Chapter 5
Chapter Five
JD
“You were seventeen at the time.”
I shrug at my father’s comment.
“So? I remember being pretty good at it.”
“You gave your ma sleepless nights, and she made sure I wasn’t getting rest either because I’d encouraged you. That’s all I remember,” he grumbles, shaking his head.
I bite off a grin. I recall that too. She’d been pissed when she found out a few of my buddies and I had signed up for the Indian horse relay at a rodeo outside of Kalispell. Because I was underage, I needed a parent’s signature and had talked Pa into signing off.
But I learned my lesson at seventeen, after ending up with three cracked ribs when I got trampled in the horse exchange, and have no intention of signing up for the relay again, but it’s fun to jerk Pa around a bit. He overheard me asking Jonas for a couple of days off during the rodeo and he poked his nose in.
We’re up near the Swede Mountain Lookout, looking for a young woman who—according to friends—had planned to come up here for a hike yesterday morning and hasn’t been heard of since. The game warden found her vehicle was still parked by the tower, so we were called out for a search.
The tower is pretty rough to get to. The six miles of dirt road zigzagging up the mountain was a bit much for our trucks to haul the horse trailers all the way up. So we set up a staging area in a clearing a couple of miles down and are doing the rest on horseback.
My father is riding beside me and every so often I can feel his eyes on me, until I finally put him out of his misery.
“Relax, Pa. I have no intention of entering any relay or rodeo.”
“Asshole,” he mumbles, but I can see the relief on his face. “I swear, with your sister coming this weekend, your ma is already strung out enough. This might’a sent her over the edge.”
Right. Una’s visit.
“When is she getting in?” I ask.
“Sometime tomorrow afternoon.”
Well, I hope like hell we’ve found this woman by then, because Ma and Una alone for any length of time could be explosive.
I love my sister, and I wish I’d see her more, but I’m always walking on eggshells on those rare occasions she does visit. She, in turn, doesn’t understand how I could’ve moved back to Libby, but I don’t have the same relationship with our parents she does.
Una was always outspoken and rebellious, while I tended to be quieter and more reserved. I was no angel by any stretch of the imagination, but most of the time I’d fly under the radar, while my sister was like a lightning rod, drawing all the attention her way. I guess I take after my father, but Una is the spitting image of Ma, who is also fiery and feisty, and they clash.
We were raised to respect our elders and honor traditional values, but I guess that created different expectations for Una than it did for me. I’m a man, and although Ma would love to see me with a family—something she reminds me of from time to time—it’s quite acceptable for me to be single and independent. I’m still the proverbial hunter and gatherer, so it doesn’t take away from my worth as a man.
It’s not so simple for my sister, whose traditional values would be very much wrapped up in family and home, something she balked against from the time she was an adolescent. At almost thirty, she’s built her own life, set her own standards, and created her own values, but sadly those don’t line up with traditional expectations and that creates constant tension.
Regrettably, until there is transparency, there can’t be understanding, and until there is understanding, there can’t be peace. Oddly enough, I think if there ever was to be an honest discussion, Ma would be the more receptive one, whereas our father would struggle with the truth.
Unfortunately, I will be the one left on the hot seat, having had knowledge but not sharing it would be considered a lie, at best, but—given my mother’s penchant for the dramatic—more likely seen as a betrayal.
“So, if you’re not planning to enter, why the fuck do you need time off during the amateur rodeo?” Pa circles back to the original subject. “Why not hold out a few weeks until the pros come to town?”
I chuckle at his inability to leave it alone. I’m about to tell him I prefer the smaller crowds, when Jackson pipes up behind us.
“Because the pros bring their own veterinarian.”
I twist around in my saddle to find Jackson looking smug he called me out. I have no idea how he came by the knowledge, it’s not like there’s been a public announcement or anything since I saw her.
“I took the pups in for their shots yesterday morning,” he’s already explaining. “I overheard Doc talking to her assistant about it.”
“About what?” Pa asks.
“Doc Richards is working the Libby Roundup this year,” Jackson readily volunteers.
I shake my head and turn to face forward again, but I can feel my father’s eyes on me.
“I see,” he mumbles, but I don’t have to see him to hear the grin in his voice.
Fuck .
“You’re gonna tell Ma, aren’t you?”
“Damn right I am. It’ll be a good distraction for her this weekend when your sister is here.”
Great. I’m not even sure which is worse, being hounded about Janey, or getting sucked into Ma’s ongoing conflict with Una.
Either way, it looks like it’ll be a shitty weekend.
Maybe I should take on an extra shift at the ranch.
“Is that what I think it is?”
Dan points at a couple of rocks up ahead, a scrap of pink, lacy material just visible tucked in between. Immediately the hair on my neck stands up.
“It’s gotta be hers,” I confirm, closing in on them.
Since there is no real assigned hiking trail to follow, we split up in two pairs, and have taken the most likely routes Maggie Aldridge might’ve chosen. Dan and I have been following this game trail for the past almost two hours. There were some signs she might’ve come this way, we found some fresh tracks and even a partial boot print, but that looked to be too big for a woman and the tracks could’ve been left by a large animal, and I was just starting to wonder if we should maybe turn around.
I dismount and loop Santiago’s reins around the saddle horn. He won’t go anywhere while I explore on foot. I’m careful to stick to dry or at least needle-covered ground, so I don’t inadvertently trample all over a potential crime scene.
Abandoned panties may not be that unusual in favored teenage hangouts, along with condoms and empty beer cans, but we’re way off the beaten track here. Finding those panties screams foul play to me.
“Stay put,” I tell Dan, as I make my way to those rocks, dreading what I might find.
Scanning the undergrowth on this side of the boulders, I search for anything that looks out of place. I spot the cuff of a hiking boot when I’m about ten feet away.
“Boot,” I call out to Dan. “Two feet to the right of that rock,” I point out.
“I see it.”
A few moments later, I’m able to look behind the rocks, and my chest squeezes when I catch sight of an outstretched hand, the fingers far too relaxed. I force myself to keep moving forward, I need to know if this is now a recovery instead of a rescue.
She’s dead, I’d stake my life on it.
I’m not law enforcement anymore, but my training takes over as I take in every detail of the scene. She’s spread-eagled, both arms flung out over her head, and her legs are open, one cocked at the knee. Her shirt and bra are shoved up over her breasts, and a pair of discarded jeans are crumpled at the base of the rocks on this side. She’s still wearing a sock on one foot.
There is no visible blood anywhere, but when I approach her, I can tell her eyes are open.
Unfortunately, she’s not seeing anything. Not anymore.
Janey
My brain has been scrambled for days.
I’m trying to get ahead of the game, so when I’m expected at the rodeo grounds on Monday to meet with Phil Jericho and Mackey Livestock, I can be focused on the job at hand.
In addition, I’ve been boning up on my knowledge of rodeo, which is surprisingly thin, as I’ve come to discover.
All I know is I’ve always had a vague distaste for rodeo, despite it being a pretty standard part of living here in the Northwest. I hated it as an idealistic teenager, but that has mellowed some with age and exposure, although I’m still rooting for the animals.
I’m not sure if that makes me more or less qualified for this job. Either way the job is mine, and I’d do well to study what I’m getting into so I don’t make a fool of myself.
So, I’ve been doing a lot of reading and researching when I haven’t been working these past days. There hasn’t been a lot of sleep, but at least I know now what types of injuries to look for in the different events, and have studied up on signs to look out for.
Hopefully it’s enough to keep me from looking incompetent. I don’t normally lack in confidence when it comes to my work, but I’m already burning the candle at both ends and I guess I’m worn a little thin. The prospect of adding more to my plate has me dreading the upcoming week of activities.
But I asked Logan to assist me at the rodeo, and he seems excited enough for both of us. He’s been working a lot already, taking most of the nightshifts when we have overnight patients, but he seems to enjoy it. Who am I to argue? I’m no longer that young, or that driven.
I watch as Logan leads Daisy, the potbelly pig, through the door separating the clinic from the barn. The animal was brought into the clinic earlier this afternoon with labored breathing. Pigs are notorious for respiratory issues, and this one seems to have developed a serious case of pneumonia. She had her first shot of amoxycillin but will need several more tomorrow and over the coming weekend, which is why we’re keeping her here.
“Go home, Frankie,” I tell the assistant I inherited from Doc Evans.
I’m not sure what I would’ve done without her this past year. A Libby native, she knows just about everyone, which has proven helpful at times. She’s also handy with the animals, friendly with their owners, and knows how to manage a schedule. I’m not kidding when I say she’s been indispensable.
“I’ll just finish this,” she says, pointing at a stack of filing.
“It’ll wait until tomorrow. And remember, I don’t want to see you here this weekend either. Get rested up, because next week is going to be a test of endurance for all of us.”
“You get some rest too, and don’t forget to eat.”
I’ve probably got at least a decade on her, but that doesn’t stop her from trying to mother me. Honestly, I probably need it. The last time I sat down for a proper meal was when JD took me for Mexican earlier in the week. Since then, it’s been PB&J sandwiches, canned soup, and frozen pizza. I enjoy cooking but haven’t had the energy.
As Frankie heads out to her car, I look down at Ginger, who is doing a lot better and has taken to hanging out in the clinic during the day. The last few nights I’ve been taking her home with me.
“What do you say, girl? Ready to go home and get some grub?”
Her tail thuds on the linoleum floor in response.
I turn off the lights, grab the stack of printouts I plan on studying over the weekend, and hold the door open for Ginger. She hobbles to the grass where she has a quick pee while I lock up the clinic. Every day she gets around a little better on her three good legs. She sometimes tries to put weight on the casted leg, but it’s painful. Good thing, since she really shouldn’t be putting weight on that leg at all.
As soon as I open the door at my place, she slips past me and makes a beeline for the dog bed I put next to the couch. Even that short walk from the clinic here tired her out, and by the time I’ve showered and changed into something more comfortable, she’s already snoring.
I’m in the kitchen, checking my pantry to see what I could throw together for dinner, when my doorbell lets out a garbled ring. Something else on my list of things to replace. It’s rare to have someone at my door, especially at this hour, so I’m a little apprehensive when I peek outside.
“I took a chance,” JD says, looking a bit sheepish as he stands on my porch, holding up a brown paper bag.
I dart a glance down at my ratty sleep pants and old concert shirt and am about to blow him off, when I notice a haunted look in his eyes, and strain on his face.
“I’m not dressing up, but you’re welcome to come inside,” I tell him instead.
The moment I step aside to let him in, I hear Ginger’s low growl.
“It’s okay, girl,” I coo, slipping ahead while he kicks off his boots. I crouch next to her, assuring her with my voice and my touch. “He’s a friend.”
“Who is this?”
I glance over my shoulder to see him standing right behind me.
“Ginger. At least that’s what we call her. I don’t know who she belongs to. She was brought in by a Good Samaritan who found her on the side of the road, injured. No collar, no microchip, and no record with any of the other vets either.”
Despite looking at JD with obvious distrust, she starts furiously sniffing the air.
“She smells the brisket,” he rumbles.
“Brisket?”
My mouth is already watering before the smell of smoky barbecue hits my nostrils.
“Like I said, I took a chance. Picked up dinner at The Smoking Gun in town. Figured if you’d already eaten, it’d probably keep for tomorrow.”
“Good thing I haven’t eaten yet then.”
I get to my feet and take the paper bag from his hands and am about to head to the kitchen when he stops me.
“Hold on.” He reaches inside the bag and comes up with a chunk of meat. “Peace offering,” he adds by way of explanation.
I continue to the kitchen, set the food down on the counter, and pull down a couple of plates. When I turn around, I see JD crouched down a few feet from Ginger’s bed, sitting perfectly still as he holds out the piece of brisket in the palm of his hand.
Ginger is only able to resist for a few seconds before her sniffer starts scanning the air and she eases closer. First, she cautiously butts JD’s fingers with her nose, but then slowly stretches her neck so she can snatch the meat from his palm.
“Good girl,” he mumbles as he gets to his feet, not even attempting to pet her.
But as he joins me in the kitchen, I see the dog’s eyes following his every step. He certainly got her attention.
“Drink?” I ask, pulling open the fridge and hoping I have one or two beers left. I spot a couple rolling around in my vegetable drawer. That illustrates the current sad state of my kitchen. “I have beer, cranberry juice, or tea.”
“It’s a beer kinda day.”
That sounded loaded, but I wait with the question burning on my lips until I have the bottles open and hand one to him, holding up the other. He taps my bottle with his.
“Cheers.”
I take a sip and set it on the counter while I unwrap the dinner of brisket, mashed potatoes, and roasted vegetables. I stifle a moan as I plate the food. It looks and smells delicious.
Pointing JD to the kitchen table, I slide a plate in front of him and hand him some cutlery. Then I take the seat across from him.
“So…what makes this a beer kinda day?”
“After dinner,” he says, his eyes pleading.
Must’ve been a doozy then.
I nod and dig in, enjoying my food and not caring in the least I must look like a pig, the way I’m scarfing it down.
“God, that was good,” I mutter, leaning back in my chair as I cover my full belly with both my hands.
“Best barbecue around,” he agrees.
His eyes are on me when I lift mine.
“I needed that,” he shares, and I have a feeling he’s not just talking about the food we shared. “We got called out on a search. Twenty-two-year-old woman went missing up on Swede Mountain. We found her, but she didn’t make it.”
“Oh no…” I lean forward and reach out a hand to cover one of his.
I get the feeling that’s not the whole story, but it clearly affected him, and I’m not going to push it.
“Part of the job,” he states dismissively as he retrieves his hand.
But he doesn’t fool me. Euthanizing animals is part of my job, taking care of animals who have been badly abused is too, but that doesn’t make any of it easier to deal with. It doesn’t mean I don’t lie awake at night, agonizing over some of the things I deal with in my line of work.
I don’t interfere when he gets up and gathers the dishes and the empty beer bottles. Not even when he starts washing the plates and the cutlery, even though I have a perfectly functional dishwasher right next to where he’s standing over the sink. He rinses the bottles and leaves them sitting on the counter, and stores the leftover food in my fridge. Then he turns to me.
“I best get going.”
“You don’t have to go.”
A smile briefly tugs at his mouth.
“Yeah, tonight I do. Walk me to the door?”
I do as he asks and follow him to the front of the house. He opens the door, but before he steps outside, he turns around to face me. My breath catches in my throat when his hands come up to frame my face. His thumbs brush my cheeks.
“Gonna kiss you now,” he warns.
“Okay,” I whisper, as his head lowers.
My eyes stay locked on his as his mouth covers mine, but drift shut as his kiss deepens. I’m lost to everything but those lush lips and his skilled tongue.
Oh my. I’m in trouble.