Wild Country (The World of the Others #2)- Anne Bishop Page 0,101

that come in from the houses.”

“Is that our story?” Jana asked dryly, looking into the rearview mirror.

John hesitated, then gave her a delighted smile. “Yes. That is our story.”

“Okeydokey.” Jana didn’t glance at her housemate. Did. Not. After that crack about whether Virgil had adjustable parts, Barb deserved a little teasing.

“Well, he does like books,” Barb said defensively.

Jana smiled. “Then it’s a good fit. Joshua does work he likes and gets to interact with people who are, for the most part, coming in for something that will please them.”

Barb looked out the window and said, “We’re just friends. I have lots of friends. Besides, Joshua is too young for me.”

Definitely too young and too … undomesticated … to cope with some human behaviors. But being a true wild boy, Joshua is the only friend you’re hoping no one mentions to your brother.

Jana looked in the rearview mirror again. John met her eyes and nodded. If Michael Debany found out about Barb’s friendship with Joshua Painter, the news wouldn’t come from either of them.

* * *

* * *

Tolya turned on his computer. He’d never had a reason to be grateful for the Earthday rule of most businesses being closed—including government offices—but as Bennett was swiftly being transformed back into an inhabited town, he appreciated having one day when he could ignore the human residents and their helpful ideas and the requests to reopen more of the businesses. Reopening businesses was a good thing, certainly, but all those humans made his job more demanding. At least handling the paperwork and keeping track of who was living where and running which business was no longer his problem now that he had hired the two humans to be land agents.

His mobile phone rang. He glanced at the clock as the phone rang again. Too early to be a personal call. Too early to be anything but trouble.

“Tolya Sanguinati.”

“It’s Stewart Dixon. Do you remember me?”

“Of course.” A rancher who lived north of the Elder Hills, Stewart Dixon had been helpful when the Prairie Gold Wolves had shipped eleven bison to Lakeside. “What? Please repeat your words.” The signal faded and came back.

“A stranger came to the house. Tried to force himself on my daughter. Ranch hand came in and interrupted. My man’s been stabbed. I’ve got him in the truck and I’m heading to Bennett. Please gods, tell me you have a doctor there.”

“We do. Come to the government building when you reach the town. I will escort you to the doctor from there.”

“Got my wife and daughter with me,” Dixon said. “My sons and some of the hands are watching the house and the horses.”

Tolya disconnected the call, then used the desk phone to call one of the doctors who had been hired through the Lakeside job fair. The doctor’s wife was a nurse and midwife and worked with her husband, so he didn’t have to call anyone else. But after a moment’s thought, he called the other doctor as well as the vet, who also had been hired through the job fair. Tolya wasn’t sure the second doctor would be required or that the vet would be useful to a human who had been stabbed, but he wanted all of the town’s bodywalkers awake and ready.

Next he considered the females coming in with Dixon. He wasn’t sure if the daughter was injured, but he was certain that, with Dixon needing to be present to help the injured man, the females would be on their own and vulnerable.

He called the Bird Cage Saloon. “Scythe?”

“Yes.” Her voice sounded rough, as if she wasn’t fully in her human form yet.

“It’s Tolya. I need you to provide hospitality to some human females who will be arriving soon.”

“Why bring them to the saloon instead of the hotel?” Curiosity, not challenge.

“Because you’re at the saloon.” And no one would harm those women with a Harvester standing guard.

“I’ll be ready,” Scythe said.

With nothing else to do until Dixon arrived, Tolya checked his e-mail—and felt his body tighten as he opened the message from Jackson Wolfgard and downloaded the picture that was attached.

He printed out two copies of the picture—one to keep and one for the sheriff’s office. Then he forwarded the picture, along with Jackson’s message, to Jesse Walker.

If Stewart Dixon hadn’t called, the picture would be no more than a curiosity this morning—a young woman with pale red hair looking in a mirror, but instead of her own reflection, the mirror showed a young, dark-haired man. The woman was