“That it?”
“Her name’s Willow. No surname. From Arkansas. Traveled here with a friend called Briar. Says they’re looking for somewhere that fits.”
“Briar,” Garrett repeats the name. “The one in the hills.”
“Willow says she likes being outdoors.”
“She likes our eastern ridgeline, specifically.” He watches another yearling go through the chute. “Tate picked up her trail again yesterday. Same stretch. She’s thorough.”
That’s new information. Briar’s still walking the same terrain, and Tate’s still tracking her. I didn’t know. The fact that Garrett’s getting reports from Tate that aren’t coming through me tells me something I don’t want to hear: he doesn’t think I’m doing a good job.
“So one of them’s scouting our perimeter regularly,” Garrett says. “And the other one spent yesterday afternoon at Dutch’s with you.”
Here it is.
“We talked. She’s looking for work. I offered some information about the area.”
“Patty says you were there an hour. Says you were smiling.” He still hasn’t looked at me. “Conner, I told you Sunday to find out who they are. What you’ve just given me is what I could’ve gotten from Deb and Carl in ten minutes. What I can’t get from them is an answer to the question that actually matters: why are two women, one of them asking about work and the other one walking our boundary every day, in Cedar Falls at the same time?”
I don’t have an answer. Or I do—they’re traveling together, looking for a fresh start—and I know it’s not enough. Garrett’s right. The picture I’ve assembled today is a surface. It holds up. But I haven’t looked underneath it because looking underneath means finding something that changes how I feel about the woman who sat three stools away from me yesterday and told me about a waterfall in a hollow.
“I’ll keep working it,” I say.
“Before Saturday.” He finally turns to look at me. “The barbecue. Half the town’s already talking about Dutch’s. If you walk her through the compound on Saturday like she belongs there, every wolf in Cedar Falls will take that as your endorsement. And if she turns out to be something other than what she says she is, that endorsement comes back on you. And on me.”
“I hear you.”
“Keep your distance. I mean it. You want to see her on your own time, that’s your business. But at a pack function, with every wolf watching… You do not bring her inside the circle until I know who she is.”
I look at my brother. He looks at me. An ordinary day on the ranch. Two brothers on a fence, talking about a problem they see from different angles.
“I understand,” I say.
He holds my eyes a beat longer. Then nods. Turns back to the cattle. “Cut that brindle heifer to the left pen. She’s got good lines.”
Dismissed.
I drive up to the main house. My parents are on the porch, my father in his rocking chair, my mother beside him with a glass of iced tea. They fit here. This place that my grandfather built and my father ran, and my brother holds together.
My mother looks up as I climb the steps. “You staying for supper?”
“Not tonight, Ma. Early start tomorrow.”
She reads my face the way she reads everything: thoroughly, silently. “There’s brisket in the kitchen if you want to take some home.”
“I’ll grab some. Thanks.” I lean against the porch rail instead of going straight inside. “How’s the hip, Dad?”
“Still attached.” He shifts in the rocker, the wood creaking under him. “Doc says I need to walk more. Your mother says I need to sit still. I’m splitting the difference.”
“He’s being stubborn,” my mother says.
“He’s always been stubborn.”
“Wonder where you got it.” She takes a sip of her tea. “You look tired, honey.”
“I’m fine.”
She doesn’t argue. Doesn’t need to. The look she gives me says,“I raised you, I know what fine looks like, and that isn’t it.”But she lets it go, because that’s what she does. Gives you room to come to her when you’re ready.