The Bears of Blackrock, Books 1 - 3: The Fenn Clan (34 page)

The road up ahead reflected the headlights cars coming around the corner, and Deacon slowed down, his radio blasting the harshest tracks by Ministry that he could find on his phone. He was riled up and frustrated, still waiting for a call back from Carissa, wishing he hadn’t left at all. He could take off now, drive six hours to get to her and try to fix this, but – what if he arrived to the end? He’d be stuck in Massachusetts with nowhere to stay, not enough cash to get a hotel
and
pay for the gas to get back home to Falkirk’s Seat, and he’d be brokenhearted to boot. Perhaps it was better to be brokenhearted in his own bed, with woods out back to shift in and hunt something down just for the sake of feeling it tear between his teeth.

Headlights glinted off the windshield, obscuring his vision as he careened around another corner. He slammed on the brakes, squinting to make out the road ahead just as a figure came into view on the side of the road. Deacon swerved away from them, his tires spinning on the slick asphalt. He felt his blood boiling. What the hell were they thinking walking in this weather? They’d get themselves killed!

Deacon pulled over on the side of the road, threw the SUV into park, and climbed out of the car.

He turned toward the figure. “What the hell are you thinking being out here? Are you out of your -”

Deacon stopped as the woman came toward the SUV, her black hair plastered to her head, her jean jacket now almost black from the rain.

The woman from the reservation.

Deacon stared at her a moment. They were five miles away from the rez now, and it was clear she’d walked the whole way. Where the hell was she going in this weather?

“Are you alright?” Deacon finally said, trying to pretend he hadn’t just wanted to tear her a new asshole.

She stared at him, then smiled. “Yep. I’m absolutely fine.”

Despite her cavalier demeanor, he didn’t believe her. “Are you – where are you going?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Are you a cop?”

“No,” he said, half chuckling. “Just curious.”

“No? Just enjoy interrogating random people on the street?”

She continued walking, passing the SUV as she moved along the shoulder of the road.

“Do you need a ride?”

The question came without warning, a symptom of a lifetime of good manners.

She glanced back at him. “Do I look like I need a ride?”

With that, she marched onward, the distance between them growing with each passing moment. Deacon hopped back into the SUV and pulled up alongside her. “Yes. You do look like you need a ride.”

The woman stopped, turning to look at him from the passenger window. The rain was dripping down her face, her black hair clinging to her forehead as droplets of rain pooled and fell from the tip of her nose. She stared at him for a long moment. “I’m going a long way.”

Deacon shrugged. “I don’t have any plans.”

She furrowed her brow at him, glancing into the interior of the car. “Are you a serial killer?”

“Definitely,” he said, deadpan.

She laughed. Then she stood there a moment, staring off to the road ahead. Deacon watched her, fighting the urge not to press her.

“If you’re from the rez, not sure if it will help my case, but I’m a Fenn.”

Her eyes widened just so. “Are you now?”

He nodded. “Yes sir. I was the guy they were planning to hitch to some poor girl down at the council hall.”

“That was you?” She asked, her jaw dropping.

He couldn’t help but laugh at this. “It was. I know. Poor girl dodged a bullet, huh?”

The woman opened the passenger door and climbed into the car. “Alright then. Drive me, Jeeves.”

“Of course, Madam,” Deacon said, pulling away from the curb and rolling down the slick roads. He waited a moment for her to speak. When she didn’t, he extended his hand to her. “I’m Deacon, by the way.”

She nodded, shaking his hand. “I’m Maggie Light Foot.”

Deacon nodded. “Man, that’s a great name.”

Maggie laughed. “Glad you think so. So, we’re just gonna head north, if you don’t mind?”

Deacon nodded, thinking better of asking for any specific destinations. He wasn’t in a rush to get back home, anyway. They drove along in silence for a good while before she finally spoke.

“So what kind of guy let’s his family arrange his marriage?”

Deacon snorted, softly. “The kind of guy who had no clue it was happening until yesterday morning.”

“No way!”

“Yup. My grandfather got me up here with ‘I could use your help with something, if you’re free.’”

Maggie chuckled as she fought with her long hair, pulling the wet strands over her shoulder to braid them. “Really? The Fenns don’t sound so different after all. You know they’ve been in talks for that marriage for months?”

“Have they really?”

Deacon’s phone buzzed on the console, and he snatched it up, recognizing the ringtone – Carissa had texted him. Despite his better judgment, he opened the text to read it. He quickly realized it was too long to read while driving.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath.

“You alright over there?”

He grumbled to himself. “Yeah. No. I don’t know. I think my girlfriend might be breaking up with me.”

He could see her staring at him from the corner of his eye.

“You have a girlfriend, and you were getting engaged to someone tonight?”

Deacon tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, flustered at being unable to read Carissa’s response. “Yeah. That was my comment when Gramps informed me, as well.”

The two drove on in quiet for some time, conversing over the next song choice, or what direction to take, but little more. When they finally arrived at the Hess Station just outside Machias, Maggie suggested they pull in, offering him a few bucks for gas. Given the unfortunate state of his bank account, he wasn’t going to turn the offer down.

Deacon watched her hustle across the gas station parking lot and into the store, then took a deep breath, reaching for his phone.

I don’t know what there is to say, Deacon. You said yourself, when you find the right person, you just know. Though I still think your whole ‘arranged marriage’ thing is a lie, if it is true, then perhaps that’s worse. Because if you thought I was the right person, you wouldn’t have even humored the idea. You would have just said no. I’m sorry, Deedee. I think you should stay up there for now. Be safe.

Deacon’s stomach was in knots. He wanted to call, protest with everything he had.

He did say no, and he was going to say no, but damn it. He couldn’t just walk away from his grandfather. There were rules. They had their ways. God, if she knew what he was – if he’d just been brave enough to show her what he was, maybe she’d understand. Maybe she could see why he couldn’t just walk away.

Deacon clutched the phone in his hand, pressing his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. For the first time in his life, he regretted being a Fenn.

“I grabbed you a Snickers, in case you were hung – everything alright?”

Deacon straightened, turning to Maggie as she climbed into the car. He shut his eyes tight against tears, trying to hide the state he was in. “I’m fine. It’s fine.”

“Girlfriend broke up with you, I take it?”

He took a deep breath. “Yep.”

They sat there in the parking lot a moment, an awkward silence stretching between them. Finally, Maggie reached over, settling the snickers on the console beside him and patting his hand.

“Hey. You’re probably better off. Anybody who breaks up through a text is a special kind of hag.”

Deacon snorted, shaking his head, but he didn’t speak.

“Sorry. Not helpful?”

“Yeah, probably not.”

It was Maggie’s turn to startle at the sound of her phone. She scrambled for it, pulling the older flip phone from her pocket.

Deacon’s eyes went wide at the sight of it. “My god, are you a time traveler?”

“What?”

“Because 2003 called, and they want their phone back.”

She glared at him, fighting not to laugh. “I’ll let you slide because you’re clearly fragile right now.”

Yet her expression fell as soon as she read the message on her phone.

She hurried to buckle her seat belt, putting her phone and snacks into her bag as her whole demeanor changed. “I’m so sorry, but we have to go back.”

“What? I thought you were going north.”

“I know. They’ve gone after – I just – I need to be back on the rez. Can you take me home?”

Deacon swallowed, feeling the air between them change as her agitation rose. Deacon nodded and without a word, pulled the SUV out onto the main drag heading back toward Blackrock.

The rez was quiet as they crossed the boundary into Passamaquoddy territory. Deacon pointed out the gate that led to his family’s land as they passed.

Maggie glared at him, sarcastically. “Yeah, I live around here. Thanks.”

She directed him down unknown side streets, taking them to the far corners of the rez, and a tired fisherman’s cottage by the water. Deacon pulled up outside and put the car into park.

“Thank you for the ride, Deacon.”

He nodded. “Anytime. Just let me know if you’re feeling the need to run away again. I might be up for it more often these days.”

As Deacon watched, an older gentlemen appeared in the doorway of the cottage. Deacon recognized him from the morning before – Maynard Talbot.

“Hey, I know that guy.”

Maggie stopped, turning to look at him. “Do you now?”

“Yeah, he was at my house yesterday. Still not sure why, to tell you the truth, he didn’t say one word to me.”

“No? Well, maybe he didn’t think you were worthy of marrying his daughter,” Maggie said, and shut the door to the car.

Deacon stared at her a moment as dawn broke in his mind. “Wait. You?”

Maggie Light Foot was the woman he was supposed to marry.

She shot him a look through the closed car window, then turned toward the house, rushing forward to take her father about the shoulders and lead him back inside.

CHAPTER SIX

Where the hell are you going, Light Foot?

There was no answer to this question, but still it repeated over and over in her mind. Did it matter? North, for lack of any better direction. Machias was a twenty minute drive from Blackrock; she could hitchhike there.

“And then what, jackass?”

She asked this question aloud, the rain ricocheting off her open lips and into her mouth. It tasted clean, but was freezing against her skin. Even her jean jacket was soaked through.

Come south like Papa said.

Theron Bent Arrow was half a decade younger than her. Crammed into a tiny dorm room at his university in Boston, but nonetheless, he intended to save her. Despite her fury and the overwhelming misery she felt, Maggie couldn’t help but smile at her baby brother’s text.

Right, and live vicariously with you and your frat brothers. I don’t think I could survive that.

Theron was a lot like her father; peaceful and wiser than his years. Until his college football team was in the playoffs. Then he and his friends would march down to the stadium, shirtless and painted in red and yellow, screaming drunken nonsense to attract the cameras. Theron had sent her a few links to YouTube, timestamping the videos so she could catch a glimpse of him waving his shirt over his head.

I’m just so proud, she’d always say.

Well what are you going to do?

Jesus, Theron. If I knew that, I wouldn’t be nursing a massive blister on my left heel from rain soaked boots rubbing against my skin as I walk aimlessly into the unknown.

She didn’t type these thoughts. They didn’t sound like the most hopeful text.

Maggie squinted against the rain, fighting to press the buttons on her phone as water spattered onto the glass. She deleted and rewrote her response once, then twice, then stopped, the sudden spotlight of a car’s headlights framing her against the tree line, drawing closer with each second.

Maggie spun around just in time to watch a black SUV swerve into the other lane, coming around to pull onto the shoulder just a few yards ahead.

Nice drivin, Tex, she thought.

Maggie stared at the car a moment, flustered by the sudden appearance of the vehicle, but almost more so by the vehicle’s stopping.

Were they waiting to berate her? They might want to think twice on that endeavor. She wasn’t in the mood. She brushed her wet hair from where it clung to her throat and marched along the shoulder, ready to meet the driver.

He was out of the car a second later, his light brown hair shaggy above his head. “What the hell are you thinking being out here? Are you out of your -”

The man stopped dead at the sight of her, as though he recognized her. Maggie tried to give the man a Talbot worthy glare, but she found her resolve fading. Something about the man’s face, the gentleness betrayed in his blue eyes caught her off guard.

“Are you alright?” He asked, his tone softened now.

She set her jaw, watching him. He seemed to switch from chagrin to friendly a little too quickly. “Yes, I’m absolutely fine.”

Maggie watched the white man’s expression. He seemed warm, inviting in some strange way, and the feeling unnerved her. She was native, and sadly, the natives didn’t always meet with the friendliest response when they ventured off the rez. Some treated the Passamaquoddy – and the Talbots in particular – with respect, but others saw them as everything that was wrong with the area.

We’re not the only ones with drug addicts in these parts, she often thought.

“Are you – where are you going?”

She was onto him. “Are you a cop?”

His eyebrows shot up, and he splayed his fingers in apology. “No, I was – just curious.”

Yep. Definitely a cop. Or worse. “No? Just enjoy interrogating random people on the street?”

With that she turned up the road, walking up the hill, the rain pelting into her face.

He pulled his car up alongside her, keeping pace. “Do you need a ride?”

Seriously, pal? In the middle of the night? Could you be any more ‘murdery?’
She thought.

“Do I look like I need a ride?”

She doubled her pace, marching as though keeping up with a platoon. The SUV gassed beside her and matched her instantly.

“Yes. You do look like you need a ride.”

She stopped, turning to give him a piece of her mind. She might be a lone woman on the road at night, but by god she wouldn’t be an easy target for some rampaging murderer. Yet when she looked this man in the eyes, she couldn’t unleash her warning. He had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, and coupled with his shaggy hair and his pressed plaid shirt, he reminded her of Hallmark cards and jewelry commercials – the kind of handsome that white women fall over themselves for. She’d never so much as dated a white man; Richard White Eagle saw to that.

Maggie swallowed, fighting with a growing sense of ease. “I’m going a long way,” she said, as though declaring she had a ragingly flared up case of Herpes to a man hell-bent on kissing her.

“I don’t have any plans.”

God damn it.

Maggie stood there, the rain dripping down her forehead and off the tip of her nose. She’d be walking for hours if she refused a ride, and this guy seemed as pleasant as that part of Maine could offer. Still, she’d grown up wary of strangers – a white man named Bodie Calhoun had made sure of that.

She inhaled. “Are you a serial killer?”

“Definitely.”

The laugh sprung out against her will. Oh Blue Eyes, that just wasn’t fair. Handsome, Good Samaritan, and funny? She was warier than ever.

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “If you’re from the rez, not sure if it will help my case, but I’m a Fenn.”

She stared at him a moment. “Are you now?”

He nodded. “Yes sir. I was the guy they were planning to hitch to some poor girl down at the council hall.”

For a split second it felt as though the rain stopped. In fact, it felt as though everything stopped. Blue Eyes was supposed to be her husband? Well, Richard White Eagle, you might be a dick, but you’ve damn fine taste in grooms. “That was you?”

He chuckled, nervously. “It was. I know. Poor girl dodged a bullet, huh?”

She stared at him, searching for some way to make sense of this. Had he followed her? Had they sent him after her to try to make her change her mind? What were the odds that the man she’d turned down sight unseen would cross her path just hours after she left her home, never to return?

They were slim.

Still, Maggie opened the door to the SUV. “Alright then. Drive me, Jeeves.”

He introduced himself as Deacon Fenn, and she paused. The name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it. She was sure she’d never met him before.

I’d remember those eyes, she thought.

His car smelled clean, mixed with a dash of cologne that lingered from the last time he wore it. He wasn’t wearing it now. He smelled like laundry detergent and shaving cream. He definitely didn’t smell like a serial killer. Not that she knew what serial killers smelled like.
Gamey, she suspected.

“No way!” She said when Deacon confessed he’d only just been informed of their engagement the previous morning. Part of her wanted to commiserate with him as he described his family’s ploys to get him there. Yet, there was still something about him she needed to figure out. Did he know full well who she was? He had to, didn’t he?

She decided ignorance was her best bet. “Really? The Fenns don’t sound so different after all. You know they’ve been in talks for that marriage for months?”

“Have they really?”

She was lying. She had no more knowledge of their engagement than he claimed to have, though she wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if Chief White Eagle sold her at birth, and was only just now deciding to catch her up to speed.

Deacon’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he shifted suddenly, keeping his eye on the road as he reached for his phone. He glanced down for an instant, and his demeanor changed.

“Fuck,” he said.

“You alright over there?” She asked, feeling the air in the car change somehow.

He grumbled softly before answering. “Yeah. No. I don’t know. I think my girlfriend might be breaking up with me.”

Maggie’s stomach twisted so suddenly, she almost cried out in surprise. She tried to shake it off, feigning a sarcastic snort. Why had mention of a girlfriend turned her stomach?

“You have a girlfriend, and you were getting engaged to someone tonight?”

He offered up an answer, but she was too busy fighting with her thoughts to give him her full attention. Why had she reacted with such distress? She didn’t know Blue Eyes from a hole in the wall, yet somehow she cared. Was it the strange connection of having almost been engaged to him?

No, Light Foot. You’re just a fucking lunatic.

Maggie struggled with her thoughts for a while, her company growing distracted as the time passed. She thought to make jokes about the girlfriend, sensing from his demeanor that he was troubled, yet she couldn’t find the right words. Instead she made song requests and stared out the window, finally begging him to pull into a gas station for a quick pee.

She wasn’t sure how long to let this stranger drive her. She wasn’t even sure where she was going. As Maggie hustled across the convenient store and ducked into the bathroom, she contemplated letting him off the hook there, finding her way from the gas station to a hotel, and from there to a bus station in the morning.

Yet, she wasn’t quite ready to part company with old Blue Eyes, even if he was wrapped up in another girl.

She handed the clerk a ten dollar bill and scolded herself, silently.

Come on, Light Foot. He’s not actually your fiancé. You don’t get to be jealous. And you don’t get to be smitten.

Did he have to smell so nice?

“I grabbed you a Snickers, in case you were hung – everything alright?” She stopped halfway into the passenger seat. The blue shade of his eyes had changed, going almost gray in the wake of what was clearly tears.

Deacon straightened. “I’m fine. It’s fine.”

She slumped into her seat, frowning. “Girlfriend broke up with you, I take it?”

He took a deep breath. “Yep.”

Her heart leapt. She closed her eyes, swearing at herself in every language she knew. Don’t get fond of a damaged, baggage hauling creature fresh out of a relationship, Mag. Even if he was supposed to be your hubs.

Maggie reached over, settling the snickers on the console beside him and patting his hand. “Hey. You’re probably better off. Anybody who breaks up through a text is a special kind of hag.”

Oh my god, you asshole! Why did you say that? Do you have no soul?

Deacon snorted, but stayed quiet.

You stupid cow. You stupid cow. You stupid cow! She thought.

“Sorry. Not helpful?”

“Yeah, probably not.”

Yeah, probably not. Maggie Light Foot, you are such an asshole. What the hell is wrong with you? Why can’t you be cool for even a second? No wonder no guys ever ask you out, you’re a fucking tool!

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she pulled it out of her wet jeans, flipping it open to see a text from her brother.

“My god, are you a time traveler?”

“What?” She asked, turning to find Deacon smiling, despite the sad weight in his eyes.

“Because 2003 called, and they want their phone back.”

She glared at him, fighting not to laugh. Maybe he didn’t hate her after all. “I’ll let you slide because you’re clearly fragile right now.”

She glanced back down at her phone, pulling up the text from her brother.

Papa’s hurt. Are you far?

She stopped dead. What? She just left him, how could he be hurt?

Maggie sat there a moment, frozen in indecision. She’d been banished, exiled from her tribe and family, warned never to return to the place. But Maynard had no one else. Candyce was gone, Theron was in Boston, and her mother and father no longer spoke.

How did he get hurt? Oh god, did someone hurt him?

She hurried to buckle her seat belt and shot a text off in return.

I’m on my way.

“I’m so sorry, but we have to go back.”

“What? I thought you were going north.”

You and me both, Blue Eyes. “I know. They’ve gone after -” The words came before she’d acknowledged the fear. Someone had hurt her father as punishment for her actions. She had to go back. No matter what they might do to her, she couldn’t let Papa bear the brunt of her actions. “I just – I need to be back on the rez. Can you take me home?”

Deacon’s eyes darted over her face, as though searching for something, then he started up the SUV and pulled out of the parking lot heading south.

Do you know what happened? Is he ok?