The Cowboy's Claim

Chapter Sixteen

“Jory, you don’t need to be here,” Calhoun said for probably the tenth time, his face shadowed by his Stetson, but she could see his shuttered expression, the tenseness.

She said nothing, just kept her arms crossed over her body, holding herself together like she’d done her entire childhood. Her father hadn’t left her behind. Her brother hadn’t forgotten her. They were dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. She’d have to tell her mom. How would she react? Would it send her back into that hellish dark place where no one could reach her? Where she’d remained for months barely responsive to Jory’s attempt to tell her something about her day, get her to eat, take care of the garden?

The rhythm of the operation had changed. The spectators were pushed back even farther. More first responders arrived—fat lot of good they would do now. Maybe if someone had listened to her mother…

“Let me take you home.”

Home. She didn’t have a home.

She tilted her chin and stared at Copper Mountain. It was still there. Strong. Majestic, Silent. Watching over the valley. In a way, Copper Mountain was the only thing in her life that had never let her down.

The medical examiner arrived. More people. Women from the barbecue.

“Jory,” Willow said softly, pulling her into a full-body hug even though she had her baby in a front pack. “Jory, sweetie. I am so very sorry.”

Jory’s face was brushed by dark, downy hair, and she caught a whiff of shampoo, powder and milk.

She squeezed her eyes shut as the hug went on, and then she was clinging to Willow and her baby, but she couldn’t see them because they were blurry, underwater.

She shook, and the tears fell, and she couldn’t stop them. It was like a lifetime had stored up all her tears, and Willow had pulled the plug.

“So sorry,” Willow said, her arms on her back and they rocked in the early morning breeze.

She was aware of Calhoun taking a side step away from her and then another.

Good.

She didn’t need him.

She didn’t want him.

He hadn’t told her what he was up to. He’d acted like she had a right to know what he knew or suspected about her father and brother’s disappearance, like she was part of the plan to discover what had happened, when all along he’d been working alone. Or with his friends.

And she was not a part of his group, not really.

Only Willow hadn’t abandoned her, even though they had only recently met.

Shane arrived. Her long blonde hair flagged behind her in the morning breeze and her long stride quickly closed the distance.

“Jory, how awful. I’m so sorry.” Shane too enveloped her in a hug, and Jory for the first time she could remember didn’t feel alone, didn’t feel like she had to pretend everything was fine, and that she was strong enough to handle whatever life threw at her.

“Let’s go to the house,” Willow said.

Jory must have shown her distaste of that idea.

“My mom’s place,” Willow said.

“But…” Jory shuddered and looked toward the growing group of men, thankfully blocking the beginnings of the hole, where two people in white protective suits stood on the edge conferring.

“We can’t do anything here,” Shane said, her strong hands on Jory’s shoulders. “Mandy’s house is close, and she has tea—I’m desperate for a cup.” Shane smiled.

Jory looked from Shane’s beautiful face, oozing sympathy and practicality to Willow’s encouraging smile. “Come. Let’s get away from here. I’ll let Huck know where we are if the police want to talk to you. This will take a lot of time, and then there will be the DNA tests.” She waved her hand.

“You won’t know anything for sure for some time,” Shane said, “so it’s best to pace yourself. Let us take care of you.”

Somehow it was worse to hold on to hope.

“I’d finally given up,” she whispered. “I finally felt like I could move on. I was even thinking—” She broke off seeing Calhoun’s attention was lasered on her, and despite her shock and grief and fury, that skittery thing her heart did when he looked at her kicked in.

“Never mind. Doesn’t matter. I’ll go to your mom’s.” She couldn’t put up a fight, and she didn’t want to be alone, and she definitely didn’t want to hear whatever manly, lame excuse Calhoun would dredge up.

Willow smiled and looked relieved. “Good, because Jacie is going to want to be fed soon, and I think if I pull my boob out in front of half the crew of Marietta’s finest, Huck will lose a little more of his mind.”

Shane laughed, and instead of being offensive to her storm of emotions, the sound settled Jory. They were treating her like she was normal, like her feelings were normal and mattered, but weren’t embarrassing.

“Part of me wishes you’d do it, Willow, and another part thinks Huck would be a little smug—Mr. Yeah-Boys-Look-What-I-Got.”

Willow put her arm around Jory, and Jory walked with her away from the hole, and away from Calhoun’s discerning stare. It was too late for him to pretend he cared about her now. He’d been here to fulfill a vow to his friend. Mission accomplished. She’d just been a perk.

Shame and anger spun in her gut, and she wanted to run back and slug him.

“Don’t blame you, but you’d hurt your fist,” Willow said cheerfully.

“I said that out loud?”

“You muttered, but also Shane and I have been there.” Willow grinned. “We’re married to Coyote Cowboys. We know how those blockheads try to think. Calhoun doesn’t have much training yet,” Willow observed cheerfully. “But I know you’re up for the job to keep him from beating his fists and going all ‘I’m the man’ on you too often.”

“But it is beyond sexy when they do,” Shane said, a secretive smile on her face.

“Don’t I know it,” Willow said. “Huck already nailed me with number two. That’s how competitive he is. He just had to get his own genes out into the world. That man.” Willow smiled and kissed her baby’s head. “He needs a warning label slapped on his ass. They all do, fair warning. Potent AF.”

Still smiling a little slyly, Shane opened the door of the Jeep. Jory had to use the handle above the door to haul herself in.

“Get a runner, Shane. Not all of us are statuesque,” Willow said. “And don’t think I didn’t see your secretive smirk. I’m calling a dish and deets meeting soon.” Willow wagged a finger at Shane. “After Jory’s had some time to process. I’ll meet you both at my mom and aunt’s. I have the car seat.”

“I have my car,” Jory said, looking around, but realizing they’d walked in the opposite direction.

“I’ll drive. You’ve had a shock. Your car will be fine. One of the boys will drive it home.”

“No. I’m not staying there.” She’d been in the process of buckling up, but now she stopped and let the seat belt slap back into place.

“Okay,” Shane agreed. One of them will bring your car to Mandy’s. Give me your keys.”

“I can drive.”

She had to get a room at the Graff again. Find a rental. Pack her stuff. Call the hospital and try to pick up an extra shift. Call her mom and oma. Her to-do list scrolled before her, settling her as her mind switched to work mode.

“Jory.” Shane bent down. Her turquoise eyes shone with kindness and strength. “Let us take care of you. Plenty of time to make plans when you have all the information. Until then and after then, we’re team Jory.”

Jory hiccupped a ‘thank you,’ and more tears spilled.

Shane closed the door, briefly conferred with Willow, and then she strode back toward the group of men. Calhoun separated himself from them and met her halfway. Shane handed him the keys, said something briefly and then turned around.

She could see Calhoun starting to follow, but Shane looked over her shoulder and held up a hand with a flip of attitude and hair toss, causing Calhoun to skid to a stop.

Good. She didn’t need him. She didn’t want him. But as Shane got in the Jeep and started the engine and shifted into gear, Jory felt like Calhoun had a grip on her heart, and it stretched out like a ribbon unfurling behind her in the rising sun.

*

Jory flailed, armswide. Her mouth opened to scream, but no sound emerged, just a gasping, terrified rasp as bony fingers crushed her windpipe and then she was falling into a deep, dark hole. The soil had crumbled under her feet and she’d reached to grab Calhoun, but he’d stepped back, arms crossed, not intending to help her.

She jerked awake and struggled with a quilt wrapped around her so she could sit up. Her head ached. Her eyes felt gritty, and her face felt swollen. She’d been asleep. She tried to orient herself. Where was she? The Graff? The house? A sliver of orangish light slid under the outlines of the white shutters so it was still day, but…she’d fallen asleep.

“Good evening, Jory.” Mandy rapped briefly before opening the door and entering the small, feminine room with the daybed where Jory had apparently taken a nap. She remembered now drinking tea with Shane and Willow. She’d held Willow’s baby, and Willow’s mom had sat with them chatting as if Jory’s world hadn’t imploded.

“I brought you some lemon ginger tea and a biscotti. Shane made those. She loves to bake, and I think she puts something magical in everything she does. She makes these tea blends.”

“Thank you.” Jory sat all the way up. Her fingers traced the pattern on the quilt. “I’m sorry to barge in on you and then fall asleep.”

Had everyone else gone home? Of course they had. They couldn’t spend the day waiting for her to wake up. How would she get her stuff and check in to the Graff? Was there even a room?

“I work nights.”

Yeah, that was the excuse for her rudeness.

“Yes. I know. But you needed the rest to reset, and now I think it’s time we say goodbye.”

“Yes, of course.” Jory quickly put her tea down on the nightstand and scrambled to her feet. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no. Drink your tea. It’s good that you don’t work tonight. I wanted to wait for the day to be sliding into night, but not too late. I was young when I married and had Jace. And my family was troubled. My father-in-law drank. He was descending into a dark place. My husband was busy trying to save the ranch. He was a good man. A hard worker, but it seemed like nothing would go right. It felt dark to me. Cursed. I felt…” she looked at Jory placidly “…souls trying to talk to me, but I couldn’t hear them fully. It was like whispers, mumbles, but they were lost, desperate to find their way home. Now I think I know why, Jory, and we want to help them. You can help them.”

“Huh?” Jory looked around the room a little weirded out. Where were her shoes?

“So many deaths,” Mandy mused, sipping her tea, and Jory’s knees weakened, and she sat back down on the bed, facing Mandy who rocked gently back and forth in a rocking chair that looked as if it was old, but had been refinished. Of course. She would want a chair to rock her first grandchild. Maybe she’d rocked her son and then Willow in that chair.

“I’m so sorry, Mandy.” She touched her knee as she rocked into her space and then back out again. The movement was soothing, almost mesmerizing. “I’ve been unbearably selfish. I’ve been thinking of my own pain. My own loss, but you lost Jace and your husband less than a year ago.”

“Loss is such an unusual word to use for death, isn’t it?” Mandy asked, her gaze on the ceiling that had shiny gold stars—different sizes—painted on it, and each star had a crystal in the center.

It was sweet and sophisticated, and longing swept through Jory to have her own home she could decorate instead of a series of hotels and short-stay furnished rentals. What if she found a home in Marietta? What if she had a child and could decorate a nursery? Wonder speared through her. Even in this tragedy of loss, there might be hope. Fear and excitement quivered through her, tangled.

“I didn’t lose Jace. He was killed far from home, but his spirit is here, watching over me and Willow and his brothers,” she said calmly. “He likes the idea of the goats—it will keep me out of my head. He’s thrilled that Willow has found Huck and that she’s expecting again. I suspect he knows Cross’ Shane is also pregnant, but she’s keeping it a secret until the second trimester because she had an earlier loss so shshsh.”

Mandy put a finger to her lips and rocked back and forth, and it was mesmerizing. She smiled at Jory. “Jace gives me strength and comfort. My husband was lost. He killed himself after hearing about Jace. His daddy did the same when Jace was fourteen. He always drank too much but when Jace was in middle school, he never climbed out of a bottle. Neither of those men have found peace yet.”

“I’m sorry.” Nervously Jory plucked at her abdomen. Her period would start today. Or it wouldn’t. And then she’d know. And she’d have hope—life and death balanced.

“You have the sight?”

“What?”

Mandy smiled. “Your baby.”

“Oh.” Heat flushed through her, and she stood up. “It’s way too soon. I’m not even late,” Jory said. “And I’m not in a relationship.”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

Jory sat down again, feeling so off-balanced by the conversation and her life. “I know. I’m a doctor, but…”

Willow’s mom sat forward and covered Jory’s abdomen. It was such a strange thing to do, and yet Jory let her.

“You’ll be loving parents. That’s what you’re both afraid of.” Mandy took her hand away. Took her last sip of tea. “Embrace the fear. It’s part of life and the one emotion you can learn the most from.”

“I’m not…I’d like a baby.” Jory said the words aloud for the first time. “But my life’s not situated yet, and it’s too early to know.”

Although Jory felt pregnant. Science would tell her that she wouldn’t feel any different, and yet over the years, some women had said they knew the instant they conceived. Jory didn’t know what to think, but the fact that she’d wavered on taking the Plan B when it had made perfect sense to take it and not look back seemed to be a message.

“Maybe there is a balance in the universe,” she blurted.

Mandy smiled. “There is, if you know how to look, but it’s not presented on a plate.” She stood up. “I see light in you, Jory. I think you will be a good friend to Willow and your daughters will be lifelong friends,” Mandy said. “I can keep a secret if it’s the right kind and for the right reason, so I will say nothing and wait for your happy announcement.”

Was this real? Was this even happening? But it felt right. She followed Mandy to the door. Mandy paused, her hand on the handle.

“There have been too many secrets on this land,” she said. “Too many sorrows, but a change is coming. The Telfords have open hearts and a community spirit and so much love that they will heal the land and have success.

“Barb and I have reconciled, and we both let go of the painful parts of our pasts so we can embrace a future. And now, Jory, it’s time for you to do the same.”

Jory wasn’t sure what to think when she and Mandy walked out of the house as if she were going to visit the garden or the goats, but instead she was greeted by a semi-circle of seven women.

She knew Willow, and Shane and Gin from the barbecue, Edi from the May Bell Center, but the other three women introduced themselves—Riley Telford, a petite blonde with a mischievous smile; Tucker Wilder, who worked with Willow; and Sky Wilder, a metal sculptor, who wanted to create a ‘simple memorial to mark the site for the future generations of Quinns.’

Jory was so overwhelmed by the unexpected support and the idea of future generations of Quinns visiting where her father and brother had abruptly lost their lives that she couldn’t do more than a quick handwave and blink back tears.

“Let’s do this.” Willow slid her arm around her, and they all piled in several cars and drove down gravel roads, kicking up dust that danced in the setting sun.

Jory steeled herself to look at the gaping hole again, but it was covered by a tarp and yellow crime scene tape and barriers. The awful machine claw was gone, and bouquets of flowers ringed the site. The caravan parked up at the top of the rise, facing down because according to Mandy, who seemed to be running this odd little show, the confused spirits needed to find their path home.

They walked down in silence, and if anyone thought this was weird, they didn’t show it. Jory would have thought she’d be one of the doubters if this idea had been pitched to her, but it felt right—dreamlike, but the right thing to do.

Jory thought about her brother and father dying so senselessly. She wondered if they’d been killed instantly or had suffered, alone at the side of the road frightened and in pain, hoping someone would come along to help them.

Her hand brushed her abdomen. Had her father been conscious enough to fear for his son? Had her brother died first, and her father didn’t want to go on? These thoughts should have made it difficult to function, except seeing all these women here—somber, respectful and full of light and kindness, eased the ache in her heart. And as she watched the women about to participate in something they maybe didn’t understand and perhaps didn’t believe in, she was touched that they all did what they were asked.

Maybe together they could comfort the spirits of her father and brother. And with her new community of friends, her father and brother wouldn’t be forgotten. An artist would memorialize them. Jory played with her medallion. Should she save it for her child or give it to Sky to add to the sculpture?

“I feel like my mother should be here,” Jory said guiltily. But she hadn’t even called her mother to tell her yet. Maybe the cops would. Damn. Her mom should hear it from her first.

“We’ll do something special for her if she chooses,” Mandy promised, and everyone nodded. “This is for you and your father and brother’s spirits. And this is for us to welcome you back into the arms of the community,” Mandy said, her voice taking on a different intonation. “I have felt different spirits passing through or trapped on the ranch, but when Jace was a young teen, everything changed. He changed. My father-in-law changed. The feel of the land was unsettled and growing darker. I was younger then, struggling with depression and the stresses of motherhood and a husband who was always busy. I didn’t understand what was needed then.”

Did she now?

Logically Jory should feel full of doubt, but she didn’t. And she didn’t want to turn to facts or science. She wanted this community.

Mandy’s sister, Barb, handed out battery-operated lanterns even though there was plenty of light—the place where sunset meets twilight, pink-gold edging toward gray and purple.

Then Shane handled out bundled herbs. Jory sniffed. Sage. It smelled pretty. Mandy lit the sticks and began to walk in a circle. They followed her also waving their smudging sticks and, at Mandy’s direction, formed a large circle. They circled three times before Barbara, Willow’s aunt, collected the sage and dipped them in a small bucket of water.

“Rosemary for assisting the cleansing,” Mandy said after they all had a sprig. They rubbed their hands along the rosemary leaves to release the pungent scent and then dropped it where they stood and waved their hands toward the sky. “Pine for healing.”

Shane handed out sprigs of pine, and they repeated the process.

“Basil for protection. Lavender for happiness.”

They again rubbed the leaves and then the blooms and dropped the herbs at their feet.

“We will plant these two red-osier dogwood shrubs to preserve your father and brother’s memories. The dogwood is a symbol of love undiminished by adversity and time,” Mandy said. “And you, Jory, must commit to tending to these shrubs until they can thrive on their own.”

Nodding through her tears, knowing exactly what the commitment meant, she and the others took turns digging into the soil. Shane and Riley carried two bags of mulch over to the holes to enrich the soil and added water before Jory planted one dogwood. She thought she should plant the other, but Willow did, whispering that it would ease the stain on the McBride family. They all took turns watering the shrubs. Jory had chosen to flank the road leading up to what had once been a shortcut to McBride and Quinn land.

Then Willow, with dirty hands, hugged her, and this time Jory hugged back. And then all the women hugged each other, crying, laughing. They smelled of earth and herbs and life, and the doubt and pain in Jory eased, leaving her feeling lighter.

She wondered if she should make a little speech. Say something about her brother or her father. Instead, she stared at the two plants and the women all looked at her except Sky who stood off from the group looking at the living memorial with a dreamy expression on her face.

“Thank you,” Jory said softly, never meaning any two words more.

“Thank you.”

They walked up the hill, this time holding the battery-operated lanterns to ease away the dark.

Riley started singing ‘Amazing Grace.’ And on the second verse Mandy and her sister joined in and on the third verse, Jory—who hadn’t sung publicly since her elementary school musical after her father and brother disappeared—joined in, holding her lantern high to light her way.

*

Calhoun paced thelength of the pine floor of the farmhouse living room up and down. Kai picked up on his agitation and sat at attention.

“Sorry, buddy,” he muttered, but couldn’t stand still. And he couldn’t sit. He’d betrayed Jory. The look when she’d seen the little skeletal arm exposed; her keening cry had burned and screamed through him more than any bullet ever had. He’d felt ripped wide open.

He ached for her and was furious with himself. But how should he have handled it?

‘Hey, I think your dad and brother had car trouble and were walking home and were victims of a hit-and-run and buried to hide the crime.’

Just the thought of that callousness—or the desperate fear—made him want to scream out the injustice to the universe. He hurt for her. He hurt for him, selfish bastard that he was.

And she still hadn’t come home.

He heard the crunch of gravel and saw headlights coming up the drive, and he practically ripped the door off the hinges.

“Jory, baby, I’m…” He broke off. It was a large black truck with the logo for some ranch beginning with aW that had pulled up.

Cross stared at him—his silvery-gray eyes felt like the slash of a blade. He cut the engine and climbed out.

“You tight?” Cross asked with what he probably thought was deceptive calm.

“No. I’m pissed.” Calhoun stalked out of the house, gearing for a fight—anything to take the edge off.

“You think you can take me?” Cross looked amused, and that lit Calhoun’s fuse.

He took two more steps up into Cross’s space, even though the man had three inches and probably thirty more pounds of muscle. Cross’s eyes glinted before he slammed a hand against his chest like a battering ram.

“Suck it up. You’re not one hundred percent, and when you are, I’ll gladly take you on.”

“We can do it now.” Heat crashed through Calhoun when he saw Cross’ evil smile.

“I’m feeling the cut of the edge myself,” Cross said, taking another step into him as if daring Calhoun to take the first swing. “But you promised Jace.”

Cross might as well have pulled the plug on the testosterone and fury raging through him. Calhoun swore and staggered a step back and sat on the second porch step.

“I fucked up,” he admitted. “Jory wanted to help me figure out what had happened to her father and brother. She thought we were searching for clues as to where they might have gone. I kept most of my suspicions to myself. I kept what I learned to myself. Hell, I nearly stepped on two weathered, broken crosses in the middle of a field and said nothing to her. I found a truck in an old shed that was overgrown and caving in and still said nothing. I wanted all the information before I told her.”

“Arrogant.”

“I wanted to protect her.” He ran a hand through his hair. His hand was trembling—trembling. He didn’t do emotion, and he sure as hell didn’t do mea culpas after his childhood where his father was a vicious junkyard dog with a veneer of sophistication, looking to tear out his gullet for the smallest of mistakes.

“Would have been just as big an idiot and done the same.” Cross pinched his nose. “That’s why I’m here. Fix it.”

“Fix it,” he repeated. “How? Why?”

“You don’t think I know when a man’s about to cut and run?” Cross glared.

“I can’t stay,” Calhoun stated without flinching even though he’d been thinking that maybe he could stay and work with his brothers. Train Kai for search and rescue, to accompany him on wilderness survival weekends with a bunch of rich idiots.

Pricks like my family.

He almost smiled thinking about what the Coyotes would think of his term for their target client.

“So you’re going to run? Where? Why?”

Calhoun drew in a breath. Why. He’d tell Cross why. But no words came.

“Because it’s easy?”

“It’s not easy.” His temper stirred.

“Yeah, it’s easy, rich prick.” Cross sneered. “You ran away from your family legacy instead of carving out your place and creating your own legacy. You walked away from your West Point education and training so you could enter as enlisted and eventually apply for Special Forces, and instead of grabbing a leadership position so you could make a difference, improve things, you chose to be a K9 handler when you probably could have been running the whole show on your ass at the Pentagon by now.”

“I don’t want to run any show.” He sounded like a sulky kid, but Cross was just warming up.

“Then you find family—brothers. But you hold back on them—who you are, where you came from. And when we muster out and plan to build something for ourselves—lives, community, families, a business. You throw some money at us and plan to scuttle off in the dark like a cockroach. We’re a team. You don’t cut and run.”

“I ran from Jace,” he said, his throat raw. “I saw Kai take two hits, and I ran for him. Got him out of fire and patched up.” Guilt curdled his blood, and he braced for Cross’s rejection.

“I wasn’t there. I had my own screw-up on a mission,” Cross barked. “But I read the report. Huck patched up Jace. He was there. He was our best. But even he couldn’t save him. Kai was an officer. He served us admirably and you saved him. Stop running.”

“I’m not.”

“BS. You’re backing away so you can run. You’re abandoning your brothers. You toyed with a vulnerable woman, made her feel special and gave her friends and family, and now you’re going to walk instead of apologize for taking over the investigation into her dad and brother’s deaths. Tell her you F’ed up, and that you’ll do better next time.”

Cross made it sound so easy.

“You think I don’t want to stay? You don’t think I want to hold on to Jory with both hands, build a business with my brothers?”

“Then do it.”

“I can’t. I don’t want to bring my father’s attention to anything I do. I build a business with you, market it like it has to be marketed, hook the clientele we want to hook, he’ll notice. And he’ll poison it all, turn us against each other, take it all away from you just because he can.”

His voice broke, and he waited for Cross’s reaction, which typical Cross, wasn’t much.

“Sounds like a prick.”

And then some.

“How old were you when you left home?”

“Eighteen. Never went back.”

Cross got in his face, and eerily reminded him of Jace. “Big O, you ain’t eighteen anymore. And neither are we. You think your old man can break us? Let him try.”

Calhoun could hear the sincerity in Cross’s voice, and he could almost hear Jace fist-bumping God and shouting ‘bring it,’ followed by a string of inventive curses.

“You do not want to run up against my demon seed of a father.”

“Think I’m scared what some entitled billionaire thinks?” Cross made a sound of disgust. “But you do, so go make peace with the fucker and get your ass back here to build our own business empire in God’s Big Beautiful Blue Sky Country.”

Calhoun felt exhausted, like he’d run an ultramarathon.

“Is this your crude version of tough love?”

“I think I’d have more impact talking to Kai.” Cross stalked past him and knelt down by Kai, spoke to him softly and stroked him—at least Calhoun thought that was what he was doing. He sat staring straight ahead, seeing himself through Cross’s eyes—a coward, a man who ran. His father had wanted a fighter for the family, a taker.

Calhoun had joined the army as a giant FU to his family’s legacy of land ownership, farming, ranching and real estate development and financial investing—empire building. But instead, he’d learned to literally fight and help build empires far from home. And he’d become a damn good runner.

“Our service for Jace is Memorial Day weekend.” Cross stood up. “Do what you need to do before that, but if you’re running out on us—” Cross’s eyes glinted liquid mercury “—take your damn land and big banking account with you. The Coyote Cowboys are a team. We solve our problems together. We build our empire together. We fight our enemies together.”

Cross slammed his way out the door and drove away.

Calhoun opened the door, thinking to call out, but the words just banged around his head. Kai joined him, and they both watched Cross’s taillights disappear.

It took him another forty-seven minutes to formulate a plan—not nearly enough, but it would have to do.

He texted Cross.

Don’t count me out yet.

And then Rohan.

Got a demon to slay. Back in a couple of days.

He thought about leaving Jory a note. Or texting her to see if she was okay, but he’d heard from his brothers that all of their wives, along with Willow’s mother, had taken Jory under their collective wings. And what he had to say wasn’t fit for a text. ‘I’m sorry’ wouldn’t cut it. He wanted to come to her clean, ready for the next stage of his life—with her, with the Coyotes.

She deserved him whole and looking at her when he said what he had to say and told her what he wanted.

He touched the tattoo that scrolled down his side and then went inside to pack a few clothes and enough food for Kai for a few days.