Chapter 28
JESS
“Good morning, Cade.”
I whirled, not having sensed the two people who came up behind me, dressed as Cade was in hunting duds and orange jackets. Cade, however, showed no surprise.
It was Brandon and Suzanne, both holding shotguns and accompanied by their own hunting dog.
Some nameless sensation rippled through me. I did not like these two.
“Jessica,” said Suzanne, raising her perfectly penciled eyebrows. “You look as if you’re all tricked out for the hunt. I thought you weren’t fond of the sport?”
“Good morning,” I said as courteously as I could manage. “I’m partnering my husband today.”
“It’s a good location,” said Brandon. “Shall we all hunt together?”
“Nope. I have a special spot I want to show my mate.” Cade flashed a grin. “I’m sure you can understand.”
Brandon laughed. Other people seemed to find his laugh pleasant, but it grated on me. “Of course. Still enjoying your honeymoon? You both look—” he paused while his gaze flicked over me with what seemed an awful lot like lusty male appreciation “—well-satisfied.”
Cade tensed and Suzanne scowled. What the hell?
“We are,” I cooed, sliding in closer to Cade and slipping my arm around his waist. He gathered me close and matched Brandon, smile for smile.
The wolf inside me sensed the silent battle of wills, and I saw for the first time how much of a rival Brandon must have been during the leadership election. He was clearly an alpha, albeit a highly controlled and careful one.
What was his story, I wondered. He’d come to Montana from Texas when he was a teenager, but he had never mentioned his family or how he’d ended up attached to Cade’s father’s pack.
“Which way are you two headed?” Cade asked. “We’re going east, towards Great Meadows.”
“Then I guess we’re going west,” Brandon said affably. Suzanne bit her lip as if to argue, but she held it in.
“Sounds like a plan,” said Cade. “Good hunting.”
“Good hunting to you, too,” Brandon said, and Suzanne muttered an echo. Then they hiked off with their gear and their dog.
“That was awkward,” I said.
“Happens too often. We all know the best hunting sites. That’s why we start early. First come, first served.”
Unless you’re the alpha, I thought. Then you get first choice.
Cade glanced at me sideways. “Was it my imagination, or did he send some vibes your way?”
“I thought it might be my imagination, but if you noticed it, too….”
“I’d kill him if he ever touched you.” He said this casually, but there was a steely hardness behind his words.
I went up on tiptoes and kissed his mouth. “I’d kill him if he ever touched me, too. And I’d kill her if she ever tried to touch you again.”
“Don’t worry about that. Suzanne hates me now. Her loss.” Some of his old bad boy cockiness came out in the way he dismissed her, and I elbowed him in the side.
“You’re such a jerk, Derringer.”
“I’m taking that as a compliment. Let’s go. We’ve got roast pheasant on the menu for dinner tonight.”
He let Barney loose. The dog bounded joyously out of the Jeep and erupted into the field. Cade whistled for him and Barney stopped, looked back, and reluctantly returned to Cade.
The purpose of the hunting dog was not only to sniff out birds, but also to corner them and, at the right moment, make them fly. Because Barney was a young animal in his first season of hunting, Cade explained that things weren't going to go as smoothly as they would with a more experienced dog.
"He's eager to please, and he knows instinctively what he's supposed to do, but he doesn't understand how to work as a team. He's liable to make some mistakes."
"What sort of mistakes?"
"This gun has a range of about forty yards. If Barney flushes a pheasant at a distance beyond that, I won't be able to hit him."
He hefted the shotgun, then stuffed the pockets of his hunting jacket with more shells. "Put that orange vest on, and we'll get going."
As I did so, he added, “Please remember everything I told you about gun safety.”
“Yup.” I knew plenty about gun safety, but I’d listened dutifully to the lecture on the subject he’d given me during the drive.
"Stay behind me. If you hear the sound of a bird being flushed, stand still, don't move. Don’t run toward it or do anything that might put you into my line of fire."
"Not likely. Last thing I want is for you to shoot me by mistake." I nodded to his shotgun. "Aren't you going to load it?"
"I was just about to. It's a double-barrel so it can take two shells at a time. These are the shells." He took two from his pocket and held them in the palm of his hand. "Number Four shot—that refers to the size of the pellets inside."
"The smaller the prey, the higher the number code of the shot, but the smaller the individual pellets."
He gave me a quick, reassessing glance. "I wouldn't have expected you to know that."
"Yeah, well, you'd be surprised what I know." I took the shotgun from him, broke it open, took one of the shells from his hand, loaded it in the right barrel, grabbed the second, loaded it in the left barrel, closed the gun, then checked to be certain the safety was engaged. I handed it back to him, grinning at the expression on his face.
"So," he said after a moment. "You've handled firearms before."
"I did grow up in Montana. Grandpa taught me."
Cade opened his mouth, but no words came out. Then he grinned at me. “Fuck me. I feel like a fool now. Did Tom take you hunting?"
"If he did, it was so long ago, I've forgotten." But as I said it, something stirred inside me again, nudging sharply, alarming me. Shit. Maybe this had been a bad idea.
It was a quiet morning, cool and misty with a stiff breeze. In the east, the sun was rising with the promise of lovely weather to come. As we moved slowly through the tall, dry grasses of the autumn meadow, Cade said, "This is one of the things I love about hunting." He stopped and I nearly walked right into him. "Look at the sky. D'you see the way the mist is shimmering as the sun climbs higher? And listen to the birdsong."
"It does seem louder than usual."
"Exactly. Everything seems louder, clearer, sharper, more distinct. That's because we're more alert. More tuned in to our surroundings. Like when we’re shifted."
“But without the superior sense of smell.”
"If I were a pheasant now, would I feel safer feeding in that clump of tall grass over there, or would I rather feed down in that hollow? When I hear the dog, which way will I run? At what moment will I panic and fly? The hunter must become one with the prey."
I tried not to roll my eyes too hard.
There," he said pointing, his voice low and excited. "Barney's picked up the scent."
I felt my own adrenaline start to pump. As much as Cade or Barney, I wanted to find that bird. There was something deeply primitive about being hot on its trail. I missed that feeling. I missed the hunt, the chase, the kill.