Hunter Moon. Jenna Kernan

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       Chapter Six

      Izzie did not sleep well or much. Her wake-up call the next morning was Gabe Cosen serving her with notice that the remainder of her cows would be seized and quarantined. Her mother returned from running errands and confronted her about seeing “that Cosen boy again.” Her mother loved gossip, unless she or her family were the subject of talk. Izzie wondered if her mother ever tired of being above reproach.

      “Of all the people in this tribe to call. Really, Isabella. What were you thinking? What about that nice Mr. Patch? He certainly has made his interest known. And he has all that cattle.”

      Izzie cringed, and her mother’s hands went to her hips.

      “What’s wrong with him? I mean, we could certainly use some help around here.”

      “We’re doing fine.” At least they had been yesterday. Now she felt as if the ground beneath her was sliding away.

      “I mean, Clay Cosen, do you honestly want our name and his linked? Your father certainly didn’t.”

      The below-the-belt blow hit home. Izzie flinched. It had been her father’s opposition that had finally gotten her to break it off with Clay. She’d been so sure her parents would change their minds about Clay, and then he had been arrested. Case closed. Her mother had basked in smug satisfaction at being right again while her father had offered comfort. How she missed her father, still, every single day.

      “I don’t want that man on my land again,” she said to Izzie.

      Izzie wanted to tell her mother that the land did not belong to them, but to the tribe. They had use of it by permit only. She wanted to tell her mother that she was a grown woman who could see who she liked, and she wanted to tell her mother that running the ranch was not her business because her husband had left that job to Izzie. Instead she said, “I’ve got chores.”

      “But wait. I want to hear what is going on up there.”

      Izzie kept going, knowing that her mother didn’t want anything badly enough to walk into a pasture dotted with cow pies and buzzing with flies. Izzie changed direction and headed for her pickup, deciding that would be faster than riding Biscuit.

      “He’s trouble,” her mother called after her.

      Izzie swung up behind the wheel. “Mom, I’ve got bigger trouble right now than Clay Cosen.” So why was she thinking of him instead of how to get back her cows? “I just got notice. They’re taking the rest of the herd, Mom.”

      Carol pressed a hand to her chest. “But why?”

      “Quarantined.”

      “But...you... They... Isabella Nosie, you have to get them back.”

      Finally, something on which they agreed.

      “Working on it.” She pulled the truck door closed and started the engine, using the wipers to move the dust that blanketed her windshield.

      Izzie headed up to the area where Clay had found the dead cows and now saw that a large white tent had been erected over the spot. Several pickups were parked beside the police cars in the gravel pad. Only one was familiar. It belonged to her neighbor Floyd Patch.

      Izzie groaned as Floyd headed straight toward her. His gait was rushed, almost a jog. His skinny legs carried his round body along, reminding Izzie of a running ostrich. He was short, prematurely gray, with bulging eyes and skin that shone as if it had been recently waxed. His usual smile had been replaced by a look that hovered between stormy and category-five tornado.

      She didn’t even have the driver’s-side door shut when he was on her like a hungry flea on a hound. He hitched his fists against his narrow hips and drew himself up, making his shirt draw tight across his paunch. It was hard for Izzie to recall that she’d initially found his attentions flattering. Now she greeted his occasional appearances with the reluctant resignation of an oncoming headache.

      “I don’t appreciate you sending the police to my door,” said Floyd, his voice higher than usual.

      “I did no such thing.”

      “Asking me where I was yesterday and checking the tires of my truck, as if I’m some kind of criminal. They ought to check Clay Cosen’s tires. I heard he was up here yesterday. What did you tell them, that I poisoned your cattle?”

      “No, I never—”

      “And I have to find out from the police that you’ve got cows dying up here.”

      “Floyd, it only just happened.”

      “Yesterday. And you didn’t think I might want to know? I’ve got my own herd to protect.” He pointed in the direction of his pastures, across the road and down the hill. His pasture was rocky and more wooded, because her ancestors had invested more sweat in clearing the land.

      “There’s been no contact between your cattle and mine, and you haven’t been on my property in two weeks or more. Your herd is in no danger.”

      Floyd’s gaze flicked away, and he pursed his lips. Had he been on her land?

      His gaze swung back to hers. “If there is no danger, then why did they quarantine your herd?”

      “A precaution.”

      “I understand that one of your dead cows had green stuff in its mouth. That’s not normal.”

      If Floyd knew that, then everyone else did. “Who told you that?”

      He didn’t answer, just continued on. “What if it gets in the water? What if it’s airborne? Three cows don’t just drop. Something killed them.”

      “Floyd, I have to go,” she said.

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