Pursue Page 7

  Morning’s cold had given away to the kind of fall afternoon this part of the coast was famous for—mild with a light breeze. One of the downfalls of living in an apartment meant he didn’t have a square foot of dirt he could call his own. He often spent his days off fishing, but hadn’t had planned anything for today. Maybe on a subconscious level he’d known he needed to be free.

  On their way, they’d shared their reaction to the mare’s unfortunately unchanged condition. The new mother appeared to have no spark, no will.

  “I get that you’re hesitant to tell me everything about what you were up to this morning,” he told Niko, “but you trusted me enough to call once you had the hound. I’d be more help if I had the whole picture.”

  She’d been staring out of the window and seemed reluctant to give him her attention. “I’m going to sound crazy.”

  “Let me be the judge of that.”

  “I couldn’t let it go.”

  “What? Leaving justice for the horses up to law enforcement?”

  “They’re alive because of me. I kept thinking I needed to do more than I had, to complete things.”

  “Things like doing everything you could to identify the owner.”

  “Yes. I was—obsessed.”

  “Do you still feel that way?”

  “I don’t know.” She didn’t look at him.

  “Tell me something. What did you think you’d do if you were certain you found what you were looking for?”

  She leaned back. He waited for her to say something. “You don’t know, do you?” he asked. “That’s what you aren’t saying.”

  “Darick, I’m aware of what the grays are capable of, what they did to Kendall Taft, Grover Brown and Ram.”

  “Maybe you thought you’d finish what they started.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Were you armed?”

  “None of your damned business.”

  “You were, weren’t you?”

  “Wouldn’t you have been? It doesn’t matter because I don’t know any more about where the mare had been before she got away, if that’s what happened, than I did yesterday. I didn’t see any sign that the people who had the dog had a horse.”

  He suspected she’d gone off half-cocked, emotions getting the better of her. Only now was she asking herself what she was capable of.

  Maybe she hadn’t been able to control her actions.

  “I’m going to tell you something,” he said. “It might help explain why I’m putting you on the spot. You may have noticed I sometimes favor my back.”

  “Yes.”

  “Surgery. Trying to salvage three disks that got messed up when I was part of a rescue operation back when I was working at Yellowstone.”

  “How were they damaged?”

  Don’t hold back. “Someone who should have known better took a chance that got her in a dangerous situation. I had no choice but to try to go after her.”

  “My god.”

  The way she looked at him, he wondered if she was debating extending her hand toward him. He’d done that to her when they were in the vet’s office, so in some respects it was her turn. However, he wasn’t going to make it easy for her. They had to keep their relationship professional, businesslike. No risk of sliding into something personal.

  “What I’m saying,” he forced himself to go on, “is that I’ve dealt with the consequences of someone not obeying the law. I’ll always have to live with it. I don’t want you doing the same thing.”

  “It isn’t that easy.”

  He wanted to push her for a deeper explanation, but kept that to himself as their meal was delivered. She pulled out the pickles and took a bite.

  “Why isn’t following the rules easy for you?” he asked when the waitress was out of earshot.

  She chewed. Chewed some more. “I don’t like how you put it.”

  “What do you want me to say? You trespassed, grabbed a dog you had no right to, let a bunch of chickens go.”

  “When I got up this morning, I told myself to not make any plans until I’d had some coffee and my mind was clear, but as the coffee was perking, I got dressed and checked the maps so I’d be sure where Tamel Road was.” She put down her burger. “All night I kept thinking about what that mare had gone through giving birth, maybe knowing she wasn’t capable of producing enough milk to keep her foal alive.”

  She was projecting human intelligence onto the mare. Now that he had nothing else to do except study her, he noted how tired she was. He didn’t think she’d done anything to her hair since yesterday and wasn’t wearing makeup.

  “Eat,” he encouraged.

  “Oh. Darick, thanks for the meal.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  An awkward silence spread out, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. At least she’d resumed eating. He did the same.

  “I couldn’t let it go,” she finally said. “I knew I should. Hell, what did I think I was going to do, become a super heroine? Kill whoever nearly destroyed the mare?”

  At the word ‘kill’, he lost all interest in eating. There wasn’t that much to her, a slight figure in flannel shirt, jeans, and boots. He didn’t see how she’d stand a chance in hand-to-hand combat. She might decide to use a rifle or gun, but maybe not, since he had no doubt she wanted to stare into the eyes of the person or persons who’d become her enemy.

  “You can’t do anything with what I just told you,” she said. “There’s no law against thought.”

  “No, there isn’t, but I can’t be sure you won’t turn thought into action.”

  “No,” she said as she tore off a chunk of bun and started crushing it, “you can’t. Neither can I.”

  * * * *

  When they’d been little, Lobo had viewed his puppies as entertainment. It wasn’t until they’d stopped nursing and started observing him as he hunted that he’d understood his role. Now that they were nearly as large as him, they spent more time with him than with their mother. Smoke seemed less interested in her offspring than she’d been when they were tiny and no longer growled and showed her fangs when he tried.

  His nose reinforced what he already knew, that the human female he’d studied yesterday had been here earlier today. That was why Smoke, Son, Daughter and he were watching the loud, flightless birds. If he’d had his way, they’d still be in the hills, but Smoke had insisted they follow her down to the valley and this place. It was far from the first time Smoke or Gun had taken charge. He didn’t understand why they did some of the things they did, like attacking humans. Their single-minded determination during those attacks intimidated him, not that he’d let them know.

  He vaguely acknowledged that the brother and sister understood more than he did. He kept everyone fed but Smoke and Gun kept them alive. There was a reason for what they did, a reason Son and Daughter were beginning to grasp. Perhaps the time would come when his offspring decided he had nothing more to teach them and thus no reason to stay by his side, but they weren’t there yet.

  Shaking off the possibility of one day being alone, he signaled to Son and Daughter that he wanted them to accompany him as he approached the flightless birds. The silly-looking creatures had been set free by the familiar female. She hadn’t stayed and when she’d left, she’d taken a dog with her. Lobo had no interest in where the dog was going, but the birds fascinated him. They represented one thing, an easy meal.

  “Hunt,” he told his children. “Kill. Feed.”

  Judging by the drool sliding out of their mouths and the way their tails stuck straight out, he had no doubt they’d been waiting for his order. It was getting harder to make them wait, which concerned him. No matter how many times he warned them to be cautious, they remained impulsive. Before long they’d be larger than he was, more like their mother. When that time came, would he be able to control them? Keep them from danger?

  The question was for later. Today was about catching easy prey.

  A sensation that was more than tension flowe
d through him. The wolf half of his being pushed to the forefront as he watched his pups. Growling, his daughter dug her claws into the ground then broke into a head-down run. Even as he concentrated on matching her pace, pride in her speed and strength made him grin. His offspring competed with each other, his daughter making up for her smaller body by exhibiting more determination.

  Instead of following his sister’s lead toward the majority of the birds, his son took off after a solitary prey.

  Daughter struck first, capturing a speckled bird and snapping its neck in a single movement. She dropped the still-flopping creature and easily overtook another. She quickly killed it, sniffed, then aimed her young body toward a third squawking creature.

  A screaming sound told Lobo that Son was making his first kill.

  The fat, colorful creatures fled in all directions. They sometimes collided with each other, lost their footing, struggled to right themselves. Feathers flew.

  Reason winked out inside Lobo. He’d never seen so much easy prey, never connected so completely with his children. He stalked and caught, tore into flesh, tasted feathers, sometimes killed, sometimes left his victim to stain the ground with blood.

  Son and Daughter did the same.

  And from where she watched the carnage, Smoke wondered if she’d lost control. The Force had put her and her brothers on earth to avenge abused and neglected animals. She worked daily to infuse her children with the same commitment, but today they killed and maimed simply because they could.

  The humans the flightless creatures belonged to would insist on revenge. Her family would be safe if they disappeared into the great forest, but they couldn’t leave yet.

  Not until they’d accomplished what the Force demanded.

  * * * *

  The shocks in Cheryl Moyan’s Chevy sedan were worn out. As a result, her ass was taking a beating as she navigated the pitted drive leading to what used to be her home. It wasn’t much and, truth be told, she’d walked away without a backward glance, but she’d be damned if she’d let James have it. The land was worth something. Even the double-wide had value. Her future ex-husband was dragging his heels about putting it on the market. Not only that, he was being a bastard about the terms of their divorce.

  Three years of marriage going up in flames. That was the hard part, realizing that once again she’d let her heart and hormones lead her into a relationship. She’d been so sure it was going to work this time, that she’d found a man who loved her as much as she’d loved him.

  Well, she’d been wrong. Time to get over it.

  “Easier said than done,” she told Tinkerbell, her Chihuahua. The small dog was nestled in her lap and frowning at the steering wheel. “Be glad you’re a dog. Being a human sucks.”

  It didn’t all the time, she allowed. She might not have been crazy about her job at the local grocery store, but in the ten years she’d been there, she’d gone from checker to managing the produce department. There was more stress to it than most people would’ve ever imagined, James included, but she made more money than James did doing boat repairs. Unlike him, she didn’t have to worry about down times. Right now James was up in Seaside helping a friend. Maybe the friend would offer James a full-time job there. That would be great, because James would want to get rid of the doublewide and the five acres that went with it. Of course, with winter coming, the timing for putting the property on the market wasn’t the best.

  “No,” she said when Tinkerbell stood and planted her front legs on the door’s armrest so she could look out of the window, “we aren’t home. This isn’t where we live anymore.”

  Cheryl fell silent as she waited for an emotion other than irritation to make an appearance, but it didn’t. Maybe Tinkerbell’s back nails digging into her thighs was responsible but, more likely, she’d succeeded in shutting down what had once been love.

  “He never liked you,” she told Tinkerbell. “More than once he threatened to feed you to that damn hound of his. He was half serious.”

  James had been such a contradiction. She’d never known where she stood with him, whether he was serious or just trying to get a rise out of her. Even back when they’d been dating—three months from him hitting on her at a bar until “I do”—he’d kept her off balance. He’d bring her flowers and treat her as if she was an angel. Then he’d get pissed because the furniture was dusty. He’d buy Tinkerbell a toy, followed by insisting she keep her beloved baby in a cage. He’d never allowed Tinkerbell into his pickup, but at least he treated his hound the same way.

  “We won’t stay long.” She tried to place Tinkerbell beside her, only to have the Chihuahua scramble back into her lap. “And you’re going to stay in the car. I know you want to get into the house, but there’d be hell to pay if you get on the bed. No matter what I do to it, James will know.”

  The bed. Where they’d first had sex almost every night and where he’d hold her while she tried to reconcile herself to her complex relationship with her adult daughters. The girls lived in southern California, were married and had children. The hard-to-accept thing was that Alicia and Kora’s lives left no room for her.

  She hadn’t been the perfect mother. Who was? But even when she’d been a single parent, the girls had never worried about where their next meal was coming from. They’d had decent clothes. Not long before Kora’s first child had been born, Kora had said she’d do whatever it took to always be there for her children. Sensing it was more than a casual comment, Cheryl had asked what had prompted her to say that. That was when Kora had dragged out a bunch of stuff she’d insisted served as proof of all the ways Cheryl had failed. Only rarely had Mom watched her daughters play basketball. She’d never helped with their homework, hadn’t taped their report cards full of Bs and Cs on the refrigerator, hadn’t encouraged them to go to college or learn a trade.

  Well, hell, what did the girls want, one hundred percent of her time? They had husbands. They didn’t know what it was like to sleep alone every night except the few times when she didn’t, to wonder if they’d ever find a man to love them.

  “Thank goodness I have you,” she told Tinkerbell. “We’re a team. Right for each other.”

  Tinkerbell licked her forearm.

  “I love you, sweetheart.” She swiped at a tear. “Soon as I feed that stupid hound and the hens, we’re out of here. You want a beer when we get home?” She chuckled. “Not enough to get you drunk, just a taste.”

  The word ‘home’ forced her to face where she’d been living for the past three months. Her brother Lucky’s place was only a few miles from here, which made today’s errand relatively easy. When she’d first walked out on James, she’d told Lucky she just needed to stay with him until she’d saved enough money to get into an apartment. Lucky—his given name was Louis—was a widower. His wife had been diagnosed with breast cancer four years ago. She’d lived for thirteen and a half months, and Lucky hadn’t so much as talked about moving since her death. Of course, given all the animals he had, he couldn’t go just anywhere. He hadn’t exactly welcomed his sister with open arms, but neither had he pressed her to move out. Why should he when she was a decent cook?

  With her next paycheck, she figured she’d have enough for first and last month’s rent plus a deposit, but her halfhearted attempts to find a place hadn’t gotten her anywhere. She told Lucky and her co-workers she was holding out for someplace safe, but up until last week she’d held out hope that James would suggest they give their marriage another try. No wonder she felt that way. After all, he’d had flowers delivered for her birthday and been eager to show her pictures of the sailboat he’d been working on.

  How blind she’d been. James hadn’t been going to the bar where they’d met to drown his sorrows. He’d been on the prowl. Had found someone.

  “Get over it. Don’t be pathetic.”

  She blinked in surprise when she realized she’d arrived without being aware of how close she was getting. She’d been like that for so long she should take it for gr
anted, but her tendency to lose touch with the here and now concerned her. Determined not to let that happen again today, she rested her foot on the brakes and took in what had once been her property.

  She should have planted flowers or bushes or something. Maybe put a hanging basket by the front door to lessen the tin can appearance. Of course, it didn’t matter now, but more growing things might make it easier to sell. It would take more convincing than she’d already attempted to make James get rid of the smelly hen house.

  Maybe it was thinking about twenty-some non-egg producing chickens that made her realize what was wrong. Always, before, the stupid birds sounded off whenever a vehicle approached, but it was eerily quiet. Had James come to his senses and gotten rid of—no, that wasn’t right. She’d been here the day before yesterday to feed the hound, and the chickens had been as noisy as ever. James was in Seaside so—

  Feathers. Covering the ground like snow.

  Motionless mounds. More of them than she dared acknowledge.

  Scared, she clutched Tinkerbell to her breasts with one hand and shifted into Park. The hen house door was open and looking like a silent scream. Two or three chickens were on the ramp leading to the door. They’d died trying to get back to safety.

  “The hound,” she told Tinkerbell. “Had to be him. He got loose and…”

  She couldn’t say why she’d never warmed to the mutt, except he was ugly and standoffish. Also, she didn’t trust him not to hurt Tinkerbell. James had seldom done anything she’d asked, but she’d kept after him to secure the puppy he’d dragged home with him until he’d tied a cable to one of the trees in back and fastened the pup to the other end. Very occasionally she’d felt bad because the hound’s life was so limited, but he wasn’t her pet. The trees provided shade and, unless the mutt wrapped the cable around a trunk, which happened almost daily, he could reach the doghouse James had built from scraps. James had always fed him a name brand and refilled his water bowl every day.

  And look what the mutt James hadn’t gotten around to naming had done.