The Eagle and the Fox (A Snowy Range Mystery, #1) (13 page)

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W
hen the call had come from Marcus, Josh had been taking inventory of their grain supplies, making a list he could take to the feed store. Staring at that list reminded him he’d still not gotten around to asking Marcus if he would allow for a bit more time on the ranch’s account. He had buyers coming to look at some reining prospects, but there was a vast divide between looking and writing a check.

If he could sell two or three of the geldings, they’d have enough to squeak by for a few months. At least until the next disaster or humungous vet bill put them in the red again.

The minute he heard Marcus’ voice, he knew something was wrong. While he’d hoped that Kit would come out of the woodwork and contact them, it wasn’t part of his game plan to involve Marcus with a guy likely to shoot first and not bother with questions.

He called his sister, asked after Petilune and told Becca he had to run to the feed store to talk to Marcus. Her
is that right
echoed long after he’d signed off. He muttered, “Busybody,” but he couldn’t stay angry with her. She worried about him, it’s what she did, what she’d always done.

Yeah, he could have just talked with Marcus on the phone, found out what had happened, maybe offered some advice and support, but doing that at a distance wasn’t
right
, not right at all. Truth was, when he wasn’t thinking about the oddball crap going on, it was Marcus Colton who occupied his thoughts. The man seemed to get him in ways even his sister didn’t, knowing to tease him if he got a little tense, offering his friendship and asking nothing in return. He recalled how the sound of Marcus’ voice had drawn him out of an episode, thread by thread, then knitted him back together until he was the rancher with a family to care for instead of a wounded animal lashing out in every direction.

Ever since that night, he’d had fewer nightmares and virtually no recurring descents into hell. It wasn’t the drugs or him thinking on the keywords or images that acted like a lifeline that had made a difference. He’d had those in his arsenal for a couple years. They worked until they didn’t. And he’d had plenty of triggers to confront in the last few days as well, yet each one slipped past with barely a ripple in his consciousness.

That it was unfair to lay the responsibility for the turnaround on Marcus was a given. His new friend neither asked for nor did he deserve to carry that burden. Josh understood he had to walk a fine line and not allow himself to become dependent on a man who was too generous by a country mile. He had no right to pull the shopkeeper into his dysfunction, yet...

Sitting on the couch, sharing a smoke and a drink, shooting the breeze about nothing, puzzling over how best to care for Petilune... Little things that, on the sliding scale of all the crazy shit that happened in life, didn’t mean much, but in the sharing those individual bits took on relevance. They were worth remembering, and those new memories—playing peekaboo with the mire that usually clogged his brain—they helped. More than helped, they soothed and gave him a measure of peace he never believed he’d find again.

He slapped the steering wheel and muttered, “Wake up, cowboy,” using Marcus’ favorite term. He made the left toward Centurion, bumping over the cattle guard as the back end of the truck shimmied and bucked before settling. The store sat off to the left, sitting atop a small rise. The parking area was packed down sand and gravel. The headlights cut a swath across the porch and the figure of a man sitting on the steps.

Marcus was waiting for him. Outside. He wondered at that. Then the man stood up, shotgun in hand, and Josh’s gut clenched. He let the truck idle as his friend approached, the steps hesitant, almost jerky—as if he carried a great weight. When he got into the passenger side, he took a deep breath and said, “I’ll tell you everything, but can we run up to Polly’s? My blood sugar’s crashing and if I don’t get something to eat, I won’t be fit for anything.”

At Josh’s, “Sure,” he placed the shotgun on the rack behind the seat, then settled himself with a sigh.

Reaching over to give Marcus’ thigh a squeeze, Josh re-considered and instead let his hand drop to the seat, his fingers digging into the ancient cloth cover. They drove in silence and it wasn’t until they were seated, with mugs of coffee and steaming corn chowder in front of each of them, that Marcus carefully explained what had happened. He pulled a notebook out of his shirt pocket and opened it to the first page.

Frowning at the scribbling, Marcus said, “I wrote down what I could remember. It’s not word for word but I think it’s close enough.”

“You did good, detective.” Marcus looked up, his eyes troubled. Josh felt the need to reassure the man. “I mean it. What you did took guts. Real guts.”

“But I fucked it up, Josh. Fucked it bad. Kit Giniw’s in the wind, and I have no clue where he’s gone or what he’s doing here, let alone how Petilune, her brothers and those four assholes figure into any of this.” He stirred the soup, mindlessly swirling the thick broth, his hand shaking. “I had a chance and I blew it.”

Josh pointed to the notebook. “Mind if I look at that?” He pushed his empty bowl to the side and twirled the notebook so he could read Marcus’ chicken scratch. It looked a lot like his own so he was able to decipher most of it. He jutted his chin in the direction of Marcus’ soup bowl. “Why don’t you finish that while I read through this one more time?” Marcus was poised to object, so he immediately countered with, “You got more here than you know. Especially after what I learned today. If we put it all together, the picture just might be clearer than mud.”

Marcus had written,
why is he here
, circling it and adding a few question marks for good measure. Josh added his own...
passing through or looking to settle?
Neither of them had thought to ask how long Kit had been hanging around.

He snickered at Marcus’
true love WTF?
and jotted down underneath it,
not your type?
He meant it in jest, then immediately regretted what his sister would call his crass impertinence. He wasn’t really sure what that meant, but if running off at the mouth qualified, then he was gold. In any case, it was there to stay in all its inked glory.

A bump on his hip signaled Marcus sliding onto the bench seat with him. He said, “I can’t read upside down. Easier this way.”

Polly arrived with their burgers and coleslaw. She looked at their new seating arrangement with only the smallest twitch to her lips, set the plates down and left with, “Enjoy, fellas. Yell if you need something else.”

The restaurant was empty except for them. Josh moved over only enough to allow Marcus room to park his butt completely on the worn vinyl, but not so much as to avoid contact with Josh’s thigh. Between bites, Josh continued to review the extensive notes. Marcus finished off his hamburger and was reaching for an errant pickle on Josh’s plate when he snorted and dropped the pickle on the table.

“What’s so funny?” Josh grabbed a napkin and tapped at the spots of pickle juice on the notebook.

Marcus squirmed, mumbled something that sounded like
three second rule
, then popped the slice in his mouth. He moved away just enough to open a space between their thighs. Josh was sorely tempted to follow and re-establish contact. He liked the feel of the man next to him, liked how he shared space without being self-conscious. Granted, there was only Polly and the cook left in the restaurant, but it spoke volumes about how comfortable they’d gotten with each other in such a short space of time.

“Come on, man, don’t keep me hanging here. I had a shitty day. I could use a laugh.”

Josh could have sworn Marcus was blushing when he pointed to the
not your type?
comment in the margins. He mumbled, “I don’t do jail bait,” then clamped his mouth shut, the blood draining from his face.

His heart thudding double time, Josh considered that admission. He could let it go, pretend he hadn’t heard or didn’t understand the meaning behind it, or...

“Not mine either. Like you said, way too young and skinny.” He took a sip of water and grinned, keeping his eyes on a spot across the room. “Pretty impressive weapon though. Did he, um, whip it out for you?”

Marcus’ shoulders shook as he edged off the seat and slid onto the bench opposite. He nodded and admitted, “Indeed he did. I damn near messed my shorts.” He paused for a tick, then smiled. “Seen bigger in my time, though.”

Josh heard his sister’s voice in the back of his head saying, “Ask him, don’t forget...” Was now the time to extend an invitation to dinner on Sunday? He was pretty sure they’d both just laid their cards on the table, opening up an opportunity to take the next step.

Except he wasn’t sure what the next step was. Dinner at his sisters? Maybe a trail ride with the girls up the mountain. But that was family, neighborly stuff. Marcus might think it lame or so neutral as to indicate Josh was looking to be friends only. How the samhill was he supposed to play this?

Do I want to play this?

The answer was hell yeah, but he was all too aware that his friend was also still a mourner. Marcus had been living for years with his cousin and business partner, and Josh would lay money it had been way more than platonic. When did a man stop grieving and start considering other possibilities? Was three years long enough? Could a man even measure time by how the ache lessened by day or month or year. Or was it something you carried with you, baggage you towed into each and every new relationship, testing the waters, dumping some ballast if it looked promising?

Josh had never been in a relationship long term. He’d never been promiscuous, but he hadn’t been exactly the bastion of stability either. For the last couple years, he’d sequestered himself on the ranch, content to have his sister and the girls nearby, the animals to tend to, and a chance to work through teaching his crippled body to function. Yes, he was lonely, but it was the price he willingly paid to see to his family and to assure that their parents and their grandparents’ legacy continued into the next generation.

He was never again going to be normal. He accepted that. Would Marcus accept it?

Josh opened his mouth, shut it, and stared at the notebook, the words a blur.
Ask him, ask him, ask him...

“Um, listen, Marcus, I was wondering... You don’t have to, I’d understand. It’s short notice and everything, but...”

Polly can running toward their table waving her cell phone. She shouted, “Fire. Over at the Barnes’ place. They need every hand they can get.”

Marcus was off the seat first. He reached out a hand and helped Josh to stand. He turned to Polly and asked, “What kind of fire, you know?”

“Brush fire. One of the hands saw smoke, went to investigate. Started on the west side, between the creek and the barn. Moving fast.”

Josh exchanged a glance with Marcus. It had been unusually warm and dry for early April. Everything—the sagebrush, the brome, trees not yet in bloom—all of it was tinder dry.

Marcus asked, “They say to bring anything, Polly?”

“Just what you can.” She turned back to the kitchen. “I’ll see to organizing some food and drinks. Be there soon’s me and the kids can get the truck loaded.”

They hit the truck running. Josh laid rubber on the asphalt as Marcus shouted above the roar of the engine, “Stop at the store. We’ll need shovels and tarps, lanterns. Cans of gasoline.”

“Gasoline?”

“Sometimes the only way to stop these wildfires is with a backfire.” He peered out the windshield but it was too dark to see much. The wind had mercifully died down so that was something in their favor. As they entered the parking lot, Marcus said, “Go around back. We can load the truck easier off the dock.”

It took nearly a half hour to gather all the supplies and toss it into the bed of the pickup. By the time they were back on the main road, they could see the fire lighting up the night sky. The Barnes place was halfway between town and his ranch, with Becca’s ten acres and rustic log cabin in line of fire should it move down the valley. There wasn’t much beyond open pasture land and a meandering stream to slow it down.

He tossed his cell phone to Marcus. “Call Becca. Tell her what’s happening. Have her get the girls and Petilune to my place and hunker down.”

Josh barely heard Marcus speaking to his sister, explaining what was going on. At least at the ranch house the stream was right behind the back porch. They had a generator hookup and hoses that could pull water off the stream and wet down the house and run-in sheds if necessary. Becca’s place was too exposed, with no handy water source.

Marcus said, “She knows what to do. Says not to worry, the kids will be fine.”

Josh chewed his lip as he looked for the turnoff to the Barnes spread. It lay downslope from the highway, in a narrow valley that ran due west to east. Beyond it, low hills undulated to the north. To the south, a series of two- and three-thousand foot ridges divided the area into canyon-like features, all running parallel to each other.

It was easy to spot the lane. Cars, trucks and vans lined the length as men stampeded in the direction of the glare coming off the other side of a hillock. Josh parked far enough off the lane so as not to impede traffic. They were going to have to find out who was in charge first and then see how best to distribute the supplies they’d brought.

Marcus jumped out of the truck and came around to the driver side. “Listen, cowboy, don’t take this the wrong way, but I can move faster than you. How about I see what’s what, and then give you a call and you can bring all that shit closer to where they’ve set up base camp.”

That made sense. He would only slow things up, plus the prospect of making a third of a mile walk in and back wasn’t on his dance card if he planned to do more than sit on the sidelines. He nodded and watched Marcus take off at a run.

Polly’s van pulled in behind him. She got out and looked at the chaotic scene. Josh climbed out of his truck and hailed her. “Hey, Polly. Marcus went to get some information. He’ll call and let me know where we can go to park.”