My Mate Cut My Brand Off, So the Outcast Wolf Claimed Me novel · Chapter 8 of 24

Chapter 8: The Cattle Guard

"You've got something to say," Rod said behind me. "You've had it since the funeral."

I took my hand out of the river.

The silver line on my wrist went dim in the air.

"Which funeral?"

"Your father's."

I stood up on the flat rock and turned around.

He was ten feet from me on the gravel with his hat in his hand and the last light on his face.

"Two years," I said. "You live four miles up the bench. We share a fence line.

"Your cattle drank out of my creek in the dry year and I never said a word about it."

"I know."

"Not once did you cross that fence. Not for a cup of coffee, not to say you were sorry.

"Not when my truck went off the road in the snow and I walked three miles to Willow Creek."

"Marit."

"You came to my father's funeral. I saw your truck.

"You stood at the cattle guard with your hat in your hand and you did not come in.

"Then you got back in the truck and left."

My voice had started to shake and I hated it.

"The whole valley was in my kitchen eating ham.

"The one man who lived next door couldn't walk fifty yards to say my father's name.

"I thought the Reimers looked down on us. I thought you thought we weren't worth crossing for."

He didn't say anything.

I had meant to stop there.

"And then you stood for me," I said. "And I've been so glad, and so angry, and I can't make the two go away."

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