Hunter Moon (9 page)

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.”

“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.

* * *

O
N
T
UESDAY
THEY
finished the branding. That night 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.