High Moon

by Kati Wilde

  His voice gentles as he says, “Some people, you add pressure and heat, and they crumble. But do it to others, and they turn into a diamond. I got a feeling you’re one of them diamonds. So when you start worrying that these fuckers will wear you down, I’ll be right here to remind you of that—and to help you stop them. All right?”

  My chest tight, I can only nod. Kyle pulls up beside us and I do my best to work the lump from my throat before getting out. Though Kyle doesn’t say a word, I know his face well enough to see all the questions he wants to ask as Ethan comes around from the passenger side.

  I make the introductions. “Ethan, this is Sheriff Kyle McKinley—and a good friend of mine. Kyle, this is Ethan…”

  Ah, shit. I have no idea what his last name is. But Ethan smoothly fills in “Grimmson” while sticking out his big hand. Kyle’s about the same height as me and built like a bull. Yet next to Ethan, he almost looks small—and his hand is engulfed in Ethan’s grip.

  I can’t mistake the look Kyle slides me during that handshake. He wants to know what the hell I’m thinking.

  So I tell him. “Ethan’s rig broke down last night and I gave him a lift. He’s looking for temporary work while he’s in town, and since I’m shorthanded now that Julio’s gone, we thought we’d help each other out for a bit.”

  Kyle nods, though I can see he’s still got a lot to say—he just won’t say it while Ethan can hear him. With a grim expression, he turns to survey the pasture. “Did you move anything?”

  “Just the herd and the water tub. And you’ll want to take a look near where the tub was sitting”—I point in the direction of the sledgehammer—“because I’m pretty sure they left the weapon there.”

  Kyle frowns at me. “But you moved the tub?”

  I shrug, because he’s got good reason to be irritated but there’s not much I can do about it. “My herd needs water. And cows don’t care about investigations or evidence.”

  He accepts that with another short nod. “All right. I’m going to have a look around. I’ll have some questions after, so don’t go anywhere.”

  Not sure where we’d go. “Don’t worry. We’re just going to sit here and have our breakfast and wait for your wife to show up.”

  A few minutes later, Ethan and I have the tailgate down and are using it as a seat, with the morning sun warming our backs. I shake hot sauce onto my burrito and watch Kyle slowly make his way across the field. He stops here and there, taking pictures and scribbling in a little notebook.

  Beside me, Ethan polishes off the last of his breakfast and picks up his coffee. “Is he married to the town librarian?”

  That’s so unexpected, it takes me a second to process. “You mean Carrie?”

  “I don’t know her name. She only said that she’s the librarian and the mayor.”

  “That’s Carrie,” I confirm, but I’m still confused. “And she told you that she was married to the sheriff? Why would it even come up? Were you trying to kiss her, too?”

  It rolls off my tongue as a joke, but jealousy squirms through my stomach the second I say it. Ethan’s gaze cuts to my face, his brows lowering and shadowing his golden stare.

  “There’s only one woman I’m interested in kissing, Makena. And it isn’t your friend.”

  That jealousy melts into sweet liquid heat. Averting my gaze from his, I take a huge bite instead of responding, and hope he thinks the warmth in my cheeks is just from the Tabasco.

  “Before she gets here, I ought to tell you that I lied to her.”

  I freeze mid-chew, and my gaze shoots back to meet his grim expression.

  He nods, as if answering my silent question. “I ran into her yesterday and told her I was a writer.”

  A pit opens up in my stomach, and it doesn’t seem to fill even after I forcibly swallow the giant lump of food in my mouth. “You were the one asking about my parents?”

  “I was.”

  I feel sick. “Why?”

  He seems to flinch at the betrayal and accusation loaded into that word. Then his jaw tightens, and a muscle jumps in his cheek. For a long second he’s silent and still, and I realize that he wouldn’t have said anything about this if Carrie wasn’t on her way. If he wasn’t about to get caught in his lie. And that he took this job obviously hoping that, after winning my trust, he might get me to start talking about how my parents were killed.

  What was it he said? I’m not here for the job, Makena. I’m here for you. Even though I have no intention of hopping into bed with him, when he told me that I felt…incredible.

  I’m so stupid. And feeling even stupider when tears sting my eyes and I have to look away.

  How can I let this hurt me? It should mean nothing. He should mean nothing.

  “Makena, don’t—” A desolate note hoarsens his voice. He breaks off and removes his hat, raking his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Fuck.”

  I don’t say a damn thing, because I’ve got nothing to say to him.

  Then he says, “My family was murdered eleven years ago,” and my gaze flies to his face. This time he’s not looking at me, but staring out over the pasture, his profile a study in stony grief. “I’ve been trying to find who did it ever since. But the hunt’s been going nowhere, so I decided to start looking at anyone else who was killed around the same time—especially if it was under unusual circumstances.”

  It’s so much to take in, I can’t sort out my reaction. But one overwhelming feeling rises up above the others, because I know exactly how much pain is behind all that grief. That’s something we have in common.

  “I’m sorry about your parents,” I tell him softly.

  He acknowledges my sympathy with a short nod. His throat works before he continues, “My brother, too. And later, some other people we knew.” His gaze meets mine again, his eyes burning fiercely gold. “But I swear I didn’t know you were the Laines’ daughter when you helped me out last night. Or when I kissed you.”

  Or the first time he turned down the job. “But you knew when you came back this morning?”

  His mouth flattens before he admits, “I did.”

  The heavy stone that has settled on my chest seems to expand. “No need for me to hire you, then. I’ll just tell you what happened to them.”

  “I already know. I asked around,” he explains when I flick a questioning glance at him. “That’s also when I heard about the trouble you’ve had. That’s why I’m here, Makena. To help you out. I wasn’t lying then.”

  “Or when you said that you intended to leave town this morning?”

  “That was my intention—to keep looking for who killed them. But I’ll wait until this is all sorted out.” He jerks his chin, gesturing toward the cattle lying on the ground.

  “You don’t need to,” I tell him.

  “Yeah, I do.”

  His tone is flatly uncompromising, and I don’t have enough fight in me right now to argue. “So is there anything else you’ve lied to me about?”

  “I lied to your friend, not to you.”

  “Don’t split hairs. You knew who I was this morning but you still concealed your reason for coming to Fortune City. So are you keeping any other secrets that I should know about?”

  An abrupt, humorless laugh escapes him. He drags his fingers through his hair again before replacing his hat, shadowing his eyes. Gruffly he says, “You’re better off not knowing the secrets I’ve got.”

  I’d rather decide that for myself. But now’s not the time. Kyle’s heading back this way, so I scarf down the rest of my breakfast before he reaches the fence.

  “I suppose he’ll want to talk to me first,” I tell Ethan. Leaving him at the truck, I head over and catch up to Kyle as he ducks under the electric wire.

  “Holy shit, Makena,” he says, his expression somber. “You’ve got a hell of a mess.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “This actually works the other way around. I need you to fill in what I don’t know.” He flips over a pa
ge in his little notebook. “So run me through. When’s the last time you checked in on the herd?”

  “Last night. Around…nine o’clock, I guess.”

  “You were all the way down here that late?”

  “After what happened with the fences, Jonas started camping out in the hills. But on nights he didn’t, we made sure to drive down here before bed. So that’s what I did last night after Ethan fixed his radiator hose. I left him, then I came down this way before going back home.”

  With the dogs whimpering and me still recovering from Ethan’s earth-shattering kiss.

  “You drive through the pasture or take the road?”

  “The road.” Which runs alongside our pasture and continues on past Sam Rudder’s old place, then narrows into a dirt lane when it hits federal land. Beyond that, there’s nothing else.

  Kyle glances across the pasture toward the road. “That’s a good distance. It’s pretty dark by nine. You sure you could see the difference between a cow that’s lying down and chewing its cud and one that’s dead?”

  “I’m sure. The dogs and I got out and walked the fence all the way down to the river.”

  “Did you see anyone drive by on the road after that?”

  “No. And I was awake until three or so.” With the road visible from my bedroom window. “The dogs were quiet all night, too.”

  “Awake that late?” His brows rise and he flicks a glance behind me—toward Ethan. “Did you have an overnight guest?”

  “No.” I narrow my eyes, silently warning him not to go there. “I just didn’t sleep well.”

  His lips twitch. “Don’t give me that look. I need to make sure we’ve got a solid timeline. If you were distracted by company, that’s not solid.”

  Fair enough. “No one drove this way before three. I’m sure of that.”

  “And what time did you wake up?”

  “Five.” Same as always. “I went to the barn to do my chores, and at five-thirty Ethan showed up and we discussed his employment. And that’s when he, uh…smelled what happened.”

  “Smelled what?”

  “Smelled the blood.” My cheeks heat because I know how it sounds. And although I understand the incredulous look Kyle’s giving me, I was there. I saw it happen. “He said the wind shifted. And the dogs seemed to smell something, too. So…” I trail off with a shrug. “We came here and found them.”

  “So let me get this right. You were at the house, this Grimmson fellow says he smelled blood from over a mile away, and you hightail it down here to discover that twenty-five cows have been slaughtered in a way that only a big man with a hell of a swing could do.”

  Everything within me freezes as I grasp his meaning. “You think he did this?”

  “I wouldn’t jump that far ahead.” His voice lowers. “But it seems like a heck of a coincidence that on the same day that MDC runs off Julio, this guy shows up looking for a job. I also think it’s pretty damn strange that he was heading down this road before he broke down, even though there’s nothing out here but your ranch, some MDC property, and federal lands. So I’m not saying he did this, because the truth is, I’m not sure even a man of his size could manage it. That’s a question I’ll put to forensics when I give them that sledgehammer. What I am saying is that it seems far more likely that he already knew what happened to your herd, and he pretended to smell something so that you’d have reason to come down here and find them.”

  My stomach roils. My brain tries to reject everything Kyle said, but I can’t deny the logic of it. “You think MDC put him up to this? That doesn’t seem like their style.”

  “It doesn’t. But their style wasn’t working on you. So maybe they changed it up.”

  God. It makes sense. But it still doesn’t fit. “He turned down the job at first,” I tell him. “Why would he do that if MDC wanted him here?”

  “Maybe I’m wrong. But there’s something about him—and something about this whole situation—that just doesn’t feel right.” A concerned frown digs furrows into his forehead as he continues, “And I can’t ignore the fact that Carrie told me someone came into the library asking about you. Someone whose description matches your new employee.”

  “He already told me about that,” I say and my voice sounds hollow.

  Kyle looks surprised. “When did he tell you?”

  “Just a few minutes ago. When he realized Carrie was coming. He says his family was murdered around the same time my parents were killed. And he’s still trying to figure out what happened to his.”

  “So he realizes that he’s about to get his ass busted in a lie, and tells a story guaranteed to soften someone who lost her family?”

  Shit. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to force my brain into order. Because put like that…I should have been more suspicious. But the simple truth is— “I believe him,” I say quietly. “You didn’t see him and hear him. I did. And he had references.”

  “References? Do you have them on you?”

  I drag them out of my pocket and hand them over. “I’ve already called one—Bill Weathering. Ethan was working at his place until last week, and Bill vouched for him. But I’ve still got the rest of the names to go through.”

  Kyle knows Bill, too, and I can see this news pulls the bit out of his teeth, makes him reconsider the direction he was heading. His gaze skims the paper. “All right. I’ll return this to you in a minute, but I want a copy later.”

  “Just take a picture of it.”

  “That’ll work, too.” He pulls out his phone, aims the camera at the list of names. “Do you keep a sledgehammer in this part of the pasture—for driving in posts or whatnot?”

  “No. That one was in my uncle’s workshop, last I knew.”

  “You’re sure it’s Jonas’s?” When I nod, he asks, “When’s the last time you saw it?”

  “I couldn’t say. Months ago, but it might have been in the shop and I just didn’t pay attention. You’ll need to ask Jonas.”

  “I will. Who has access to the shop?”

  “Just him and me and Julio, usually. But I forgot to lock it up again last night after Ethan got the radiator hose he needed, so it could have been anyone.”

  Kyle’s mouth thins. “Grimmson was in there?”

  God. I see where he’s going with this, and my stomach twists into knots. Here I am thinking anyone could have taken it from the shop, and Kyle’s pointing out that there’s an obvious someone. “Yes.”

  “Were you in there with him?”

  “Only for a second while I told him where to look. Then I went up to the barn.”

  “So he might have had a good idea of where a sledgehammer was, and knew that the shop might still be unlocked?”

  Feeling too sick to reply, I simply nod.

  “It might not mean a damn thing, Makena.” His voice reassuring, Kyle grips my shoulder, squeezes lightly. “But either way, I’ll look out for you. So let’s go talk to him.”

  8

  Makena

  The sun’s in my eyes when we walk back toward the truck. Knowing that harsh light will reveal everything on my face, it’s all I can do to keep the turmoil inside me out of my expression. Ethan’s waiting for us where I left him, his boots planted on the ground and casually sitting back against the edge of the lowered tailgate. I don’t meet his gaze as we come nearer, but slip past him and grab my coffee—not needing the drink as much as I need something to hold onto.

  His tone conversational, Kyle asks, “So you had some engine trouble last night?”

  “I did.”

  I can’t help it. Just the sound of his gruff voice pulls my gaze to Ethan’s face—and he’s watching me, his eyes searching mine as if looking for some hint of what I’m thinking. He doesn’t glance away even as Kyle continues.

  “Was that your F-150 up in Makena’s yard, the one with Montana plates?”

  “It is.”

  I can’t bear that intense, piercing stare—or the way it seems Ethan’s trying to tell me without words that he
didn’t have a damn thing to do with any of this. But that’s probably just me projecting onto him what I want to be true. Just like every time he looks my way, I see in his eyes everything I want a man to feel for me. So he doesn’t even need to fool me; I’m doing a fine job of fooling myself.

  Chest aching, I avert my face to escape that stare and look blindly out over the pasture, but my entire focus is on the conversation taking place beside me.

  “Where were you headed when you broke down?”

  “Nowhere. I left town after talking to your wife in the library, then spent some time hiking through the hills a mile or two southwest of here. When I got back to my truck, I decided to take a drive along the river and get a feel of the place.”

  “Apparently you’ve got a good nose, Mr. Grimmson.”

  That unexpected change in subject brings my gaze swinging back around in surprise, but Ethan doesn’t seem fazed at all. He silently regards Kyle with his eyes narrowed slightly, as if considering something.

  A second later he says, “Good enough to know that you’ve got two cats at home, Sheriff. And that you used rose soap this morning, maybe because you like the scent, but more probably because you and your wife were rushing after Makena’s call and you jumped in the shower together, and her scent’s all over you, too.”

  My mouth drops open and my gaze darts to Kyle’s face—who is doing a lot better than I am concealing his reaction.

  Blandly he asks, “Is that all you can tell me?”

  “Not even near to it,” Ethan drawls. “But if you really want to know, rose isn’t my favorite. I’m partial to coconut oil and shea butter.”

  Both of which I use every day. My heart thumps wildly and I hastily turn away from him again, but this time my chest isn’t hurting. Instead I’m trying to hide the astonishment and relief tumbling around inside me. Because there are other questions and doubts…but the most unbelievable part of everything he’s said—that he smelled blood from so far away—maybe isn’t so unbelievable after all.

  And Kyle doesn’t ask anything more about Ethan’s incredible sense of smell, but he’s not done. “Makena tells me you found a hose to repair your truck in her uncle’s workshop.”