Page 18 of Weatherman

Me: Thanks for letting me know.

Weatherman: No problem.

I caught my lower lip between my teeth as I took it one step further. Too far, maybe, but something compelled me to send one more text. Just one.

Me: Thanks again for helping me, and sorry for being so bitchy tonight. I’m still dealing with some baggage, and I don’t usually talk about it to strangers.

The three dots stayed still for a moment or two, and I thought he was either asleep or going to ignore me.

Weatherman: You’ve cut my hair. I changed a tire and punched out a guy for you. We exchanged phone numbers. I think it’s safe to say we’re not strangers anymore. Sleep well, and I’ll see you soon. I’m due for another cut.

Weatherman: For what it’s worth, I’d keep your baggage to myself. If you need to talk about it, I’ll be around.

CHAPTER 9

Chief Wilson shookhis head while Ranger Fine lost his breakfast in the bushes. Weatherman pulled at his uniform collar and swallowed several times, determined not to copy the other officer. No wind blew, so the smell of rotting meat from the pile of bear corpses hovered in the air, coating everything in its sickening stench.

Heads. Hides. Paws. All taken, the rest left to putrefy out in the open. Poaching had been a problem for a long time, but this absolute butchery brought the issue to a whole new level.

Weatherman swallowed the saliva in his mouth and forced control on his emotions. Between his mother’s illness and the encounter with Opal at the bar, he was ready to punch another asshole. A bear poacher would be perfect.

“Who called it in?” Chief Wilson asked. His disgust was plain on his face.

Many people in the area hunted. Deer and wild turkey mostly, but some tried for bigger game. Hunting permits and limits were strictly enforced, and most hunters followed the rules, but there were those out there who didn’t care and collected trophies like tourist mugs. There were some years when certain animal populations were severely restricted. Thisseason for bears was one of them. Weatherman didn’t have a problem with hunting, as most of the people he knew did it to fill their freezers. But the scene in front of him had nothing to do with feeding families.

Officer Fine spoke from his bent-over position. “Couple tourists found ’em. They got lost hiking off the trail and stumbled on this shit. Got one o’ them fancy location tags and left it here so we could find the place.”

Wilson barked a single laugh. “Be nice if more hikers had them things. It’d make findin’ ’em a lot easier.” He sighed as Weatherman started taking pictures with his phone. “What a damn waste. Second site with shit like this. Same MO. That makes thirteen bears total that’s been killed.”

Weatherman winced. “There are babies in this pile.”

“Son of a bitch.” The chief jammed a hand over his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m gettin’ too old for this shit. We got any leads at all?”

“Only ones are Walt and Clem Gustler. Someone phoned in a tip about them showing off some bear paws at some backwoods hooch bar in Maggie Valley. Can’t confirm it, though. The moment any of us roll up to talk to anyone, they all go blind and develop amnesia.”

The senior officer glared at Weatherman and frowned. “In other words, ain’t no one remember nothin’ or seen nothin’.”

Weatherman nodded and put his phone in his back pocket. “All we got is a pile of dead bears.”

“Ask around your people in the club and see if any of them heard somethin’. Ya’ll have deep roots in these mountains. Maybe someone knows something.”

Weatherman nodded again. “I’ll talk to Brick, and he’ll put the word out. This shit won’t make him happy.”

Wilson grunted. “I’ve known Brick since before you was born. Something or someone disturbs the peace in this town,they better hope the law finds them first.” He hitched up his pants under his slight overhanging belly and turned to the green-faced officer. “You done puking yet? Go grab the camera and get’chur ass over here. We got work to do.”

Later that night,Weatherman lay back on his queen-sized bed. It barely fit the small room, but he was content for now. The house had air conditioning in the form of two window units, but the nights were cool enough that they weren’t needed. Good thing, as the noise from the fans would mask his mother’s breathing. Just as in his childhood, the bedroom doors were left open, and he could hear her in the other bedroom. Only now, her lungs were constantly laboring and rattling. It bothered him a lot that even the simplest of bodily functions had become a struggle to perform, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it other than listen.

He flipped over for the four hundredth time and punched his pillow. Restlessness invaded his mind and shut down any chance of sleeping. Visions of the dead bears danced in his head accompanied by the harsh sounds of his mother’s breathing. He wished he could go outside, jump on his bike, and ride, but the weight of his responsibilities sat heavy on his chest, preventing him from getting up.

Opal came to his mind. He didn’t know why he thought of her in that moment, but she slipped into his thoughts easily, like a hand in a glove. She also had a lot on her shoulders. Single mom, new place, new people, trying to make a life for herself and her daughter with zero family support. That took enormous strength and bravery, which few people had, especially if she had other baggage to deal with on top of it. He admired Opal for takingcharge and doing whatever she needed to for her child, just like his own mom did.

The sounds of his mother’s shallow breathing drifted into the room. He shifted once again to his back and checked his phone to see it was just after midnight. He wondered what Opal was doing.

It’s late, dumbass. She’s sleeping at this hour.

No, even if it was a possibility, the prickly woman wasn’t interested in anything else but her own goals, and he didn’t have time to get to know anyone, let alone dating.

Sometimes you have to adapt.

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