Billy looked at the two women and nodded. “Okay, that sounds, um, okay, I guess.”
“Only problem is if we bring the girls, we’ll have to bring that goofy little fella along, too. Pilar, the little one, she’s rather fond of him, and he’s kinda special, if you know what I mean.”
“He don’t look special,” Billy challenged.
“Well, neither do you, little partner, but we both know you are,” Mack chuckled.
“Billy, get some breakfast now, okay,” Rosalee suggested kindly. “You and Mack can go play with the horses when you get home from school.”
“Put her there, little partner,” Mack said, sticking his hand out to the boy.
Billy took Mack’s larger hand in his own. “Bus brings us home at three-thirty.”
“I’ll have the horses waiting,” Mack promised as he stood back up.
Rosalee looked on the verge of tears as Billy wheeled himself away.
“What?” Mack asked.
“Billy’s been here a month, and you’re the first person he’s opened up to even a little,” Rosalee sighed happily.
“Okay, Mack, not to put a damper on this joyous family reunion, but what brings you two back our way?” Silas asked.
Mack pointed at Liam. “Turns out little brother there can sense whether or not somebody’s got Infernal or Celestial blood in them; even what type of Celestial or Infernal for that matter, and he tells me a while back that he thought I knew I was a Nephilim, so I’m here to find out more about my mother’s side of the family.”
Silas heaved a sigh of relief. “Is that all? Good grief, son, I thought KC’d had a vision of doom and destruction falling on us.”
Mack snickered. “What evil in its right mind is gonna attack a ranch protected by a pack of heavily armed Montanan cowboy werewolves?”
Chapter Two
Big Sky, Montana
Monday, April 1, 2019
ONCE THE CHILDREN WERE fed and sent off to school, Mack and KC went into the office with Silas. Pilar and Liam were offered a tour of the Double M by Rosalee, which they accepted. The office was tucked away underneath the left side staircase behind what had once been the guest check-in desk. Beyond the office was the laundry room, which even at this early hour was still running. At capacity, the Double M saw to the needs of twenty-four foster children, not including the adults and their children living in the Lodge. That many people generated quite a lot of dirty and soiled clothing, linens, and washcloths and towels, and the only efficient way to do that much laundry was in shifts throughout most of the week.
Naturally, the kids were required to do shifts washing clothes, among other chores around the Lodge and the ranch. Judging from the distinct scents and the number of hearts beating in the other room, Mack judged that one adult and one child, a teenager, were busy doing the laundry.
“Why’s that one staying home instead of going to school?” Mack asked with a nod toward the laundry on the other side of the wall.
Silas frowned at the wall for a moment until realization dawned on him. “Oh! That’s Connie. She’s a high functioning autistic, but she’s got emotional problems that make it especially difficult for her to attend regular classes, so we kinda home school her. That’s Rashmi in there with her now, and she’ll read to Connie, ask her questions, pose problems for her to solve, that sort of thing, and danged if Connie can’t learn everything while she’s doing her chores. I mean, she just can’t, you know, sit in a classroom and take notes while the teacher’s talking. She’s gotta be doing something, and if it ain’t one of us talking to her, she’s listening to audio books or podcasts on her phone.”
Silas chuckled and shook his head. “I sometimes forget just how sharp your senses are, son.”
Mack shrugged and took one of the visitor seats facing the desk that Silas was settling behind. KC took the other guest chair.
The office was a cramped little room. The old metal desk and creaking office chair behind it took up half the room. A filing cabinet sat in the corner behind the desk, next to a bulletin board that was hidden beneath years’ worth of notes, announcements, bulletins, and seemingly random bits of paper thumbtacked or taped to the board. Another filing cabinet filled out the other corner of the office behind the desk.
The desk itself supported a fairly modern PC computer, the monitor of which seemed to be competing with the bulletin board for messiest item in the office. Post-It notes lined all four edges of the monitor’s screen. The keyboard and mouse were on their own shelf beneath the top of the desk because there was little to no room on top for either device. In addition to a printer and a stack of in/out boxes, the rest of the desk was littered with manila folders, random forms and applications, the odd coffee cup either stuffed with pens and pencils or something that smelled like mold, two different stacks of Post-It notes, and a Word-a-Day desk calendar.
The other end of the office looked like it was being used for storing office supplies. Boxes of computer paper, printer cartridges, writing utensils, thumbtacks, paper clips, and Scotch tape were stacked up along the wall. The odd item out of it all was a large, old fashioned gun safe.
“One of these days you’re gonna have to let me clean this place up for you and get it properly organized,” KC offered.
Silas laughed. “Your mother says the same thing when she and your father come up to visit. She even offers to bring undergrads with her who’ll ‘learn from the experience,’ she says.”
“I suppose you tell her you’d never find anything if she does,” Mack chuckled.
“No, Rosalee and I are really on the verge of taking her up on the offer.” Silas sighed. “We just don’t want ‘em doing it while they’re here on vacation. That goes for the two of you, too.”
“Okay, just don’t let me back in here where I can see everything that needs to be done,” KC relented. She was already mentally cataloging each task and coming up with a plan of attack. She’d email her thoughts to her mother later.
“Now, what’s this about your mother?” Silas prompted.
“I was hoping you could tell me,” Mack admitted. “I was always under the impression that she was some kind of Sidhe, not a Nephilim.”
“Son, that was what we all thought, and your mom never corrected our preconceptions.”
“So, you had no idea?”
“Not the least clue. Well, that ain’t true. Your dad’s nickname for her was ‘angel’, and I never gave it any thought until just now. I guess at the time, I assumed he called her that ‘cause she was so dang pretty, all golden blonde and just the deepest, prettiest blue eyes. She could sing, too! Boy, howdy, could Marian carry a tune.”
“Too bad Mack didn’t get that ability from his mother,” KC teased.
Silas winced. “Don’t remind me. That is pure MacDuff right there. Beautiful voices when they’re a-talking, but can’t none of them carry a tune if it had a handle!”
“You’re half-MacDuff,” Mack reminded his foster father.
“Yeah, but the Monroe half cancels it out. Terrible voices, but we can keep time,” Silas laughed.
“That I can do, keep time,” Mack chuckled.
“You get that from the Monroes.”
“Uncle Silas, do you know anything about Mom’s family, the Llewellyns?”
Silas took a deep breath and sighed heavily. “Well, I do know you got an uncle on your mama’s side who’s still alive, but that’s about all.”
“I’ve got an uncle I’ve never met!” Mack exclaimed, leaning forward in his chair.
“Oh, you met him alright,” Silas corrected. “It was at your parents’ funeral. He came to visit with us. Rosalee and me, we was concerned that he wanted to take you from us, but it was quite the opposite, you see, ‘cause he wanted to make sure we could keep you safe.”
“Why?” Mack frowned.
“He didn’t say, but he was like you. He never believed that boy they convicted for killing Al and Marian was the real killer, and not because he knew your daddy was o
ne of the most badass werewolf warriors to ever walk this Earth. No, I got the impression that it was because there was something special about your mom. Rosalee’s always held to the belief that Marian was an Aes Sidhe of some kind, probably from one of the noble families.”
“What’s my uncle’s name?”
“That I do not know,” Silas sighed regretfully. “See, he was using a fake name when we met him, uh, ‘Richard Jones’. Even told us before he left that it wasn’t his real name and that he’d be somebody else before he got out the door, so as to keep us from finding him, and he said it was for your protection. He didn’t like that your mom had given you the family name for a middle name, but he couldn’t do nothing about it.”
“Abandoned for my own good? Jeez, that’s like, what, the second most cliched orphan story?” Mack leaned back with a snicker that turned into a groan.
“Hey, kinda fits with the name,” KC said. “’Dick’, I mean.”
“Don’t go too hard on your, uh, ‘Uncle Dick’,” Silas urged. He got up and rummaged through the various items pinned to the bulletin board. “Over the years, as a non-profit, we’ve written a lot of grants and solicited a bunch of benefactors, but we’ve been surprised by just one unsolicited doner.” Silas found what he was looking for, a form letter from a lawyer’s office, and handed it to Mack.
After reading it through twice, he handed the letter to KC. “I don’t speak legalese.”
“It’s the only language you can’t,” KC scoffed as she perused the letter.
“That’s because it’s jargon, not an actual language,” Mack protested.
“This law firm, ‘Boros, Mason, Charbonneau, & Salcedo’ was hired by an anonymous client who wants to give back since he was an orphan who grew up in a foster home, too. A yearly stipend was set up intended to support at least one child for the year, and there would be material gifts donated at the need of the Double M ranch,” KC translated.
“We’ve always referred to this person as our ‘angel donor’,” Silas said. “If it’s who I think it is, that nickname may be quite on point.”
“You think it’s my Uncle Dick,” Mack stated.
“You see that trailer when you parked last night?” Silas asked.
“You mean that fancy Bruder, the one worth at least a hundred grand?”
“That’s the one,” Silas confirmed. “It was a gift from the angel donor when our old trailer started falling apart. See, during the summers we take a bunch of kids out on the range for an overnight or two camping trip. We call the new camper ‘the chuck wagon’ because it’s one of those Aussie-style campers with the kitchen on the outside, which works perfect for us to serve meals to a bunch of kids out in the open, and on the inside, it can sleep up to six, which we usually use for the kids that can’t physically sleep outside on the ground or in a tent.”
“It’s a very generous gift,” Mack said.
“And it ain’t the only one,” Silas said, pointing to the computer. “When the old IBM broke down, this one and four more showed up two days later in a UPS delivery. One of our kids needs some special gizmo to get along, it shows up within a couple of days. I don’t know how he knows what we need, but anything special that we need, it shows up, and we’re still getting that yearly stipend.”
KC was examining the letterhead. “Delaware.”
“What’s that, babe?”
“I said, ‘Delaware’. That’s where this firm is located, in Dover, Delaware. Seems to me like that’d be a reasonable place to start looking for your uncle.”
“Y’all just got here!” Silas protested.
“Calm down, Uncle Silas,” Mack laughed. “It’s not like we’re gonna go jump in Busster and leave now.”
Silas sighed and laughed at himself. “Alright, I suppose. How long y’all planning to stay as it is?”
“We have a laundry list of things we need to do,” Mack replied.
“Actual laundry being at the top of that list,” KC quipped.
“We’ve also got to find a replacement for our truck.”
“What happened to your truck?” Silas demanded.
Mack told him about Silver Dollar City and the new paranormal species that had been created there, as well as their attack upon the residents.
“And these little bastards poured acid on your engine?”
Mack nodded. “And I mean it was some kind of powerful stuff, too! Cut the engine block in half, and they poured it into all six of the cylinders. Completely totaled out the engine and part of the drivetrain.”
“Dang! Well, y’all are gonna have to drive up to Bozeman if you wanna find anything nearby.”
“I’ve already done a web search, and I called the Toyota dealership and talked to a nice lady about seeing what they have in stock in the way of either another Tacoma or maybe a 4Runner,” KC replied. “I actually went ahead and made an appointment for tomorrow.”
“That’s why she’s in charge of the business, and I do the heavy lifting,” Mack said.
“You wanna borrow one of our cars to get up there?” Silas offered.
“Liam’ll drive us,” Mack declined.
“Alright, then. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Uh, well, I was wondering if you still had Dad’s old guns?”
Silas chuckled and pointed to the gun safe. “They’re all locked up in there. I’d never throw anything that precious away, not your legacy from your Dad, no, sir.”
“Thank you, Uncle Silas.”
“What are you gonna need your dad’s guns for, Mack? Don’t you have a pretty thorough armory set up for your slaying and hunting business?”
“I do, but that’s all it’s set up for. I’m taking Billy riding later, and I thought it might be kinda fun to get out an old .22 and take him plinking while we’re out. He’s a pretty fierce kid, but he’s angry, too.”
“His parents were killed in the same car accident that took his legs,” Silas explained. “I think I see where you’re going. Gonna start with ‘cowboy’ lessons and show the boy that there’s things he can do that he don’t need legs for, right?”
“Something like that.”
“Is he... like us?” KC asked.
Silas shook his head. “No. He’s a mundane, and it’s a dang shame, too. He was a werewolf, he’d regrow his legs after his First Change. Heck, he’d regrow ‘em during the Change.”
“I know some folks, from my special ops days, that are doing some cutting-edge work with prosthetics. I should give ‘em a call,” Mack offered, “but I think I wanna get to know Billy the Kid better before I do.”
A BUS DELIVERED THE younger children to the Double M promptly at 3:30 that afternoon. Mack got a wistful look on his face as he looked at the bus, the same make as Busster, just a significantly newer model. He was already plotting just what modifications he would make to convert the bus into a motorhome when the rear door with the wheelchair lift opened and lowered Billy to the ground. The driver was quick to help the boy get off the lift, but Billy already had half the job done himself.
“You’re still here,” the boy stated as he rolled his chair over to Mack.
Impressed that the boy was doing the job the hard way with his own arms, Mack simply nodded. “I made you a promise, didn’t I? Cowboys always keep their promises.”
Billy cast a critical eye at Mack who was dressed in his usual khakis and plaid, but he’d traded the combat boots for a pair of cowboy boots, and he’d gotten his Stetson Skyline out of the storage bin he usually kept it hidden away in.
“You ready to go, little partner, or do you need to put your books away first?”
“I gotta do my homework,” Billy grumbled.
“Then, we’re bringing the books with us,” Mack said. “You gonna sit there or are you waiting for me to give you a push ‘cause I ain’t giving you a push unless you ask.”
“You’re weird.”
“And you’re still not moving.”
Billy began working his way toward th
e horse barn, and Mack fell in step beside him. “You ride much, Billy?”
“No, not really. Kinda hard to do stuff like that without legs.”
“That’s the great thing about riding. You use the horse’s legs instead of your own,” Mack chuckled.
“Did you really grow up here?”
“Sure did. My dad and Uncle Silas co-owned the Double M together. When my parents died, Silas and Rosalee adopted me.”
“Then, why do you call them ‘aunt’ and ‘uncle’ if they adopted you?”
“Because I’m messed up, kiddo. They may be my parents, but Silas and Rosalee aren’t my mom and dad.”
“H-how did your parents die?”
Mack was quiet for a moment. “It wasn’t an accident. Uncle Silas told me about your parents, Billy, and I’m sorry that I won’t ever get to know them. I’m sure they were good people.”
“Yeah. I suppose.”
They continued in silence for a moment before Billy said, “Did they get sick? Your mom and dad, I mean.”
“No, they were murdered, shot by a mugger who was trying to rob them.”
“Damn!”
“Language.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Just don’t let Aunt Rosalee hear you cussing.”
They’d arrived at the barn. KC was waiting with a trio of horses.
“Where’s Liam and Pilar?” Mack asked.
“They got shanghaied by Rosalee and Rashmi. I don’t know what for, but I suspect it’s to squeeze every ounce of life story out of them,” KC replied.
“Suckers,” Billy giggled.
“You must be Billy the Kid. We didn’t get a formal introduction this morning. I’m Mack’s wife, Kayleigh, but I go by my initials, KC.” Like Mack, KC was dressed in khakis and plaid and had her own cowboy hat and boots.
“I’m Billy,” the boy replied, shaking KC’s hand. “Uh, Simmons, I mean. Billy Simmons.”
“Well, Mr. Simmons, Billy Simmons, let’s get you into the saddle,” Mack said, effortlessly lifting the boy out of his wheelchair and depositing him on the back of a big, brown quarter horse. The saddle had been specially designed for a child like Billy who either had no control of his legs or no legs at all. Belts and straps secured the boy in place.
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