man with a riot of red-brown curls and green eyes. But for all that, it was hard to think of him as intimidating.
For anyone who knew him, everything about Burr only spoke of his loyalty and love. While Burr was a hell of a fighter and had a habit of winding up wild, unpredictable situations, he was also the gentlest and most compassionate person I’d ever met. Without even trying, he could get anyone to bare their innermost soul to him. Yet since family always came first, Burr could be as reckless as Cree or Ben, sometimes in a way that made me cringe even more. Hence the nickname Wildman.
I wanted to make a joke, but guilt was choking my throat and I sighed. “Guys, I hope–”
“Let me stop you right there,” Wes said flatly. “Ray, eat breakfast. Then we’re going for a run. Pack style.”
Now I did laugh. “Any particular reason why?”
“You need to clear your head, get out of the house, and get Montana earth in your paws,” Cree said. “And you need a day without the Elders fussing or the girls whispering.”
“Where is everyone?” I asked, starting to move around the kitchen, pulling down a bowl and some instant oatmeal. I twirled around to the stove, turning the kettle on, and then grabbed an apple.
“Girls went to go get some supplies and stuff for the next week. Also, I heard something about nails, possibly. I don’t know.” Ben paused. “Hazel just said, ‘girls day’ like that explained it.”
Ben still said Hazel’s name with a note of incredulous happiness to it, a little hitch of his breath that he still couldn’t believe they were together.
“Kalin wasn’t much more forthcoming,” Wes added. He said her name with softness, his eyes growing distant and mouth curving up at the corner.
I glanced at Burr and he shrugged. “What? It’s good for Willow to have gal pals. I didn’t ask, just tried to give her money and got a lecture.” Burr’s voice was filled with layers of memories and hope. A triumphant joy, yet filled with awe.
“Too bad Sky’s missing out,” Cree said. “She loves that girly stuff.” I glanced over at Cree and felt a mixture of affection, gratitude, and relief. Sky’s name was the note of a song in his voice.
He’ll take care of her. He’ll help her through it as she’ll help him, I thought.
“What’s that look?” Ben asked suddenly, and I met his eyes. He was squinting at me. “Are you sure you’re feeling–” then he bit off the words and gave me a rueful look. Ben had incessantly asked me over the past two weeks if I was sure I was okay till I had to ask him to stop. For all his power, Ben couldn’t heal these wounds.
“I’m fine,” I said calmly, carefully putting my mask in place, a gentle smile and smooth brow. “A run sounds great. Thanks.”
Their expressions cleared up somewhat and they crowded around me, chattering and rambling on about things, purposely avoiding subjects that might hit too close to home.
The truths we were all avoiding.
An hour later, we stood at the edge of the back fields, where there was a long, steep hill that careened into a river. The fog had lifted and sunlight fell through the trees in huge splashes. Everything vibrated with life, the forest in harmony with the spring as buds opened and birds returned. Even the harsh croak of a bullfrog was mellowed in May.
I hung back as my four brothers shifted. Cree, first as always, ran leaping into the air, landing on all four paws as graceful as a dancer, shaking out his dark brown fur. Ben shifted next. Though not as fast a runner as Cree, he matched his endurance. His fur was black with splashes of white on his chest, paws, and tail. Wes, unruffled, shifted into a black and brown beast, shouldering Cree, who rolled onto his back, twisting with glee in the grass.
Burr laughed and then followed. He was the biggest, a shaggy red-brown, and he turned back to me with a familiar, wild glint in his eye.
I have run with you a thousand times before.
Letting the cool flow of energy envelop me, I fell onto four paws as well, and we took off.
Running like this was unlike anything else. It was one of the purest joys I’d ever known, almost as though the essence of life had been distilled into movement. We raced down the hill, a little too fast, but always sure-footed. Then we darted through the woods, free and untamed. Everything around us was a kingdom of gold and green.
Here, in the middle of Montana, remote and far away from the world, it was easy to forget. It was almost too easy to pretend the world was untouched and young again. That corruption and pollution didn’t exist. That no shadows lurked.
Even though there was a tug of guilt at my heart, I gave in to that forgetfulness.
I forgot everything except the breath I was drawing, the feeling of warm earth under my paws, and the wind in my fur. We rushed across mountaintops in a mere matter of minutes. Time is gracious to a shifter in the spring, I thought.
After running for several hours, we turned back, only stopping to dive into the bracing, clean waters of the mountain lake not too far from Sil’s.
By the time we got back, the sun was creeping towards the west. All of us were sweaty and muddy, but I was laughing again, joking with my brothers and reliving old stories. One Burr recounted, about Grits and a particularly fierce old woman who didn’t want to evacuate, had us in tears on the ground. We laughed, lying in the warm grass, and the terrible weight was gone from my chest.
I’d forgotten.
Then there was a laugh I knew well and loved. Sky. Cree, in his excitement, shifted back and dove at her, getting muddy paw prints all over her dress. But she was laughing even harder. Even when he shifted back, it wasn’t much better, but she kissed him fiercely, dirt and all.
For a second, I felt a small pang of envy. While I was happy for my sister and Cree, I never thought she would find love before me.
The rest of the girls came swarming back then, gleeful at their surprise of picking up Sky. Then they scolded us to go get cleaned off.
In the twilight, we reconvened around a fire pit to the southeast of Sil’s. The Elders were there, slipping from the trees like otherworldly shadows, but their faces familiar and comforting.
Aunt Sil with her long gray braids and wise face, her dark eyes lit with mirth and affection. Big Bear, bigger than his name, grumbling and gruff, but with quick smile and a deep laugh. Crowfoot, lanky and eager, spinning stories and pulling the smoke from the fire into shapes. Fern and Pea, always side by side, their white heads bent together and hands clasped, exuding a calming and soothing presence.
I sat by Pea and her other hand gently re
sted on top of mine. We ate dinner out under the stars and fireflies began to light up the dark woods. Even the simplest of foods had a richer, deeper flavor here. And then, like children, we roasted marshmallows to make s’mores, with Wes chasing Cree around the fire for giving him a marshmallow mustache.
Sky beamed at me across the fire and I could read her thoughts with one look.
Ray, this is wonderful. This is beyond anything I’d imagined.
I smiled at her, my petite younger sister, huggable with her fluffy waves of gold hair and gray-green eyes, looking like sunlight reflecting off a clear sea.
I forgot as I laughed and enjoyed myself in the circle of my family.
I should have known better.
Chapter 2
Raising my hands up to the sky, I smiled and let the wind tear through my hair.
I was standing on top of the mountain I’d just hiked up, gazing down at remote valleys and wild, untouched mountains. Montana was unlike any other land in the world.
Standing there, I always seemed to more fully understand what Chief Seattle meant in his letter to those who would “buy” the land where his tribe lived.
“The earth does not belong to man; man belongs to the earth.”
His letter and other Native American sayings tugged sharply at my heart. I’d lament the loss of that way of life to the insatiable gullet of greed and “manifest destiny.”
But, right now, in the middle of nowhere, my heart was so full that I laughed and the dog next to me let out a yip.
“Isn’t it something, pup?” I asked him. Two trusting brown eyes met mine and my smile became soft. I’d only rescued Nim a few months ago and it had been hard going at first. He was a skittish, shy dog. But up here, in the free air and clean trees, we were starting to bond.
Checking my watch, I knew we had to go back down, even though I wished we could stay longer. But if I did, I’d miss an important call from the university I worked for. Loping back down the hill that led to my rental house, I let my legs carry me with ease and Nim followed me happily. He had a wiggling gait, his brindled coat gleaming in the early sunlight.
“Nim, you’re the perfect boyfriend,” I said as we entered the clearing where the little house was. My feet were skipping of their own accord. There was nothing I liked more than the absolute certainty of being alone and free. Of being able to talk to my dog without sideways looks and condescending smiles. Of solitude that never felt lonely.
But Nim wasn’t paying attention to me, he was sniffing the air and darting ahead. Then he whimpered, one paw held up uncertainly and his body quivering.
“What’s wrong, boy?” I asked.
“Good morning, Paige,” a voice answered, and I went stock still.
Raising my eyes from Nim, I took in a figure unfurling itself from sitting on my front steps: a six-foot-something ridiculous figure with tousled blonde hair, a set chin, and storm-cloud colored eyes. With his easy and charming smile, his gentle, husky voice finely lain over the steel in him, he looked and sounded like the Norse god he was nicknamed for, Thor.
“Rayner Hess,” I breathed. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen him sitting there, never mind that he was here. My eyes slit. “What the hell do you want?”
“Paige Green,” he echoed, though his tone was far less surprised and acerbic, “I need your help.” He paused as I gaped at him. “Please – if you give me five minutes, you’ll understand.”
“My help?” I asked, temporarily forgetting to tell him off for having some nerve. Then my voice iced over. “Oh dear, that’s too bad. I’m afraid I’m far too busy.” Rayner’s brows contracted the slightest inch. “Perhaps another time.” Like never!
Rayner’s gaze slid from me to Nim, who was cocking his head back and forth as though he couldn’t quite make up his mind. Then, to my astonishment, he waddled over and sat at Rayner’s feet, panting and beaming up at him.
A flash of pain and jealousy went through my chest. Of course. Even fool the damn dog.
I added, with an unmistakable finality, as I fiddled with the bracelet at my wrist, “I’m not sure how big the rock was that you hit your head on, but I assure you, I’m not helping you.”
“You rescued this dog?” Rayner asked, not listening. “Are you planning on giving him back?”
Thrown by this, I fidgeted, taking a moment to answer. “Uh, yes, I rescued him,” I finally said flatly. “How did you know that? Why would you – Nim?” I could hardly believe my eyes. Rayner was squatting down and patting my dog, rubbing his belly, and Nim was allowing him to do so. I stared at the two, thrown even more. “He’s my dog. Of course I’m not giving him back.” Then I muttered. “Even if he doesn’t act like it half the time.”
A small smile played across Rayner’s smooth face. “I understand. You know, you may have saved his life.”
I watched in amazement as Nim rolled back over now, throwing himself at me and clambering up my legs. He was on the smaller side of a medium dog, not very big, but built, and had never liked me picking him up before.
Now Nim was begging for it and I gathered his shaking body into my arms and he stuck his nose in my neck. The cold made me jump. “What, Nim?” I asked, rubbing his head. He was making a noise in his throat, a whimper that seemed somehow grateful and for some reason, my eyes pricked with tears. What is happening? I wondered.
I shrugged to myself. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Wherever Rayner Hess was there were bound to be questions like that. Usually followed by more painful and unanswered ones.
Not that I knew Rayner Hess all that well, which is why his request for help was all the more baffling. Why would a wildland firefighter need a geologist-historian?
Furthermore, why did he have to be mysterious, good-looking, and smart? It wasn’t fair, especially for a woman like me. Surely there was some kind universal balancing scale that required him to have at least one flaw that would let me hate him completely.
But if there was, Rayner had obliterated it into the dust. Standing there in basketball shorts and a loose hoodie, he was still another level of good looking. And his eyes shone with that same secret amusement and intelligence that had drawn me to him in the first place.
Although he did seem more worn than I’d ever seen him. There was a tightness around his eyes, a tic in his jaw, and a wild growth of stubble on his cheeks. Is he on the run?
From what I’d observed in the brief time that I’d known him, Rayner was usually so controlled. My resolve started to crumble. He did seem like he was in some kind of trouble…
I watched as he regarded me carefully, plotting his next words, and I couldn’t help but remember how we met.
Last summer
It was the beginning of the second week of the cave survey in the Flathead National Forest. There had been an incredible discovery in the mountains by a local woman who had miles of lands up north – a cave revealed by a rockslide – with walls covered in parietal art over 8,000 years old. It was a wonder to behold, the first of its kind in Montana.
Although everything in that area of Montana was a wonder to behold.
Of course, if I could have maybe beheld a little bit less, I wouldn’t have wound up in the situation I was now.
In fact, a lot of things would have never happened if I could tone down the intensity of my observations. It was good to be observant; it was another thing for it to become a distraction that led to disastrous outcomes where you didn’t pay attention to the rest of your surroundings or put your foot in your mouth or your body in harm’s way.
I winced at that thought. The other day I’d inadvertently said something to one of the other site team members, Hazel Pemberton. At her shocked, embarrassed look, I’d immediately regretted it. She’d been polite about it, but I knew I’d somehow hurt her in some way.
“The way you two look at each other,” I’d tried to explain hastily, to cover up my faux pas as well as defend myself. I’d asked her if she and Ben Ofreo were engaged.
But Hazel
had made an excuse and fled, so I couldn’t finish what I’d wanted to say.
The unsaid words burned on my tongue. Always wanting to know where the other is, the longing and affection, the body language – as though you can barely hold yourselves apart.
In retrospect, perhaps it was better she’d run off.
“Did I hurt you?” Ben asked, concerned. Of course, he was involved in my newest faux pas. He was a handsome kid, maybe two years younger than me, with dark eyes desperately hiding secrets.
I shook my head. “No, sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” he said gruffly, then he amended his voice. “What were you thinking? You could have broken a bone. I’m glad you didn’t.”
Shrugging, I said, “What can I say, I’m a graceful klutz.”
“Or a lucky one,” he’d laughed. “Didn’t answer my question, though.”
“I was just looking around,” I said nonchalantly, “and I fell. My own fault.”
I’d been walking along a precarious area of the river about a mile from the site, an area we’d been warned away from, but curiosity always tugged too sharply at me. It was something Hazel and I had in common, though I now suspected we would not be as good of friends as I’d hoped.
In an area where the trees fell away and the remoteness took my breath away, something had moved. At the bottom of the steep slope I was standing on, I saw a glint of gold. Eyes wide, I watched as a large coyote, its fur touched with a gloss of firelight, appeared. It was sniffing the air and seemingly enjoying the bright sun, closing its eyes and lifting its face to the sky.
Something about the creature made my skin crinkle with thrills.
As it went to move away, I stepped forward and my foot slipped. Though I caught myself, the coyote turned and vanished into the woods. With a sigh, I went to turn back and slipped again, this time tumbling down the incline, smacking my body against tree roots and rocks, and slicing my skin. I’d landed at the bottom in a crumpled heap.
Dazed, aching, I’d lain there, dizzy and disoriented, staring up at the blue sky. By some miracle, my glasses were still on my face – askew, but not broken.
HOTSHOT BROTHERS: Coyote Shifters Page 70
