Part 9 (2/2)

So why did it sound like that moment in the kitchen last night, when she'd asked him what he'd been expecting and he'd had that unusual tone in his voice? Not lying, she thought. But not telling her everything.

Well, it's not like he owed her anything. No reason for him to lay his business out before her. So she said, ”Come on, then,” and continued down to the creek, Druid quite willingly at her heels.

This part of the creek split around a small, flat island; when she was a child it had held an important and impregnable fortress of She-Ra, but Brenna didn't suppose Masera needed to know that. All that mattered today was that it was a shortcut, and that because she felt the sting of his not-lying despite her own rationalizations, she was pleased enough to make him work for his little tour. She knew the rocks that would get her across this shallow fording spot, and she took them, hoisting Druid in her arms so he wouldn't get soaked. Like a child, he curled gently into her hold, making the task easier . . . and like a child, he weighed a lot more than it seemed he should. Short he might be, but at thirty-five pounds, he was not an insubstantial dog.

Masera followed. Once she reached the island he not only followed, he forged ahead, crossing the other branch of the creek before her, and offering a hand when she faced the steep bank with her arms full of dog.

She took the easy way out; she gently launched Druid to the top of the bank, then climbed it herself, murmuring, ”That's okay,” at his hand. What did he think she did when she was out here on her own?

Cold darkness, landing hard enough to make her stumble and gasp, wringing out her lungs and skipping onward. Brenna found that she had clutched Masera's hand after all, and that Druid braced himself, white-eyed, at the end of the leash. But he relaxed, cautious but under control, and she straightened, disengaging herself from Masera and ignoring the somewhat startled expression on his facea”a more open look than usually resided there, as though for once he'd been caught off guard. She blew her bangs out of her eyes and stepped out strongly, with no intention of explaining the inexplicable.

Whatever he thought, he said nothing. He kept pace with her long-legged strides, avoided the tinted early growth of poison ivy before she pointed it out to him, and seemed to have returned to thoughts that were far from her pasture or Druid's quirks or any conversation they might have made.

When they reached the woods line she followed it, taking him to the road, where they had to navigate the marshy ditch that ran alongside the asphalt. Brenna tossed Druid across and made the leap herself, and this time it was she who waited for Masera, and held the dead wire of the old multistrand electric fence so he could climb through. Once they were at the edge of the road, she pointed down the length of it. ”See that break in the trees? That's the head of the old driveway. They don't even have a mailbox there anymore; I don't know where Rob Parker's living, but it's not there. It's a long lane back to where the farmhouse used to be. I'm not sure what's still standing, at this point.”

”Guess I'll find out,” Masera said, and headed off. When Brenna kept step with him, Druid coming along at a fast marching trot, he gave her a surprised glance. ”If you've got something you'd rather do . . .”

Yeah, go home and wash Sunny's bowl. Brenna shook her head. ”I suppose I should let animal control know what happened, in case it is connected to a dog packa””

Masera snorted.

”What then?” Brenna demanded, wanting to kick him for that feeling she got from him, that I know something feeling. Or more because of the other impression he gave off, the I'm not telling you part of it. ”You don't think it was the infamous feral dog pack, then what do you think it was? Something tore that dog from her run and then ripped her right out of her collar. Do you suppose we've suddenly got an insane bear on our hands that no one's managed to sight?”

”A bear,” he said. ”Wonder how fast that one would spread if you started it? Maybe we should have looked for tracks.”

”You can be a real pain in the a.s.s,” Brenna told him, jumping past annoyance and into real anger.

”Yeah,” he said. ”I know.”

It was only as they approached the drivewaya”a cleared lane, really, with two rutted wheel tracks running down ita”that she realized he'd never answered her question. He'd made her mad, but he hadn't answered her. There were a lot of things he didn't answer, things he held close to himself. Things you learned from talking to most people that he never volunteered in casual conversation.

He doesn't owe you anything.

And he didn't.

Besides, she supposed they'd hardly had what she'd call a casual conversation. Disagreements and challenges, yes. Last night, when he'd really hardly said anything at all; he'd just been there. And then todaya”dog talk. Or bits of herself that she somehow found herself sharing with him.

Well, keep yourself to yourself, then.

”Recent tracks,” she said, which seemed reasonably safe, subject-wise. Surface talk. Not that there was any missing the tracks; someone had been going in and out long enough to stir the mud up pretty well, and there were even a couple of shovels of fresh gravel dumped into the worst of the spots. ”Looks like Rob's been spending time here, whatever his plans for the place. Might be there now, if you want to talk to him.”

”Even if he's not, it's a chance to look things over.”

So why did he sound like he'd prefer it if Rob weren't around?

She didn't bother to ask. He wouldn't answer if she did. At that, she had to wonder why she was coming along. She didn't have to wash Sunny's dish. There were other things she could do with this daya”walk over to Emily's, for instance, and cry on her friend's shoulder. Or she hadn't been to visit her mother for a while, and she could take some of the little fried apple pies she'd made a few days ago; her mother always loved those, and never bothered to make them. Or she could read the big fat book she had waiting in the kitchen, or target shoot, or kick around in the barna”maybe she'd fix the broken doors and advertise for a horse tenant.

Face it, Brenna Lynn. You're too curious to walk away. Curious about what Rob Parker might be up to, sudden neighbor that he was. And curious about Gil Masera, which was his own fault. If he'd answer short and sharp instead of not answering short and sharp, she wouldn't have anything about which to be curious.

So she turned down the lane with him, offering a quick, oblivious smile when he gave her another glance.

The branches snared their sleeves, barely leaving enough room to walk abreast. They must sc.r.a.pe along the sides of any vehicle on the lanea”more evidence of Rob Parker's long absence. She wondered why he'd come back now . . . why now, this moment, he'd suddenly seemed so drawn to her property. Turnabout seemed fair enougha”and reason enough to give if he was here and found them.

If she made it there at all. Druid hung back suddenly, giving what was fast becoming a familiar whine, a staccato whine-whine-whine with a sharp edge to it. Masera hesitated as she did, looking almost relieveda”but Brenna didn't have time to think that through, because Druid had had enough, and again, after so many days of quiescence, again he threw himself back and shrieked and gibbered and cursed. And again, when Brenna would have handled it, she staggered herself, slapped by a ma.s.sive whirl of strength and breath-stealing fear, a black cloud on her vision and tight chills up her spine.

She didn't resist when strong fingers clamped down on her arm and dragged her back down the lane a short distance, then further yet, to the road, when Druid didn't calma”although by then she had her own wits back, enough to step on the leash and crouch and speak sharply to Druida”and then to praise him when he stopped, looking as dazed as he ever did. But he did what he had never done; he responded to her praise, taking a hesitant step and pus.h.i.+ng his solid head against her thigh.

Only until Masera's hand once more closed on her arm, pulling her upright so abruptly she was too startled to bristle. His voice was low, but it didn't need to be any louder, not as close as he'd pulled her to himself. ”What was that?”

”Druida”” she started.

”Not Druid. You felt it, tooa”just like at the spring. Brenna Lynn, what was that?”

”You felt it?” she repeated, still shakena”but not so much that she didn't hear the inanity of her own words. Of course he'd felt it. He'd felt it. And at the creek, too. She wasn't crazy, she wasn't imagining thingsa”she wasn't even ill or overworked. What would he have seen and felt if he'd been there when Sunny disappeared? And had he felt what she felt at the spring? She had the feeling yes and she opened her mouth to ask him about it, but thena”

Then her brain started to work again and inside her chest she went as cold as the bounding darkness had ever left her. Brenna Lynn. He'd called her Brenna Lynn.

Her mother called her Brenna Lynn. And Emily sometimes, and Sam.

No one else.

Just as she hadn't told him the phone number he'd rattled off to his Basque friend, or how to get to her house. Masera battered from a fight. Masera buying pit bulls. Masera checking up on her. She stepped back from him, nearly tripping over Druid; he scrambled out of her way.

”Just what are you up to on that hill?” Masera asked, closing in on her again, somehow using the scant difference in their heights to look down at her. ”What did you do?”

His words were nonsense; all that mattered was that he had his hand on her arm again and without thinking, she shoved him back, shoved him hard. Made him stagger, and the surprise on his face only fed her anger. ”Back off!” she snarled at him. ”Brenna Lynn! I never told you that!”

For an instant, his surprise turned nonplussed, his startled reaction far too easy to believe. ”I must have heard it at work.”

”Nice try,” she said, her voice still raised with anger, all but yelling into the silent spring woods. No one around; no one driving by on the country back road. She took another step away from him, but she wasn't frightened yet. ”They don't know.”

”I heard it somewhere,” he said, exasperation showing through. He didn't try to close the distance between them.

”You didn't,” she said coldly, anger banking down. ”Did you think I wouldn't notice you knew my phone number? Or that you bought two pit bulls only hours after you told me you were between dogs for a while?”

”Ah,” he murmured. ”I thought I saw someone in the parking lot.” He ducked his head, pressing a finger between his brows as if it would somehow help him think his way out of this. ”Brennaa””

”You know what?” she interrupted. ”For a while I thought, you know, it didn't matter if I don't particularly like you. It didn't matter if I didn't even really trust youa”what mattered was that you're good with dogs. You might be able to help Druid, that's what counted. But that only goes so far. Only so far.” This far. The end. She drew the Cardigan into a heel position, unthinking protectiveness. ”Send me your bill, Masera. And stay out of my way.”

”Brennaa”” He held out his arms in a helpless, beseeching kind of gesture. No doubt he couldn't find the wordsa”because no doubt there weren't any.

He didn't really get the chance to try. A third voice broke in on their confrontation, distant but getting closer by the word. ”Hey! This is private property!”

Druid growled when Brenna started, lowering his head and slanting his ears back suspiciously. When she saw the man who approached them, she felt like doing the same. Tall and skinny with a watch cap covering all traces of his hair and leaving a scabby goatee trying to make up the difference, he came at them with a c.o.c.ky walk, a stride with excessive arm and hand movement. Excessive confidence, too.

”We,” Masera said, his eyes getting that heavy-lidded look, ”happen to be on the shoulder. Of the very public road.” Which they were. At the moment, anyway, and Brenna was willing to bet the man hadn't seen them anywhere else, but had come in response to Druid's screaming.

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