Chapter 3 #2
I run a hand through my still-damp hair. I couldn’t give a shit about the new owner’s vocation or whatever gossip Shelby’s stored up about her, but I don’t like the sound of a woman alone with a problem bear. “Is she safe?”
“Yeah. Frazzled though.”
“Fine. I’ll check it out.” Before Shelby can get rolling, I sign off.
By the time I turn up the long gravel lane, it’s nearing eight o’clock and so stormy the beams of my headlights barely penetrate the darkness. But when I round the bend, the handsome two-story farmhouse and matching barn are so brightly lit I could see them from space.
I park in a wide gravel turnaround and call in my location before tucking my hat back on and holstering my service weapon from the gun safe behind my seat.
When I step down, my knees and hips feel about a hundred years old, and several vertebrae crack.
A gust of cold rain slams into my shoulders, making me shiver.
Pressing my hat down with one hand against the storm, I make my way through the gate and head for the wide front porch.
Handsome lantern-crafted exterior lights line the side of the house, illuminating lush green shrubs and a tidy lawn.
No sign of the bear as I climb the steps.
I rap my knuckles on the big blue door and wait.
When nothing happens, I lean to the side and peer through the window, but there’s no movement, or sound.
Unease crawls beneath my skin. I knock again, this time with my fist.
A scream carries on the wind, coming from the direction of the barn.
I spin and rush down the steps, then race around the house, the thick, wet rain like cold razor blades against my chin and neck.
Ahead, both of the barn’s doors are wide open.
In the shadowy light cast from inside, I can just make out the silhouettes of several nervous horses in the adjoining corral.
But when I step into the barn, it’s quiet. “Hello?” I project my voice as I ease down the wide walkway between the stalls, my chilled skin prickling. “It’s Officer Whittaker from the Department of Fish and Wildlife. You called about a bear?”
Footsteps vibrate from the hay loft above me. A woman with light brown eyes peers out of the darkness, her cheeks flushed. “We’re up here.”
We? “Where’s the bear?” Who was screaming?
The woman gives her head a little shake. There’s something familiar about her, but I don’t take time to place it because she replies, “There’s no bear.”
I rub the back of my neck to keep my frustration at a simmer. If this is a false alarm, then I have a hot shower to get to. “Have a good night.”
“Wait! Please.” The woman scrambles down a ladder from a square hole in the ceiling.
She’s wearing a pair of faded work jeans rolled up at the ankles, thick wool socks with Birkenstock sandals, and an oversized sweatshirt splattered with bright yellow and orange paint, the wide collar exposing her right shoulder.
“You were gonna fight off a bear in Birkenstocks?” I ask. Shit, I hadn’t meant to say that out loud. I was distracted by her bare shoulder and the lacy black bra strap peeking out.
“I was working.” She spins around. Our eyes lock, and her scowl deepens. “Hey. You’re that guy from the film festival. The one who never called me.”
The instant she says it, my tired memory fires, filling the pit of my stomach with dread.
It was months ago. I attended the Fall Film Fest in support of my son Jesse and his latest short about a local paraplegic skier.
After intermission, I returned to the wrong seat thanks to misplacing my glasses.
An attractive woman showed up, and like an idiot I argued with her about the stupid seat, which thankfully turned into us laughing about it.
Her name is something unique, and pretty—Kaya?
Coco? Somehow, I worked up the guts to ask for her number.
Then I proceeded to talk myself out of calling her.
Fuck. Could this day get any more challenging?
I rub the back of my neck, gripping the damp strands in my knuckles for an instant to ground myself. “I’ve been busy. Tracking down a poacher, and—” I bite back the rest. It’s pointless, and I sound like a jerk.
The woman’s brows knit together.
My chest aches a little bit. I don’t relish her contempt, but it’s better this way. Nothing would have come from me calling her except a goodbye. My job and my family come first.
“Anyways.” She crosses her arms. “I thought it was a bear because the oats are gone and the fridge has been ransacked, and there was an…odor. But then I heard something moving up there, and I went to look.”
Unease slithers down my spine as I follow her gaze to the loft. I rest my hand on the butt of my Glock. “Okay.”
“He’s a runaway, or at least that’s what I think. I want to help him, but…he looks so scared.” She rubs her forehead, her eyes tensing with worry.
“What has he told you?” This isn’t the first youngster to turn up out of the blue, scared and needing help.
Though I usually hear about them from my son-in-law Zach or his firefighter brother William.
They call them Lost Boys. Sons of Eden kicks out most of the young male members before they get old enough to marry.
Less competition for the elders who think they’re entitled to as many child brides as they want.
“He begged me not to call the police.”
The floorboards creak above us, and a pale face pops into view. The kid is probably thirteen or fourteen, with deep brown eyes and straight hair that falls over his eyes. “Who’re you?”
His slight backwoods drawl strengthens my hunch that he’s on the run from Sons of Eden.
“My name’s Rowdy.”
He eyes my gun holstered at my hip. “You a cop?”
I shake my head. “I’m a conservation officer for the Fish and Wildlife service. I’m here to help, if it suits you.”
His nostrils flare. “I ain’t goin’ back.”
I need him to confirm it to be sure. “To Sons of Eden?”
His shoulders stiffen.
“You never have to go back.” I wish I had more than words to reassure him. “But you need a plan.”
He gives the loft space a scan. “What if I stay here…help out Miss Keo.”
Keo. Just like I remembered—interesting, and pretty.
Keo releases a frustrated sigh. “In exchange, I let you sleep in my barn? That won’t work forever.”
“Just until spring.” His quick reply tells me he’s been thinking this over.
“I’m going to call my son-in-law, Zach.” I slip my phone from my pocket, slowly, so I don’t spook the boy. “He’s helped other kids like you. I think you should hear him out.”
Keo smiles up at the boy. “I can make you something to eat while we wait for him.”
A look of yearning flickers in the boy’s eyes at the mention of food, but he hugs himself, and his mask of toughness is back. “We’ll just talk?”
I give him a nod. “Just talk.”