Hunter Moon. Jenna KernanЧитать онлайн книгу.
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 His usual smile had been replaced by a look that hovered between stormy and category-five tornado.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.
The day just got worse from there. Izzie spent the afternoon waiting for information outside the necropsy tent of the State Office of Veterinarian Services. By day’s end, she knew only that the cows had showed renal and liver damage, mucus in the lungs and swelling in their brains. Cause of death was ruled as sudden cardiac arrest in all three. As to why, well, that was the question. What was it, and was it contagious?
The best answer she received was that more tests were needed. On the way back to her truck, Izzie found Chief Gabe Cosen speaking to Clay, who was sweat-stained, saddle-worn and sexy as hell. Clay noticed her approach and gave her a sad smile.
“Didn’t think you’d be back up here,” she said to Clay. “After your boss warned you off.”
Chief Gabe Cosen quirked his brow at her. Clay’s brother was handsome with classic good looks and that distinctive angular jaw shared by all the Cosen brothers. But it was only Clay who made her heart pound.
“I was just telling Clay that I’d served you notice to collect the rest of your herd. I’m sorry, Izzie.”
She pressed her lips together to resist the temptation of tears.
“And he told me that you hired him to have a look around yesterday.”
Of course Clay told his brother. Did she really expect him to pick her needs over his brother’s investigation?
“I’m looking into who cut your fences. Sorry for your troubles.” Gabe tipped his hat, the gray Stetson the tribal police wore in the cold season. He turned to Clay. “Well, I’ve got to verify what you found.” With that the chief of police made a hasty retreat.
“What did you find?”
“I wanted to tell you yesterday, but you’d gone when I got back here, and I didn’t think you wanted me knocking on your front door.”
That made her flush.
“Was I wrong about that?”
Izzie thought of her mother’s earlier tizzy and shook her head. She let her shoulders slump. She lived for the day that her brothers were old enough to take over, and she could live her own life. But from the way it looked now, there would be nothing to pass along to them. Izzie rallied. She could not let that happen. No one and nothing would stop her from retrieving every last cow.
“I’ve got to get them back,” she said.
Clay motioned to her truck and lowered the back gate. Then he offered her a hand up. They sat side by side amid the comings and goings of inspectors, livestock managers, tribal council. More than one cast them a cursory glance, and she wondered which ones would be reporting to their wives, who would report to her mother later on. Her mother had connections like the roots of an ancient pinyon pine. They were branched and deep.
“It looks like the rodeo,” Izzie muttered.
“Yeah.” Clay surveyed their surroundings and then focused on her. “Izzie, you hired me to give you a report.”
“I can’t pay you now.” She lowered her head, fighting against the burning in her throat. Crying in front of Clay was too humiliating, so she cleared her throat and gritted her teeth until the constriction eased.
Clay