Page 43 of The Outlaw and the Heir

"Sometimes I get these...feelings about people. My mother said that sort of thing happened sometimes in our family, especially with the women, but sometimes with the men, like my granddad. Whoever is like that ends up getting strong feelings about people. Sometimes it's just whether they're good or badpeople, but sometimes other feelings like maybe it was more than just knowing grief I could sense in you. But sometimes you also get a sense that they're good with things or what might be going on in their heads."

"By that logic," I said with a raised brow, "I seem to have a touch of that."

"Maybe it's something magical and special, or maybe it's just a skill like riding a horse or hitting a bullseye. I suppose that depends on how you want to look at it."

"It's not aboutwanting. People see things the way they do because that's just...who they are,howthey are. Trying to change someone's views on something, especially something important to them, is like trying to change their nature. You can't."

"Interesting," she said as she began cracking eggs. "I know a certain someone who's been put in charge of your well-being and behavior who thinks much the same thing."

"Is that one of your feelings, or are you just trying to get a reaction from me? Because you got one already, and that's more than most people get when they know me, no need to get greedy."

Hipolita shook her head and began scooping things onto a plate, sliding it to me with utensils. "You hide so much. You hide your pain. You hide what makes you happy. You hide the fact that there might be people you actually like. You hide that you're a good person. You hide yourself, so much of yourself, isn't that exhausting?"

Before my lips could betray me and form the immediate 'yes,' I shoved a piece of fried, salted pork in my mouth and was reminded that it had just come from a ripping hot pan. The melted fat, both salty and delicious, seared my tongue, and tears sprung to my eyes as I tried not to show how much pain I was in. Obviously, that wasn't going to work as Hipolita was staringright at me, and from the amusement on her face, she could tell I’d just hurt myself. My only consolation was that she probably only suspected why I’d hurt myself.

"Hungry," I finally managed to get out as my tongue ached from the burn. "Sorry."

"I see that," she said with a smirk. "Nice to see my cooking can still affect a man."

"Yeah," I said, trying not to sound like I was gasping after swallowing the food. It was delicious, and I eagerly shoved the bread into my mouth and sighed at the taste of the grease she’d cooked it in. "It's good. Really good."

She watched me dip the bread into the egg yolk while pulling apart some salted pork and dropping it on top before shoving it in my mouth, already forgetting about the day's events as the food filled my stomach. My mother had been fond of saying that a good meal could help to make all the woes of the day fade away and so far, I had yet to find anything to prove that wrong.

Which, of course, was promptly ruined when I heard a snarl echoing down the hallway, bringing my head up, and Hipolita snapped around with a frown. I turned to stare at the door. “And what, pray tell, might that have been?"

"Joseph, I believe," she said in an incredibly neutral tone that spoke volumes more than if she had curled her lip and rolled her eyes at saying the name aloud.

The shout was followed by what could only be vigorous arguing, and the skin on my neck prickled when I realized one of the angry voices was Ambrose. I had heard him irritated, I had heard him mad and pissed, but I had yet to hear a man nearing fury, not from him anyway. Without thinking, I pushed up from the counter and out through the door, barely noticing that Hipolita was on my heels.

The brothers had emerged from the office and were standing in the entrance hall, gesturing angrily at one another. Josephresembled Ambrose and his father in passing, which probably meant he took more after his mother in looks. He was decently built, but it was obvious as I grew close, from his clean-cut, clean clothes, and unblemished hands, that hard work was not his expertise. He clearly thought himself important, though, if the way he stood imperiously, with a well-practiced sneer that lost its haughtiness from how red in the face he was.

"A couple of pieces doesn't mean a thing," Joseph shot at his brother with a hiss. "You're starting trouble for no reason."

"It isnotfor no reason," Ambrose growled, and I could see he towered over his brother, but there was still something about them that gave the illusion that they were about the same height...or perhaps Ambrose was smaller than his brother. Now I understood what Joseph's effect on Ambrose meant. Even in an argument, madder than hell, something about Ambrose was held back, as if he was too afraid to go too far with his brother. "I told you?—"

"That you found some prints and a rock," Joseph interrupted with a sneer. "That's not exactly what I would call strong proof."

"It's one of their arrowheads," Ambrose rumbled, holding out what he'd found, and I frowned at the sight. It was an arrowhead-shaped rock, completely black as though made from obsidian. "You know that. Even though you spend your time sitting around here and letting other people do the hard work."

My brow arched, and Hipolita sighed, whereas Joseph's face only got redder. "Well, one of us needs to deal with the thinking work, and we know it won't be you. How about you leave the right kind of work to the right kind of people? Leave the thinking to me, tracking skills to people who actually know how to do it, and you can sure as hell leave trying to stir up the law to someone with enough sense to know when to do it."

I could feel the rage rolling off Ambrose. “Ormaybeyou could try listening to someone else for a chance. Iknowwhat Isaw, and I know it's worth looking into before we find ourselves right back in the damned mess we were in years ago!"

Joseph waved him off. “A few prints you think were the genuine deal isn't the same as itbeingthe genuine deal."

"Well," I said, interrupting before he could lay on even more derision and spite for...what reason? "There were definitely large paws that came from either wolves or dogs larger than Bear. And there were boot prints as well. Several of them, different sizes."

Joseph spun to face me, his fury returning. "And who the hell do you think you are?"

"Hi, name's Samuel and I was out there. I saw it with my own eyes," I said, holding up my hand and wiggling my fingers.

His eyes narrowed, scoffing. "And I'm supposed to believe the man who's only here because he couldn't stay on the right side of the law?"

"Joseph," Ambrose growled, surprising me at his...was that defense? Was he defending me? Strange didn't begin to cover it.

I ignored it for a moment and shrugged. “Well, if you don't want to believe your brother, who has more experience in anything outside the comforts of this house compared to you, maybe you'll listen to someone who's had to survive in the wilds. Or someone different altogether."

I saw his mouth twitch down when he heard the poorly veiled criticism, which told me all I needed to know about his ego and where he was self-conscious. "You'll find I don't place value in the words of a criminal."

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