Page 2

Two

Stephanie

“I’m so sorry.”

I wave off Janey’s repeat apology.

I’d finally braved the grocery store in town, only to bump into her in the produce section. After this morning’s encounter with Jackson at the creek, it suddenly seemed moot to try and keep my presence in town a secret. It wasn’t going to last forever anyway.

I could sense he was curious and to avoid the close scrutiny from those somber brown eyes, I left him to deal with his bear and retreated inside. There, like the coward I am, I watched him from the safety of the small bathroom window.

Jackson is a bit of an enigma. He seems moody, a bit sharp-edged at times, but then there are these odd moments when he suddenly looks inexplicably fragile. Yet, there is nothing vulnerable about his tall, powerful body, despite his artificial limb.

Yes, I did my research when I was here last year. In part because I do my due diligence in every case I work, but I also looked into Jackson in particular because there was something intriguing about him. He seemed a bit uncomfortable in his skin, and looked almost out of place in small-town Montana. What I uncovered about him gave me some insight.

Twelve years in the armed forces with an honorable, medical discharge after he lost his right leg in what was described as a roadside incident. No further details or location, which is why I figured he was likely special ops. It fits.

All of this happened two years ago, so it’s not a surprise he’s still adjusting. Both to civilian life, and living with part of him missing. Although, you’d hardly be able to tell from the way he moves. His body is strong and his strides are long and almost graceful, despite the slight hesitation when he plants his right foot.

Still, for all his physical power and grit, there is something brittle about him. I saw it again this morning.

“It’s fine,” I tell Janey, while examining an avocado for ripeness. “I’m sure he had more reason to be shocked to see me there than the other way around.”

The avocado passes muster and is placed in my cart with the rest of my groceries. I’m loading up for at least another week or two.

“I plumb forgot about the start of hunting season,” Janey comments as she makes her way around the produce bins. “JD didn’t mention anything either. It’s a good hunting spot. Last fall, the two of them took down an elk on that stretch of land just east of the creek. We still have some meat left in the freezer, if you’d like some.”

Growing up, I can’t remember ever eating game meat, although my father supposedly went out on regular hunting trips. I only discovered later he was hunting animals of the two-legged variety. I’ve tried it since and enjoy a good elk steak or venison strap, but I’ve never actually cooked the meat myself.

“I love it, but to be honest, I wouldn’t know how to prepare it.”

Janey follows me as I circle around to the fruit and toss a few Honeycrisp apples in a bag.

“JD could tell you. He usually does the meat on the grill or in the smoker, and I think I have a good recipe somewhere for a nice stew I can dig up.”

I glance at her, suddenly curious.

“Hunting doesn’t bother you? I mean, being a vet and all?”

She grins and shakes her head.

“Not in the least, as long as it’s for food. I’d rather eat that than those impersonal packaged pieces of meat you find in the cooler. It’s too easy to forget that was an animal once, raised and kept under generally poor conditions for the sole purpose of ending up on a Styrofoam tray in a grocery store. At least the animals hunted for food had a fair chance and a free life.”

I glance over at the meat section where all the packages are neatly lined up, unrecognizable as having once been a living, breathing creature, and I at once feel guilty for all the years I’ve thoughtlessly grabbed an anonymous protein for my dinner.

Janey’s rationale definitely puts the bloody tableau I finally turned my back on this morning—as Jackson processed the bear on the other side of the creek—in a different perspective. What may have looked like a lot of messy work for some meat, suddenly seems the more fair and humane approach.

When I walk past the meat cooler without picking anything, Janey softly chuckles behind me.

“I’ll drop some elk off this afternoon, and I’m sure Jackson will be happy to share some bear meat too.”

I give her a thumbs-up and make my way through the aisles. I’m trying to stick to healthy food items, but when I get to the baking aisle, I find myself perusing the shelves, thinking maybe I can try some baking. I’ve read making your own sourdough bread can be gratifying. So I start by picking up a bag of flour and some yeast, but by the time I get to the cash register, my cart is almost full with other baking-related items.

Janey is through the checkout line faster than I am, but is waiting for me just outside the doors.

“I was thinking, why don’t you come over for dinner tonight? JD can give you a quick tutorial on how to cook elk meat and I can find you that recipe. That is, if you feel up to it,” she adds carefully.

I hesitate for a moment, wondering if maybe after my run-in with Jackson and this outing to Rosauers for groceries was enough for today. After my near solitary existence these past weeks, perhaps it’s too much people exposure at once. Then again, it feels almost rude to refuse after what they’ve done for me.

“Sure. Yes,” I reply clumsily, quickly adding, “I’d love to. I’ll bring dessert.”

Lord knows I bought enough baking ingredients to feed a family of six comfortably. At least I’ll have an opportunity to share some of those calories, otherwise they’ll just end up on my hips.

I load my groceries in my vehicle and wave at Janey a row over before climbing in behind the wheel. No sooner have I started my engine, when a call comes in over the CR-V’s sound system my phone automatically hooks into. The screen on my dashboard lists a Michigan number I don’t recognize, so I silence it and turn on the easy-listening playlist I found on Spotify.

If it’s important, they’ll leave a message.

* * *

Jackson

“That’s great. Yeah, we’re home, drop by any time.”

It had taken me a good chunk of the day to process that bear, and haul all of it in parts across the creek. No way I was going to get it to my truck any other way, he was a big guy. So I opted to butcher him in place. I’d already given Buck Adams—our fish and game warden—a heads-up, and he showed up to take a look to make sure this was the same bear they’d been receiving complaints about. He confirmed it and, with his blessing, I got to work.

It’s a messy job, but also very gratifying. There is some primal satisfaction in hunting and gathering to feed your clan. I could never eat all this meat by myself—heck, I wouldn’t even have the room to store it in my cabin—so it gets divided. Some of it will go to the ranch house for Jonas, my mother, and Thomas. At least half goes to JD; not only did I shoot the bear on his land, but even when we hunt together, we always split the meat between us.

My share is already hanging in bags in the garage at the ranch, where I’ll let it age for a couple of days before wrapping it up for the freezer. The other half is in the back of my truck waiting to be delivered. I’ve already taken a quick shower to wash the stench and the grime off me, and grabbed a quick bite to eat.

“I’m on my way,” I tell JD as I walk to the door.

My dog, Ash, starts to whine, none too pleased I’m leaving him alone again. He’s a border collie cross, smart as a whip, but very excitable. At not quite a year old, he’s going to need a bit more training before I let him tag along on a hunt.

“You wanna come see Ginger?” I ask him as I tuck my phone in my pocket and grab my keys off the hook.

Ash is by my side like a shot, his tail wagging furiously. Ginger is Janey’s dog—or I guess now both Janey and JD’s—and Ash loves her, even though she’s not that sure about him. He’s a bit too rambunctious still, but she doesn’t hesitate putting him in his place when he gets out of hand. Something that doesn’t appear to bother Ash in the least.

He’s already standing by the passenger side of my truck before I can close the door to my cabin.

“Heading out?” Thomas yells from his perch on the porch.

Thomas is technically my stepgrandfather. He’s my mother’s father-in-law. My dad died in combat when I was just thirteen. Ma was alone for a dozen or so years before she moved her horse rescue to Libby and bumped into a local rancher. That was Jonas, my stepdad, and Thomas is his father. Jonas doesn’t have kids of his own, and even though I was already twenty-three when I met him, he has treated me like his son. Maybe it’s because I was already older, but for some reason I’ve never called him Dad, although I do occasionally call Thomas, Grandpa. If only to see the smile it puts on the old man’s face.

“Just dropping off the rest of the meat at JD’s,” I share.

“You tell that boy to smoke me some bear jerky. My mouth needs something to do now his ma cut me off my cigars.”

Ama, JD’s mother, runs the ranch house and tries to keep Thomas—who she treats like he was her own father—on the straight and narrow. He’s a bit of a handful, especially now that his mind is slowly starting to go. He’s forgotten he’s been cut off from his cigars for a while now.

“I’ll pass it on,” I tell him as I open the passenger door and let Ash jump up. “Later, Grandpa.”

He raises one bony hand in acknowledgement before tucking it back under the blanket covering his lap. Then he leans his head back against his rocking chair and closes his eyes. He’ll probably be asleep before I turn my truck down the driveway.

The garage door is already open when I get to Janey’s place, and JD steps outside as I back my truck in. I have to maneuver past a small SUV I don’t recognize. Impatient, Ash jumps over my lap the moment I open my door and is already assaulting JD for pets by the time I get to the back of my truck.

“Still can’t curb his excitement, can he?” JD observes, scratching my mutt behind the ears.

“He’s been cooped up inside for most of the day. He hasn’t had much exercise.”

“We’ll throw him out back with Ginger in a bit, she’ll give him a workout.”

As I’m lowering the tailgate, my eye catches on that SUV.

“Whose is that?” I ask, even though I have a faint suspicion.

He narrows his eyes on me before confirming, “Someone I hear you had a run-in with this morning.”

“Right. Stephanie Kramer.” I climb into the bed of the truck and grab the first bag of meat, tossing it at JD. “Any reason you never mentioned she’s staying at your place?”

He lifts the bag onto a hook hanging from a chain attached to the rafters.

“Hey, tonight’s the first I’ve seen of her myself. Janey talked to her, she told me Stephanie needed a quiet place to recover, and offered her my trailer.”

My ears perked up at that.

“Recover?”

I’d wondered whether maybe she’d been ill. She didn’t look well.

“She’s had some health issues,” he clarifies.

“What do you mean, health issues?”

That came out sharper than I intended and JD throws up both hands defensively.

“Brother, that’s not mine to share.”

Frustrated, I toss him another bag.

I don’t understand where that need to know is coming from. I don’t normally stick my nose in other people’s business. In fact, I generally avoid getting sucked into someone else’s issues, I have plenty of my own. Yet here I am, grinding my teeth because JD has information he won’t share.

Information about Stephanie Kramer, to be more specific.

“Come in for a drink?” he offers when he’s hung the third and final bag of meat.

“Yeah, sure.” I hop down from the tailgate and pull the bear’s pelt toward me. “Where do you want this?”

I don’t have any use for a bear hide, but there are those who do. In the past, JD or one of his parents would take an animal’s pelt, clean and cure it, and find someone who had use for one. Sometimes, they’d end up with their family or friends at the Flathead Reservation, or were used as part of the ceremonial garb worn at powwows. Sometimes, one would be donated to a school, a wildlife information center, or some other educational facility. I like the idea as few as possible of the animals’ parts I shoot go to waste.

JD helps me carry the pelt—which probably weighs a good eighty pounds with the head still attached—to an old chest freezer in the far corner.

“I’ll probably have a chance this weekend to frame it up,” he comments when we tuck it inside. “Looks a good size.”

“Yeah, he was a big boy. Bold as hell. Didn’t even flinch when he caught sight of me.”

JD kicks off his boots in the mudroom and I do the same before following him inside.

The women are sitting across from each other at the table. Stephanie looks up when we walk in, and Janey spins her head around.

“Jackson,” she greets me with a smile. “Have you eaten? We have leftovers I can easily heat up.”

I hold up a hand. “I ate. Thanks. Hey, Stephanie,” I provoke when she stubbornly keeps her back turned.

“Jackson,” she replies, with a quick flash of her face as she lifts her head for a second.

“Beer?” JD asks from behind me.

“Thanks.”

I grab the bottle he hands me over my shoulder and walk around the table to sit down next to Janey, so I’m facing Stephanie. Except her eyes are on her hands, which are clasped together on the table in front of her.

Ash, who lumbered in behind us is doing the rounds, getting rubs from Janey, growls from Ginger. Then he discovers Stephanie, a new-to-him human he’s eager to explore with nose and tongue. Her soft chuckle when he jumps with his front legs on her lap, so he can reach her face, has me smiling too.

“Sorry. His name is Ash and I’m trying to teach him manners,” I volunteer

She raises her eyes and sends a faint smile.

“He’s fine. I happen to like dogs.”

Definitely a point in her favor.

“Also, I apologize for the early morning disturbance,” I add.

“No problem. I was awake anyway.” She abruptly gets up from the table. “Which is why I should probably get going.”

“Wait,” Janey stops her as she’s already moving toward the door. “Let me grab you some elk.”

Stephanie waits awkwardly by the door while Janey digs through her freezer drawer, and I take a sip of my beer during the loaded silence.

“Here you go,” she says, joining Stephanie at the door and handing her a paper bag.

With a hug for Janey and a quick wave at us, she darts outside.

“What did you do to her?” JD wants to know from me when Janey returns to the kitchen.

“Me? Nothing.”

Still, I can’t help wonder if her hasty departure is directly connected to my arrival.

Is it possible she’s running from me?