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“Did you do this?” she asked.
In answer, his color rose and his jaw set. Then he grabbed her with more force than necessary and hustled her over to the horse trailer.
Clay opened the gate and lowered the ramp. She loaded Biscuit and exited the trailer to find his mount tied to the ring on the side of the trailer. She watched him disconnect the trailer hitch.
He jerked his head toward the truck. “Get in, Bella.”
He hadn’t called her that since her sophomore year in high school on the night she told him she must stop seeing him.
Why, Bella? Why?
Clay rounded the trailer, and she heard the gate shut with a resounding clang.
“I can’t leave Biscuit.”
Clay took hold of her arm and muscled her along. He was much bigger and stronger than she recalled. He had to release her or the gun to get the door open, and he chose her. He motioned to the interior, and she slipped into the cab. Then he jogged around the front of the grille and slid the rifle into place on the rack behind them.
She caught the movement and shouted.
“There!” she said, pointing.
Someone moved on the top of the tree line. Clay leaped into his seat and started the truck, accelerating into the U-turn and narrowly missing the opposite ditch.
They traveled a half mile down the hill before he lifted the radio from his hip.
“My brothers are coming. Don’t want them riding into gunfire.”
She nodded her agreement to that. He must mean Gabe and Kino. Gabe was the new chief, and Kino was now a police officer for the tribal police. Izzie had heard that Clay’s little brother was about to be married.
Clay called his office, relayed the details and clipped the radio to his belt. He glanced in the side mirror and then back to the road. “Who are they?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I didn’t get a good look.” She dabbed at her cheek and winced. The blood was already drying on her face. “Why would men with automatic rifles be sneaking around in those woods?”
“A good question,” he said. “What’s up there?”
“Just another pasture. Oh, and a road. The tribe just improved it. It’s gravel now. They did a really nice job.”
“Why would the tribe improve a road going to pastureland?”
Izzie wrinkled her brow as she thought about that. “I don’t know.”
“It’s just an open field?” he asked.
“Well, there’s some dry fill up beyond the pasture, some digging. The tribe uses the dirt to fill holes. Maybe that’s why they need the road. To bring in bigger equipment?”
“Maybe.”
But he didn’t sound convinced, and his tone made her realize she should know what was happening on the land she leased. Izzie needed to get some answers.
Chapter Two (#ulink_b098a20e-0d39-5bc0-b3b5-82ccf3c2f044)
Clay had sworn he’d never be back here.
But here he was, sitting in the police station interview room. The room that he had hoped to never see the inside of again. The very same room where he had been brought in handcuffs. Had it really been eight years? Seemed like yesterday.
Clay felt the sheen of cold sweat cover him, and he tried to tell himself that this was different.
Was it? Or was he in that kind of trouble all over again?
They had met the authorities at the bottom of the pasture. After the tribal police had cleared the scene and found no sign of the gunmen, one of Gabe’s officers had taken Clay’s rifle, and they had told Izzie that fifty-one of her cows had been impounded for trespass on tribal lands by a representative of the General Livestock Coordinator—in other words, by Clay. After hearing that news, Izzie hadn’t spoken to him once on the long drive to the station, and he expected that she’d never speak to him again. That realization was more disturbing than sitting in this damned room again.
But he hadn’t done anything wrong. Unless he had. You didn’t have to know it to have done it. He’d learned that lesson well enough. Maybe this was just like the last time, only it was Izzie setting him up. Letting the cows out, calling the manager’s number, drawing him into a gunfight.
No, that was just crazy, his stupid paranoid fears rearing up like a horse in the shoot at a rodeo. Tighten the cinch. Open the gate. Watch it buck. Eight seconds and all you could do was hold on. Clay held on now. He’d tried to make the right decisions. Tried to think before he acted. Tried not to take everything at face value, not be so gullible. But when he’d seen Izzie running for her life, he hadn’t thought about the consequences. He had just ridden full speed into gunfire.
Clay rested his head in his hands and drew a deep breath. He still felt sick to his stomach.
He’d asked Gabe to call his boss and tell him where he was. Clay knew that if there was even a whiff of misdeeds, Donner would fire him. He’d do anything to keep this job. Anything.
He’d been lucky to get hired in the first place—with unemployment so high on the Rez and so many men searching for honest work, men without his priors.
His younger brother, Kino, came in to speak to him. Kino had been on the force about a year, acting as a patrolman. It was something Clay could never be. They didn’t take men with criminal records into the police or the FBI, where his uncle Luke Forrest worked. Kino had been surprised that they had let Clay work with the Shadow Wolves on Immigration and Customs Enforcement. But Clay was a special case because he was Native American, which was a requirement, a very good tracker and his conviction was not a felony. Though it nearly had been.
“So, busy day?” asked Kino, taking a seat and opening his laptop.
Clay didn’t laugh. The last time he was here, Kino had been thirteen years old.
What was his boss going to say? He’d sent him to clear strays and he’d ended up in jail, again.
“Where’s Izzie?”
Kino thumbed over his shoulder. “Captain’s office.”
“You mean Gabe’s office.”
“I call him captain here. We only have one interrogation room.”
Clay knew that.
“She says you had no right to impound her cattle.”
“They were on the road.”
“She’s claiming that they were released.”
“Upper fences were cut,” said Clay.
“Yeah, I heard that.”
“I saw that. Don’t know about the lower pasture. I didn’t see anything, but I wasn’t looking.”
“We’ll check. You didn’t cut them, did you?”
Clay blinked in astonishment, expecting Kino to laugh or smile or say this was some joke. He didn’t. He just sat there, waiting.
“No.”
“I think all our guys are up in the woods,” said Kino. “I’ll ask them to run the fence lines.”
“They’re going to ruin the scene.”
“You and I are not the only ones who know how to track, brother.”
Clay nodded.
“So you want to do this, or would you prefer one of the other guys handled it?”
“No. Go on.”
His kid brother asked the questions, and Clay answered. He’d picked up four truckloads of cattle with Roger Tolino. They’d gotten a second call about cattle on the upper road. He’d sent Roger back with the cattle truck. Clay had found the cut fence after Roger left.
“Clean cut. All three lines, right by the post.” Clay had searched the ground. “One man was wearing boots, weight about two-fifty, judging from the depth of the tracks and recovery of the grass inside the tread.” He had seen the strays and thought it easier to just steer them back into the pasture. He was just repairing the fences when he’d heard the first shots. “I couldn’t call it in because there’s no cell service up there.” So he’d used his radio. Called Veronica in the office and asked her to call Gabe.
Getting his statement took a while because Kino had to type his replies. Clay waited as Kino pecked away on the laptop, feeling like a damned fool. Eventually, Kino closed the computer and regarded Clay.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” said Kino.
“That’s what I thought the last time.”
Kino nodded. “You really didn’t know what they were doing?”
Clay stared at his kid brother in astonishment and then realized they had never spoken of the crime.
“Who?” asked Clay, making sure he wasn’t talking about today.
“Martin and Rubin.”
“Martin said he wanted some pop. I stopped. They went in. I waited. They came out, and I drove away.”
“Just like that. Didn’t you see the blood on Martin’s shirt?”
Kino stared. Clay knew what he was thinking. His older brother was guilty or he was a fool. Clay never liked the choice. He lowered his head. “Are we finished?”
Kino stood. “Yeah. Sure. So, I’ll see you Saturday?”
Clay rose. “Saturday?”
Kino’s voice held impatience. “The wedding?”
Clay’s mouth dropped open as he realized he’d forgotten. His kid brother was getting married and then honeymooning in the Badlands of South Dakota, so he could pick up the trail of their missing little sister.
“Yeah, of course. Sorry. My mind is just... Like you said, long day.”
Kino walked him out.
“Want to go for a beer after work?” asked Clay.
Kino rubbed his neck. “Sorry. Can’t. Wedding stuff.”
“Oh, right. Well, see you Saturday.”
“Don’t forget the barbecue. Thursday night. Rehearsal and dinner at Salt River on Friday.”
Clay nodded and left the station, shedding the stale heated atmosphere for the crisp air of a perfect September day. Relief poured down on him with the sunshine. He looked to the west, to Black Mountain. Emerald-green Ponderosa pines that were broken by patches of brilliant yellow aspen ringed the base. Nearer the top, forest gave way to the browning grass. The crown looked as if someone had scraped away all vegetation. This was where the reservation got its name, from the dark of the tallest mountain in Arizona. Eleven thousand two hundred and twenty feet. On this cool day, the crown looked black against the bright blue sky, but soon the snow would cover it again. He’d been to the windy peak. All Apache boys climbed it. There, on the top the Crown Spirits lived. The Gaan, as his people call them, had been sent by the Creator to teach them to live in harmony.
When Clay told outsiders he was Black Mountain Apache, they assumed he lived in the desert and wore a red head scarf and a long belted shirt. The truth was that he did wear a red kerchief, but about his neck, and his reservation was mountainous with a ski resort in addition to a casino. They had plenty of lakes and some of the best trout fishing and elk hunting anywhere. But mostly what they had was the grassland, and much of it had been broken into permitted grazing areas. Raising cattle was still big business here. Some pastures had been in certain families for generations. Like Isabella Nosie’s grazing rights. It had been her grandfather’s and her father’s—William’s—and now it was hers for as long as she kept filling out the application.
Some folks thought that system unfair. That they should have a lottery. Clay had no cattle, so he stayed out of the debate.
He took one final look back at the station. Was she still in there?
Clay had missed Isabella more than he’d ever admit. She came to him in dreams sometimes, and on a good day he might see her in town. He’d caught her looking back at him once, but she never spoke to him. He didn’t blame her. Lots of folks looked right through him now. Or they hurried the other way as if he was contagious.
Clay recovered the truck he drove for his job, headed back to the offices and checked in with Dale Donner. Besides managing the communal cattle and horse herds, Donner’s offices collected fines, cared for impounded livestock and sold unclaimed stock at auction. That meant showing up in tribal court and dealing with the tribe’s various livestock associations over disputes. Donner was also on the tribe’s general livestock board, along with Boone Pizzaro, Franklin Soto and two members of the tribal council. Boone Pizarro was the general livestock coordinator, in charge of managing the tribe’s cattle holdings including all grazing permits issued to ranchers on the reservation. Franklin Soto oversaw the health of the herds on the Rez and made sure all Black Mountain cattle complied with regulations with the state’s livestock sanitary board.
Clay drove the two blocks, parked and entered Donner’s office. He felt as if he had been away for a week.
Donner did not glance up as Clay came to a stop before the battered wooden desk littered with piles of paper. His boss was a barrel-chested Apache with dark braided hair that framed a face deeply lined and aged by the sun to the color of a well-oiled saddle. He seemed perpetually impatient with the stupidity of both his cattle and his men. Behind him, various clipboards hung on nails beside a calendar featuring a large longhorn steer’s photo. On the lower half of the calendar, Donner had crossed off all the days in the month up to and including today, Monday, September 7.
His boss glanced up, and his flint eyes fixed on Clay.
“We registered fifty-one cows with Nosie’s brand,” said Donner.
“There were four more, but I shooed them back into their pasture. Mr. Donner, those fences on the upper pasture were cut.”
Donner lowered the clipboard. “What do you mean cut?”
“I mean with a wire cutter. Someone came in from the road, parked, cut the fences and left.”
“What about the lower pasture?”
“I didn’t see anything, but I was pretty busy rounding up cattle.”
“Well, heck. We got to call your brother about that.”
“Didn’t he call you?” Had Gabe forgotten to alert his boss?
“Yup. Said you’d been delayed.”
