Page 82 of Following Their Heart

Brawn returns his fist bump. His eyes are crinkled at the corners. If I’m not mistaken, he’s feeling pleased with himself.

“I don’t know if I can top that,” Scrap says. Grinning, he adds, “But I’m gonna try.” Hands on his slim hips, he scans around the lot. Fixating on the spotlight, he startsdoosh-doosh-dooshingin a kind of beat-boxing thing to one of the techno tunes he likes. The light begins flickering in rhythm with him. He does the cliched disco move to the beat, pointing finger going up and down, up and down.

Brawn laughs, and it occurs to me I’ve never heard him do that before.

“All right,” Brawn says. “Watch this.” And Bessy’s front end starts jumping like a hooptie ride to the beat Scrap keeps going.

“Yeah, man,” Scrap says, and with his disco hand, he points at the tow truck. The tape deck inside starts playing Jimmy Buffet, which was apparently what the last person who drove it listened to.

“Fucking Shep,” he says, but then he kicks in with the chorus,“Wastin’ away again in Margaritaville! Searching for my lost shaker of salt.”

I sing along and notice Brawn sipping his beer with a smile on his face. Above his beard, his cheeks are ruddy, and his dark gaze is caressing Scrap’s dancing body.

Then, without warning, Scrap’s track pants drop to his ankles.

Jimmy Buffet sings,“It’s nobody’s fault.”

Scrap’s eyes go wide. He looks to me, then Brawn, then he busts out laughing. “What the fuck, man?” His voice shakes with his laughter. Amusement shines from his face as he yanks his pants back up. “Was that you?” he asks Brawn, clearly thinking what just happened was hilarious.

Brawn is not laughing. His cheeks are redder than a not-quite-ripe plum. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to.”

I’m trying hard not to laugh, but Scrap doubles over, hooting and giggling until he cries.

I can’t hold it in, anymore. I bust out laughing too, and then Brawn starts up, and the three of us are cackling like lunatics.

“That’s—” Scrap’s out of breath. “That’s some gift!” He slaps Brawn on the shoulder. “You should try that one on Cora!”

That sobers me. It brings back a memory from this morning. I was getting ready for the scouting mission, loading an ATV with supplies. Out of nowhere, someone shoved me from behind. Aggressively. It felt like an invitation to a barfight. I whipped around to throw down with whoever thought he could challenge my authority so brazenly, only to find no one there.

But someonewasthere. Way out by the lodge, where he was patrolling at my command. Brawn. And he was glaring at me, anger plain on his face beneath the bill of his ever-present baseball cap.

Did he just shove me with his mind? I wondered. He didn’t like the decision I’d made to take a few days to get ready before hitting the road…or to go to Texas first, and he’d made no effort to hide the fact. But Brawn wasn’t an aggressive guy. In fact, he tended to be the gentlest of us. He’s protective of everyone here and careful when using his Gift around us. At the crash site, today, he made sure I was well out of the way before he lifted that tree and worked on the chopper door. He never would have shoved me for real, not unless I deserved it. But what if that shove was a new aspect of his Gift? What if he has super strength now not just with his physical muscles but with his mind?

That could be dangerous. Unless he masters control of it.

All this flashes through my mind as my laughter dies on my lips.

Abruptly, Brawn stops laughing too. His eyes go wide, mortified.

“You just need to learn how to control it,” I say, and I know in that moment how to help teach him. “Turn off that music,” I say to Scrap. “Wrap up out here, and the three of us will meet up behind the shop.” I drain the last of my beer and fold up my camp chair.

The other two stare at me. Scrap with a half-smile and a gleam of interest in his eyes, Brawn with horror.

“Nothin’ to fear, son,” I tell Brawn with a squeeze of his shoulder. “Scrap and I have a spot behind the shop where we can smoke and chill away from the others. It’ll be a good place to work on that control and give Cora and Doc some privacy, to boot.”

“I’ll meet you there,” Scrap says, mouth twitching with mischief. “I’m just gonna stop by the dorm for some suspenders.”

Chapter 30

Cora

Night 13: Rev & Scrap

Bessy is packed.The Humvee and missile truck are ready to roll. Dinner has been served and cleaned up, and the pancake mix is covered with plastic wrap in the fridge, waiting to be ladled onto the griddle for a speedy breakfast. It’s the second night since Jud got taken, and we all busted our butts today to get ready for the road trip. The guys worked on their Gifts while packing up and buttoning down the camp.

“We leave at six sharp,” Rev says from his spot in front of the fireplace. Between the huge elk rack hanging behind him and the antique cross resting against his Pink Floyd T-shirt, he radiates authority and confidence. “Cora and Shep, you’ll serve breakfast at five-thirty, yeah?”

We both nod our agreement. Shep arrived home with an empty trailer just after dinner time. The cows, goats, and chickens are in good hands, he assured us, and Garfield will dine on scurrying barn intruders while we’re gone.

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