by Alex Jane
"So that out there…?"
"Bernhart was late with his payment so I'm guessing Mr. Baskin sent them after him to get his money one way or another."
Emmanuel blinked, and then blinked again. "When you were talking about the bank hounding people I didn’t think you meant physical violence was involved. That can't be legal? This isn't Chicago, they can't just…" His thoughts caught up with him, and his attention switched to Asher who was sitting rather quietly on the other side of the desk. "You're a marshal." It wasn't a question and Asher didn't react. "Why is there a marshal hanging around in a scrap-of-nothing town like this?"
Asher sighed and leaned forward in his chair a little so he could put his empty glass on the desk. "I owed someone a favor and said I'd drop by."
"Who?" Emmanuel waved any potential answer away. "More to the question, why? You're here to investigate Baskin? I didn’t think that was your remit."
Asher looked over at him, and Emmanuel was reminded why he would never play cards with the man when there was money involved. The Alpha had a poker face even Malcolm couldn't crack, and fleecing poker players appeared to be his cousin's main source of income.
"So, the bank gave Bernhart a loan. Crop lend, I'm guessing? The two men nodded so Emmanuel went on. "He had a bad year, couldn't pay it back. Just like Art Shearing?" "
"Something like that," Asher confirmed.
"But what I don't get." Emmanuel rubbed at his forehead. "Why did he get a loan from the bank? Why didn't he come to us?" By us, he meant the Feed and Seed. They didn't have any business lending money, but his grandfather had always made a point to support the community whatever way he could. Often loans were made to the homesteaders who needed a little extra help when times were tough. His grandfather never asked for more than a penny back than what was given and let people take their time doing it too. And not only money. Equipment was loaned out for nothing more than a bag of corn or a couple of hours labor if things were tough. Even then, the point was to ensure everyone was fed and went home happy. It was common knowledge that if you needed help, Henry Jackson was the man to go to, and Emmanuel's father and Seth had sworn to keep things exactly the way they always had been after his passing.
"Lots of reasons," Jonathon said, topping up his glass and then doing the same for Asher. "Mostly someone stirring up the same anti-wolf bullshit, or trying to make out Seth was getting something out of it. I even heard that Uncle Joe had bought himself a fleet of brand-new motor cars from the money he's been scamming out of unsuspecting farmers."
Emmanuel had to laugh at that. "Pa? You know he turns green every time Henry takes him out in his Roadster
"Yes, but they don't know that," Asher said seriously. "He's never here, Manny. I know he corresponds with Seth constantly, but the people round here never see him. They have no idea what kind of man he is, and with…with the Fletchers gone, there's no one to tell them otherwise."
Anger rose in Emmanuel then and it was all he could do not to jump to his feet and scream. Instead, he pointed at Jonathon, though he kept his angry gaze on Asher. "Jon is a Fletcher. So are Ephraim and Josh. Seth and Malcolm too, if not in name."
"But we're not our grandfathers, Manny," Jonathon said, so soft and full of sadness that Emmanuel wanted to cry. "It's not the same. No one would dare contradict Caleb. He would have squashed Baskin like the bug he is ten minutes after meeting him and the town would have thanked him for it. Seth stands up to him the best he can but it's not the same. People don't respect him as they did Caleb and Jacob. You know he has a way of winding people up simply for the pleasure of it. It's too easy to turn people against him."
"He saved my mother's life," Emmanuel said, incredulous anyone could even think that way about Seth. "Did they forget that?"
Jonathon shrugged. "That was a long time ago. And there are a lot of folks around here who never knew Caleb or Jacob or Henry. Lastford has changed since you went away, Manny."
"I wasn't gone that long—"
"Four years," Asher said, or rather growled, sounding more pissed off than Emmanuel felt in that moment. "You were gone four years and that's a hell of a long time for those of us who were left behind and not swanning around in Paris." He grimaced and held up his hand. "Sorry, I didn't mean that. I—"
"Damn straight you didn't." Getting up, Emmanuel drained his glass and slammed it down on the desk. "I meant what I said, Marshal. I don't want either of those two goons on my property again, you hear?"
It was strangely gratifying—and the slightest bit arousing—when Asher looked up at him with his startling blue eyes and only said, "Yes, sir."
"Is that really true, what you said out there?" Jonathon asked, thankfully unaware of the moment that had passed between his friends. "Do you really own the Feed and Seed now? Or the town for that matter?"
Emmanuel rubbed the back of his neck and had to lean his hip against the desk—either the adrenaline leaving him or the alcohol finding him making his body suddenly very tired. "Yeah, well. Technically, Pa does. I mean he owns the Feed and Seed for sure. As for the rest of the town, I think Grandpa Henry did have claim to most of the land the town is built on, and he funded most of the public buildings as I understand it, so if that was still true when he died I guess all of it must have passed to Pa, right? I'll ask him when he gets here."
For the first time, Jonathon looked hopeful and his gaze flicked over to Asher who had one hand curled into a loose fist against his lips. "Would that do it? Would that be something we could use?"
"Use for what?" Emmanuel glanced between the two of them.
"Like you said," Asher replied. "You want them off your land and so do a lot of other people."
"Is that what you're here to do?” Emmanuel asked. “Run them off?"
"I'm just here to enforce the law."
"It's what my Alphas would have done," Emmanuel said, without thinking how it might sound.
"Yeah, well.” Asher huffed out a bitter laugh and shook his head. “They're not here."
"But you are."
Asher looked lost for a moment, as if he didn't quite know how to take that. Fortunately, Jonathon knew exactly what to say, chipper and looking on the bright side as always. And completely pulling the rug out from under Emmanuel when he said, "And we're lucky to have you, Asher. For as long as you can stay, that is. It's going to be damn hard to find a better fishing buddy when you get called back to Omaha, I can tell you."
Chapter Seven
It was almost supper time when Asher finally rode back to the homestead. Emmanuel's shoulders tensed when he heard Hector's unmistakable lazy gait moving across the yard. He didn't need a werewolf's hearing to tell when Asher pulled the horse up as they drew close to the house, pausing for a time before he clucked him on and walked down toward the stable. Emmanuel held his breath the entire time, keeping his eyes on the paper lying in front of him, not daring to look out the window for fear of there being a set of blue eyes looking back.
He didn't feel bad about leaving town without saying any more than what they had talked about with Jonathon in his office. At least, not until he'd gotten back to his uncles' place to drop off the trap and horse. The slow walk back to his own house through the long grass of the pasture had given him plenty of time to reflect on what Jonathon had inadvertently revealed and how he felt about Asher not saying a word to him about leaving.
Doing some chores hadn't done much to take his mind off the itchy sensation at the top of his spine, and when he'd found he couldn't concentrate enough to read, he'd done the next best thing and pulled out a few sheets of paper, his favorite pen, and had sat down at his grandfathers' bureau to write. It was mostly nonsense; a few paragraphs here and there, a list of ideas to explore, questions circled, and then circled again and joined up in some cases. But after a while he'd pulled out a fresh sheet and had simply started writing. His first drafts were always in longhand, great looping illegible script with all the words formed without lifting the pen from the page, the odd word or p
hrase obliterated with a scribble, but mostly, once he got going, it was a stream of consciousness that flowed from his mind to his hand in a way that was hard to stem.
It was unsurprising, then, that he jumped slightly when there was a rap on the door. Glancing at the clock on the mantle, he’d surprisingly lost an hour but gained ten pages of mediocre fiction that should work up fine when he eventually typed it up. He was still a little lost in the imagined conversation he'd been in the midst of as he answered the door, and he stared blankly at Asher for a second before he completely realized where he was.
"Everything all right?" Asher asked slowly, peering at him as if he expected the worst.
"Yes, sorry." Emmanuel shook his funk away and stepped back to let Asher in. "I was…sorry."
"No need to apologize." Asher lingered near the doorway, awkwardly fingering the rim of his hat as he held it in front of him. The sight of him looking so vulnerable made Emmanuel think perhaps he should be the one asking Asher if he was all right. "I wasn't sure if…y'know."
Emmanuel frowned. "I don't think I do, actually."
"Earlier, before you left town, you seemed…you called me Marshal." Asher was almost whining. "I don't know what I've done but you didn't seem happy."
"Oh. That." Emmanuel went for the liquor cabinet, wishing he'd brought some of the good stuff from New York and wondering if Harry would send some if he wired him the money.
"So, I did do something." Asher sounded resigned and he cussed a little under his breath as he finally hung up his hat and shucked off his jacket. He looked entirely defeated and completely like he belonged when Emmanuel turned to find him slumped in his seat at the table. "Are you going to tell me what it was or let me suffer?"
"Maybe I want you to suffer a little bit." Emmanuel poured for both of them, figuring things might go a little smoother with something to lubricate the conversation. He wasn't sure how he felt about Asher leaving, mostly as he didn't know how long he would be gone, and Omaha was a way off, but he could visit, and to be fair he'd come to the homestead to be alone, and, goddammit, how was it he'd gotten so used to having Asher around that the thought of being without him felt like such a wrench?
"That's fair," Asher said as he pulled the glass toward him, watching without really setting his eyes on Emmanuel as he slid into the seat opposite. "If I hurt your feelings I probably deserve it. I wouldn't mind knowing what I did, though, so I don't do it again."
Emmanuel huffed, making his glass fog up as he brought it to his lips. "I guess that depends on how many times you'll be leaving to go back to Omaha."
Asher froze and then all the tension appeared to leave his body. Emmanuel wasn't expecting him to smile, although the way Asher tilted his head and wiped his hand across his mouth made Emmanuel think there was more to the situation. "Oh," Asher said finally. "That."
There were a hundred things Emmanuel could have said. Most of him wanted to blow up, to yell and throw something. He was upset and angry and Asher had a smile on his face that needed wiping off even if it was two-thirds bitter. The other option was to storm out, or throw Asher out, to be furious at the man for using him and making him think there was something between them. But instead he waited, not looking up or saying a word, patiently holding out for an explanation.
"It's not what you think."
Emmanuel had to laugh at that. "Things never are in my experience."
"No." Asher put down his glass and pushed it away, the contents untouched. "It's just that…well it's complicated. You make things complicated."
"Me?" Emmanuel was almost more offended than he was confused. "What did I do?"
Asher laughed. "I don't even know where to begin."
The way Emmanuel banged his glass down on the table was enough to show how angry he was without the harsh edge in his voice. "Well, the truth might help."
Asher's face screwed up as if he was in pain before he choked out, "You…you smell…"
"I smell?" Emmanuel barked out a laugh.
"You smell amazing." Asher sounded hurt but entirely sincere.
Emmanuel had no idea what to do with the information so he just blinked at Asher, unable to form a reply.
His bemusement didn't appear to bother Asher who muttered, "I'm saying this wrong," at the table before he found his words and went on. "This job, this…life I have. It's not what I'm supposed to do. It's not…I'm supposed to be Alpha."
"You are an Alpha."
"No." Asher shook his head. "I mean, I'm supposed to be the head of my family. Eventually. It's what I was brought up to do. It was all I knew and then…" The way he sighed and let his head drop into his hands, Emmanuel wanted to reach out and hold him. Asher sighed again and finally sat back in his chair, resigned and almost relaxed. "Alphas aren't supposed to get along, y'know? And I always thought the way my father and I butted heads was just that. But then I realized at some point, he simply didn't like me."
"I'm sure that's not true." The look Asher gave Emmanuel told him it definitely was.
"Do you remember what he was like?"
Emmanuel shrugged one shoulder. "Not really. Caleb seemed to try to keep us occupied and away from him so Jacob could concentrate on business."
Asher made a noise like he wasn't quite convinced that was the reason. "He was—is—a bit too taken with some of the newer ideas about how Alphas should act but old-fashioned at the same time."
Emmanuel nodded in understanding. Jacob's father had been the same from what he could gather and had similarly rejected his son. Not that Jacob had ever seemed regretful about losing him. He'd been close with his brother and that had been enough. "He resented you?"
Asher shook his head. "No, he just had firm ideas about who I should associate with. Very firm ideas."
"I see," Emmanuel said, although he didn't. "So, he policed your friendships? I suppose that's not very unusual. Unless you had good reason to defy him."
"I had good reason." Emmanuel didn't reply but must have looked curious enough that Asher put both arms on the table and leaned over to say quietly, "You smelled amazing then too."
For a moment Emmanuel wasn't sure what to think. Then he froze and had to resist the urge to point at his own chest. "Me?" he asked. "He didn't want you around me?" Asher nodded. A thought popped into Emmanuel's head, one he didn't like much. "Is…is that why you were so vile to me? When you felt the need to drive me to tears at every given opportunity?"
A sound came from Asher's throat that was something like a whine. "I didn't understand. Not until later. Not until it was too late. He was my father, Manny, I wanted him to love me. I thought if I showed him I didn't care for you…" Asher shook his head. "My motivation doesn't matter now. All that matters is that I hurt you and I'll spend the rest of my life apologizing if you want me to."
Emmanuel shook his head. As far as he was concerned, they had come past that—as far as they were going to, at least. "I don't understand what all this has to do with you leaving Lastford."
Asher relaxed back again. "As I got older, I came to see much of Father's reluctance to let me choose who to be around was less to do with him guiding me and more to do with the fact I associate with…non wolves."
"You mean humans?"
"No." Asher looked pained. "I mean, non wolves."
Emmanuel groaned, mostly at himself for being so slow. It was common knowledge that any woman could birth a child who was Were or human, regardless of whether they or the father were wolf or not. It was simply a matter of percentages. For two Were parents with no humans in their family tree it was very unusual to have a child who had no wolf characteristics. As was the reversed scenario.
For Emmanuel to be born without a wolf was not so rare. His father was human but his mother, while having no wolf, was from a family of wolves. His older siblings were both wolves so there was a fifty-fifty chance that he could have been born a Were. As things were, Emmanuel was definitely not considered human, simply a Were without a wolf, and in some people's eyes, an aberr
ation.
Asher looked apologetic and Emmanuel really wished he wouldn't. "You can't pick your family, Ash."
"Yes," Asher replied. "You can. Or at least, you can decide not to put up with their crap."
"What happened?"
Asher huffed out a laugh but there was no amusement in the sound. "I confronted him. Called him out in front of everybody."
"How did that go?"
"Bad. Very, very bad."
"I'm sorry," Emmanuel said, and he was. He knew that psychological and emotional ties packs shared verged on the physical, especially for Alphas, so severing them must have been agonizing for Asher.
Asher only shrugged. "It wasn't good but in the long run I think my not being there's better for everybody. I keep in touch with my brother by letter, but I won't go back. They don't want me and I can't see myself there anymore."
"Is that how you came to be a marshal?"
A small smile etched across Asher's face. "Yeah, I…actually I went to work at one of the auction houses in Paxton and then I bumped into Jacob, actually."
"Grandpa Jacob?"
Asher nodded. "We got to talking and…well, I came to stay here a while."
Emmanuel sat bolt upright. "They never told me that."
Asher shrugged. "No reason for them to. Plus it wasn't for long. Malcolm put me in touch with a friend of his in Omaha and I moved there to work for the court. They were looking for an Alpha for some of the duties, delivering papers to packs and such. It worked out okay."
Emmanuel watched as Asher's words ran out and apparently so did the explanation as the Alpha pulled the previously discarded glass of whiskey in front of him and took a sip.
"That brings us right back to where we started," Emmanuel said, rubbing his temple. "With you being here temporarily before you go back to Omaha."
Asher frowned and tilted his head, making Emmanuel think maybe he'd missed something, especially when Asher said, "Except, Omaha is not where I'm supposed to be. I live there but it's not…not home. The only thing that makes me an Alpha is my blue eyes and the fact I don't need a gun. Being here—"