Chapter 10

Rusty and Clay rode side by side to the barn. She was flushed from laughter, her hair tangled from the wind, but smiling as she looked over at Clay, the man she loved. She extended her hand to him. Just as their hands touched, a loud rapport rang out, spooking the horses, causing them to prance nervously. Fleetfoot reared up, making Clay fight to stay in the saddle.

Being less nervous by nature and soothed by having Rusty rubbing his neck, Beau settled quickly and she whirled him around and shot off toward the paddock. Her eyes raked over the stock. A moment later she was out of the saddle and climbing the fence, heedless of the concealed threat.

Clay reached the fence to see Rusty in the middle of more than a dozen frightened horses, pawing and prancing nervously, their high whinnies filling the air. Rusty seemed oblivious to the danger of tons of horseflesh and sharp hooves as she knelt over the prone body of a chestnut mare.

He vaulted the fence and ran to her.

“She’s been shot!” Rusty’s hands were plastered over the wound, trying to stop the bubbling blood.

Clay knelt down beside her. “It’s not fatal. It got her high enough on the leg that she’ll make it. We just have to get that bullet out and stop the bleeding.”

“We can’t let her die.” Rusty looked at him with pleading eyes. “We have to save her.”

“We will. Just keep pressure on the wound while I get the medical kit.”

Clay took off for the barn. Rusty pressed down on the wound, took a deep slow breath and closed her eyes. She thought of the joy of a few moments earlier, and the grace she’d felt bestowed upon her in the mountain clearing. Suddenly all of the noise around her vanished. In that silence she poured all of her energy, offering her life force to the wounded animal, willing the horse’s wounded body to heal.

She felt heat gather in her hands. Within moments her skin felt as if a branding iron had been pressed to her palms. Sweat broke out and poured down her face, stained her clothing and turned her dark hair into sodden strands.

The pain intensified until she was gritting her teeth so hard her jaws hurt. She refused to give in to the pain. The horse was an innocent life, harmed by the evil intent of another and she refused to let that be.

“You will heal,” she hissed between clenched teeth. “By all that is holy and good, you will heal.”

“Rusty, no!”

Clay’s voice filtered into the silence that bound her, but she couldn’t cease her efforts. She could feel strength flow from her to the horse, feel the beat of the animal’s heart getting stronger and steadier. Just a few more moments was all she needed.

Like being yanked from a deep sleep, she was wrested away, the contact broken.

“No!” she screamed, beating at the arms that held her. “Let go! I have to save her! I have to—”

“You already did!” Clay shouted then lowered his voice. “Darlin’, look. Look. Can’t you see, you already did?”

Rusty’s head whipped around to look. Sure enough the wound had stopped bleeding.

“But the bullet’s still in there,” she whispered. “Clay, we have to get the vet here quick or infection will set in and—”

“I’m on it, baby,” he interrupted, pulling his cell phone from his belt and dialing as he spoke.

“Yeah, hey. Clay Russell over her at Blackhawk Ranch. We’ve got a horse with a gun shot. We’ve stopped the bleeding but the bullet needs to come out.”

He listened to the response then replied, “Will do. Half an hour.”

Rusty looked up at him as he ended the call. “Doc said to bandage it up and get her in the trailer. He’ll be set up to operate as soon as I get her there.”

She nodded silently. Together they got the mare to her feet. Rusty led her toward the barn as Clay ran and hooked up his truck to one of the trailers. Working together, they had the mare loaded and bandaged inside of ten minutes.

“Come on,” he said as he secured the door to the trailer.

Rusty stepped back, shaking her head. “You take her. Someone has to stay here. Get the rest of the stock into the stalls.”

“Rusty, whoever shot her is still out there. You can’t stay. Either come with me or you go and I’ll stay here.”

“No.”

“Rusty, listen to reason. There’s someone out there with—”

“Clay, I know what I’m doing,” she interrupted softly. “Please. Trust me. I can handle this. Just get Blackberry to the vet.”

Clay started to argue but she took his arm, squeezing urgently. “Please, I need to know that she’s being taken care of. And I need to take care of the stock. I promise, no harm will come to them or me while you’re gone.”

He opened his mouth again to argue but decided against it when he saw the lights start to dance in her eyes, and heard Koda’s voice in his mind. I will safeguard her, human. Go do what needs to be done. We will be here when you return.

Clay looked down at Koda then at Rusty. She nodded and stood up on tiptoes to place a soft kiss on his lips. “Come home to me,” she whispered then released him and hurried toward the paddock, whistling for the horses as she went.

“You find the bastard that did this,” Clay said to Koda. “Don’t hurt him. Just find him and get me a name.”

And then?

“Then this shit stops,” Clay growled.

Koda cocked his head, regarded Clay for a brief moment then turned and ran toward the paddock where Rusty was already herding the horses toward the paddock gate.

Clay climbed in the truck, cut one look over his shoulder at the brave woman he loved, then started the truck and pulled away.

Rusty watched the truck disappear from sight. She knew Clay didn’t understand why she wouldn’t go with him. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that she was afraid he would be the next in the rifle sights if he stayed.

She finished getting the horses into their stalls and feeding them, then she and Koda walked together to the barn door.

Rusty put her hand on Koda’s head. “It’s the Stikeleathers. They’re the ones behind all this, Koda. Question is, why can’t the law pin them? They’re not that smart.”

One of them is.

Rusty cut him a sharp look. A split second later her eyes widened. “Of course! Davy. That smarmy little slime.”

Don’t underestimate your opponent. He has successfully outwitted your law and avoided capture thus far.

“You’re right. But…” She turned to Koda with a grin. “I do have one ace left up my sleeve.”

Koda laughed. I was wondering how long it would take for you to realize that there are ways to deal with evil that lay beyond the preview of your law.

Rusty dropped down on one knee and looped her arm around Koda’s neck. “Right, partner. So what we have to do is come up with a nice little varmit trap. But first, tell me. Is he still out there?”

Koda grew very still, sniffing the air with closed eyes. Yes.

“Think you could round up enough friends to give him a scare if I put a charm lock on his weapon?”

I don’t need reinforcements for that.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to imply you aren’t up for the job. Just thought some of the gang might enjoy taking part in the fun. And it has been a while since you’ve run with the pack. I know you miss them, Koda. And I’ll be fine here. Clay will be back soon. And maybe I’ll ask the owls to keep an eye out in case Davy comes back. I’ll call if I need you.”

So be it.

Koda gave her hand a lick then trotted out of the barn and disappeared into the growing darkness.

Rusty watched him go, then closed her eyes and took several long slow breaths. She opened her eyes, staring sightlessly into the darkness, her hands moving in the air before her, her lips muttering the words of a charm. Three times three she repeated the charm, weaving the spell with her hands. Then she snapped the fingers of her right hand. A brilliant flare of light accompanied the snap. The charm was in place.

Knowing that now Koda would be in no threat from a weapon forged by man, she headed for the house.

Inside it still stank of burned wood and fabric. She made her way to the rear of the house, where her mother’s room lay. It had survived the fire. Despite the stink that permeated the rest of the house this room still smelled as it always had. Of flower petals, herbs and oils.

“Could use your help now, Mom,” Rusty said as she went to the heavy carved armoire and opened the door. “I never was as good at this spell casting as you. Sure hope I remember what you taught me.”

She pulled a carved wooden box from the back of the armoire, tucked it under her arm, grabbed a thick old quilt that was draped over a chair, and left the room, closing the door behind her.

While her mother had always done her best magic in the kitchen, Rusty was cut from a slightly different cloth. Perhaps it was her father’s blood in her, but her power was stronger outside where she was connected with the earth.

She went out behind the bunkhouse, beneath the shelter of an ancient oak. Spreading the quilt on the damp grass, she sat down, setting the box between her legs.

The hinged lid opened easily despite all the years it had sat unused. Inside lay the implements of power, passed on to her from her mother.

Rusty smiled as she beheld the collection. Even laughed out loud as she recalled her mother telling her that she’d never feared that her precious collection would be stolen. For who would think such items as her treasures had value?

Rusty lifted the most powerful and beautiful of all the objects. A feather. A simple feather of brown and white and rust. She waved the feather in the air before her, seeing a trail of light wafting in its wake.

Asking for blessings and guidance, she waved the feather in a gentle dance, tracing lines and symbols in the air, the trailing light creating a visual yet quickly fading pattern in the darkness.

Once the blessing had been requested, she returned the feather to the box and picked up the next object. A small glass vial of water. Inside it was a tiny shell, plucked from the sea at dawn.

Rusty pulled the cork from the bottle and wet her right index finger with one drop. Pressing the damp tip of her finger in the center of her forehead, on her throat and the center of her chest, she pictured the vastness of the Earth’s water, its gentleness and its power. That which is so weak yet so strong.

The third object was another glass vial containing dark black soil. Collected from the highlands of the place of her mother’s line, and the mountains from whence her father came, it was the sacred spirit of the earth. Rusty uncorked it and dribbled a tiny amount into the palm of her hand.

She uttered a chant, appealing to the spirit of the Earth, asking for clarity and steadfastness to stand firm and solid in her resolve to end the evil.

The objects to be taken from the box came from her father’s people, a stick worn smooth from the hands that had held it. Attached to the top of the stick was a rope, fastened so that it acted as a type of pulley.

Rusty rose and felt around on the ground beside the quilt. She found a small piece of wood, broken dry and splintered. Positioning the tip of the stick onto the dry wood, she gripped each end of the rope and started rotating the stick, faster and faster.

Minutes passed. Sweat streamed down her face, but her efforts never slowed. Then she saw it, a tiny puff of smoke. Faster and faster she spun the stick. Another puff of smoke rose from the dry wood, then a minute spark of red.

Gently she blew on the igniting ember, spinning the stick without pause. The ember ignited and she laid the starting stick back in the box, breathing gently on the tiny flame.

Bowing her head, she offered thanks for the fire, and made her request. That her efforts be forged in the fire of truth, burned free of ego and self-service. That she be allowed to stop the evil that stained her land and robbed beings of life. She asked for justice to be served in a way that no life was lost.

For a long time she watched the flame. It grew and consumed the wood that fed it and when the fuel was gone, diminished and disappeared. It was not until the wood was without heat, that she put it aside, closed the box then lay back and stared up through the leaves of the tree at the deepening sky, waiting for her answer.

It came in the form of the sound of Clay’s truck coming down the drive. Suddenly she knew how to do it. With his help, they would trap the Stikeleathers and bring them to justice without ever striking a blow.

Excitedly, she gathered up the box and quilt and hurried to the house, with hope in her heart that her horse was okay.

Clay no sooner stopped the truck than Rusty was pulling open the door. “How’s Blackberry? Did he get the bullet out? Will there be any permanent damage? Do you know what kind of gun it came from? Did Doc Wilson give you the bullet? Are you—”

“Slow down, darlin’,” Clay interrupted as he slid out of the truck and took hold of her arms. “First. Blackberry will be fine. Doc Wilson says chances are good that she’ll recover fully, but probably will never see competition.”

“Who cares? ‘Long as she’s okay.”

“That’s my gal. The slug came from a deer rifle. Doc says we can check in town to see who all owns one, but it’s bound to be a long list.”

“I already know who it was.”

“And you found that out how?”

“Koda told me.”

“Koda.”

She nodded. “It was one of the Stikeleathers. Clay, I think I have it figured out.”

He regarded her with a healthy dose of skepticism. “You got it all figured out while I was gone.”

“Yep.”

“Something you’re not telling me, darlin’?”

“No.”

Clay guided her toward the bunkhouse. “Let’s start over, okay. I left and you…”

“I told Koda that I was certain it was the Stikeleathers but didn’t understand why they’d eluded the law ‘cause they aren’t the brightest bulbs on the strand. And he reminded me that one of them is.”

Clay took her hand and guided her to the wooden bench on the porch of the bunkhouse. “One of them is what?”

“Smart. Davy. He’s the runt of the litter. And the youngest. Coming from a family that thinks might makes right, he had a hard time growing up. He was always getting pushed around because he was small and not very strong.

“I remember Danny saying once that Davy had more brains than all the rest of them combined.”

“Could have been nothing more than the boast of a brother, hon.”

“No. He was right. Davy isn’t book smart, but there’s always been a kind of creepy intelligence about him.”

“Creepy?”

“Yeah. He really creeps me out. I’d rather face one of the brutes like Donny than Davy. With Donny you know what you’re up against. But Davy’s different. He’s the type to stab you in the back. And he’s a pervert.”

Clay cut her a look. “I’m serious!” she exclaimed. “He used to sneak around and try to get a look at me in the shower and stuff and once I caught him outside the window when Danny was trying to get in my pants.”

“Well that still doesn’t make him a criminal mastermind.”

“Fine, don’t believe me.” She pulled her hand from his and stood to walk out into the yard. “Koda!” she called softly. “Did you get rid of him?”

Clay stood when Koda’s voice sounded in his mind. As predicted, it was the youngest of the brood. At the moment he’s on foot, running for what he thinks is his life as the pack has fun chasing him.

Rusty turned with a smile to report to Clay, but he waved his hand to stop her. “I heard.”

Rusty was a little surprised that Koda was allowing Clay to stay tuned in but figured that was Koda’s choice.

“Okay, I’m convinced,” Clay said and patted the bench beside him. “But we can hardly take the word of your wolf to the law.”

“We don’t have to take anything to the law,” Rusty said as she stepped back up onto the porch.

“You wanna explain that, Sassy?”

“Gladly, Mr. Russell,” she said with a wicked grin. “If you want to trap a rat you just have to leave the right bait.”

Clay pushed his hat off his head and set it on the bench beside him. “I get the feeling I’m not going to like this.”

“Oh, I think you’ll like it well enough,” she said and sat down beside him. “And you get to play a starring role.”

Clay groaned and leaned back against the wooden wall. “Okay, let’s hear it.”

* * * * *

Davy burst through the front door, out of breath and as wet as if he’d just come in out of a rainstorm. Davis was sitting at the kitchen table with a mason jar of corn liquor in his hand.

“Damn fool!” Davis shouted. “You damn near made me spill my drink! What the hell’s matter with you, boy?”

Davy started to blurt out the story but stopped. If he told his father that Rusty had sicced a pack of wolves on him, Davis would laugh in his face and say he was a liar, that he’d just gotten spooked and run off, just like always.

One thing Davy could count on was Davis belittling him, making him out to be a spineless coward because he didn’t like to settle things with his fists.

“Where’s the boys?” he asked instead.

“Out pussyfootin’ far as I know.” Davis returned his attention back to his jar of liquor.

Davy hurried back to his room and snatched off his wet clothes. He’d take a shower and head on over to Stella’s. She might not be much, but she was eager and he was suddenly feeling a hunger that only a night of sex would cure.