Hunter Moon (5 page)

Chapter Six

Izzie did not sleep well or much. Her wake-up call the next morning was Gabe Cosen serving her with notice that the remainder of her cows would be seized and quarantined. Her mother returned from running errands and confronted her about seeing “that Cosen boy again.” Her mother loved gossip, unless she or her family were the subject of talk. Izzie wondered if her mother ever tired of being above reproach.

“Of all the people in this tribe to call. Really, Isabella. What were you thinking? What about that nice Mr. Patch? He certainly has made his interest known. And he has all that cattle.”

Izzie cringed, and her mother’s hands went to her hips.

“What’s wrong with him? I mean, we could certainly use some help around here.”

“We’re doing fine.” At least they had been yesterday. Now she felt as if the ground beneath her was sliding away.

“I mean, Clay Cosen, do you honestly want our name and his linked? Your father certainly didn’t.”

The below-the-belt blow hit home. Izzie flinched. It had been her father’s opposition that had finally gotten her to break it off with Clay. She’d been so sure her parents would change their minds about Clay, and then he had been arrested. Case closed. Her mother had basked in smug satisfaction at being right again while her father had offered comfort. How she missed her father, still, every single day.

“I don’t want that man on my land again,” she said to Izzie.

Izzie wanted to tell her mother that the land did not belong to them, but to the tribe. They had use of it by permit only. She wanted to tell her mother that she was a grown woman who could see who she liked, and she wanted to tell her mother that running the ranch was not her business because her husband had left that job to Izzie. Instead she said, “I’ve got chores.”

“But wait. I want to hear what is going on up there.”

Izzie kept going, knowing that her mother didn’t want anything badly enough to walk into a pasture dotted with cow pies and buzzing with flies. Izzie changed direction and headed for her pickup, deciding that would be faster than riding Biscuit.

“He’s trouble,” her mother called after her.

Izzie swung up behind the wheel. “Mom, I’ve got bigger trouble right now than Clay Cosen.” So why was she thinking of him instead of how to get back her cows? “I just got notice. They’re taking the rest of the herd, Mom.”

Carol pressed a hand to her chest. “But why?”

“Quarantined.”

“But...you... They... Isabella Nosie, you have to get them back.”

Finally, something on which they agreed.

“Working on it.” She pulled the truck door closed and started the engine, using the wipers to move the dust that blanketed her windshield.

Izzie headed up to the area where Clay had found the dead cows and now saw that a large white tent had been erected over the spot. Several pickups were parked beside the police cars in the gravel pad. Only one was familiar. It belonged to her neighbor Floyd Patch.

Izzie groaned as Floyd headed straight toward her. His gait was rushed, almost a jog. His skinny legs carried his round body along, reminding Izzie of a running ostrich. He was short, prematurely gray, with bulging eyes and skin that shone as if it had been recently waxed. His usual smile had been replaced by a look that hovered between stormy and category-five tornado.

She didn’t even have the driver’s-side door shut when he was on her like a hungry flea on a hound. He hitched his fists against his narrow hips and drew himself up, making his shirt draw tight across his paunch. It was hard for Izzie to recall that she’d initially found his attentions flattering. Now she greeted his occasional appearances with the reluctant resignation of an oncoming headache.

“I don’t appreciate you sending the police to my door,” said Floyd, his voice higher than usual.

“I did no such thing.”

“Asking me where I was yesterday and checking the tires of my truck, as if I’m some kind of criminal. They ought to check Clay Cosen’s tires. I heard he was up here yesterday. What did you tell them, that I poisoned your cattle?”

“No, I never—”

“And I have to find out from the police that you’ve got cows dying up here.”

“Floyd, it only just happened.”

“Yesterday. And you didn’t think I might want to know? I’ve got my own herd to protect.” He pointed in the direction of his pastures, across the road and down the hill. His pasture was rocky and more wooded, because her ancestors had invested more sweat in clearing the land.

“There’s been no contact between your cattle and mine, and you haven’t been on my property in two weeks or more. Your herd is in no danger.”

Floyd’s gaze flicked away, and he pursed his lips.
Had he been on her land?

His gaze swung back to hers. “If there is no danger, then why did they quarantine your herd?”

“A precaution.”

“I understand that one of your dead cows had green stuff in its mouth. That’s not normal.”

If Floyd knew that, then everyone else did. “Who told you that?”

He didn’t answer, just continued on. “What if it gets in the water? What if it’s airborne? Three cows don’t just drop. Something killed them.”

“Floyd, I have to go,” she said.

The day just got worse from there. Izzie spent the afternoon waiting for information outside the necropsy tent of the State Office of Veterinarian Services. By day’s end, she knew only that the cows had showed renal and liver damage, mucus in the lungs and swelling in their brains. Cause of death was ruled as sudden cardiac arrest in all three. As to why, well, that was the question. What was it, and was it contagious?

The best answer she received was that more tests were needed. On the way back to her truck, Izzie found Chief Gabe Cosen speaking to Clay, who was sweat-stained, saddle-worn and sexy as hell. Clay noticed her approach and gave her a sad smile.

“Didn’t think you’d be back up here,” she said to Clay. “After your boss warned you off.”

Chief Gabe Cosen quirked his brow at her. Clay’s brother was handsome with classic good looks and that distinctive angular jaw shared by all the Cosen brothers. But it was only Clay who made her heart pound.

“I was just telling Clay that I’d served you notice to collect the rest of your herd. I’m sorry, Izzie.”

She pressed her lips together to resist the temptation of tears.

“And he told me that you hired him to have a look around yesterday.”

Of course Clay told his brother. Did she really expect him to pick her needs over his brother’s investigation?

“I’m looking into who cut your fences. Sorry for your troubles.” Gabe tipped his hat, the gray Stetson the tribal police wore in the cold season. He turned to Clay. “Well, I’ve got to verify what you found.” With that the chief of police made a hasty retreat.

“What did you find?”

“I wanted to tell you yesterday, but you’d gone when I got back here, and I didn’t think you wanted me knocking on your front door.”

That made her flush.

“Was I wrong about that?”

Izzie thought of her mother’s earlier tizzy and shook her head. She let her shoulders slump. She lived for the day that her brothers were old enough to take over, and she could live her own life. But from the way it looked now, there would be nothing to pass along to them. Izzie rallied. She could not let that happen. No one and nothing would stop her from retrieving every last cow.

“I’ve got to get them back,” she said.

Clay motioned to her truck and lowered the back gate. Then he offered her a hand up. They sat side by side amid the comings and goings of inspectors, livestock managers, tribal council. More than one cast them a cursory glance, and she wondered which ones would be reporting to their wives, who would report to her mother later on. Her mother had connections like the roots of an ancient pinyon pine. They were branched and deep.

“It looks like the rodeo,” Izzie muttered.

“Yeah.” Clay surveyed their surroundings and then focused on her. “Izzie, you hired me to give you a report.”

“I can’t pay you now.” She lowered her head, fighting against the burning in her throat. Crying in front of Clay was too humiliating, so she cleared her throat and gritted her teeth until the constriction eased.

Clay placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. She glanced up, eyes somehow still dry.

“Izzie, you had a heck of a big truck up here. Only left yesterday.”

“You mean the earth-moving machinery, bulldozer and dump trucks?”

“No, I mean an eighteen-wheeler, actually, two of them.”

“Eighteen-wheelers? Yesterday. Eighteen-wheelers can’t haul dirt.”

“That’s right. But they were here. And they were loading and unloading the trucks. Moving contents from one to another. Five guys.”

“What were they doing up here?”

“Not certain.”

She knew that look. He had suspicions.

“What, Clay?”

“Moonshining, maybe, or drugs.”

“You mean stashing drugs here?” She glanced around, half expecting to see a pile of boxes. She’d heard about the Mexican cartels using Rez land for holding their illegal merchandise, guns, drugs and people because treaty restrictions prevented federal authorities from entering sacred lands and from conducting investigations without obtaining permission first.

“But that wouldn’t kill my cows.”

“It might. If they were cooking up here.”

“Cooking what?”

“Crystal meth.”

Izzie rocked backward as confusion wrinkled her brow.

“I don’t understand.”

“There are fumes, by-products. They are poisonous.”

“Poisonous?”

“Gabe is checking for residue.”

Izzie straightened as a ray of light broke through the clouds. If Clay was right, then there was nothing wrong with her herd. She could get them back. She could still keep her promise to her father.

“They’re not sick!” Izzie threw herself into Clay’s arms. “Oh, thank you!”

He stiffened for just a moment, and then he wrapped his arms around her. She didn’t know how it happened. She was pressed against him as relief flooded through her, replaced a moment later with blinding white heat. Her body tingled. She tipped her head back, offering Clay her mouth. He did not hesitate but swooped down, angling his head as he kissed her greedily. Her fingers raked his back as she hovered between the sweetness of the contact of their mouths and the need for so much more.

“Isabella Mary Nosie!”

Izzie recognized her mother’s sharp admonition and pushed off Clay’s chest at the same moment he released her. The result was that she rocked dangerously on the tailgate, and only Clay’s quick reflexes kept her from toppling to the ground. He freed her arm the moment she regained her equilibrium and slid to his feet.

Izzie faced her mother, who stood with eyes blazing with fury as she glared at her eldest daughter. Izzie tried to keep her head up, but she found herself shrinking under her mother’s censure and the curious stares of the men she had forgotten were even there.

“What do you think you are doing?” asked her mother.

Clay looked to her, but all she could do was stammer, so he answered instead.

“Izzie asked me to help her figure out what happened to her cows.”

Her mother shot her a look, and Izzie nodded.

“Well, that’s a fine how-do-you-do.” She turned to Izzie. “He’s a felon. You don’t ask felons to do police work.”

Izzie found her tongue. “He’s not a felon.”

Her mother laughed. “Criminal, then. A skunk can’t change his stripe, and this one is just like his father. Now you come along home with me this instant. If word of this gets out, I’ll die of shame.”

Izzie straightened her spine. “No, Mom. I can’t. I’ve got work to do.”

Her mother gasped and then glared, but Izzie held her ground, drawing a gentle strength from Clay, who stood silent by her side.

“Work? Is that what you call it? You said you were up here to get our cattle back. Instead I find you fiddling with this...trash.”

Beside her, Clay showed no sign that the insult had landed. He remained still and relaxed, propped against the back of her truck.

“Go home, Mom.”

“I don’t like it,” she said at last and wheeled away in the direction she had come.

Izzie sagged against the tailgate, feeling suddenly like a kite that had lost the buoyant wind.

“What did I just do?” she whispered.

Clay’s mouth quirked. “You stood up to your mother.”

Chapter Seven

Despite Clay’s theory about the possibility of illegal drug activity, Clay’s boss had received orders from Franklin Soto to collect and quarantine Izzie’s herd until such time as they were shown to be disease-free. So late Wednesday morning Clay rode beside Mr. Donner in the big cattle truck toward Izzie’s place, followed by a pickup with two more cowboys pulling a four-horse trailer. His boss had an ATV for herding, which was now in the back of the pickup.

Donner had called Izzie before their arrival to inform her that her herd would be collected today. They were working with the tribal livestock coordinator, who currently rode behind them in his pickup with the tribal council member Arnold Tessay. Mr. Pizarro managed grazing permits for the tribe and wanted a look at the area that was causing all the fuss in full daylight, so Tessay had agreed to ride him up there.

Back in Black Mountain, Franklin Soto, the tribe’s livestock inspector, was waiting to take custody of her herd.

Clay fiddled with his lariat, dreading the task of rounding up the rest of Izzie’s cattle.

“You remember me telling you that reality is less important than perception,” said Donner.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, you kissing Isabella Nosie before God and everyone has put me in a tight spot.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“You stay away from that gal or folks will assume that her special favors to you are getting her special treatment from us.”

Clay’s jaw clenched as he considered the gossip he might have started by kissing Izzie. It had all happened so fast, and he hadn’t thought. He needed to think. Not thinking, taking things as they came. It had all gotten him into trouble. He didn’t want that again.

“...ruin her reputation and call into question every blasted decision that I make all in one... You hearing me, son?”

Clay collected his wandering thoughts and nodded as his fist tightened on the stiff coils of rope. He never meant to hurt Izzie, but his boss saying that kissing him would ruin her reputation didn’t sit well, even if it were true. So he said nothing, because he needed this job and wasn’t likely to get another.

His boss knew his way around cows and also politics. Donner had kept his job by staying neutral in contentious issues and staying out of controversial decisions. But if you asked him, he’d only say that he didn’t set tribal policy, he just enforced it.

“Did you know that your uncle Luke and I were teammates?”

Played basketball together, Clay knew.

Donner continued. “He assured me that you’d do the job and not cause me a lick of trouble.” Donner glanced at him for a long moment before returning his attention to the road. “You’ve caused me more than a lick already.”

Clay stilled, waiting to hear that he’d be fired.

“I’m real sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”

“Your actions reflect on you and your family, Clay. Now they also reflect on me. You should know that by now.”

He sure did. Clyne was a tribal council member. Gabe was chief of police. Even his younger brother was a patrolman. While Clay’s claim to fame was spending eighteen months in a juvenile detention center and six months looking for work before his uncle intervened. Why had Donner said yes?

Donner had accepted his uncle Luke’s request to hire Clay when no one else would. Now Clay wondered if his boss had acted to help an old friend or to curry favor from an up-and-coming FBI officer and war hero.

Clay’s uncle was everything Clay was not. He had a clean record, no skeletons in his closet. He’d distinguished himself in Afghanistan and was recruited into the FBI. He had prestige, position, influence, power and the respect of everyone on the Rez.

Clay wondered again if it was possible to regain what he had lost that night on Highway 4.

He’d made a mistake. But would he be forever marked by that error like a cow after contact with a hot branding iron?

Clay thought it might be different after he’d come back from the Shadow Wolves. Being a member of that elite tracking unit of Immigration and Customs Enforcement carried some serious distinction. But not for Clay. Things here were the same as always, and folks just assumed that Clyne or Uncle Luke or Gabe had asked someone else to throw Clay a bone.

He watched the pastures roll along. This was Floyd Patch’s grazing area. Rocky with clumps of woods and farther from the stream that cut through Izzie’s property. Floyd had to dig a well for water.

“One more thing, son.”

He turned his attention back to Donner.

“If you are right about the activity up top, well, Izzie might be involved.”

He blinked in stunned surprise. When he found his voice it was to issue a denial. “She’s not.”

“How do you know?”

He didn’t of course. But he did know Izzie. “She’s never been involved with that sort of thing. Never.”

“Well, here’s something to chew on—her mother once had a gambling problem, which is why her dad left her.”

Clay didn’t know Izzie’s dad had ever left her mom.

“Then she found God and blah, blah, they got it worked out. But he left the herd to Izzie. Too much for one little gal, my opinion, but that’s not my business. Word is that her mom’s got some unpaid debts. People with financial trouble can make some bad choices.”

Clay sank back into the seat. Was it possible? Was Izzie’s mom still a gambler? Did Izzie have unpaid debts? Clay didn’t want to believe it, but he’d learned from hard experience that things were not always what they seemed.

“Don’t hitch your wagon to that horse, son. Right now, Izzie is in trouble, and she
is
trouble. Best keep your distance.”

When a friend was in trouble, wasn’t that when they needed you? Clay remembered when everyone he counted on had left him. But not his family. They had stuck.

A tribal police car passed them, pulling in front of their truck and leading them the rest of the way to the Nosie place.

Donner turned the wheel with a grunt, and they headed up Izzie’s drive. They passed a police unit parked by the fence. Pizarro pulled beside it, and Donner stopped in the drive.

Izzie stood before the gate. She had all the cattle in the lower pasture and waited by the fence, her face stoic and her posture erect. Clay’s heart hitched at the sight of her, alone with only one hired hand, Max Reyes, to help her. Must have taken them all morning to round them up.

“Any results on the blood work on her cows?” asked Clay.

“That’s between your brother, Gabe and the state. We just do as we’re told.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come on. Jeez, I hate this part.”

He’d expected to see Gabe there, but it was Kino waiting in the squad car. He stepped out as Donner descended. Clay hung back with Kino as Donner and Izzie exchanged a few words. Donner handed over the order of collection.

He and the other two boys got to work. They didn’t need the horses or ATV. Just used their lariats to shoo the herd to the truck. Clay drove the first load in with his coworker, Roger Tolino, riding shotgun. Once they had them in the tribal quarantine area, they returned for the second load.

Izzie clutched the order of removal in her hand like a stress ball, watching in silence as they gathered her remaining cows. Beside her, her mother smoked a cigarette and focused her attention on Clay and the distance he kept from Izzie.

Clay had never seen Izzie look more downcast, not even after Martin’s death. Then, at least, she had wept. Now she stared like a woman in shock. He wanted to go to her, comfort her. The urge to do so was strong and unrelenting.

But he couldn’t.

Still his eyes found her often. Izzie did not look at him. She had her attention only on her disappearing herd.

Gabe arrived, and he and Kino spoke by the fence. His brothers did not help or speak to him as he did his job and they did theirs. Clay and the others went to work loading up the remaining eighteen-odd cows. But before Clay climbed back in the cab, Gabe pulled him aside.

“Grandma is worried about you,” he said.

“I’m all right.” But he wasn’t. His heart hurt for Izzie, and he felt as he had after the trial when the records were sealed because of his age. It would be better, they all said. But it wasn’t. In the vacuum of knowledge, folks had just made up their own stories, theories, speculation. Most were worse than what had actually happened. At least in the versions he had heard, he didn’t come out looking like a damned fool.

Which was worse—to look a criminal or a fool?

They’d be doing the same to Izzie soon. Her name would be linked either to drug activity on her land or bovine sickness. Which was worse?

The girl with the sterling reputation was about to take her first trip through the mud.

Clay should find some satisfaction in that. His reputation was the reason she’d cited for breaking them up. But Martin had had her parents snowed. They’d believed he was a gentleman. He hadn’t been. Still, you didn’t speak badly about the dead.

Gabe cleared his throat, and Clay returned his attention to his brother.

“Grandma says she wants you to come to supper tonight.”

“All right.”

Gabe turned to go, and Clay reached out, clasping his elbow, drawing him back.

“Any results from the state?”

Gabe glanced around as if seeing who might overhear. Then he walked away without a word.

But Kino lingered, then spoke. “Asphyxiation,” Kino said. “No blood work yet.”

“Mechanical or...?”

“Clay, it’s an ongoing investigation. Okay?”

Kino gave him a pained look as Gabe, now Kino’s boss, retraced his steps, coming to a stop beside Kino.

“Her cows aren’t sick, are they?” asked Clay.

Gabe adjusted his felt hat so the brim shaded his eyes that now glittered like a hawk’s. “Stay out of it, Clay,” said Gabe. “It’s bad business.”