Reaper's Vow

by Sarah McCarty

  “Nah,” Isaiah said dryly, nodding to the man. “He’s just there to make sure a few understand its limits.”

  Meaning Isaiah would kill Cole if necessary, Addy’s love notwithstanding. The same way Cole would kill Isaiah if it came to that. Cole tipped his hat to the hard-eyed sentry.

  “Good to know we understand each other.”

  3

  Cole didn’t know what he expected when he went into the encampment, but the Reapers’ settlement looked no different than any other mining or lumber settlement he’d ever been to. Dirty tents flapped in the breeze, half-constructed houses sat alongside what one day were obviously intended to be streets. One significant difference was there was no store or church looming over it all as symbols of hope and permanence. Things were built sometimes just because settlers plain needed a visible hedge against the odds of failure.

  A lot of people toted their dreams westward. A huge chunk lost them along the way. He wondered if the Reapers were an ungodly people or if perhaps this was just a temporary stop. A combination of both would suit him. He didn’t want to like monsters. And he didn’t want them hanging around his cousin or his town. He opened his mind just a bit, scanning for Addy’s energy. He didn’t find it, experiencing his own sense of failure. She was here somewhere, and he knew it. Which meant she was shielding her energy, or someone was. Isaiah grunted. Too late Cole felt the other man’s energy touching his. Easing his mind closed, he pretended he hadn’t noticed.

  Cole cocked an eyebrow at Isaiah. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

  Isaiah didn’t respond; he just kept striding forward like a man on a mission. And looking ahead, Cole knew why. Sitting outside a tent set against a half-constructed house, a pile of fabric in her lap, was Addy. He’d expected her to look downtrodden, shattered, but the woman that looked up and saw them was . . . glowing with health and—he growled under his breath—happiness. The way Cole always dreamed his woman would glow, assuming he ever found one. Just one more thing to hate Isaiah Jones for. He’d stolen Cole’s fucking cousin.

  Addy’s smile faltered when she saw Cole. That falter struck Cole like a blow. In all the months he’d searched for her, he’d never doubted that she’d be happy to see him. Her need had been what had driven him at a killer pace through the goddamn mountains and lousy weather. And her smile fucking slipped? He pulled his hat down over his eyes and caught up with Jones.

  Wiping her hands on her apron, Addy stood and set aside her sewing. And that glowing smile spread to include him. It irritated the crap out of Cole that he was the afterthought when he’d always been the one Addy depended on.

  “Things change,” Isaiah said as if he’d read Cole’s thoughts.

  Cole growled, “Not that much.”

  Isaiah shook his head. “You are one stubborn son of a bitch.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  Isaiah smiled mockingly. Sheer force of will kept Cole from punching him as Addy gathered up her skirts and came toward them, practically running, ankles exposed to any that cared to look. If the blatant display of emotion from the always controlled Addy wasn’t shocking enough, the way Jones checked it with a subtle shake of his head was downright jaw-dropping. Like a trained dog, the ever-defiant, stubborn-to-the-core Addy slowed to a sedate walk.

  “Fuck. What the hell have you done to her?” Cole asked.

  “Watch your language. And not a damn thing.”

  Cole snorted. “Does she sit on command, too?”

  He never saw the fist that connected with his jaw, but he saw the stars as he hit the ground. When his vision cleared, Jones was above him with his hands clenched.

  “You show her respect.”

  Rubbing his jaw, Cole retorted, “I don’t need you to tell me how to treat my cousin.”

  “You need something,” Isaiah muttered too low to carry.

  “You don’t need him to tell you what?” Addy asked.

  She stood beside Jones, wringing her hands together, anxiety putting a pleat between her brows. Cole was used to seeing Addy anxious. But this was different. Her fear wasn’t of change, dirt, or Jones. It was of him. Shit.

  “Nothing.” Cole stood brushing the dirt from his pants. “Just talking nonsense.”

  Addy looked first at Isaiah, then at him, and then back to Isaiah. “So much nonsense you had to strike him?”

  Cole answered before Isaiah could. “Yes.”

  She shook here head, studying him with familiar concern. Many a time he’d returned from a job to be treated to that look.

  “You shouldn’t have come, Cole.”

  Not once had he come home from a job to hear that. “So everyone keeps telling me.”

  She clenched her hand in her skirt. “I told you I was fine.”

  “You left a hastily scribbled note that you were fine. Not the same thing as seeing it for myself.”

  She shook her head at him. He was familiar with that expression, too. There was no one more stubborn than Addy when she was set on a course. And from the way she reached for Isaiah’s hand, she was still set on Isaiah.

  “Well, you can see for yourself now. I’m fine.” She smiled up at Jones who stood there too smug and confident for Cole’s taste. “And not only that, I’m happy.”

  “Could be fever,” Cole offered just to see the familiar twist to Addy’s mouth. Too much had changed too fast. When she grimaced the way she always did when he was perverse, a bit of his “normal” settled back into place.

  “Do I look sick to you?”

  Addy looked happy, but that didn’t mean Cole had to acknowledge it.

  “Hard to tell the way you’re blushing.”

  “I am not.”

  “He’s just looking to get a rise out of you, Addy girl.”

  “Stay out of it, Jones.”

  “Why?” the other man asked in that irritatingly logical way he had. “When you started it in my presence?”

  He had him there. Addy reached out as she had so many times in the past. Cole didn’t meet her halfway. Tracking her across the country didn’t put him in the sweetest of moods. And truth be told, now that he’d finally caught up to her, he wasn’t feeling anything he’d expected. Which was a unique experience unto itself. He was used to being in complete control. Of himself, the situation, and all those in it.

  It was Isaiah who took Addy’s hand, slipping his fingers between hers, giving her the support Cole refused. “As I said earlier, things change.”

  “Shut the hell up.”

  “Watch your language.”

  “Oh for Pete’s sake! Enough.” Addy motioned to someone behind him. “Gaelen will show you to your house.”

  Gaelen made a sound under his breath that sounded distinctly like a growl. “I’ve got work to do.” He in turn motioned impatiently to a petite brunette gathering wood at the edge of the meadow. “Miranda can show it to him.”

  The woman straightened at hearing her name, her arms full of kindling. She didn’t say anything, just froze in place, a tantalizing statue of feminine promise. Against his will Cole’s energy reached for hers.

  “You know Miranda doesn’t—”

  Gaelen cut Addy off. “Miranda can handle one human male.”

  The same sense of shock Cole saw in Miranda’s eyes went through him as their gazes met. Only along with his came a deep-seated sense of recognition. Search as he might, he couldn’t find any reason for it. A woman like the woman before him, he’d remember meeting. Dressed in a man’s wool shirt that hung off her slender frame, she looked sweet, lost, and desirable. Her hair was a dark autumn brown. She wore it pulled back in a long braid that should have been severe but only served to enhance the delicacy of her features. She had big, round brown eyes framed with thick lashes, a tiny nose, and a rosebud mouth. She looked for all the world like one of those china dolls he’d seen in the dry goods store. Delicate
. Beautiful but broken. Because now that she’d turned, he could see the scars that cut deep slashes down one side of her face. She ducked her head when she felt his gaze. And in the next second he felt the addictive whisper of her energy. Hotly feminine and tempting, it tugged at him from beneath a current of fear. He liked the seductive pull. The fear he could do without.

  “It’s all right.” He tipped his hat, attempting his gentlest smile, everything in him wanting that fear gone from between them. “Just point the place out. I’ll get myself settled.”

  Miranda looked to Addy. Addy sighed and glared at Gaelen’s retreating back. “Some people have no appreciation for order.”

  “But they still have value,” Jones reminded her.

  Addy snorted and reached into her pocket. Cole knew what she was reaching for. He’d seen that same move too many times to have a doubt. She wanted her worry stone. Cole reached into his own pocket. Before he could hand it to her, Jones reached over and gave her his hand, and damn if she didn’t rub his fingers the way she used to rub her stone. Just . . . well, damn.

  “Just because we don’t have a finished house doesn’t mean we can’t be hospitable,” Addy said.

  Cole shrugged, watching Miranda make her escape out of the corner of his eyes. “I’m not really a guest.”

  “Well, you’re certainly not a prisoner! You’re family.”

  “If Jones had his way, I’d be dead family.”

  “That’s not true. Is it?” Addy looked over at Isaiah.

  Jones shrugged. “There was a time when I would have wished it.”

  Addy elbowed him in the side. He obliged by grunting. Against Cole’s will he had to like the man for indulging his cousin.

  “But not now?” she asked.

  “He’s got some skills with a gun and a knife. It’s always helpful to have somebody like that around during trouble.”

  Cole looked around the little valley with its idyllic setting and feeling of bustling hope. “What kind of trouble could you have here?”

  Addy licked her lips. The hold on her energy slipped. The hairs on the back of Cole’s neck stirred at the touch of apprehension that stole from her to him. Was she the one doing the shielding? “You’d be surprised.”

  Jones cut in. “We can talk about it after dinner.”

  “Oh my God! Dinner!” Addy spun on her heel.

  “What about it?”

  “It’s burning!” she gasped and bolted.

  Cole frowned. “It’s not like Addy to burn a meal.”

  “She’s having a harder time than expected building rituals here.” Jones sighed. “Nothing’s familiar. Her rhythm’s off.”

  “If she was home, she wouldn’t have any trouble.”

  “If she was home,” Gaelen retorted, coming up with Cole’s saddlebags draped over his shoulder, “she’d be dead.”

  Cole snapped, “What the hell does that mean?”

  At the same time, Isaiah growled, “Not now, Gaelen.”

  Cole turned to Jones. “Somebody better tell me something fast. That’s my cousin.”

  “And my mate.”

  “What the hell happened to wife?”

  “There’s a lot you don’t understand,” Gaelen interjected.

  “I thought you had work to do,” Jones snapped.

  Gaelen patted Cole’s saddlebags, smiling and revealing slightly longer side teeth that looked remarkably like canines. “I’m doing it.”

  Cole couldn’t look away from those teeth. “Just what the hell are you?” Cole asked, his senses jangling all over again.

  Gaelen’s smile faded. He tossed Cole’s bags at his feet. “Don’t you remember? We’re Reapers.”

  He couldn’t forget. Cole picked the bags up in his good arm. While it felt like most of his stuff was in there, he was sure the more pertinent items like weapons were not. “And what exactly is a Reaper?”

  “You know as well as anybody else.”

  That wasn’t saying much. “I know what I’ve seen.”

  And didn’t want to believe.

  He looked at Jones. “Let’s talk now.”

  Jones’s expression went to that carefully blank state that, Cole knew from their first encounters, meant he was planting his feet. Shit.

  Someone hollered to Isaiah from across the compound.

  “Later,” Isaiah repeated quietly.

  Cole wanted to grab Isaiah’s arm and yank him back as he turned to answer the call.

  “Won’t do you any good, human,” Gaelen said. “There isn’t a soul alive that can make Isaiah speak before he wants to.”

  “Until now.”

  “Uh-huh.” Gaelen folded his arms across his chest. “You think mighty big of yourself.”

  “Maybe,” Cole threw back, watching Isaiah interact with the man who’d called him over. There was a deference in the other man’s attitude. Attentiveness in Jones’s. Whatever he was, Jones wasn’t a bully. More puzzle pieces that didn’t fit the image Cole had nursed over the last few months. “Or I might just be tired of chasing your asses all over creation looking for answers.”

  Gaelen shrugged. “Well, Isaiah might not be answering your questions because he doesn’t like you, or he might not be answering because it’s a long story and right now too many other people need a piece of him. Hard to tell.”

  Nothing worse than getting a sensible answer when a man wanted a reason to throw a punch.

  Cole hoisted his saddlebags up onto his shoulder. “You still too busy to show me where I’ll be bunking?”

  If he had to wait, he might as well do it in comfort.

  “I should be, but I suppose if I don’t, you’ll go poking around under the pretense of searching for a bed.”

  It was Cole’s turn to smile. “I do have that tendency.”

  “That’s what I thought.” With a jerk of his head Gaelen ordered, “This way.”

  * * *

  His bunk was a one-room cabin with loose-planked sides that let in sporadic beams of sunlight. There wasn’t anything strictly feminine about the place, but it had a feminine feel that went beyond the makeshift curtains dressing up the narrow window.

  The space consisted of a small table, two chairs, a bed in the corner that was too short for his large frame, a roughly hewn trunk at the foot of the bed, and shelves against the wall on which dishes and pots were stacked. And a smaller bed catty-corner on another wall. Not much went on inside this small space except sleeping, but it was spotless. He wondered if they’d cleaned for him. He didn’t know how he felt about that.

  He tested the mattress with his hand. It was thin but firm. From the feel of things a layer of material covered the husks beneath. The sheets and blanket looked clean. He set his saddlebags down. He’d certainly stayed in much worse places.

  Taking his makings for a smoke out of his pocket, he went outside. Sitting on the stump to the left of the door, he dragged a sulfur across the axe propped against the side of the house. The soft hiss of the flame whispered across his nerves in an unnecessary warning. He was in the enemy camp, living on the mercy of a man who bore him a grudge, buying time for . . . ? Cole pushed his hat off his brow and took a drag on his smoke. Hell, he wasn’t even sure anymore. He’d come for Addy, but the Addy he’d come to rescue bore little resemblance to the confident, apparently happy woman who’d greeted him.

  Too weary to dwell on that, Cole leaned back, pulled his hat down over his eyes, and observed the comings and goings from under the brim. It always paid to know your enemy. And nothing said more about a group’s philosophy than how they went about setting things up. Like with all growing settlements the initial impression was chaos, but as he sat and smoked and watched, he could see there was order behind it. The camp was divided up into four sections. From what he could tell there was a married section, a single male section—he didn’t see any identifi
ably single women beyond Miranda—a cooking section, and a bathing/personal business section. Everybody seemed to have a job and know what needed to be done. He could say a lot of things about Reapers, but that they were lazy wasn’t one of them. They didn’t have much to spare for him, except the occasional curious glance.

  He saw Miranda appear out of one of the houses, a child by her side. They were too far away for him to discern if the child was hers, but their coloring was similar. He reached for her energy. Before he could touch it, he felt the rise in Isaiah’s. Fuck. Isaiah could sense his tests. That was going to complicate things. He settled back to observing.

  Miranda went about her business with calm efficiency. From what he could tell, she wasn’t one for idle chitchat. She said “hi” to no one, and no one said “hi” to her. But there were no signs of animosity. It was simply as if the others were respecting her wishes. Interesting. A woman who wanted to be left alone.

  It was definitely going to take a little while to figure out the ways of this place, but as much as he’d anticipated looking down on anything Isaiah did, Cole was grudgingly impressed. There was mud, of course, because it’d just rained and the ground had been dug up, but there wasn’t filth. Everything had its place. Everyone had his job. Whatever Jones was doing, it was organized, including changing Addy. Cole didn’t like change. Especially in the ones he loved. And he especially didn’t like it in Addy. She’d always relied on him, and her rituals. She’d built them slowly and steadily over time, and Addy being here was . . . he shook his head. All wrong.

  The temperature dropped as the sun set. As dusk fell, Jones crossed the compound, coming toward Cole with long, firm strides. The man might be crazy, but he was confident. Cole stood. There was an air of tension about the other man. As he got closer, he took off his hat and ran his hand through his thick brown hair. Cole always remembered Jones’s hair as being too long, but it was neatly trimmed now. Addy’s doing, no doubt.