“Yep, siree. That’s the last of ’em.” Grant smacked his gloved hands together and stood before Jock, Heck, Frank, and Carla. “I came through for ya.”
“You didn’t come through for us,” Carla said, holding her head high. “There are six shallow graves here today because of what you did, what you set in motion.”
Grant waved his hand and clucked. “Ah shucks, Carla. The only reason those wolves died was because it was their time to go. If the werebears hadn’t got ’em, some kind of plague would’ve.”
“There’s only one plague around here if you ask me,” Carla said, glaring at Grant.
“I second that opinion,” Frank said, walking inside the cabin and slamming the door.
“I don’t reckon me and Frank are doomed to be friends anytime soon.”
“Probably not,” Jock said, eyeing the loaded wagons and burly men seated in the back of them. “How long you think those ropes will hold ’em?”
“Jock’s right. Those guys are pretty stout fellas,” Heck said.
“Don’t worry about the rope. My deputies will hold ’em,” Grant said, snapping his fingers over his head. About that time, a gunman stood up in the back of each wagon. “Those fellas were told to shoot to kill if any of them there bears decide to shift and make a break for it.”
Jock took a deep breath. He studied Carla, focusing on what was running through her pretty little head. Agreeing with her concerns, he said, “Grant, if you even think about double-crossing us this time, I’ll hunt you down and…”
Grant put up his hand. “I know, Jock. I know. You’ll hunt me down and kill me with my own gun.”
Heck snorted at that. “He won’t have to.” He bracketed his arm around Carla’s waist and held her close. “This one here has a real hankerin’ for ya, Grant.”
Grant’s eyes shifted between Jock and Heck. Apparently understanding what he was thinking, Carla said, “That’s right, Grant. Heck and I are mates, too.”
“Ah no!” Grant removed his hat and slapped it against his thigh. “What is the matter with ya people!” He marched over to the wagons and peered inside the one closest to the cabin. “Let me ask ya something, werebear. Do you and yer boys mate with the same woman? Is that a normal practice out in your neck of the woods?”
From where Jock was standing he couldn’t hear what the werebear was saying, but it was pretty obvious Grant didn’t like the shifter’s reply. He leapt backward and shook his head in pure disgust. “Ew. Yuk. That’s the most…ew. I can’t stand it.” He paced back and forth before he returned to stand in front of Jock.
“Well?”
“It must be in the water out here. None of you people are right in the blasted head.”
“You people?” Carla balked at that. “You used to be one of us, Grant. Don’t forget that. When you lose your roots, you lose yourself.”
“I was never one of ‘you,’” he said, glowering. “You became one of us.”
“Better keep your voice down, Grant,” Jock said. “Remember, you told your bounty hunters to shoot to kill shifters. I’d hate to hear about your men turning on you while you’re riding back to Laramie.”
Grant narrowed his gaze. “Are ya threatenin’ an officer of the law?”
“You may wear the badge, but you’ll never deserve the title of marshal,” Heck said.
“We’ll see about that, Heckles,” Grant said, reaching for Jock’s hand. “I’m glad I could make this right tonight, Jock.”
Jock hesitated before he shook hands with his old friend. As the two men shook, something strange and mysterious happened. The good times he and Grant had shared flashed through his mind’s eye. Grant blinked and Jock jerked.
Grant wiped his hand on his breeches and fiddled with his hat. “I best be gettin’ on with it.”
“Yes,” Jock said, shaking off the sadness the memories brought. “Thank you, Marshal.”
Grant stood a little taller and smiled as wide as he could. “See there. That wasn’t so bad now. Was it?”
Jock walked him to the wagon. “Remember what I told you. Don’t double-cross us this time.”
Grant rubbed his jaw. “Ya know. I ain’t had a good meal since me and you parted ways.” He peered around Jock and studied Carla. “Maybe I could drop by sometime and Carla would welcome me at the dinner table.”