Jerry was delighted with the midnight-blue Harley Low Rider he had partly built with his own hands. It didn’t take him long to realize they were trying to protect his hands for his trumpet-playing. Henry had taken pity on him, and bought fingerless gloves with knuckle protection. Robert then allowed him to do more work, but soldering was off the menu. The two men could make bikes faster, trading off tasks, working in shifts, so they got two bikes on their horses and began working on them.

He worked in the afternoons before he went to play the trumpet. He only played four nights a week, so the fifth day he put in a full day, and two days he relaxed. He picked up extra work to pay back his brother from Wraith, the Gunny of High Desert Security and Protection. The woman saw him as ex-military, therefore “hers,” and on her payroll. Her people were running around like wind whipping down the mountains. He picked up the slack. He ran equipment, private messages and plans, forgotten items, and delivered food to operatives all over the city. He handled diva and band fits by bringing strange items such as giant bags of peanut butter M&Ms or a favorite brand of water. Once, he brought blue LED lights to an actress’ dressing room. Another time, he brought favorite jewelry to a star who had forgotten the bracelet just before going onstage.

He liked the work. He began to know every back street, every street whose name changed three times, every traffic snarl. He dressed as a motorcycle messenger in all black with High Desert Security and Protection on his bulletproof leather vest. And also with the Nighthawks logo on his leather jacket. Robert got him in the Nighthawks, on his say-so. If Jerry got lost, or confused, or just didn’t know what to do next, Robert or his buddy Pomp (or Henry or any other Nighthawk) would help him.

He also had to take the Evade course on his motorcycle. Getting the license was hard enough, an entire day in the punishing desert sun, but he’d been in deserts before. The taste of dust and the smell of creosote didn’t faze him. The Evade course sucked. He had Pomp take him out to the course and let him participate in the training, jumping out of nowhere to “attack” the client with a laser pointer. He took his flashback on the side, out of view of the clients, and Pomp taught him the breathing to bring heat into his chest to dissipate the tightness. It took him three tries to help on the practice course before he could do it without a flashback. Then he took it himself, and passed.

Gregory pulled him aside. “I could use you,” he said. “More than a messenger. But, take your time; be sure it’s what you want. Relax, take it easy, and get back to me when you decide.”

“Thanks, Gunny,” said Jerry.

He needed to send more money to his brother. Frank and his wife had two part-time jobs, three kids, and no health insurance. Jerry talked to Wraith about it. Wraith got Jerry on a health and dental plan, and found some weird-ass; part-time, remote, dispatch job for Frank to do that put them on insurance for some security company in Birmingham. Some guys came in and put a special line into their house, and gave Frank a special computer and headset no one else in the house could touch. Frank did dispatch all over the damn state, and loved it. They had insurance, which was good because Sadie ended up with asthma.

So, Jerry learned how to drive the limo, took an Evade course for it, and picked up and dropped off clients from the airport if no one else could do it. Frank said Jerry didn’t owe him anything, but Jerry knew that was bullshit. They had bills to pay and no way to handle things if something went wrong, which it always did.

He talked to Robert about his worry about his brother, who made him talk to Wraith. “Dumbass,” said Wraith, into the mic as Jerry drove to the airport. “Lily. She’s our accountant. Fucking call her tomorrow and she’ll set up educational accounts for the kids, an emergency fund, whatever the fuck you want. Plus, dumbass, you need a fund for your own damn self. I’ll text you the damn number and I expect for you to call Lily at o-nine-hundred.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Jerry. Wraith called people “dumbass” when they forgot to take care of their clients —or themselves. So, he set his alarm, and at nine sharp, he called Lily.

“Sure,” she said. “I can set up a trust, or just an old-fashioned emergency fund. One for you, one for your brother. And I’ll check, but you should be able to set up an educational fund for your brother’s kids in most states, if not all.” He gave her his account information. “I’ll take care of everything, set up a plan for you, and take my fee out every month. Don’t worry, Wraith’s company pays part of it. It’s so the employees handle money wisely. Makes the company less vulnerable.”

“Oh, okay,” said Jerry. That didn’t make sense to him, until he thought of some asshole gambling away the earnings, then said asshole would be easily blackmailed or suborned by people wishing a client harm. He shuddered. “Please,” he said. “Frank comes first. I’ll live on ramen noodles and rice and beans if it’s a choice.”

“Understood,” said Lily. “Is it okay if my assistant handles it too? I need your permission. She handles things if I’m out of town.”

“Sure,” said Jerry. He didn’t see how anyone would cheat Wraith. She’d remove someone’s face. And, he was Wraith’s now.

“Gotta go,” said Lily. “See you at the next Nighthawks thing.”

“Sure,” said Jerry. He said goodbye to an empty line, and fell back asleep.

He ended up ferrying things to the Valkyries’ farm, too. Wraith was a Valkyrie, so that made sense to Jerry. He picked up parts they needed when the parts delivery people got behind, ferried things to the chrome painter and back, and learned more about the pick-a-part dead motorcycle section of the junkyard than he wanted to know. He became the guy anyone —Bonnie at the Nighthawks garage where the Evade training was, the Valkyries, the Iron Knights, and even the Gearheads called when they wanted to know if a part was at the junkyard. Hell, even Eli at the junkyard called him once or twice. He ended up having to keep a headset on, except in session work or at a club, to answer calls.

The session work pleased him. Gregory hired him for that, too. His girls, some of them ladies, for his record label could sing up-tempo, downtempo, highs, and lows. He had several that liked jazz, soul, and smoky blues. So, he spent hours, even some days, recording albums. He would practice with his mute, so as not to scare the horses, or out on his walks with Robert, Damia, or Pomp.

He noticed things. He noticed that the Valkyries Farm had jump-shy war buddies. One of them looked like a Holocaust victim. Said food tasted like ashes in her mouth. He liked her name, Fire. He told her food was fuel, and to eat to make her motor run. She laughed at him. Someone was always handing her a bar or a shake.

Sometimes, he would help one or the other of them install or take out a part when the others were super-busy, and they were. They had two little girls that took lessons on tablets and fought with swords with the other women out in the yard. They went from three to four bikes being worked on at all times, to five, or even six. There was a rock/metal band in the loft of the barn playing all the damn time; the Kongo’s Come with Me Now was his favorite. They traded off members who built bikes, too. Everyone would dance, wail, or take turns fighting and working on bikes.

He talked to them a little, got to know them. But, it was Fire that intrigued him. Her sticks for bones turned into actual limbs. He brought her a pair of special gloves with the knuckle protection. She slipped them on and smiled at him.

“You didn’t hafta do that,” she said.

He shrugged. “Henry told me, I’ve got holes in my head. Didn’t need any in my hands.”

She laughed. “I guess not.” They walked to his bike. It was a day full of heat, the sun like a hammer. They both had their shades pulled down tight. He had no idea why she was following him across the yard to his bike, but he liked it.

“You still get the nightmares?” she asked as he reached his bike.

“Less and less,” he said. “Have no idea why it’s less. Robert says being busy’s something to do with it.”

“We so busy, we outrace our shadows,” said Fire.

Jerry laughed. “Me, too. I play trumpet, run parts, pick up clients for Wraith, do whatever on the farm, ‘specially when someone’s out of town.” They looked into each other’s eyes. Both tired, both having seen too much. Both needing… something more.

“You wanna come back tonight?” asked Fire. “I’m not much of one for eating. But, you can eat dinner with us, and we can go out on our bikes somewhere.”

Jerry thought about the club, but he wasn’t a regular, just a pickup. He played for the fun, sometimes made a few bucks, and drank all the Coke and cherry water he wanted, for free. He discarded the idea.

“We can go wherever the hell you want,” he said.

“Been there,” said Fire. “Hell. Don’t wanna go back.”

“Me either,” said Jerry. “Wish I coulda reenlisted, to help my team, but I was done. Cooked. Crispy-fried.”

Fire’s eyes watered. “That’s what happened to my friends.”

Jerry wished he hadn’t inserted his steel-toed boot into his mouth. “Lot of mine, too.” He thought of what to say. “When’s dinner?”

“Eighteen hundred, usually,” she said. “But you have to help, so come half an hour earlier.” She grinned. “Gonna make you set the table.” She gave him the apartment address.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. He put on his helmet, and rode out. He watched her walk herself back, in her tight jeans. And something in him broke open.

He finished his rounds, and worked on a screaming red Harley. Would have banged his knuckles if he wasn’t wearing his special gloves.

“You need this,” said Triesta, her face wrinkled from her smile. He put down his tool, wiped his hands on a rag, and took the lemonade.

“Thank y’kindly,” he said.

“Woman?” she asked, gently.

“Put my foot in my mouth,” he said. He sipped. “Going back for dinner.”

“Huh?” she said. “Bring her a present.”

“Like… flowers?” he asked.

“No dead things,” said Triesta. “Something living.”

He finished another hour of work, working it though his brain. Fire wasn’t a growing-type. So, no plants. He thought about it some more. What the fuck was alive that he could bring?

He was on his way there, after a shower and fresh black jeans and a new blue shirt, and he saw the box by the side of the road. “Free puppies, to good home.” They were collies, eyes wide open, five of them. “I’ll take them all,” he said. He nearly hit himself on the side of the head for his stupidity. What the fuck do dogs need?

The farm woman, a tall blonde with her hair in pigtails like a little girl’s, now looked at him in shock. “All five? Even the runt?”

“They’re healthy, aren’t they?” asked Jerry.

“Yes, sir. I got all five dog books here, with shot records.” She narrowed her eyes. “What are you going to do with them?”

“Apartment to sleep, their days at a farm, down the road a long ways. Heard them talking that they wanted dogs to raise and train for therapy dogs.”

“What’re those?” asked the woman.

“Way they tell it, some kid gets scared, the dog lays on the kid’s foot or lap. Calms ‘em down.” He smiled at the woman. “Had a dog when I was little. Did the same thing for me.”

“Good idea,” said the woman. “Can’t afford to feed ‘em, get ‘em fixed. This is Daisy’s third litter, barely enough to get her fixed. Them puppies, they’re gonna need things. Dog store’s two miles back.”

Jerry went back through his mind. “The one with the red sign in front?”

“Yeah,” she said.

“Can I come back in a few minutes? Them dogs need food, collars…”

“Harnesses and leashes, too,” said the woman. “And puppy pee pads.”

“Okay,” he said. “Be right back.” He gave the woman ten dollars. “For the advice, and to hold the dogs.”

“Thanks, mister,” said the woman. “Your name?”

“Jerry, ma’am,” he said. “Be right back.”

He rode back and filled up his saddlebags with puppy chow, bowls, harnesses and leads, dog blankets, and pee pads. He bought bungee cords and a proper dog carrier, and slid the beds with pee pads on them well inside. He bungeed the carrier to the back of his Harley, and rode back.

The woman was delighted. “Looks like you got everything,” she said. They carefully put the dogs in the carrier. They licked Jerry’s hand.

He said, “I’ll go real slow, ma’am. Thank you so much.”

“Anytime,” she said.

He did drive slow and called ahead to let them know he would be late. He drove very carefully to the front, and parked nearly directly in front of the apartment house.

Fire ran out like… well, like she was on fire. “Is that…”

Jerry opened the carrier, fished out the runt, and handed her over. “This one’s Peaches. At least that’s what her dog book says.” He handed it over. Half the rest of the house streamed out, their braids clacking in the breeze. Every damn one of them wore their hair like Valkyries. “This one’s Hammer, and this is Trey, and this one’s Dally, and here’s Princess.”

He handed them out, handed over the books, and passed out dog beds, pee pads, the carrier, and the rest of the contents of his saddlebags. An argument broke out about in whose bedroom which dog would sleep, and then everything got distributed.

He washed up, set the table, and listened to the women work out shifts of who stayed home with the puppies and who went to work. “So fucking glad we watched all those training videos Pavel and Keiran sent,” she said, Hammer in her arms. Her all-black ensemble, black tee and cargo shorts, already showed black and brown dog hair.

“Forgot the dog brush, and nail clippers,” said Jerry.

“Put that on the list, Queenie,” said Chick.

“On it,” said Queenie. “Thanks for the stuff you brought, Jerry.”

“Just for that, the man gets some of my grasshopper pie,” said Champ. “Or the Mississippi mud pie.”

“Man deserves both,” said Trace.

“We need one more,” said Desert. “Don’t need another collie.”

“How late is the shelter open?” asked Rayne. “Dumb question, I’ll look it up myself.” She pulled out her phone and typed in the shelter’s name. “They’ve got a six-month-old spaniel, named Rudi. She’s been fixed.” Rayne looked at the time on her phone. “I’ll eat and run.”

“I’ll get more dog stuff,” said Queenie. “Got the list right here. We can get it on the way back, bring the van.”

“Good,” said Rayne. “Let’s eat.”

“Dogs first,” said Champ. “Got these water bowls… You help me, Queenie?”

“Absolutely,” said Queenie. She stood up. They put the bowls down with water, and the dogs drank. “Mat,” said Queenie, pulled out her phone, and added it to the list. The dogs then got puppy chow, and the humans sat down to a dinner of baked rosemary chicken, biscuits, and salad. Queenie prayed to God and Chick to Odin, and they ate.

Queenie and Rayne decided to eat their pie when they got back, and were on the road while the others were getting seconds. After coffee and pie, and the cleanup, Rayne and Queenie got back with the little spaniel, in a chocolate brown and white. She loved the other dogs, and sniffed and kissed them.

Fire looked over at Jerry. “I want to go out riding in the desert with you, but…” She held little Peaches in her arms.

“Go out with the man,” said Champ. “One hour, ride out, come right back.” So, Fire handed Peaches over to Champ, nearly tearfully, and they went out into the hot desert night. They rode to Fire’s favorite lookout. The city spread out below them.

“I come out here when I want to think,” she said.

“So, what do you think?” asked Jerry, and stood next to her, her hand resting in his. She had bird bone hands, so he was even more careful with that hand as he’d been with the puppies.

“Now that I’m a dog mama, I think I’ve gotta eat more. Show them how it’s done.”

“I’m a courier, you know. I can bring you whatever you want, whenever you want.”

She smiled up at him. “You already did. Puppies! How did you know?”

“I heard you all talking about it, especially that day about a week ago when you said you all invited me for lunch. You even talked about dog breeds, and I saw free puppies on a sign at the side of the road, and the box, and they were collies, and so I took them all.”

She kissed his cheek. Her lips were like dry paper, but to him, they burned. “I am so glad I met you,” she said.

“I’m glad I met you,” he said.

“I know what I look like. Like the lines of refugees we used to see, with the pinched faces. I’m like them. It’s just… ashes. Everything tastes like ashes. Even ice cream, and pulled pork, and grasshopper pie, supposed to be minty chocolate. Tastes like… I just can’t eat much.”

“You’ll get better,” said Jerry. “I did. Nearly ate a bullet in front of my own damn brother. Now, I wonder what the hell I was thinking. Got Harleys, and a trumpet, and session work with damn fine artists. And a little girl who pats my door in the morning when I don’t have session work. And I have three jobs, with the building Harleys, and courier work and picking people up from the damn airport.”

“And puppies, and hot desert nights, and a million stars,” said Fire. “And women who would die for me, kill anyone for me. If I said, that one hurt me, that person would die.”

“Won’t hurt you,” said Jerry. “Besides, them’s some scary women you work with.”

“Can’t decide if we’re Valkyries or Nighthawks,” said Fire. “Love ‘em both.” She stroked the back of his jacket.

“Well, no reason you can’t go to both the things,” said Jerry.

“We do,” said Fire. “Queenie wants the Nighthawks, and Chick wants the Valkyries. The rest of us just are happy being here. No more little towns, whispers, stares. People say the nastiest stuff, while you’re right there. Called me Skeleton.” She dashed tears from her eyes. “Not here. Nobody stares at me. You do, but you don’t have no pity in your eyes. Just kind of watching, waiting.”

“Be doin’ things the way you wanna,” said Jerry. “You do what you want, I follow you.” He grimaced. “We both been half-destroyed. Hoping the rocks in your head fill the holes in mine.”

She laughed, squeezed his hand, and kissed his cheek again. “Me too.” They stood, and watched the stars wheel by.

“I’m thirsty,” said Fire, surprised.

“Sonic,” said Jerry. “Bein’ dog mama’s is hard work. Bet the others want some shakes, too.”

“Radium likes peanut butter. Champ likes Oreo.” She listed the shakes as they put on their helmets, got back on their bikes, and went to make a Sonic run.

They got back, passed out the shakes, and Fire took the sleeping Peaches onto her lap and sipped her peanut butter chocolate shake. Everyone smiled little smiles at her and Jerry. Jerry finished his caramel shake, stood, and kissed first the dog’s head, then gently kissed Fire on the lips with a featherlight touch.

“You ladies have work tomorrow, and I have a jam session to attend.”

Everyone hugged him, even the standoffish Radium. To his shock, Radium walked him out. “Jerry, man, you brought dogs, and got that girl to drink a shake without half pouring it down her throat.” She tilted her scarred face at Jerry. “I’ve never seen that girl happy, really happy. She lit up like her name when she saw that fucking dog.” She poked his chest. “You also don’t look at her, at me, like we’re fucking freaks.”

“You’re not,” said Jerry. “Just soldiers wounded in battle.” He sighed. “I’d cut off my own arm and give it to any of the ones I seen blown off, if it worked that way.”

“Her scars are on the inside,” said Radium. “Mine’s on the outside, but you can still see hers, ‘cause they’re in her mouth. Mental. She’s been to see psychiatrists, been on a bunch of different meds, even weed. But, tonight, a fucking puppy did it for her.” She grinned ferociously at him. “You have to fight for a Valkyrie, dumbass. Keep fighting for her. Give her whatever the fuck she wants, whatever makes her smile like that. Or we’ll all kill you.”

“I promise,” said Jerry. “Dog mom.”

Radium grinned. “I am, aren’t I? Dog’s asleep on a towel on the foot of my bed. Gotta go sleep with her. Let her know I’m her mama.” She punched his shoulder. “Love you, dammit.”

“Love you too, dog mama,” he said. He got on his Harley, felt it roar under him, and rode out to the club.

He found himself playing notes he’d never thought about playing, flowing into the music. One of Gregory’s girls was there, a chanteuse named CrystalLyne. She sang with a breathy quality, but hit notes he hadn’t realized she could hit. They riffed off each other, playing a little game. She played with the pianist and the guitarist, too. She never let up, just let her voice rise and fall.

CrystalLyne had two bodyguards, Shiva and Mike, on her like bookends. Mike contracted to work on Shiva’s shifts from time to time, but only to guard Gregory’s young ladies. Shiva was Henry’s, but contracted out to Gregory for courier and bodyguard work, the Valkyries and Iron Nights to pick up or drop off Harleys, and Wraith spoke in her ear, too. They danced once, on a break, while Jerry watched over CrystalLyne as she sat quietly in a booth, listening to the pianist chase his own hands all over the keys.

“Why they got you with me?” asked the young woman with blue-black skin, flashing eyes, and hair in wide braids caught in the back with a golden clip. She wore a golden over-the-shoulder dress that shimmered in the light. They sucked down Cokes.

“Those two like to dance,” he said. It was more like Shiva stalked Mike, captured him, released him, and stalked him again. They were basically doing the tango.

“She looks… dangerous,” said CrystalLyne.

“She is,” said Jerry. “I only know two people more dangerous than her.”

“Who?” asked CrystalLine.

“Our boss,” he said.

“Gregory?” asked the young woman, and snorted.

“No, Wraith, the one that whispers into everyone’s ears, except for Thandie [double check], who whispers at night.”

“I heard that,” said Thandie, into Jerry’s ear. He always wore an earpiece and throat mic if any of High Desert’s people were on duty in the club, in case an emergency happened. “And agree with you.”

“And the other one?” asked CrystalLine.

“A woman named Ivy,” said Jerry. “Actually, it’s a twofer. Her best male friend, Ace, too. Down at Dirty Rock. Club across town. They run the Nighthawks under Henry. Nicest people in the world, unless someone is in trouble.” He smiled a not-nice smile. “Then, they’re like hammers.”

“Good to know,” said CrystalLine. “I’ve heard Gregory talk about the Nighthawks.”

“He’s in them, too,” said Jerry. “See Shiva’s side braids?”

“Wondered about that,” said the young woman.

“Valkyries,” said Jerry. “Scariest women in the universe. You need help, and Gregory’s people aren’t there, go to the Nighthawks or the Valkyries. They’ll protect you.”

She inclined her head. “Good to know.” The song ended, and she slid out of her booth and stood. “Good to see you again, Jerry. Be willing to work with you anytime I’m in town recording.”

“Anytime,” said Jerry. “You have a voice like liquid mercury, all metallic, and strong and bright.”

“Thank you,” she said, flashing him a megawatt smile. She went back up for a last set, and Jerry went with her.

He didn’t sleep for days, thinking, dreaming of Fire, his girl. Woman. Pillar of fire. He brought over dog treats, and people-treats, homemade brownies or Vi’s biscuit mix in a glass jar. He brought over dog toys, small for the little dogs’ mouths, but not so small they’d choke, six of them. Everything he brought was in sixes. Couldn’t leave anybody out. He asked about winter; found the wind was cold coming off the mountains. He commissioned scarves from the Goat Girls from alpaca wool, and brought over two rag rugs, one for the kitchen, and one for the living room. The dogs promptly piddled on them, but cleaning just took time in the washer.

He found out the Rock Soldier Pack wanted to move onto the Valkyrie property from their apartment, and raise the dogs on the farm. He spent all day with Tito and the surveyor marking out a good site for the house on the four-acre property.

When Tito told him they could buy a farmhouse and move it, he was stunned. “You what?”

“Yep,” said Tito. “The ones over a hundred years old were made with hardwood. Get us one of those, or a property in good repair, just winch it up, put it on rollers, roll it on a really wide trailer, and move it. Slow process, but less expensive than building one from scratch.”

He asked Wraith about it, and she put someone called Daisy Chain on the job. “Got a free one,” said Wraith. “Historical farmhouse, built in 1889. In Wyoming, believe it or not. Not too bad of a move, if you get a move on. I’ve told Tito, and he’s gonna get you to help him, first with the concrete pour before you go get it, and then with getting it shipshape for the ladies. Five bedrooms, den, living room, kitchen, four baths.”

“Damn,” said Jerry. “I’ll do whatever the fuck he needs.”

So he was there for the grading and concrete pour. He did some session work, picked up people from the airport. Finished two bikes, watched them being picked up, one by a grizzled Harley rider named Harvester, and the other by a tiny woman that came up to his armpit who lived over by the Great Divide who wanted an offroad bike.

Then, he went with Tito, sat in the back of the king cab with Raul, an experienced hand with moving barns, and Gana sat in front, a huge woman with a bright smile. They went with the same company that moved the barn, and they inspected the house, jacked it up onto steel beams, and put it on a special trailer with many wheels. They followed with the truck, a super-slow ride that avoided the interstate and any overpasses. They took frequent breaks, and once they got out of mountains, Tito had a last discussion with the movers, and they went on back to the farm. Two days later, the house was on its concrete pad. The house had a gorgeous, intact porch.

The Soldier Pack was impressed. The Valkyries were pissed. “You have a nicer house than ours,” complained Fyrst.

“We can build you a porch,” said Tito.

Fyrst nodded. “We’ll have to play more gigs,” she said.

“And build more bikes.” Logi grinned. “I’ve sold my first build, ladies.”

Fyrst flipped her off. “Fine. We’ll all build one.”

“Should cover it,” said Tito. “I think.”

“Let’s get to work, ladies,” said Fyrst.

“Wait until we’ve got the masonry work done,” said Tito. “The old houses weren’t built square. Gotta be sure it’s all on the level.”

Two masons were busy measuring everything, making sure of what they had to do before the masonry was built so the house could be lowered.

“Okay,” said Fyrst. “More Harleys!” The Soldier Pack was already on two shifts, so some could stay home with the puppies. Everyone cheered, and went to the barn to build them.

Reunion

Xenia smiled at Vetta, her son Chad’s mom. She was thin, dressed in blue jeans and a soft pink shirt. “Did you bring Chad?”

Xenia grinned. “Nope, need to move into your halfway house first.” She drove her there. “Thirty days.”

Vetta groaned. “I know. Lots of visitation. Hated being in lockup spin-dry. Kind of like a prison.” She smiled at Xenia. “Thank you so much for the letters and pictures from him. He’s a good kid, happy with you, it looks like.”

“As happy a kid can be in a house with a newborn,” said Xenia. “Diana has no intention to sleep through the night.”

Vetta laughed. “She sounds like a handful.”

They stopped at the used clothing store. “Time for you to fill your drawers with clothes,” said Wraith. “Jeans, shorts, shirts. We’ll head to Wal-Mart for the underwear.”

“What?” said Vetta.

“Got two hundred dollars in my pocket from the service, goes away if it isn’t spent on you. Got a hundred for Chad.”

“Ugh, okay,” said Vetta.

Vetta kept picking clothes that were too large. “You lost weight, doing drugs,” said Xenia. “Hence the new clothes. You’ve gotta look good, simple, sweet, innocent for the DCFS people.”

“Got it,” said Vetta. “So this is to keep Chad.”

“It is,” said Wraith. With her son on the line, Vetta took more of an interest.

She found her correct size, and got four pairs of jeans, two blue, one pink, one black. The shorts were khakis or black ones with pockets. The blouses were in blue, black, pink, and maroon.

“Okay, now work stuff,” said Wraith.

They got khakis, black pants, nice blouses, and several lightweight jackets, and one pair of nice black ballet flats, and trainers in excellent condition. They found shorts and tees for Chad, too.

They swung by Wal-Mart and got underwear for both Vetta and Chad. They went to a Burger King with a child’s playground, and Xenia made Vetta eat some of her chicken fingers and fries until she saw Chad. Chad ate his meal, and then they went out back to play.

Sheriff Bob grinned at his wife, and kissed her. Chad superglued himself to his mother, and finally disentangled himself enough to steal his mom’s fries and chicken fingers. They talked nonstop.

The caseworker was late. She observed mother and son play on the playground, made notes, and zipped away, stack of files in a case. Bob told Chad and Vetta they’d gotten every-other-day visitation rights, and Chad was teary, but went off willingly with Bob. Vetta wept in both joy and pain, but got herself together by the time they reached the group home.

“Meetings every day,” said Xenia.

“On it,” said Vetta. “Thank you.”

“No problem. It will take time, and lots of baby steps, but we’ve already got a line on an apartment.”

“Good,” said Vetta. “Thank you again.”

“Let’s go,” said Xenia. “Meeting in twenty minutes.”

The other women were in various states, from empty-eyed to teary, from angry to resigned. The house mother got her in, helped Vetta put her stuff in the drawers of her rooms, introduced her to her skeleton-weight, teary-eyed roommate, and let her into the meeting. Xenia hugged Vetta, and went to drown her troubles in real food at the cafe.

Dee sat dispiritedly at the counter, pushing a fry around with a fork. “Your cousins will come back,” said Xenia, as she sat at the counter.

“I agree,” said Bob, taking a seat on the other side of his wife. “They will. Our boy’s in school, and playing,” he said. “Being with his mom made him feel better.”

“I like Chad,” said Dee. Bob ordered a Reuben sandwich and fries, and Xenia prepared to drown her sorrows with a BLT, fries, and a tiny salad.

“So do we,” said Xenia. “Kind of tough having a kid in the house that you love so much that you know is going to live with his mom, but it’s awesome that his mom is getting better.” She laughed when Kema gave Xenia a chocolate cola. “This is awesome!” said Xenia.

Bob’s was a cherry cola. “Nice! You doing a soda-fountain thing?”

“Thinking about it,” said Kema.

Dee smiled. “Mama’s awesome.” Her mother took her plate.

“You have math, then you can turn it into a plan to throw a rock in a trebuchet,” said Kema. “Good for extra credit.”

“Awesome!” said Dee. She wiped her fingers, slipped out her tablet, and began working. She sighed, and then slipped off to an empty booth.

“Wish I could have done stuff like that for extra credit when I was in school,” said Bob. “I love this concept.”

“Me too,” said Kema. “We had actual books, too.”

Xenia grinned. “I take law enforcement courses online, now. Take a seminar to finish them up, get actual continuing-education credits. I’ll end up with a master’s degree at this rate.”

Bob laughed. “Doctorate of law enforcement.”

“Don’t know if there is one,” said Xenia. “Cyber protection, stuff like that.” She grinned. “I might get my law degree.”

“With a tiny baby?” asked Kema, handing over their sandwiches.

“Not so tiny,” said Xenia. “I had to quit breastfeeding because of… teeth.”

“Ow!” said Kema. “I’m glad to hear little Chad got to see his mama.”

“So am I,” said Xenia.

“A boy needs his mama,” said Kema. “How did the apartment turn out?”

“The people move out in two weeks, giving your mama time to get it cleaned,” said Xenia. She bit into her sandwich, and moaned with pleasure.

Kema laughed. “We’ll do it together. Dee shoots the glass with glass cleaner. Never thought we would own an apartment building.” She grinned.

“Profit invested,” said Bob.

Kema filled up coffee down the line. Her servers zipped back and forth, and the kitchen hummed. She swung back. “This place we got for a good price, and even with food service being difficult, people like simple, good food, at good prices. We listen to what our customers want. We even pay ourselves, and half goes into reinvestment. The back of the building was good to go!”

There were apartments above the shops, and two built into the back of the buildings along the back of some of the shops, too. Kema and her mother Tallee, in the kitchen, originally bought the front of the building, with two apartments above. The back two apartments had been converted into condos. One by one, the condo owners wanted to sell. One woman wanted to buy a ranch just out of town, and another man needed to move to Georgia to spend time with his ailing mother. Kema and Tallee bought both units. They had both upper and lower levels, and a spiral staircase to separate the two small bedrooms from the lower kitchen, den, and laundry room. Above the restaurant were a smaller one-bedroom and a larger two-bedroom apartment. Tallee had the smaller one, and Kema and Dee the other one. So, now they owned the whole building.

“I’d like to get more women on their feet,” said Kema. “But, we need money coming in, so we’ve got another business owner moving into the other one, with a son of her own, about six. It’s a widower dad. Owns the bookshop down the street, Loaded Books.”

“I know Erron,” said Xenia. “Good guy. Took it over when his mother retired and moved to Tucson.”

Kema grinned. “Put the moves on me, in a sweet, shy sort of way. Had to tell him I bat for the other team these days.”

Bob worked to keep his jaw from dropping. Xenia just grinned. “I know some Valkyries that would be… fun,” she said, and ate a stray piece of bacon.

“When’s Freya coming back?” asked Kema.

“End of the summer,” said Xenia. “She’s learning how to do what she wants to do, run a garage made up of ex-soldiers. Help them learn a skill, get a new start.”

“Can’t be good at everything,” said Kema.

“Nope,” said Xenia.

“But my wife is good at almost everything,” said Bob. Xenia grinned at him, and stole a fry. He laughed out loud.

Xenia worked hard, going through piles of paperwork. She met with her deputies, caught up on their cases. They’d caught the smash and grab artist that specialized in ripping off pawnshops. Xenia read her law enforcement magazines religiously, and she’d learned a lot about patterns. The smasher had been working his way through California into Vegas, so she was ready for him to flee to Pahrump, patrolling pawnshops at dusk when he liked to grab. She ended up grabbing him with Ochoa, her huge deputy with the gentle eyes and incredible speed.

She and Ochoa had a lot of paperwork to do, and California was quite happy to add on charges. The thief’s truck was full of his swag, which he sold to various legitimate jewelers, or melted down gold and silver. They had Michaelson catalog it all, and they took turns with the pictures and writing descriptions. It was tedious work, and stuff that must be matched with pawnshop inventory from the string of them from Los Angeles through high desert California.

“Nail Frank Gramason,” said Wraith. “Then, spend countless hours putting all the nails in his coffin.”

“The gift that keeps on giving,” said Ochoa. They laughed.

Xenia spent her late afternoon giving out traffic tickets, then drove around. She visited Rachael Roundtree, a very smart but supremely terrified girl. The school suspected abuse, but the girl wouldn’t talk. Xenia liked to swing by, right when her father came home from work, ostensibly to help the girl remain up-to-date with her homework, and suggest projects for extra credit. The girl seemed to like the attention, and was slowly coming out of her shell. She always brought a little snack for herself and the girl to share, with some left over for the father, such as cookies from a local bake shop or from the endless stream of bake sales from local schools and places of worship. Xenia jokingly told Bob she needed to keep a fund just for relentlessly cheerful children looking for sales. Tonight it was chocolate chip, and almond milk. The girl loved almond milk.

“That milk’s expensive,” said her father, Adam Roundtree.

He was huge, which may have been the reason for the school’s nervousness about him. He was a railroad man, out getting drunken fools off the tracks at three a.m., leaving his twelve-year-old daughter home alone in the middle of the night, twice a month.

Xenia shrugged. “I like to make hot chocolate out of it.” She pulled out three pouches of powdered caramel hot chocolate and laid them on the table. “Wasn’t going to do this, but Rachael, you’ve gotten a great science grade this week. Way to go.” They gently bumped fists.

“On what?” asked Adam.

“A huge project,” said Xenia. “Tell him, Rachael.”

She stood up, left the room, found coffee cups for the almond milk. She heated it in the microwave as Rachael told her father, in a halting voice, about the project, and how Carla got sick and couldn’t complete building the model of a bridge. That part fascinated Adam, so Xenia piddled a bit getting the hot chocolate together. She came out, drank her chocolate, fed the thin girl cookies, smiled a bit, and headed out.

Adam followed her out to the porch. “She’s talkin’ more,” he said.

“Good,” said Xenia.

“I can’t figure you out. She fell. She didn’t tell anyone because she’s shy, and she didn’t want to go to the doctor. She knows money’s tight. Do you think I would hurt her?”

Xenia shook her head. “You’ve got it backwards. I’m proving that you didn’t. I suggest, next time you have to go out, call this number.” She handed over a card. “That’s Tammy Fields, local girl, seventeen, needs money. Five an hour until the girls both go to school. Cheaper than hiring a lawyer to get your daughter back.” She handed over another card. “This is Matt. I’ve seen your bookshelves. They’re good. Sometimes he needs help with projects. Builds. Bring your daughter; he has one named Cassie. You’ll earn enough to cover hiring Tammy.”

Adam stared at her. “Thank… thank you. No one seems to… to care about us. Got called a dirty Indian today.”

“That’s assholery,” said Xenia. “Some people are just assholes.” She shrugged. “The teachers had to report their suspicions. Don’t hate them. I think your daughter is just painfully shy and is grieving her mother. The school counselor says she’s making progress. She could use an antianxiety medication, but simple hot chocolate seems to have the same effect.” She handed over three more packets. “Just sit down and talk over some chocolate.”

Adam grinned. “I will.”

“And take her to the res, introduce her to your elders,” she said. “She needs to know her people.”

“They weren’t happy when I married a white woman,” he said.

“Then they’re idiots, and go to the Paiute,” said Xenia. “I’ll text you the number. Call David. Have him sing over your daughter.”

“Will do,” said Adam.

“And the almond milk is worth it. Get her to smile, Adam.”

“Will, Sheriff,” said Adam. He sighed with relief as she walked down the walk and hopped into her vehicle.

Xenia picked up basil honey chicken, rosemary potatoes, and some cans of Coke from the diner. She came home, took her daughter from her husband, and tied her daughter around her belly. Estrella, their nanny, left the moment one of them entered the house, eager to get home to her two high-school kids. She cooked at their house, and brought it back to her own, and they paid her for her double batches so they could refrigerate and freeze it.

They ate; Diana her bottle, and the other two their dinner. Xenia told Bob, now Robin at home, about his day after giving him a rundown of his own. He stole the whiny Diana, changed her, and brought her back to the table, strapped to his own chest.

“I had two sources tell me about a bit of embezzlement on the city council. Turns out Edna wasn’t embezzling, she was moving money around to keep an after-school program intact.”

“Odin help her,” said Xenia.

“She’ll probably get re-elected,” agreed Robin. “Smart woman. Good ideas. She explained it all, showed me the books. Thanked me for keeping an eye on the city, too. I told her about the grants I’d applied for, and she’s looking for more school-district grants.”

“We finally got decent SUVs due to that grant,” said Xenia. “I’ll take ‘old,’ but ‘nonworking’ is a waste.”

“True,” said Robin. “Best not to use town money for some of those things.”

They chatted about their plans for the weekend —a lot of sleeping, and time with their daughter, in shifts. Sleeping and their daughter were still mutually exclusive ideas. They took turns taking showers, dressing in shorts and shirts, and doing chores. They cleaned up the kitchen, did loads of laundry, and played with their daughter. It was Robin’s turn to give Diana a bath and he took the alternately screaming and cooing baby up to bathe her, and attempted to put her to bed. It took three tries, but Diana finally went to bed. Meanwhile, Xenia finished off home paperwork, answered emails, opened a bottle of wine, and set out a plate of tiny brownie cubes laced with caramel, another school-bake-sale find. She read a law enforcement magazine and popped brownies into her mouth as if they were going out of style.

Robin came down, drank from his own glass, popped a brownie bite in his mouth, and laid his head down on the end of the couch. “Odin has forsaken me. Odin loves his kids, even the wild one. This one… will not sleep.” He groaned as he settled down.

Xenia stroked his hair from her relaxed perch on her recliner. “Poor baby,” she said. “We both wanted her.” She ate another brownie bite, and moaned in pleasure.

“Thank the gods for Rina’s Movie Night,” said Xenia.

There was a knock at the door, and Xenia went to answer it. Chad came in, laughing, and talked nonstop about Iron Man. They let him work off his hero worship and popcorn buzz with a spirited game of Nerf basketball. Xenia had him walk through checking that he’d given all his papers to Xenia or Bob, made sure he had all the pencils and erasers he needed, and Bob took the little boy up for a bath, reading, and bed.

They took an hour to watch television before they both stumbled up to bed. They made slow love under the ceiling fan, Xenia on top, with slow, deep kisses that went all the way to the part of his brain that told him to participate, despite his exhaustion. She reached down, stroked him, then nibbled his ears. Then, she took charge in the Valkyrie way. She slid on a condom, and slid herself over him, rode him, first shallowly, then deeply, then slowly again. Every time he almost spilled over, she took it back, then drew him up until they were looking into each other’s eyes. He came, and they both laid there for a time, shattered. She cleaned them both up, disposed of the evidence, and they got back into their sleeping shorts and her camisole.

Less than an hour later, Diana made her needs known by a piercing wail. Xenia changed her, fed her, and rocked her back to sleep. Xenia slipped into bed, and read a very boring training manual that put her right to sleep. Robin woke up when Diana made her hunger and wetness a household problem, just a few hours later. He fed, rocked, and sang to her, but she was having none of it.

Xenia stumbled in, sent Robin to bed, and spoke firmly but lovingly to Diana. “Diana, the household must sleep. Please relax.”

She stroked Diana’s back, rubbed her feet, and drove Diana into relaxation. But, Diana didn’t sleep. She lay in her mother’s arms, babbling. So, Xenia read another article in her magazine on her cell phone, and Diana finally stopped burbling and slept.

Robin got the ultra-early wakeup at 5 AM. He changed, fed, and burped Diana. He then walked his daughter downstairs, strapped to his stomach, read his own magazine while doing another load of laundry, dusted, picked up little-boy toys, fixed the coffee and breakfast sandwiches, got a happy little Chad awake, and helped him eat his Cheerios, then write another letter and draw a picture for his mother.

Xenia came downstairs, kissed her husband, ate her breakfast sandwich, drank her coffee, strapped her daughter to her body, and answered emails. Robin went off first with Chad to the preschool, and Xenia had a blessed quiet hour with her strangely happy daughter before Estrella showed up and strapped Diana to her own belly. Xenia took a huge cup of coffee with her to work.

She was on the highway heading out to the substation when a tractor-trailer unhinged itself two car lengths in front of her. She pulled off the highway, flipped her lights, put in an emergency call, and backed up to block off the highway. She popped the trunk, threw out cones, grabbed her first aid kit, and rushed to help. The car in front of Xenia had run off the road, and had somehow avoided the wheels. The two women in the car were shaken, but fine.

The truck driver tried to get out of his cab. He was definitely woozy, and smelled of alcohol. Xenia told him to stay put.

Xenia ran back toward her car, and found a truck hit by a small car. The woman in the small car was bleeding. Xenia told the driver of the truck to call it in, and describe everything he saw, while Xenia called her deputies and told them to get a detour. She checked the car, and didn’t see anyone else. She told the lady not to move, called her in as triage to the EMTs, and kept up a steady patter of how everything was going to be okay while she took the woman’s vital signs and reported them.

“I’m Xenia,” she said. “What’s your name?”

“Gee…Gina,” wheezed the woman through her pain.

“Hold on, Gina,” said Xenia. The first EMTs came rolling in, and took over. The second set came, and she breathalyzed the man from the truck that caused the accident, then had them take the intoxicated driver to the hospital. Olivera took custody, read the man his rights, and went with the driver to the hospital.

She worked her way through the fender-benders, and explained what happened to the insurance investigators, giving her card out for a report. The investigator came and took pictures, and the tow driver split the truck into the cab and its back, and got both pieces off the road. The investigator checked everything over, and sent the cab to the lab.

“Jack Daniels in a cup in a drink holder, and white pills in the center console,” said Irma Fanacale, their traffic investigator for huge accidents. She held up the baggie of little white pills.

“Lovely,” said Xenia. “And the back?”

“Boxes,” said Irma. “Says plastics. Shall we open one?”

“Sure,” said Xenia.

Xenia used her multitool to open the boxes. They found plastic shoes in one, plastic shelves in a second. The third hit pay dirt. There were plastic shoe stackers. Inserted into the bottom ones were little white baggies. Xenia got the tester out of her kit. She masked and gloved up and used a wooden stick to take a bit of the white powder.

“Heroin,” she said. “Cut all to hell and back, but heroin.” They inventoried the rest, and found baggies of crystal meth and black tar heroin.

DEA showed up, and Agent Montoya from Reno, a black-haired woman in a smart black suit with a St. Paul accent, was delighted to take custody of the truck.

“These jackoffs,” she said. “Plastics? Not even any coffee grounds to hide the drugs from drug-finding dogs? I would say amateur hour, but this is some serious weight. It’s almost like someone got high and forgot how to transport product.”

“Someone low on the totem pole ordered to move this, they got drunk or high and thought this was a good idea?” suggested Xenia.

“No fucking kidding,” said Montoya. “When we catch up with this guy, we’ll find him dead, and have trouble nailing the shot-caller,” she said. “The mooks who drive the trucks don’t know nothin’ most times,” she said. “Very low on the totem pole, and often do it to pay off debt. Looks like they picked a very wrong person this time.”

“We’re very lucky,” said Xenia. “This morning, no one died. One split second, and no one died.” She looked with disgust at the agents still in the truck. “And we’re lucky this crap didn’t end up killing more people.”

“I’ll keep you posted, and take your mook when the doctors say we can,” said Montoya. They shook. “You talk to Wraith?”

“Lots, meet up for stuff,” said Xenia.

“Tell that evil witch we’ve had to take up her slack. She did the work of two agents. And, with budget cuts, we needed that.”

Xenia burst out a laugh. “She now works for a security company. Kind of the one pulling all the strings. They have so many jobs that they’ve trained up part-timers that need money, people they can trust. She trained up a swing shift woman, too. And that company, from what I’ve been told, has nearly doubled its profits, and runs like a machine. Not anything she said, hearing it from others.”

“Not surprised,” said Montoya. “That’s one scary-competent woman.”

“And she’s now the mother of three kids.”

“That, I didn’t see coming,” said Montoya.

“She’s a great mom,” said Xenia.

“She still with Saber?” asked Montoya.

“Yep,” said Xenia. She failed to tell Montoya that Wraith also considered herself married to a woman.

“Tell ‘em raise ‘em up right, not let them be like that stupid asshole that nearly took you out this morning.”

“I’m an aunt,” said Xenia.

“And a mom, I hear,” said Montoya.

“My pride and joy,” said Xenia.

“Maybe someday,” said Montoya, about her own parental prospects. They shook hands, and Xenia went to the office.

Xenia now had to make two and a half hours magically appear into her schedule. She ran around like a chicken, ate an oriental salad at her desk, and went through three cans of Dr. Pepper. She covered for Yelena at the speed trap, gave a speech at a school, and spoke at a women’s self defense course. She swung back to work, and did a pile of paperwork. She dealt with Mr. Devins, the conspiracy theorist who now thought aliens were stealing and bringing back his sheep, and she sent her vet tech friend over to check on the sheep. She got a positive sheep report, and her husband came over with a pulled pork sandwich, fries, and one more Dr. Pepper for her, on his way home.

Later, Xenia decided to go home only an hour and a half later than knock off, after zooming through paperwork. She stuffed the materials she could legally bring home into her briefcase, said goodbye to swing shift, and drove by Sonic for a peanut butter chocolate shake for herself, a chocolate cherry shake for her husband, and a small sundae for Chad. She put her shake away in the freezer, and fed Chad his sundae.

Chad loved his dessert, and after Xenia changed out of her uniform and locked up her weapon, they played Nerf basketball and discussed his day, with Diana strapped to her chest. Chad was very excited to see his mother. Xenia suggested he write down what he wanted to tell his mother. She helped him make a short list, and put it into his backpack. They checked over his backpack, and Robin took the boy up to bed and a story. The boy took three stories and, shockingly, Diana fell asleep on her own. Xenia dropped off her daughter in bed.

She left Robin reading story number two about a monkey and a lemur to Chad, and she did her pile of paperwork with her shake. She finished, put it by the door, and crawled upstairs. She slipped into bed, and felt herself falling asleep at once. Paperwork always did that to her.

She took all the wakeups, getting Diana to burble instead of scream, and took catnaps sitting in the rocker, her daughter strapped to her stomach. She drove Chad to school, ate breakfast at the coffee shop, and went to work to keep up with the mountain on her desk.

Xenia took breakfast at the diner with her husband. Bob was annoyingly cheerful, as he’d gotten the sleep. She hunched over her breakfast sandwich and hash browns, and slunk back out to work. They got all their ducks in a row for their serial smash-and-grab, and the district attorney used the proof —with his fingerprints, to get him to confess to all of it, with charges from California to Nevada. Las Vegas took him, a plea agreement for 7-10 years was hammered out, and the man went to prison.

The truck driver was more problematic. He claimed to know nothing, haven taken the job for a friend of his who broke his leg. The friend also decided to claim he knew nothing. Both men had long stretches of time in jail for various drug-related crimes, passing stolen items, and petty thievery. Neither one of them had a license to drive a truck. Xenia gave the DEA that particular headache, and concentrated on what she could do… get through a day on almost no sleep.

She broke for lunch and took Chad to see his mother at the diner. Vetta hated the halfway house. “My roomie already stole from me,” she said.

“Thirty days,” said Xenia. “Why do you think I got you clothes from the used clothing store?”

Vetta grinned. “Good call.”

Vetta played Uno with Chad and chatted about his list, which impressed her. They got their burgers, and Xenia moved to the counter to eat her chicken burger. They had a nice meal, and Xenia was delighted when Vetta asked for a job application on her way out. Xenia took them to a park to play on the swings. The caseworker met them there, and was pleased with the first job application. Then, Xenia dropped them both off, including a filled-out job application, and sent her positive review of Vetta’s interactions with her son to Child Protective Services.

Xenia managed to do a ton of office work, spelled Benitez on traffic overwatch near a school zone, and nailed two people with four-hundred-dollar traffic tickets for driving way past the limit in a school zone. Xenia made it back to the office, and completed a mound of paperwork.

She did her evening things like a zombie, and Robin took putting both kids in bed while she stumbled down the hall to their bedroom. She changed and got in bed.

He held her in the dark, stroked her back, and said, “I’ll take Diana. Sleep.”

She kissed him, held him close, and they made love. He kissed her gently, all the way down, and made her come with his lips, his tongue. He slid on the condom and slid himself in. He came, slid out, cleaned them both up, and she put on her panties and shorts again. He came back after cleaning up, and found her asleep. He grinned, crawled in bed next to her, and he held her in his arms and slid into sleep.

Mountaineering

The Crow Meadow Campground was filled the day Alo had the website up and running, the same evening they were done creating it. They came in RVs, campers, trucks, cars, and motorcycles. They pitched tents on the platform, cooked food in the fire pit, and ordered a steady stream of breakfast food, sandwiches made on a panini maker, cold egg and chicken salad sandwiches, and fruit.

Alo ordered two stacking front-loading washers for just inside the latrine overhang, and strung up clothes lines from the overhang to a convenient tree. The food truck sold laundry detergent and fabric softener.

Leela Little Bear and her ten-year-old daughter Rina from the res, they decided they would run the food truck at night. The Wolfpack did their rotations, and ran it during the day. They also took people out on the hiking trails they bushwhacked themselves, canoed in the creek as opposed to the rushing rivers nearby, and built blinds for photography shoots so the birders and wildlife watchers could get good shots without frightening the wildlife.

The rangers came by, satisfied themselves that no hunting and fishing happened and that the fires were in concrete fire pits, admired the fire and woods safety checklists at the campsite, and left happy.

Alo was run ragged. The crops had to be watched. Everyone needed to be fed and housed properly on the farm and at the campground. The horses had to be taken care of, and the rabbit hutch built, and pens for the alpacas and goats. They had decided against sheep. The animals wouldn’t be delivered until later, fat and happy with summer feed.

The bears concerned him. They had puma, too, and wolves, but they tended to avoid people. Bears liked human food. Alo had signs posted about them, and the food truck sold bear spray as well. He built a raised refrigeration unit enclosure at person height, and the tent people labeled and stored their foodstuffs inside.

Alina called Alo when there was a campside argument. Alo rode a horse, a gray mare, bareback to the location. When he could see the campground he sent her back home.

He strode into the campsite. “What’s the problem?”

“This redneck stole my beer,” said a skinny man with a bushy beard, a thin frame, and glasses.

A tall, wide man who worked as seasonal help on a nearby farm grunted. “I ain’t no redneck,” he said. “And it weren’t labeled.”

Alo turned to the bearded man. “How much did the beer cost?” The man rattled off a price.

Alo turned to the beefy man. “Give him the money.” The man handed it over. “And two dollars restocking fee,” he said. The man grunted, and handed over two more dollars. “Now, the convenience store is at the other end of that trail.” He pointed to his left. “Rennie Lodgepole has all the beer you want.” He pointed to his right. “That trail, about a twenty-minute walk, has Rusty Ralchan’s cabin on your left. Man makes a honey mead and a good barley beer, far stronger than the piss you can get from the convenience store. Has park benches, just like here, but cut outta local logs. Now, you can go one Ghost Path or the other, and buy more beer. What’s it gonna be?”

The men stared at each other. “Mead,” said the bearded man.

“Barley beer,” said the other man. “Let’s go.” They took off down the trail.

Alo grinned. “More beer. Works every time.”

Alina grinned back. “Remember that next time.”

The mountaineering class came back down, run by Wren Molina, a Crow who knew every stream, river, outcropping, and view for miles. Paul was learning with her, and acted as the rearguard for less-experienced hikers. He made sure everyone ate and drank properly on the hike.

Paul walked up, nodded at Alo, ordered a Coke and paid for it, and lay down on a bench, gasping. Just then, Rina sang the bear song. “Get inside,” he ordered everyone.

Paul stood, drained his Coke, and helped with the herding into RVs, the tiny houses, and the latrine. The workers got into the food truck. They had a blind up to the right, and the photographers went up in it. Alo heard creaking, and looked up. Some of the RV people had climbed on top of their RV, with cameras and phones at the ready.

The black bear mother and her two cubs wandered in. Alo stood, while Paul ran into the food truck. He sang, a Hopi song, of Brother Bear and warm days filled with berries and honey, and baby bears playing in the fields. Rina kept up the Crow bear song, from her perch on top of the refrigeration housing. He sang, and the bears came in and sniffed. They smelled the warm paninis, and water from the latrines.

Alo kept singing, as did Rina, and the bears snuffled around. They found a candy wrapper, and snuffled it, then the baby bears rolled about in a mock fight. Alo sang more, beckoning the bears to the far left with his song, into a thicket of trees that had blackberry bushes below. He sang, and moved his feet in the slow, shuffling Bear Dance.

Mama Bear did not seem to feel threatened. She saw Alo dancing, and slowly moved toward him. Alo moved back, gestured toward the delicious berries, and the stream below, and sang of them to the bear. She moved toward him, and then stopped to move her cubs along. They followed her, and Alo showed her the good path to the berries, with both his gesture and his song. The little ones bumbled and tumbled, and ran toward the path. Alo hopped back, and stepped aside for them to go by.

The mother turned, and raised a paw. Alo raised his hand, palm forward. Then the bear followed her cubs, now half-tumbling down the incline, toward the berries. Alo watched them go, and continued to sing, until he was sure the bears were far enough aGhost Path, and then he stopped singing. He walked over and helped Rina down. She looked at him, wide-eyed.

Leela came out of the food truck, and said, “Thank you, Black Bear,” in Crow.

He nodded, and spoke to her in that language. “I only told her what was nearby for her to eat.” He turned to Rina. “You sing the bear song well,” he said.

Rina shrugged. “It’s our family totem,” she said, in English.

The campers came out of their hidey-holes and off their perches. “That was so cool!” said Mary, a photographer. “I got lots of pictures.”

“I did too,” said Olaf Gundersen, her husband, also a wildlife photographer. He clapped Alo’s shoulder. “That was amazing. Can we use you in the shot? What was all the singing about?”

“Bear songs,” said Paul, round-eyed. He came out of the food truck to stand by Alo. “Thank you, Black Bear,” he said in Hopi. Paul had been learning Hopi at the same time Alo had been learning Crow.

Leela looked Alo up and down. “You know the songs, but you did not tell us you were such a powerful medicine man,” said Leela.

“He has told us all stories of David, the Paiute medicine man,” said Alina. “He did not tell us that he, too, was a medicine man.”

“I will call David,” said Alo. “It seems I have much to learn.”

It took David five days to arrive. He came with Reynaldo, a Crow medicine man, and Mochni, a Hopi medicine man. They took Alo into the hills, did a sweat, and tested and trained him with songs and stories. He went on a vision quest, and saw the bear, and came back dusty, sweaty, exhausted, and ravenous. His new Hopi name was Hoonaw, bear. They feasted on Crow lands, and he was inducted as a Crow medicine man. Reynaldo stood for him, and Reynaldo, David, and Mochni agreed on how to train Alo/Hoonaw in his new life. Each man would teach him for four months, and live on the farm, and bring guidance to the Wolfpack. The Crow were delighted, and Mochni, with long white hair and strong fingers, stayed for the summer.

They celebrated even more when the rabbits were delivered and installed in their new home, the first lettuce, arugula, kale, herbs, and spinach crops were harvested, two alpacas arrived, and they finally got into a routine that made sense. They began preparing for winter, working on the houses and all the outbuildings. They installed line systems and tunnels to get from house to barn, and to barracks/hydroponics.

Mochni, as an honored medicine man, moved into the main house. Mochni was just in time to sing Gerald, Fala Red Fox’s husband, home. The man was buried at the church cemetery, as he requested. Alo and Mochni helped sing Fala through her grief. They took all the sickness supplies out, the special bed and IVs, and everything else, and gave them back to the nursing service. They scrubbed and aired out all the rooms.

Alo moved into what was Gerald’s sickroom, now repainted blue, with a narrow bed and clean white sheets and a woven blanket. The girl Luisa moved into Alo’s pod. She was seven months pregnant and teary-eyed with exhaustion and emotion. Luisa loved the alpacas and the rabbits, and picked them the best lettuce. She respected Mochni and was wide-eyed to be near Alo Black Bear, the now-famed medicine man.

Alo had literally never been busier, even when he was juggling his studies, hydroponics farming, the animal feed business, and learning from Henry and David. He learned songs, dances, rituals, drums, paint, vision quests, ceremonies, plants, animals, and more about the history of the Hopi than he thought he could stuff into his head. He made sure Fala was well, made sure everyone kept to schedules, kept Luisa from crying all the time by keeping her in charge of the rabbits and alpacas, and singing her healing songs. He made sure everything at the campground went well, made sure none of the campers were mauled by local wildlife, built four new platforms and two new small houses as the profits rolled in, and was astonished at the sheer number of trips they needed to keep everything stocked at both the farm and the campground.

They got another truck, an ugly brown and ancient but serviceable one, and Alo made sure everyone got driver’s licenses if they didn’t have one. He broke up drunken fights with the promise of honey mead, kept loud music from keeping exhausted field hands awake, and kept hormone-driven teenagers from unsafe sex with boxes of condoms, and used Luisa as an example of what happens when hormones fly free. Some nights, he barely got everyone fed and sang the sunset song before falling into an exhausted slumber, and was up at dawn the next day. He thought he would scream, melt, or fly aGhost Path, but he just kept going, blessing the idea of winter’s chill so he could finally get some sleep.

Slowly, slowly, the others proved themselves, and gained more trust and therefore more responsibilities. Omar became adept at getting what they needed when they needed it, could fix damn near anything from a cranky truck to a leaky faucet, and built shelves and the like for the campers. Diana Red Bull moved in, a gangly teen with a scar above her right eye from a fall from a horse, and took over cooking and some cleaning duties in exchange for room, board, and the Wolfpack GED program. They cleaned out an unused sewing room, moved the sewing machine and supplies to the living room, and put her bed and nightstand in there.

Alina and Paul both excelled at keeping the chickens and horses happy, and Jon was an excellent mountaineer and hiker, Alina almost as good. Delfine, Paul, Luisa, Omar, and Leo took turns on the food truck, and switched off with Alina and Jon on the hiking and mountaineering. Alo finally had actual time during the day to rest. He made sure everyone studied at least a little; they slowly made their Ghost Path through their required classes, including Crow. Mochni was somehow there when needed, despite moving like a turtle in winter. He was there to shoe a horse, or hammer a nail, change sheets, take the biscuits out of the oven, or unload a truck full of groceries. Alo watched, and tried to match the man’s deep knowledge of the flow of life. Bit by bit, they worked their Ghost Path to harvest time.

Then, harvest times were upon them, and their responsibilities increased as thousands of people came from all over the country to help with the Montana farmers. The photographers and hikers were edged out for workers, their housing or RV hookups paid for by the sugar beet farmers and companies that bought the sugar beets. They got another two tiny houses built, which were stuffed to the rafters, six people each, along with RVs with nearly as many. Sugar beets had to be harvested when they were at their coolest, and never above 65 degrees Fahrenheit, or they would rot. So, some would go out super early to help run harvesters or drive the beet trucks to the beet depot. The second shift came on and would harvest until the next shift began. When the beets got too hot, the harvesters went home and rested.

Alo put people on at the food truck with bags of a dozen breakfast and lunch sandwiches, and had a coffee station with huge urns to fill up vacuum flasks on the honor system, with sugar and cream packets. One coffee was one dollar, which more than paid for the urn and coffee with the sheer volume of coffee sold. They were back in the food truck at 5:00 AM to do the same thing. They fed people in huge waves, and the workers slept in shifts. Silence was the rule, music or radio in headsets only, to let people sleep. The Wolfpack supplemented themselves with Crow helpers, eager to make money off the workers to fund the frigid winters. The convenience stores had empty shelves at some point nearly every day; Wolfpack and Crow helped with the driving to keep them stocked. Rain kept people from harvesting; people caught up on sleep during those times, including Crow and Wolfpack.

The Montana Wolfpack put most of their studies aside, too busy except to keep up with the flood of people. The Wolfpack supplemented their income by buying snacks and drinks wholesale, and selling them all along the farm routes, by truck or on horseback, to workers unable to get off their combines to eat or drink. Truck drivers, driving parallel to the combines, would pass them through to the combine drivers in exchange for cash. They would use the cash to buy more drinks and snacks for themselves on the Ghost Path to the beet houses or silos for grain, and buy more on the Ghost Path back. They sold coolers full of drinks every day.

They got two more platforms up for tents, and set up bunks inside military-sized tents. They packed them to the rafters, even with sleeping bags on the platform itself. They took down the smaller tents and put up more bunks and military tents on all the platforms, extending some of them. The workers were delighted; all the hotel rooms, campgrounds, and inns were full for many square miles.

Crow on the res fixed up their homes and moved out to live with relatives, inviting workers to move in during the working season. They got another tiny house up at the campground, and it was full before the paint was fully dry. They got in two more RV parking places, and those were taken as soon as the cement dried. People came and pitched tents on the ground, and hung hammocks from trees. They even had people sleeping in the open, despite the nights’ chill in sleeping bags. There was just no more housing to be had. They added more toilets and showers, to everyone’s relief, then more washers, and two large-capacity dryers. In the face of desperation and the siren call of company money, the Wolfpack moved themselves and all their things out of their rooms, moved onto cots in the living room, and rented their precious pods to workers willing to pay a premium for hot showers and farmhouse food. Lily kept in touch with Alo, delighted that they were recouping their startup costs so quickly. Their outlays had been huge, but they made money as if it was growing on Montana pine trees.

It was a race to get the crops in before the snows fell —sugar beets, barley, soybeans, wheat. The people would wake up, grab their food bags and drinks, and stumble out in waves. They would drive together in ancient pickup trucks and people-mover vans —some slept in their cars and vans as well, lined up in the parking lot, along the campground road, and even state road, six trucks deep. They would go out, being as silent as possible, and rumble down the high Ghost Path to the farms or to truck pickup stations. The next wave would wake up a few hours later, then the next wave, and so on. The sugar beet people would all come back by two in the afternoon and sleep, and then the first wave would go out again. The other crops had people going out at dawn, arriving back in the dark.

Alo kept wondering when it would end. They were all zombies, sleeping in shifts, except their pregnant and much-fussed-over Luisa. Luisa smiled a lot more, kept the animals fed, and made hundreds of sandwiches and little containers of carrot sticks with dip and apples, or bananas that the Pack ate to stay fed, along with water or soda. Everyone slammed coffee or cola as if caffeine was going out of style. Fala came out of her grief-induced hibernation to keep the farm running and barn guests fed, freeing Alo to keep the campsite running well.

Finally, finally, the weeks sped by until the combines started reaching the ends of the fields, the last trucks were driven to the sites, and the last shift ended. Alo ordered up a roasted chicken feast, with cheesy potatoes, biscuits, honey, butter, and sodas or coffee to drink. He drove over more picnic tables from the house, and the harvesters fell on the food like wolves. They paid for their fine meal, played a last game of poker together, drank the last soda, and went to sleep. They did the same for the harvesters at the house.

In the morning, everyone except Luisa was on cleanup duty at the campsite. Omar went to get more trash bags and to fill up the depleted food truck. They got everything cleaned, top to bottom. They took apart and stored the bunks, put the farmhouse picnic tables back, and put the pup tent back up.

Within an hour, after noon, leaf peepers were there with cameras, and took the newly-cleaned tiny houses. The hikers showed up next, and took the tents. Some leaf peepers came up with RVs. Soon, they had a full campground —a normally full one, not one with three times the people it had been intended for. They left Delfine and Paul to check people in and feed them sandwiches and sodas, and went home to clean up the pods. Things weren’t too bad. They aired everything out, scrubbed everything, and then moved everyone back where they belonged.

They took shifts, and Alo made sure everyone slept. He went over with Leo to spell Paul and Delfine, then Leela and Rina came over. “You all stay until nine, you hear?” said Alo.

“We’ll be fine,” said Leela, grinning. “We made enough for the winter, and we rented out our house, too, so now we’re half Ghost Path to Rina here going to college.” Rina giggled. “And tonight, we’ll finally get enough sleep!”

Alo went back with Leo, put his room to rights, helped with the cooking, got dinner on the table —roasted corn, acorn squash spaghetti with tomato sauce and fat chunks of Italian sausage, biscuits with honey, and lemonade. They ate like pigs. Alo went out to sing down the sun, and every single one of them went to bed, hours early.

Mochni left a week later, after taking Alo nearly everywhere on the land. “I have little more to teach you,” he said, in clear Hopi. “You have learned the sacred songs and stories. You know the dances, the animals, the paint. You know the medicines for many things.” He pointed at Alo’s heart. “This is what you need to keep close, Black Bear. It is too easy to become so busy that you forget to take care of yourself. I saw you strive to do this, and to take care of your people. It is even easier to put aside the spiritual things, to stop walking the Ghost Path, for money. You never stopped walking the Ghost Path, even as you took money. You sent the money to pay for all you have done, and built more, and kept many people fed and sheltered. You did not cheat the whites, even though they have cheated us in the past.” He smiled. “You kept calm in face of obstacles, large and small. You calmed the hearts of angry men. You kept the ridges from being overrun with people, so the fox, deer, elk, rabbit, and bear would be safe. You kept the people to well-worn paths, not leading them astray in the wilderness. You looked out for the safety of many, all at the same time. This is your tribe, Black Bear. Do not desert it or shy a Ghost Path from the difficult things.” He nodded once, gave Alo a medicine pouch, and hung it around his neck. “Walk the Ghost Path in peace, Black Bear.”

Alo felt the old man’s hand on his shoulder. “Thank you for all you have done here, for me, and for us all.” Mochni gave him a last smile, got in his ancient blue truck, and drove away.

David came up just before the first deep snowfall. “I am only here for a few weeks, Black Bear. I have already taught you Paiute, our stories, our medicines. I have more to teach, but I had a great talk with the Hopi, and Mochni is delighted with you. He says it speaks well of us to have such a young man walk the Ghost Path. I do not disagree.” They sat by the warm fire.

“Now, first, we must set up winter tasks for your people,” said Henry.

“We have the first carding, and the Goat Girls told us everything,” Alo said. “We’ve washed, carded, and spun all we have.”

“Dyeing,” said David. “I have a list of the favorite colors from Numa. Ship her either the undyed wool, or learn to dye it.”

“It’s a good task,” said Alo.

“There’s weaving, crocheting, and knitting. Crocheting needs only yarn, a hook, and a ball of yarn. It is deceptively simple; it is difficult to master. Your first work will be a mess at first, so use garbage yarn to practice. Continue, and you will have a good industry. You have been to the Navajo, and you know weaving.” He grinned. “And the Crow are master beaders, so you can make ceremonial things or jewelry for tourists.”

Alo nodded. “We can make rag rugs. Many people will buy such things here. I am having a 3D printer shipped here; it’s in transit, stopped by snow.” He grinned. “We can make clothes, 3D printed tags, and toys for dogs. Once we turn a profit, we can give a second of everything for shelter dogs. Dogs are like family in the big cities, and we can ship anywhere, except for the snow causing delays.”

“What about Kieran and Pavel’s business?”

“Raising and training dogs? They have working dogs here, border and regular collies, German shepherds, and the like. Dogs with long coats that can be trained by whistle,” said Alo. “I’ve been thinking about that. I think rescue collies would be…”

Alo was interrupted by Paul running into the room. “We don’t have a snowplow, and Luisa is in labor.” David and Alo went to Luisa’s pod. A mop was in the corner from where Leo mopped the floor. Luisa huffed, puffed, and turned beet red. “How long has this been going on?” Alo asked Luisa, as he took her hand in his.

“About… three hours,” she said. “I woke up in the middle of the night with back pain, but I didn’t think too much of it. I told Leo I wasn’t hungry for breakfast, and then I started this huffing and puffing thing.”

Alo and Henry exchanged glances. “Well,” Alo said. “We’ll get this done like Nantan and Bella did some time ago. Leo, clean sheets, and whatever pillows you can rustle gather, and a comforter. Paul, go back to the kitchen and get scissors and boil up some hot water in the kettle. Bring the first aid kit, too, trash bags, and the blue gloves in the box under the sink.” He grinned. “Not our first barn baby.”

“No,” said Henry. “Not at all.”

He pulled out his satphone, the one he’d borrowed from Gregory’s organization, and called the emergency number. He explained that he had done a home —actually, a barn birth, before, and that the mother did not seem to be in distress. The snowplows wouldn’t get to the state road for hours, if at all that day.

“Does anyone around have a snowmobile?” he asked. He sighed. “Be stupid unless necessary.”

“Bill might on the next farm,” said Alo. He punched in the number with one hand while Luisa crushed his other hand. Bill didn’t have one, and it was pointless, because the snow was deep and the baby was on the Ghost Path.

They dragged her mattress out of the pod and onto the floor, Alina came in to help move and change her into a lose shift, and Alina sat behind Luisa as she pushed. Alo and David washed up and washed the scissors to cut the cord, and David talked gently to Alina while Alo caught the baby. She came out, with black hair, bright red, and screaming up a storm. They got her to her mama’s stomach.

Alo cut the cord, delivered the afterbirth, and helped David, Delfine, and Alina clean up and wrap up mom and baby. “Sofia,” said Luisa.

“Beautiful name,” said Alo. “Now, you feed the baby. She’s hungry. That’s why she’s yelling so much.” The baby suckled, and everyone sighed in relief.

Sheriff Ben Hawke, a broad-shouldered man with black hair going to gray at the temples with a weathered face, showed up in his 4x4, checked out baby and mama, and declared a non-emergency.

“We’ll get them to the hospital when we’ve dug things out. Be stupid to get stuck in snowbank and freeze.”

“Thank you,” said Alo.

“Second time we’ve done this,” said David. “My grandson, Tarak, was born the exact same way, in a barn.” He grinned. “Like this mama, Bella didn’t know she was in labor until she got to the hard part.”

“I’ve heard about you people,” said Sheriff Hawke. “Run a campground. I have heard absolutely no complaints, even during sugar beet season. I’m delighted, because we usually hear from all of them. The usual, drunk and disorderly, some fights. Not a peep from you people. Hear you’re running some sort of camp to get res teens their GEDs.”

“And teach them as many skills as possible along the Ghost Path,” said David. “Alo here, he makes animal feed. Or, he did. Not enough crops yet.”

“From what?” asked the sheriff. “This isn’t a farm-farm. More a horse farm.”

“Hydroponics,” said Alo. “Hence the windmill.”

“I’ve gotta see this,” said the sheriff.

“Sure,” said Alo.

David gestured that he would keep an eye on the mother and child. They went to the tunnel between barns, and Alo showed the lettuce, corn, beets, potatoes, herbs, chili peppers, and more.

Sheriff Hawke just stared. “What’s it all for?”

“Us, animal feed, then whoever wants to buy fresh food without pesticides,” said Alo.

The sheriff grinned. “Well, I’ll be. Be nice to get carrots and lettuce in winter. You gonna charge less than the grocery stores?”

“Since it’s cheaper for us than shipping it all over, yes,” said Alo.

“Sold,” said the sheriff. “You all take care, hear? And once the snowplow goes through, get that girl there to the hospital.”

“Will do,” said Alo.

“Who’s her parents?” asked the sheriff.

“Mom kicked her out. Lizabeth Betton. Crow. The elders thought she could get her GED here.”

“Good,” said the sheriff. “Every high schooler with a GED. You run a good operation here.” He grinned. “Now, back to my truck. My county don’t police itself.”

“Choose your friends, and make them family.”