The Bears of Blackrock, Books 1 - 3: The Fenn Clan (36 page)

“Oh, Papa. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“These are definitely teeth marks. Were you a bear when this happened?”

Maynard shot him an angry glare, wordlessly hollering at him to shut his meddling mouth.

Deacon shrugged. Wordlessly say all you like, old man. I’m telling Maggie everything, he thought.

Deacon paused, glancing up at Maggie’s tan face.

“There hasn’t been a Kalmud, no. Papa, who did this?”

Deacon turned his eyes back to Maynard’s leg, pulling alcohol wipes from his kit. Maggie and her father conversed there as Deacon prepped to suture the old man’s leg, unable to understand their words. Still, despite the unfamiliar language, their tone was clear. Maggie was not happy with her father.

“No, he wasn’t a bear. God damn it,” Maggie said, and disappeared out of the small room. They could hear her rattling around the kitchen, slamming cupboard doors as though for the sheer fun of it, rather than in search of something. When she returned a moment later, she handed Maynard a small glass of what looked like whisky, then she headed for the front door.

Maynard shifted in his seat, calling after her with fierce words.

“I don’t care. I need some fresh air, damn it! I’m going outside.”

Then, she was gone out the front door, leaving Deacon to suture the man’s torn leg in silence.

Maynard did not protest again as Deacon checked him over. His shoulder was badly bruised, and there was another small gash on his scalp, but that had already begun to heal. Maynard gave Deacon a curt nod when the examination was over, and the old man turned his attention to the television. Deacon packed up his kit and headed out onto the porch.

Maggie was sitting on the steps there. She’d been lounging around the house that morning in a tank top and sweatpants, and her arms were now bared to the cold air. Deacon thought to give her his jacket, but thought better of it. He could only imagine the look she’d give him at such an offer.

“Well, I sewed him up best I could, and I left him a few packs of bandages so he – or you, maybe – could replace it if need be. I told him not to do too much walking around. Placement of the wound makes it easy to reop -”

“Thank you,” she said, almost dismissively.

Deacon took a deep breath and turned for his car.

“Why’d you come out here?”

He stopped, his kit banging against his leg as he turned to face her. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped. Why did he come out here?

“I saw your dad down at the tavern. He looked to be in rough shape so -”

“So you followed him all the way home to check on him?”

Deacon swallowed. “Yeah? You sound surprised.”

“I am.”

“Well, clearly you’ve forgotten one very important detail of my character.”

She raised her eyebrows. “And that is?”

Deacon pointed at himself. “Serial killer. Remember?”

Her stern expression cracked and Maggie laughed, turning her face away from him as she did. Deacon tossed the First Aid Kit back into his SUV, then returned to the steps. He knew well after a lifetime of living on the boundary of the reservation that the Talbots kept to themselves. Still, he plopped down on the stairs beside Maggie Light Foot and settled his chin in his hands.

She shot him a sarcastic look, but her expression had softened. For the first time, Deacon noticed a redness to the woman’s eyes – the kind of pink hue that comes from crying. Maggie’s black hair was braided down her back, her black tank top clinging to her figure. She wasn’t a slight girl, she was solid and tall, her arms and shoulders betraying strength. Her tank top did a nice job of betraying a large chest as well, and the black fabric clung to the subtle rolls of her belly as she sat there, hunched over, frowning as she stared out at the gray sky.

“You just gonna sit here all day, then?” She asked after several moments in silence.

Deacon shrugged. “Don’t have much else to do.”

She snorted, and they both went quiet again. It felt strange to Deacon. Despite the cold reception, he felt strangely comfortable there beside her, as though she welcomed him, even as her demeanor professed otherwise.

“Is it really bad?” She asked finally, her eyes still trained on the horizon.

“It’s sewn up now. I told him to stay pretty sedentary until it closes up. Can’t even imagine what it looked like a couple days ago.”

She flinched at this thought, pressing her forehead into her hand.

“You alright?” Deacon asked, touching his hand to her shoulder. Her skin was warm, the color a golden brown against his own pale skin.

She shot him a strange glare, as though confused by his curiosity, but again her expression softened. She glanced back at the door, checking for company. Then she stared at him again, as though coming to some decision. “We’re not great, no.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

She glared at him.

“Sorry. Sorry. White man trying to swoop in and save the day again.”

She laughed. “Apparently. No, there’s nothing that can be done. I just wish they’d settled their business with me, not my father.”

Deacon glanced back at the house. “Who? Is someone giving you trouble?”

She nodded, giving a sarcastic smirk. “You bet.”

“Who?”

“The Talbots.”

Deacon chuckled, but her expression betrayed no humor. “What’d you do now?”

“I refused to marry you.”

He feigned shock and betrayal, splaying his fingers and pressing them to his chest. “Why, I do declare. Why on earth?”

She laughed again, turning away. “Guess I just wasn’t marriage material.”

Deacon’s brow furrowed. The words, ‘I disagree’ almost flew out of his mouth, but he caught himself. Such a thing might be taken the wrong way, he thought.

“And why is that?”

She shot him a half smile, as though sizing him up somehow. “Because -” she paused, glancing from him to the skyline. Then she shrugged. “Because I’m not as advertised. Not quite Talbot material.”

She stared at Deacon, and after a moment, seemed to read the confusion on his face. Maggie shot a glance back at the door again, then crinkled her nose. “I’m not actually a Talbot. I’m a Porter.”

“Ok?”

“I was born out in Neah Bay – out in Washington State. My parents fell victim to that unfortunate side effect of low income communities with fuck all to do.”

“Drugs or booze?”

She gave a sad smile. “Both. I was two when child services stepped in and took me from my parents. And you know bears. The Fenns know the Talbots, the Talbots know the Porters out west and the Holdens up north – we all keep abreast of each other, you know?”

Deacon nodded.

“Yeah, well. Chief White Eagle wasn’t gonna let a potential breeding female be lost to the system, so strings were pulled, and I was adopted by my mum and dad out here.”

“God, when you said that, it made my skin crawl.”

“Said what?”

Deacon shuddered. “Breeding female.”

Maggie smiled. “It’s what they see me as.”

“Jesus, I wonder if that’s how Gramps refers to my cousin, Gracie.”

She shrugged. “If he’s a bear, probably.”

They sat in silence a moment, the gray clouds breaking to betray blue sky beyond. He found himself searching for something to continue this conversation. He liked hearing her speak. “So, what made you spurn me? Leaving me all heartbroken and unmarried.”

Maggie smiled, her eyes glistening with a hint of whatever tears she shed before he arrived. She took a deep breath, fidgeting with a hole in the knee of her sweatpants. “Can you keep a secret?” She asked.

For some strange reason, his heart began to race. “Of course.”

She shot him a skeptical look. He nodded, gesturing for her to continue.

“Do you Fenns have a First Hunt ceremony kind of thing? When you get old enough, I mean.”

Deacon shrugged. “Yeah, I’d say so.”

“Well, I got to the right age for mum and dad to take me out for the hunt, and -” she paused, her brow furrowing. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

“I swear, your secret is safe with me, darling,” Deacon said, reaching over to squeeze her knee. They both froze in the wake of the gesture, Deacon pulling his hand away as though her sweatpants were on fire.

Wow, Deac. Nice one. Ass hat.

Maggie shook her head. “Well, that was it. That night I became the biggest disappointment in Talbot history.”

“What? Why?”

She gave a sad smile. “Because unlike my parents, I can’t turn into a bear.”

Deacon’s mouth fell open. “You’re not a shifter?”

She shrugged. “They assumed I was because they thought my biological mother was a Porter. She wasn’t. My birth dad was.”

Deacon watched her there, the breeze flitting strands of black hair at her temples. “Holy shit.”

“My parents here kept it a secret for years. That’s why I wasn’t with Candyce the night she died.”

Deacon stopped a moment. She spoke as though he should know these names, but he was lost. “Candyce?”

Maggie nodded. “My sister. She and my cousin, Beth, were the girls that disappeared a few years ago.”

Deacon stopped dead. He knew the stories that spread when the girls disappeared – tales of hermits and other nonsense. In the end, though their bodies were never found, Bodie Calhoun was named their killer. He’d attended their funeral.

His stomach turned to think he hadn’t seen Maggie there.

“Beth and Candyce invited me to hunt with them the night they disappeared. Got all hurt when I refused them, but even Candy didn’t know about me. I couldn’t go because I couldn’t let her and Beth know I wasn’t a bear. I never saw them again.”

Deacon watched her face a moment, wanting to touch her, but thinking better of it. “All this time, your parents were the only ones who knew?”

She frowned. “Yeah. They were sure something bad would happen if Chief found out they’d adopted a norm. Richard gave a great deal to get me here when I was a baby. Finding out the tribe’s youngest breeding female wasn’t actually a breeding female might be unwelcome news. But then they sprung this wedding bull shit on my dad, and we had to do something, you know? I couldn’t very well lie to you, could I?”

Deacon scratched at the stubble coming in along his jaw line, a symptom of not shaving since Carissa’s fateful text. “Didn’t go over well, I take it?”

She scoffed. “Yeah, you’ve seen the teeth marks.”

Deacon frowned. Deacon’s former EMT partner, Lara, made mention of the last few nights’ calls, many of them coming from the rez. Lara blamed it on the moon, but Deacon was beginning to wonder if Maynard wasn’t the only one getting roughed up the past couple days – all because Maggie Light Foot wasn’t a shifter and couldn’t tell anybody. 

And he thought Patrick Fenn could be difficult.

“I’m glad they didn’t try to hurt you.”

What the hell did you just say, Deacon?

Maggie shot him a sideways glance. “No. They banished me, instead.”

“Really? But you’re here.”

“Astute observation, pal,” she said, raising an eyebrow at him. Despite the weary eyes, she was still fighting to be jovial. “Yeah, I’m not exactly advertising that fact, though. This is the first time I’ve been outside in three days. If anybody catches me here, I’m fucked.”

“Jesus Christ.”

She waved his concern away. “Ah, it’s nothing. Would’ve been way worse if I’d told them the truth.”

Deacon stopped, realizing then that she hadn’t shared this news with her family, with her tribe, yet she’d shared it with him. He felt like a fan that catches Larry Mullen, Jr’s drumstick at a U2 concert. “Is there somewhere you can go?”

She took a deep breath. “I’ll figure out something. Just didn’t want to leave Papa while he was healing.”

“Can’t you just tell them? There must be other Talbots who aren’t bears.”

She looked at him with an air of almost pity at this. Then she shook her head. That news would be ill received. As far as their concerned, that secret would be a betrayal. My father would have betrayed them by putting his child before the needs of the tribe. And not even his
real
child.”

“Seriously? Jesus Christ,” Deacon said, watching Maggie Light Foot stare off at the clouds with the same pensive, unaffected air. Yet her eyes betrayed the truth – still red, swollen from weeping.

“Are you gonna be alright? Is there anything I can do -?”

He stopped short, realizing what he was saying. She just shot him a feigned stern look. Her rough exterior was cracking though, peeling away with each minute they spent together, revealing a vulnerability just beneath.

He found it surprisingly endearing.

“Well, you patched up my dad. What are you hanging around for?” She asked. Though there was a jovial hint to the question, Deacon couldn’t help but feel out of place. What was he doing there? Other than simply trying to spend time with Maggie Light Foot.