Hunter Moon (8 page)

Kino gave him a playful slug to the arm.

“Hey, quiet about that.”

They exchanged a smile. Kino was getting married. The thought struck him, and Clay’s heart gave a funny little flutter.

Kino’s friends circled closer, returning to their conversations interrupted by his arrival. There was Bill and Javier, his brother’s two closest friends. Kino’s bride-to-be, Lea Altaha, was with her family at Salt River, making this a low-key bachelor’s party. The woman Kino would marry was also the one he had rescued from the cartels down on the border three months earlier. Lea had worked with an aid organization, providing drinking water to those illegals crossing the desert. As Shadow Wolves, he and Kino had been charged with tracking and apprehending those same illegals. Yet somehow the two had set aside their differences and made a good, strong match.

Clay went to joint Clyne and Gabe. Clyne offered a smile, but Gabe, less tolerant of Clay’s general lack of regard for the time, cast him a look of disappointment.

“Here he is. At last,” said Clyne. “I’m famished.” He was the one who played well with others and who was a master at both negotiation and consensus building. A leader by any measure.

Gabe, ever the investigator, was more to the point. “Where have you been?”

“I had to stop by to see a friend.”

Gabe’s brow swept down over his dark eyes. “What friend?”

Clay changed the subject. “Any word on the dead cattle?”

Gabe looked to the heavens as if for patience, then flicked his gaze back to Clay. “You were with Izzie Nosie?”

“No. But—”

“Good. Because you can’t work for her and keep your job. You know that, right? Conflict of interest.”

“She asked me to do her a favor.”

“And you’ve done it. So stay away from her.”

Clay felt the need to challenge, but a glance toward the banquet table showed his grandmother watching them from a distance with worried eyes.

“Anything from the necropsy?” he asked, hoping the dead cattle might prove his suspicions.

Gabe’s face went expressionless. “Clay, you do not want to get in the middle of my investigation. And that is what this is, an active investigation. Keep out of it.”

He didn’t remind Gabe that it was only an investigation because Clay had tracked the cattle, found the dead cows and called him.

“You hear me?” asked Gabe.

“I do.” Clay could turn his back on just about anyone and anything. But not family and not Izzie. He felt like a deer being tugged in opposite directions by two hungry wolves. Someone was about to be disappointed. But either way, the deer lost.

Chapter Eleven

Izzie had a call in at nine on Monday morning to the state veterinary offices. As an interested party, listed on their report, she was entitled to a copy of their findings, and even though Clay had raised the possibility, she was still speechless when she heard the results.

All three necropsy reports indicated that her cows died of complete cardiopulmonary collapse. There was fluid in their lungs and irritation of all respiratory membranes. The cattle also showed extreme kidney and liver damage. Blood work revealed low blood potassium and high levels of magnesium.

“Consistent with poisoning,” finished the vet on the phone. “Want a fax copy or US mail?”

“What caused this?” asked Izzie.

A pause, then, “Ah, we are turning this over to the FBI. You might want to contact an attorney.”

Izzie gripped the phone, blinking like an owl as that bit of information settled in. She’d never been in trouble a day in her life. She’d always done exactly what was expected even when she wanted to do otherwise.

“But I didn’t do anything,” she said.

“Is there anything else?”

“No. I... Thank you.”

“Yeah. I’ll drop a copy in the mail. We have your address.” The vet hung up, leaving Izzie gripping a phone connected to no one.

Dizziness rocked her, and she had to sit down hard in one of the vinyl-cushioned chairs at her mother’s kitchen table. Next she set the phone on the plastic tablecloth festooned with yellow daisies and used the same hand to wipe the sweat away from her forehead.

Clay had been right. Those cows had inhaled something that had come out of those trailers, something that had stopped their hearts.

Izzie folded her arms on the table and rested her head on her arms. She closed her eyes. Poison, drugs, Clay had said. Something popped into her mind, and she lifted up from the table so fast she swayed.

“Clay was right! They
were
poisoned. And I have proof.”

They had to give her the cattle back.

Izzie drew on her denim jacket and headed for her truck. Thirty-three minutes later she was standing in front of Dale Donner’s desk demanding that he release her cows.

Donner eyed her from behind a battered, overladen desk, tipping back in his swivel chair. She recalled that her father had been happy at Donner’s appointment, saying he was a fair man. His shirt stretched a little too tight over his belly, and his hands gripped the arms as if deciding if he should take the trouble to get up or not. “My cows?” she said again. “State vet says they are not contagious.”

“Well, I don’t have that report yet,” said Donner, sounding peeved.

“Call and get it faxed. I’ll wait.”

He lifted his brows. “That could take a while.”

She wondered if she might have had better results if she had tried a different approach. More honey and less vinegar. But she had already set herself down this road, and it was too late to backtrack.

“I want my cows back.”

“I’m sure you do. But you can’t have them until I have the report, and then you still owe a fine on the ones we rounded up off the road.”

“But someone cut my fences and chased those cattle out of my pastures.”

“I don’t have the police report corroborating that, and even if I did, you have to file an appeal.” Donner pushed his desk chair back and rolled on castors to the filing cabinet, where he retrieved the appropriate form. He used his legs like a child on a scooter to return to her and handed over the pages. “My advice is that you pay the fine, get your cattle back and then file the appeal. If it goes through, we’ll reimburse you.”

She didn’t want to do that because it involved selling her cattle, which took time and cost her money. “How long do appeals take?”

“Well, you have a right to a hearing in tribal court, but you have to make a petition for a hearing within three business days of notice of impoundment, and that would be today. You just made it.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he just kept talking.

“Once the tribal court officer gets that form—” he pointed to the pages now gripped in her hand “—then the tribal court has seven business days to hear your request. Let’s see, that’s by next Tuesday at the latest, but they don’t meet on Tuesday. So Wednesday it is. Now you have to have evidence. Can’t just be your word. Witnesses and physical evidence is best. Police report, surely. Vet report and anything else you can think of.”

“But you can’t sell my cattle in the meantime?”

“Twenty days after notice of impoundment. We hold auctions every Thursday. Let’s see.” Donner consulted the business half of the wall calendar on the overcrowded bulletin board behind him. “That’s October eighth.”

Izzie wanted to ask where Clay might be, but resisted. She filled out the paperwork while she waited. When the fax machine chirped to life, Donner collected the pages and made a copy for himself.

“I can release the quarantined lot. Not the impounded ones, though.”

“You’ll bring them to my place.”

Donner rubbed his neck. “You have to arrange transport.”

Izzie’s face went hot. “But you took them.”

“As a precaution.”

She flapped her arms, and the appeal fluttered against her leg. “Fine. I’ll be back.”

She stomped from the office and took both the appeal application and fax pages across the street to tribal headquarters.

After that, Izzie took Donner’s advice and spoke to Victor Bustros about selling a few of her cattle at Thursday’s auction to pay the impoundment fine and hoped she get it back on appeal. Victor Bustros handled the brand inspection and auctions on the Rez. Izzie calculated carefully how many of the cattle she needed to sell to and pointed out the cattle picked to Bustros’s assistant, who marked them with paint. She hoped they got a fair price, because her checking account was dangerously low. She wondered, not for the first time, what her mother spent the grocery money on, because for a cattle family, they certainly ate a lot of beans.

Since Izzie did not have the extra money to have her recovered cattle trucked back home, she was left with only one alternative. She called her part-time hands, Max Reyes and Eli Beach. They arrived with the horse trailer and three of her horses, including Biscuit.

The rest of the day was spent moving the released portion of her herd slowly from the quarantine yard to her permitted grazing land.

By day’s end she was hot, hungry and angry at no one and everyone. She thanked Eli and Max, who agreed to go retrieve the horse trailer while she saw the horses settled. It wasn’t until she returned to the house, bone tired and dragging her feet with fatigue, that her mother stepped from the front door and greeted her with a worried expression. She extended her arm, offering a white legal-sized envelope.

“This came for you. I had to sign for it.”

Izzie studied the tribal stamp and seal. Her mother had not opened it.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Might be the necropsy results or the official release from quarantine. Could be their acknowledgment. I’ve requested a hearing about the cut fences. I don’t think I should have to pay a fine when someone is messing with me.” Izzie slit the envelope with her finger, leaving a ragged flap of torn paper. Then she drew out the enclosed letter. She scanned the page. Her ears started ringing.

“No, no, no,” she whispered. She reread the words to be sure she understood, and then her arm dropped to her side, still clutching the letter.

“What is it?”

“Notice from the general livestock coordinator.”

“Pizarro?”

Izzie nodded. “They have scheduled our pastures for immediate renourishment.”

“What does that mean?”

Izzie stared at her mother. “It means the cows can’t graze here.”

Her mother shrugged. “Good. Sell the damned things. I hate cows.”

With that her mother left her only daughter standing alone in the yard. Izzie managed to wait until her mother was out of sight before she began bawling like a newly branded cow.

How was she going to keep the cattle for her brothers if she had no place to graze the herd?

Izzie retreated to the barn and her favorite horse, Biscuit. She held Biscuit’s coarse mane and wept for a good long while as Biscuit listened to Izzie pour out her problems. Her horse knew more about Izzie than any person living, though all secrets were safe with her mare. It was only after she had cried herself out that she realized that something stunk, figuratively.

First her cattle were rustled to the road, then three cows were poisoned by something that stopped their hearts, and then, on the very day she got half of her cattle back, she lost her grazing rights.

“Who pulled those permits, Biscuit?” Izzie asked.

Chapter Twelve

The Monday after Kino’s wedding, Clay found himself back in the saddle assigned to the tribe’s communal herd and the task of separating mothers and yearlings for calf branding. The job was taxing but he thought his weariness stemmed more from the festivities than from the work. The wedding was beautiful and he’d enjoyed himself. But today, unexpectedly, the memories of the celebration filled him with an unforeseen melancholy. He wished Izzie had been there with him. If he had asked, would she have come?

The day was cold with a gusty wind that lifted stinging bits of sand and dirt.
Clay drew up his red kerchief over his mouth and nose and refocused on the mother who had cut away, bringing her back with the others. She and her twins trotted through the shoot into the correct pen. Roger Tolino worked the shoot, closing them in and Clay swung round for another target, but his mind still lingered on the wedding.

Clyne had no date, either. His eldest brother had said that it was one thing to take a woman out on Saturday night but quite another to invite her to your brother’s wedding. Clyne did not want to give any of the women he dated the idea that he was interested in more than a night’s diversion. Clyne was a strange guy, very vested in tradition and community, yet unable to find an Apache woman who stirred him in more than the obvious places. He’d even been up to Oklahoma a time or two on business that Clay suspected involved opportunities for more than just tribal networking.

Clay wondered what Izzie would say about that. He imagined all the things that he wanted to tell her about Lea and Kino. How they met as adversaries and now were newlyweds. It gave him hope.

Clay worked his way through the morning surrounded by the bawling of calves and shouts of the men. The pounding of their hooves reminded Clay of the women’s pounding feet as they danced in a circle at his little brother’s reception.

The wedding had been a wonderful celebration, with a mix of a church service and Apache dancing and song. Clay had been so proud to stand with his brothers at the altar and witness the match, but was surprised by all the unexpected emotions that his little brother’s wedding stirred.

His brother Gabe was the only one of them to bring a date. He had gone with his usual go-to for such occasions, Melissa Turno, a classmate and assistant to the director of the Tribal Museum. His older brother had not had a serious relationship since his fiancée, Selena Dosela, had broken their engagement immediately after Gabe had arrested her father.

Unlike Gabe, who played it safe, or Clyne, who didn’t play at all, Clay
wanted
to give Izzie the wrong idea. But he didn’t think she felt the same.

Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about how much he would have liked to see her dance with the women of the Salt River Reservation while he beat the drum and sang with his brothers. How he would have been proud to bring her as his date. To show everyone that she was his girl. Only she wasn’t. Might never be.

Clay sighted the low gray clouds sweeping in, predicting a change in the weather. He was glad he had his fleece coat and lined gloves.

After lunch they started the task of checking the mother’s brands and collecting the right irons. Each member of the tribe with cattle had a registered brand and those families with only a cow or two often preferred to keep them in the communal herd.

Donner’s men worked well as a team. Matching the brands, roping, tying. Since Roger Tolino was the slightest and least competent with a rope, he had the job of sorting and branding. That left Clay and Dodge to catch and rope the calves and Tolino to let them go. Clay liked roping and riding, and usually such days passed quickly. But today even the coffee could not erase his general buzz of fatigue.

Clay took off after another calf, but, maybe because of the wedding, he couldn’t stop fantasizing about what it would be like to go away with Izzie and then return to make a home. Not that Izzie wanted to play house with him, and the truth was, if he didn’t quit messing with her, he might lose his job.

He roped the next calf, and his horse backed up, making the rope tight and his job of flipping the yearling to his side much easier. He placed a knee on the furry side and expertly tied the front and one back leg together. Then he stood and dusted off his jeans before retrieving his lariat.

He glanced at the sun and realized they’d be quitting soon. Donner did not pay overtime. Clay turned to the north and wondered how far the newlyweds had gotten. They planned to stop in Denver for two nights and then visit Yellowstone on their way east to South Dakota.

His grandmother had tried once more to get Clay to head up there first and track their sister. He closed his eyes and imagined what that little girl of three would look like now as a child of twelve. Would she have their mother’s high arching brow or the broad nose of their father? Did she wear her hair to her waist or in a short, modern style? An image of a teen with a blue stripe of dyed hair caused him to growl, as he mounted his horse.

His boss showed up to watch. Clay heard him calling something like, “So you decided to work for me today, did you?” Clay just waved and kept riding. Keeping his head down and his seat in the saddle.

When he finished work, he might go tell Izzie that even her neighbor, Patch, was gossiping about her mom’s debts. He hoped her troubles had not caused her to do something stupid. If there was anyone who knew more about doing something stupid than him, Clay had yet to meet them. He knew Izzie was smarter than he was, but desperation could cause even a good girl to go bad. Honestly, he would have used any excuse to see her again. Pathetic, he thought.

Donner called a halt, and Clay turned his horse toward the communal pasture. His mount would get some extra grain, and he’d curry him down before turning him loose with the others.

Then he’d head back to his empty house to shower and change. This morning, with Kino gone, the place had been unnaturally quiet. And he’d had the misfortune of having to drink his own coffee. He wondered if Izzie made good coffee. Then he wondered how he might get Izzie over to his empty house and keep her there until morning. He needed to separate his fantasy world from his real life, where Izzie needed only his help. That didn’t mean she needed
him
. Not the way he needed her, anyway.

Clay tied up his horse and removed the saddle, carrying it to his truck and then returning to curry the horse’s sweaty barrel, his strokes rhythmic and practiced.

Izzie had been in trouble, and she had called him. Him. That meant something, right? She had not let her mother’s dictates control her. And he had helped her, hadn’t he? Maybe there could be more between them. Maybe she was the one person outside his family who was willing to give him a second chance.

He’d left the marriage ceremony hopeful. But now the doubts had caught up with him. First, Izzie was too good for him. Second, she might be playing him.

He said goodbye to the others, turning down an offer to join them for supper. He walked stiffly back to his truck, grit covered, dirty and satisfied that he had earned his pay.

Diego Azar pulled in beside his truck. Diego was a few years younger with a persistent five o’clock shadow and a bushy mustache. His father was Mexican, giving him more beard and less height than the rest of them. Nice guy and one of the first to befriend Clay. Today he’d been manning the office so Donner could get out in the field.

The younger man’s excited expression said he had news. Clay paused, waiting.

“We got the report on the cattle.”

He perked up. Clay knew what cattle, but he asked just to be sure. “Izzie’s cattle?”

“Yeah. They were released this morning from quarantine.”

“Why didn’t they call me? I could have driven them back.”

Azar nibbled the ends of one side of his mustache as if considering his reply. “Donner said you’d ask that. So he told me to tell you that if he catches you moonlighting for her again, he’ll fire you.”

Clay stilled. He needed this job, but more than that he needed the clean reputation that came with working for a man like Mr. Donner. In addition, it would be poor thanks to his uncle if he lost this position.

“She hasn’t asked me to do anything else.” Which was the truth, much to his chagrin. “When does she get her herd?”

“Already did. Some, anyway. They’re keeping the strays we impounded from the road. Let loose the rest. She drove them out this morning.”

“Drove? You mean we didn’t offer to return them?”

“Guess not. Owner’s responsibility. Right?”

Clay took a step toward Azar, who raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, not my call, man. Donner was there.”

Clay knew they often used the tribe’s vehicles to transport private stock. But not Izzie’s cattle.

Clay looked toward Donner, who was talking to Tolino and Dodge. Clay resisted the urge to march over there. Donner met his eye, held it and then returned to his conversation.

“Oh,” said Azar. “Almost forgot. He told me to give you this.” Azar withdrew several neatly folded pages from his breast pocket. “He said I should wait while you read it.”

Clay accepted the offering, unfolding the pages. It was the necropsy report from the state. Another glance showed Donner watching him like a raven from the top of a tall pine. Clay turned his attention to the report.

“It’s bad stuff, Cosen. Really, really bad.”

Clay scanned the results. The long and short of it was that the cattle had been poisoned, and the poison had been phosphine, a by-product of cooking crystal meth. He glanced from the report to meet Donner’s expressionless stare.

Donner ambled over.

Clay folded the pages and offered them back to Donner as Azar looked from one man to another.

“Thank you,” said Clay.

“Figured you’d get a hold of it one way or another.”

Did he mean from Izzie or Gabe, or was he insinuating that Clay would resort to theft? He didn’t know, and let the comment slide. But he didn’t like the implication.

Donner accepted the report and thrust it in his back pocket. “I’ve already called Chief Cosen to notify him of the cause of death. He’s bringing in the FBI. You need to stay way the heck away from this.”

“This or her?”

Donner rubbed his neck. “You work for me, so I have to say it because you don’t have a reputation for being the best judge of character.”

And there it was. “No one tells me who I can and can’t speak to. Not even my boss.” But his skin was now tingling, and the hairs on his neck stood up just the same way they had that day when he’d looked in his rearview mirror and seen his brother’s police cruiser with lights flashing.

He turned to go and Donner spoke again.

“Clay, they think she’s involved.”

There was a whooshing sound in his ears now. Had Izzie become so desperate that she would allow such things to happen on her land? He didn’t want to believe it. But his stomach cramped with his doubts. He never would have thought Martin would have picked up a gun and shot an innocent man just so he could get laid. How could Clay really know what was in the heart of a man?

Or a woman?

Donner headed in the opposite direction, leaving Azar hovering with wide worried eyes.

“I gotta go,” said Clay.

Clay climbed into his truck and pulled the door closed. Azar stepped forward and gripped the ledge of the open window.

“Why don’t you come have a drink with us?” asked Azar.

“Rain check, okay?”

Azar released his hold and stepped back. “Be careful, Clay.”