“Did you run here in fur all the way from Yellowstone, then?” I’d recognized the shape of his canvas pack as suited to a wolf’s back. “That’s fifty miles away.”
“A day’s run. I have a car up there but, well, I was out in fur, scouting locations, and I was hit by the impulse. I had my pack on my back in case I wanted my camera, and no deadlinescoming up. So I decided to see where my instincts would take me.”
And they brought you to me.I reminded myself that Micah was still yearning after tits like Janet’s, not whatever we’d so briefly had. “I guess you don’t need me to give you work, or a place to stay, an artist like you.”
“I have a little money.” He eyed me from under the long fall of his black hair. “I wouldn’t mind saving it, if you’re willing to have me. I spent last night under a bush, and I’m lucky I was shifted and dressed, taking pictures of a pine marten, when the sheriff’s dog scented me.”
“Ah. I wondered.”
Micah laughed. “There I was, as grubby as a schoolboy from squirming under a fallen log for the best shot, miles from any road, just a small rough pack. The sheriff made the obvious assumption, although the eighty-dollar camera in my hands might’ve clued him in.”
“Not sure the sheriff can tell a Nikon from a Brownie.”
“My skin color didn’t help.” Micah stated that as a simple fact, though it made me bristle.
“I bet not. Still, I’m surprised you didn’t run away.”
“Remember the pricey camera? Couldn’t afford to risk breakage if he tackled me. And vagrancy’s usually a night in jail and being shown the road next morning. Been there once or twice.”
That reminded me Micah had a whole life I knew nothing about, a stretch of time longer and far more emotional— between love and loss and war— than the childhood twenty years we’d shared. No matter how deep those moments were carved in my memory.
Before I could find the words to ask more, a chitter from overhead warned me. I braced myself, and Zipper’s small but solid half-pound weight landed on my shoulder.
Micah startled, then grinned. “You know you have a long-tailed weasel on your back?”
“I had noticed.” I raised a finger, slowly, and Zipper allowed me to stroke his furry cheek.
“And it’s not gnawing your face off.”
“I found him as a tiny baby. Don’t know what happened to the mother, but he was the last of the litter still alive. I hand-raised him.”
“You have a pet.”
“A half-wild one, but yes. He roams outside most of the time, but he does like to come home for meals, the lazy brat.”
“Iwonderedwhy your home smelled musky. Didn’t want to mention it.”
I grinned. “You get used to it. Folks around here know about him. I bring him to town once in a while. Then, if a dog growls at me or cowers away, I can say, ‘I bet he smells my pet weasel.’ They like having an easy explanation for why their dog doesn’t like the guy they’re trusting to work in their house. Well, other than Chuck Fletcher. He just hates my guts.”
“Nowhere in the world is free of bastards.” We exchanged looks that said, yes, we’d seen how evil men could be. Micah reached a fingertip to Zipper. “Hey there, young man. Perhaps you’d pose for me sometime. Super-closeups could be fun.”
Zipper trilled at him, a friendly sound, before leaping to the floor, scurrying to the front door, and giving a soft bark.
I stared down at the little brown-furred creature. “You have your cat door. I’m not your servant.”
Zipper twisted his sinuous neck to stare up at me and squeaked commandingly at the shrill pitch I’m sure he knew made me flinch.
“Oh, all right.” I unlocked, turned the handle, and cracked the door a couple of inches, wide enough for Zipper to flash throughand be gone. When I reclosed the door I saw that Micah was laughing at me. “What?”
“Just enjoying the sight of a fearsome werewolf cowed by a tiny pet.”
“I’m not cowed. I’m annoyed. Wait till he bitesyournose in the middle of the night.” Which brought me right back to the night, and how much I wanted Micah in my bed, though I had no real knowledge of what I’d want to do with him there. Time to change the subject. “Come on,” I told him. “I promised you a wash-up, and I have a bathtub and a gas water heater. You can get clean in luxury.” The thought of Micah naked in my tub might half-kill me, but I’d survive.
Micah hesitated, as if he wanted to talk more, but perhaps the weight of all we had to say made him hesitate too. “Sounds good, I admit. Swimming a stream in fur isn’t a substitute for a nice hot bath. But if we’re going to do a day’s work, perhaps I should wait till evening?”
“Ah. True.” I’d said I’d take him with me to the mayor’s job, and if I didn’t, Tomlinson would start to ask why. “Wash your face and hands, then, and I’ll pack us a lunch.”
We left my house twenty minutes later. Micah had washed up, changed his shirt for a clean one of mine, and tied his long hair back at the nape of his neck. With one of my ball caps on his head, he looked like a respectable tradesman. The mayor’s home was an easy fifteen-minute walk, but I needed shovels and tools, so we loaded my truck and drove off down the dirt road toward town. As I took the first corner a little too fast, making the gravel fly, Micah laughed. Our quick exchange of glances reminded me of a hundred past moments, doing something reckless to see that gleeful look on Micah Crue’s face. It took all the resolve I had to head on to work, like a responsible man.
