High Moon

by Kati Wilde

  “I did.”

  “How long were in you inside the shop?”

  “About a minute, maybe. Then I went outside to play with the dogs.”

  “Did you notice a sledgehammer in the shop?”

  “Can’t say I did.”

  “And after you played with the dogs?”

  “Makena came out from the barn and drove me back to my truck. It took maybe twenty minutes to replace the hose.”

  And a few more minutes to kiss me as if I was everything. To tenderly cup my face in his hands while his big body pushed me up against the side of my truck until I could feel every hard inch of him.

  A delicious little tremor races through me at the memory. I feel Ethan studying my face again, but resolutely avoid meeting his eyes.

  “Where’d you go after you made those repairs?”

  “Back to town.” As if he’s remembering the same breathless moments against my truck, his voice seems lower, rougher—but this time I don’t let it pull my gaze to him. Not that it matters. I might not see him, but every other part of me feels attuned to every breath he takes, every shift in his tone, every gesture that he makes. “I parked my truck in the Ponderosa’s lot and walked to the nearest tavern.”

  “Which one? There’s a couple of bars within walking distance.”

  “I don’t think I ever noted the name of it. But it was the same one Makena was in earlier that day.”

  What? I look to Ethan and then to Kyle, who raises his brows. “The Silver Dollar,” I tell him.

  Kyle nods and writes that down. “How’d you know she was there? You smell that, too?”

  Humor and skepticism are loaded into the question, but Ethan answers as if Kyle were serious. “Sure I did. But even if I hadn’t, her being there came up in conversation.”

  “Conversation with who?”

  “The bartender and one of Makena’s old neighbors—Sam. I talked to them both for a while, and Sam mentioned seeing her earlier.”

  “I did see Sam when I met Carrie there,” I confirm.

  Kyle nods. “And what else did you talk to them about, Mr. Grimmson?”

  “About Makena,” he says bluntly. “Something she said while helping me out with my truck made me wonder if she was having troubles. So I asked them about it.”

  “And you asked about her parents, too?”

  “I did.” His gaze locks on mine and this time I can’t look away. “Finding out what killed them is why I came to Fortune City. But it’s not why I’m staying.”

  I know that’s directed to me, not to Kyle. It’s the same claim that he made before. But I don’t trust myself enough—or trust him enough—to believe it yet. And whatever Ethan’s looking for in response, I can’t give it.

  “How long were you at the Silver Dollar?”

  “I left at two, when it closed. I went to the motel and was in bed until five, when I checked out and drove here.”

  “And can anyone verify that you were in the hotel from two to five?”

  I catch the glance Kyle gives me as he asks. Two to five. Almost exactly the same time window that this slaughter likely happened in, since I was awake until three and probably would have noticed someone coming up the driveway and stealing a sledgehammer from the workshop. But even after I was asleep, I can’t figure out why the dogs didn’t put up a racket when someone came that close to the house.

  If it had been Ethan sneaking into the workshop, they probably would have. Just like they started barking like mad when he drove up this morning. But not a peep from them all night.

  Ethan’s jaw clenches, then he shakes his head. “I didn’t see or talk to anyone until I checked out at the front desk. Though if the Ponderosa has cameras, they’d show that I didn’t leave and my truck didn’t move.”

  With brows shooting high, Kyle asks, “You think a place like the Ponderosa has cameras?”

  Ethan’s grim silence answers for him.

  Kyle smiles thinly. “I’d say that’s pretty damn convenient if someone wanted to say they were in one place when they were really in another, wouldn’t you?”

  “Not particularly convenient, no,” Ethan says, “considering that a camera could confirm that I didn’t go anywhere.”

  “Uh-huh.” Absently Kyle scratches the side of his jaw. “Lucky for me, the bank across the street has a good angle on the exterior of that motel, and records people going in and out of their rooms. You want to change anything about what you just told me before I go ask the manager to let me take a look at his security tapes?”

  Ethan’s eyes gleam. “Not a damn thing.”

  The tight band of tension around my chest eases. If everything Ethan said checks out, then his whereabouts will be accounted for throughout the entire night. And I know Kyle will follow up with those cameras and with Sam and Larry at the bar.

  Ethan’s response seems to satisfy Kyle, too. He flips his notebook closed. “Anything else you want to tell me before I go confirm all this? Maybe you can explain why your references show that, in the past two years alone, you’ve had ten different jobs in four states. You sure don’t stay long in any one place.”

  “I don’t,” Ethan agrees.

  Oh god. Kyle’s not asking this because of my cows, I realize, but because he’s looking out for me. But before I can say anything, he makes a hmmph sound and scans the sheet of references again. “You’ve got a few gaps of time in here. You spend them in jail?”

  Ethan actually grins. “I’ve spent my share of nights behind bars. When you run a search on my name, you’ll find plenty of arrests. But they were all cleared. I’ve never been formally charged or convicted, or lost a job because of it.”

  I stare at him. He said that so easily, as if it was nothing. No, less than nothing. Almost a joke. “But you’ve been in jail?”

  “A handful of times, yeah.”

  So matter of fact. No shame in sight. But I’m squirming because I didn’t think to ask this already. Not that I’ve had much time to ask anything this morning, but I hate being blindsided like this. “What for?”

  “Usually because if I see someone being an asshole, I’m inclined to tell him to stop. Then those assholes usually take a swing at me. So I swing back—just a bit harder. After that, their friends often get into it, too.” His unwavering gaze holds mine while he answers. “But no drugs and no stealing, if that’s what you’re thinking. A couple of those incidents took place while I was employed by the people listed there. You ask about what happened, I’m sure they’ll tell you how it was. And from what I’ve seen, Makena, you can use someone who stands up to assholes and isn’t afraid to swing back.”

  I suppose that’s the truth. But I don’t know how to respond. I’m still trying to wrap my head around this new info.

  Kyle isn’t having the same dilemma. “Maybe she needs someone like that. Or maybe she is that person—and her uncle is, too. So maybe you’ll only make more trouble for her.”

  “You think I’d do that?” That feral edge returns to Ethan’s gaze as he regards the other man. After a long second, he pulls out his wallet, takes out a card. “You want to know anything about me, you call Brian Waters. He’s the police chief over in Kalispell and was a good friend to my parents. He knows every step I’ve taken while looking for who killed them and my brother. And those time gaps you were asking about—those were me moving around, chasing different leads. Some of those leads, Brian helped dig up.”

  Kyle takes the card. “I’ll be calling first thing.”

  “You do that. And being a lawman, you’ve likely already heard something about their murders. Eleven years ago, up in the Kootenai forest, three people were shot and left for dead. Same last name as mine. That was my mother, my father, and my brother. It’s still an open case. And it caused a hell of a stir among law enforcement in the area, because they were a fire chief, a county sheriff, and—”

  “A state trooper,” Kyle finishes, recognition dawning on his face. “All of them related. That was your family?”


  “They were,” Ethan confirms grimly. “So you look into me, because that’s what you’ve got to do. But if you care about Makena, don’t make the mistake of trying to run me off. Because you want me standing between her and whoever the fuck did this.”

  Between us? “Oh, hell no!” I burst in. “I don’t want anyone playing hero or being my shield.”

  I might as well not even be here. Kyle and Ethan are having some kind of testosterone-fueled silent showdown. Since Kyle is the first to look away, I guess Ethan took gold in the Overbearing Caveman Olympics. Whoo. What a victory.

  Disgusted with them both, I scoff and shake my head. I understand what they’re doing—especially Kyle, because as my friend of course he’ll have my back—and I appreciate that they’re both willing to help. But that’s also Kyle’s job as sheriff. Standing between me and a threat isn’t Ethan’s job. And I should damn well know, because I’ll write his job description. If I hire him after all this.

  I’m not sure if I should. Not only because of the uncertainty regarding his past, but also because I don’t want to be responsible for a man who’s determined to throw himself in front of me. It’s true he helped me out this morning—but since I helped him out last night, I think it’d be fair to call us even and then send him off, good luck, no hard feelings.

  But I can hold off on that decision until Kyle confirms everything Ethan told us.

  “There’s Carrie,” Kyle says.

  I glance back at the cattle alley. Her Jeep is just rounding the bend, but as fast as she’s driving, it won’t take her long to get here.

  Kyle looks to me. “When’s Jonas getting back, Makena? I’ll have a few questions for him, too.”

  “Tonight. He’s probably on the road right now.” I sigh and scrub my hands over my face. “Shit. I still have to call him and tell him.”

  And he’ll likely spend the entire drive home beating himself up for not being here.

  “You ask him to think about whether that sledgehammer was in the shop when he left,” Kyle says.

  “I will.”

  “And listen, Makena—I’ll get a team over here as fast as possible, see if we can pick up any fingerprints or tracks. But there’s no way it’ll be fast enough to keep that meat from spoiling.”

  “It’s already spoiled,” I tell him. “The blood wasn’t drained, which means the meat’s good for nothing but dog food now. Literally tons of dog food. I don’t know how I’m going to get rid of it all.”

  The water quality board would be all over my ass if I tried to bury this many cows on my land, because I’m sure MDC would complain about me contaminating the ground water. And I could call the renderer, but he’ll charge me a small fortune for hauling them away.

  “I bet Carrie can help you with that. Just about everyone in town has a dog, and probably some room in their freezers. You let her get the word out and we’ll get people in here to take some of it off your hands. All right?”

  With a heavy sigh, I nod.

  “What about getting the bodies up off the ground and butchered? Do you need help with that?”

  “Getting them off the ground, no. I can just use the tractor. That’s what we usually do. It’ll be slow as hell to get them all up to the yard, but—”

  “I can do it,” Ethan says. “I’ll back your livestock trailer in here, drag them all into the hold, and haul that trailer back up to the barn. And since you don’t need fancy cuts of meat, I can do the butchering, too.”

  “Drag them into the trailer?” I consider that. Loading them all up in the livestock trailer is a good idea, though we couldn’t use the tractor. “Yeah, I guess that would work. We could harness the horses and—”

  “No horses. I can drag them into the trailer.”

  I stare at him in disbelief. “Some of those heifers are over fifteen hundred pounds.”

  “I know.” Ethan grins, apparently unbothered by the fact that he’s been whacked with the stupid stick. “I didn’t say I’d be lifting them over my head. I’d be dragging them.”

  “And I’m saying you’re crazy. Dragging is a good idea, but we’ll wait until we can get a couple more people to help.”

  “Then I’ll ask Carrie to round them up, too,” Kyle says and heads off to meet her.

  Ethan doesn’t even seem to notice the other man leaving. “You don’t need to ask anyone anything, not when I can just—”

  “No.” My flat denial stops him. “You wait until we get more people out here and we can all haul them into the trailer together. You try it alone, you’ll throw out your back, and I’ll be dealing with a workers’ comp claim your first day on the job.”

  “I’m not officially hired yet,” he reminds me with amusement in his voice, as if my concern for his health is funny—and as if, less than an hour ago, I didn’t see him staggering around and trying to claim nothing was wrong. “So I’ll do it before I sign any papers. And if I throw out my back, you can get rid of me without any trouble.”

  “If you argue every time I tell you how to do something, I might get rid of you, anyway,” I snap. “I can’t afford to keep a grandstanding prick on the payroll.”

  Instantly his eyes narrow and seem to turn into molten gold. His voice roughens into a growl that travels through me on a warm, rumbling path beneath my skin. “You go ahead and fire me, Makena. Doesn’t mean I’m going anywhere.”

  God, the way he looks at me. Once again, promising so much. But I know it doesn’t mean a damn thing, because he already said it doesn’t.

  “You mean, you’re not going anywhere yet.”

  His jaw hardens. He stares at me for a long second, his expression tortured until it flattens into a bleak mask. “Yeah,” he finally says gruffly. “That’s what I mean.”

  And I’d be a fool to forget it.

  9

  Ethan

  Today isn’t the first time law enforcement looked at me and my history. And I suppose if you stick your nose into their investigations, it’s only fair that they start sticking their noses into you. But today’s the first time I gave a shit about what someone might think when they started looking into me.

  Listening to Makena wonder if I’d done this to her was gut-ripping torture. I sure as hell wouldn’t have blamed her for throwing me off her ranch. The way the sheriff laid out all those facts might have convinced anyone that I was responsible.

  Shit. If I hadn’t known where I was, I’d have suspected me, too.

  Then she pushed back and started defending me. Said she believed me about losing my family. I don’t know why that tore me up even worse—except knowing she wanted to trust me made it that much more important to never let her down. And I’ve never been afraid of much in my life…but I’m terrified of disappointing Makena Laine.

  I suppose that’s why I pulled that stunt, telling the sheriff how he smelled. I’ve mentioned odors to law enforcement before but never bothered to prove it with a demonstration, because I didn’t care if they believed me or not. But seeing the relief on Makena’s face when she realized I hadn’t lied to her was worth exposing that particular ability. And the way she breathed easier and flashed me that wide grin when the sheriff told us about those cameras will be etched in my brain for the rest of my life.

  Not that her doubts are gone. But she doesn’t waste any time before looking at me closer. We can’t do anything about the carcasses until the sheriff gives the all-clear, so she asks me to drive her truck up to the barn while she rides with Carrie.

  And I don’t mean to listen to them talk. Not entirely. I’m used to tuning things out, especially background noise. I do my best to respect people’s privacy—which works out for everyone, because usually people discuss things that I don’t give a shit about. But Makena’s voice is something I can’t tune out, even when I try.

  I’m not trying too hard, though. Someone came right up near her home last night, stole a sledgehammer out of her workshop, and slaughtered two dozen of her cattle. So the only way I’ll let her out of my sight is if s
he’s in hearing range.

  Up at the yard, she leads me around behind the barn to a slaughtering shed that hasn’t seen much use of late, except as storage. Her tone holds a note of apology when she asks me to get it ready to handle the tons of meat about to move through here, as if this cleanup isn’t normally something she’d ask a ranch hand to do on his own, or as if the only reason she isn’t taking care of it herself is that she’s got so much else on her plate this morning. Or maybe that apology is because I’m not officially hired yet—and she’s still debating whether I will be—but she’s putting me to work, anyway. But I’d shovel shit all day if that’s what she needed. And I’d do it for free.

  Her friend Carrie silently glares at me the whole time, but waits until she believes they’re out of earshot before asking Makena what the hell she’s thinking. Makena gives her the same explanation that she gave to the sheriff—that we ran into each other and decided to help one another out—and which doesn’t satisfy her friend even a bit, though Carrie backs off when Makena mentions that she’s about to call up everyone listed in my references.

  At the house she lets out the dogs. Instantly they come racing over to me with their ears flopping, with Thelma carrying her pull rope and Alf bringing his tennis ball. It’s the cutest damn thing. And because there’s no sorrier sight than a dejected hound, I play with them before starting in on the shed.

  It’s all mindless work, mostly just moving stuff around, and easy enough to keep an ear out for Makena. I’m only half-listening to the phone calls being made, but I’ve got to give her friend credit: Carrie could organize an army if she put her mind to it. It sounds as if she’s got the whole town mobilized by the time Makena finishes talking to my former bosses—conversations that held no surprises for me, but Makena’s voice sounds increasingly relieved after every call.

  So the abrupt, groaning disbelief in her tone when she says, “For God’s sake, Carrie,” has me pivoting toward the house, my senses sharpening, my claws lengthening. “Tell me you are not Googling his family.”