Page 5 of High Velocity

“We’ll throw him out back with Ginger in a bit, she’ll give him a workout.”

As I’m lowering the tailgate, my eye catches on that SUV.

“Whose is that?” I ask, even though I have a faint suspicion.

He narrows his eyes on me before confirming, “Someone I hear you had a run-in with this morning.”

“Right. Stephanie Kramer.” I climb into the bed of the truck and grab the first bag of meat, tossing it at JD. “Any reason you never mentioned she’s staying at your place?”

He lifts the bag onto a hook hanging from a chain attached to the rafters.

“Hey, tonight’s the first I’ve seen of her myself. Janey talked to her, she told me Stephanie needed a quiet place to recover, and offered her my trailer.”

My ears perked up at that.

“Recover?”

I’d wondered whether maybe she’d been ill. She didn’t look well.

“She’s had some health issues,” he clarifies.

“What do you mean, health issues?”

That came out sharper than I intended and JD throws up both hands defensively.

“Brother, that’s not mine to share.”

Frustrated, I toss him another bag.

I don’t understand where that need to know is coming from. I don’t normally stick my nose in other people’s business. In fact, I generally avoid getting sucked into someone else’s issues, I have plenty of my own. Yet here I am, grinding my teeth because JD has information he won’t share.

Information about Stephanie Kramer, to be more specific.

“Come in for a drink?” he offers when he’s hung the third and final bag of meat.

“Yeah, sure.” I hop down from the tailgate and pull the bear’s pelt toward me. “Where do you want this?”

I don’t have any use for a bear hide, but there are those who do. In the past, JD or one of his parents would take an animal’s pelt, clean and cure it, and find someone who had use for one. Sometimes, they’d end up with their family or friends at the Flathead Reservation, or were used as part of the ceremonial garb worn at powwows. Sometimes, one would be donated to a school, a wildlife information center, or some other educational facility. I like the idea as few as possible of the animals’ parts I shoot go to waste.

JD helps me carry the pelt—which probably weighs a good eighty pounds with the head still attached—to an old chest freezer in the far corner.

“I’ll probably have a chance this weekend to frame it up,” he comments when we tuck it inside. “Looks a good size.”

“Yeah, he was a big boy. Bold as hell. Didn’t even flinch when he caught sight of me.”

JD kicks off his boots in the mudroom and I do the same before following him inside.

The women are sitting across from each other at the table. Stephanie looks up when we walk in, and Janey spins her head around.

“Jackson,” she greets me with a smile. “Have you eaten? We have leftovers I can easily heat up.”

I hold up a hand. “I ate. Thanks. Hey, Stephanie,” I provoke when she stubbornly keeps her back turned.

“Jackson,” she replies, with a quick flash of her face as she lifts her head for a second.

“Beer?” JD asks from behind me.

“Thanks.”

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