SPENCER STARED at his ceiling. He’d dragged himself up the stairs exhausted, but once his head hit the pillow his thoughts kicked into overdrive and skidded in circles. He groaned and turned over. That didn’t help, but the clear sky and bright stars on the other side of his window distracted him until he heard the click of little claws on the floorboards outside his room. Just Bridie doing her nighttime patrol looking for anyone to lift her onto their bed, he reasoned. She trotted into his room and stared at him.
“Go find Emily,” he told her, but the pup did a little hop and yipped. “Oh my God, you are a pain in the arse.” He leaned forward to pick her up, but she scooted away from his hand. “Timmy is not in the well and you are not Lassie. Either come here or find Emily.” She looked at him and barked.
That’s when he heard it. The distinct creak of the old banister on the staircase. Spencer listened more carefully and after a long pause there it was again—someone was trying not to be heard. He stood up slowly and crept to his door. Bridie had other ideas and bolted down the stairs tumbling over the final step.
“You can’t come with me,” Spencer heard Connor whisper to the pup.
“Can I?” he asked.
Connor glared up the stairs at him.
“You won’t make it far on those crutches.”
“I can try.”
Spencer walked down beside him. “Now you’re being a dick again and a dumb one.”
“Give me a break. I want to go home, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
“Maybe not, but by the time you got there it’d be morning and that’s when I can ride there with you.”
Connor slumped down to the bottom step and buried his face in his hand. “You don’t understand,” he mumbled.
Spencer sat beside him—but not too close. “You could try explaining it to me.”
“I doubt that.”
“Is everything all right, boys?” Carol called down to them.
“Yeah, no worries, Mum. We’re just talking.”
“Okay. Keep it quiet or you’ll have Emily there with you.”
“Yeah. Night, Mum.”
He waited until they were alone again and suggested, “Let’s go to the veranda.”
“Why?”
“I told Mum we’re talking, so we may as well do it out there.” Spencer got up and walked to the door hoping like hell Connor would follow him. The muted thud of crutches sounded on the floorboards behind him, and he held the fly-screen door open until they were both outside. They settled on the wooden chairs and stared ahead.
Neither spoke.
The night was crisp and still. There was no breeze to rustle the leaves and only the bleat of a lamb broke the silence. Spencer was tempted to ask again, but he reasoned that Connor would speak when he was ready. And that could be a long time. What if we end up sitting here all night with neither of us saying a word? So what if we do? It wouldn’t really matter. The shrill cry of a fox broke into his thoughts. It was a lonely sound.
“Is that one of your foxes?” he asked.
Connor shook his head, and Spencer wondered how he’d even know.
“Would they look for you? Like a dog, I mean.”
“They won’t leave the house.”
“We left the door open for them.”
“They won’t leave the kits unless they are forced to.”
“Oh okay,” Spencer said.
“I’ve been gone two nights now.”
There was no answer to that. At least Spencer couldn’t think of one that would help. He sat and picked off a woolly fuzz ball from his track pants, then another. He sighed and flicked them into the night. “Maybe if we take the farm horses it would be okay?”
Connor faced him.
“They would be okay in the dark. Smokey wouldn’t know where to go. Hey, I don’t know where to go in the dark, but….”
“I do,” Connor said with the broadest smile Spencer had seen yet.
“Come on, then, but be quiet.”
The horses were already standing near the top gate having heard them approach. Smokey gave his soft throaty whinny but didn’t risk pushing between the big farm horses.
“Not tonight, Smoke,” Spencer said while he clipped the lead ropes onto the other two halters. He led the pair through the gate making sure to spin around and close it before Smokey and Peanuts followed them. He needn’t have worried—the horse and pony both stood back with nostrils flared and ears flicking. Peanuts, the braver of the two, stamped the ground and snorted at Connor while Smokey took a wary step backward.
“What’s up with you two?” Spencer said only to watch his horse turn tail and bolt down the paddock. “Dunno what’s got into him tonight.”
“He doesn’t know what’s around here at night.”
Spencer shot him a quizzical look. “What does that mean?”
“Just what I said. There are things in the forest that your horse wouldn’t have seen before.”
“But….” Spencer stopped himself from asking and walked the horses to the tack shed. He slipped on their bridles and was buckling a throat lash when he paused and asked, “You can ride can’t you?”
“Maybe?”
“Maybe what?”
“Maybe I can. I’ve never tried.”
He groaned and contemplated putting the horses back in the paddock, but Connor would only try to sneak out again, and it was a long walk on crutches.
“Okay, the only way we can do this without the risk of you breaking your other leg is we ride double.” Spencer slapped Rocky’s reins in Connor’s hand and took Buddy back to the paddock where Smokey still kept his distance.
He jogged back and easily hauled himself onto Rocky’s bare back. The leg cast made it a lot more difficult for Connor, but with a helping hand he was quickly settled behind Spencer.
“How’s that?” Spencer asked.
“High, but okay.”
Connor’s hands clutched Spencer’s waist, almost painfully, when Rocky took his first steps. It took steely willpower to stop thinking about the body pressed against his and the thighs… stop, stop, stop. Think of other things like falling and cracking your skull because you’re focusing on your boner rather than steering the horse.
“I can’t wait to get this fucking cast off my leg,” Connor growled.
“It’ll be a few weeks,” Spencer replied, glad of the distraction. “Does it hurt? Your leg, not the cast.”
“It’s not that, it’s having to do things like this.”
“Riding’s not that bad.”
“But I couldn’t even get on by myself. I’m not used to relying on people—except Mab and Gran.”
“They’re who you live with?”
“Yes.”
“And the foxes?”
Connor didn’t reply.
Spencer opened his mouth to ask about the rest of the Coutts family but thought better of it. Maybe when Connor trusted him more. If that time ever comes.
The horses walked with them on the other side of the fence, Buddy plodded close to the barbed wire while the other two stayed at a safe distance. The farm dogs had also appeared and trotted near the horses. They didn’t make a sound but watched the riders until they reached the end of the paddock where they sat side by side. Sentinels, Spencer thought taking one last look before they crossed the firebreak.
“It looks different at night, but I think the access track is through here,” Spencer said even though their horse had already turned toward it. Okay, Rocky knows how to get to the Coutts house… or maybe he just knows the fire track? It made sense that the old farm horse would know his way around, but Spencer was still surprised by the surety of Rocky’s steps.
When the track became a path the world around them changed. The forest closed in and the air stilled. Spencer had experienced the same sensation when he rode here with his father but the night intensified every sound and shift in light. Moonlight shone through gaps in the canopy just as the sun had except the spots of light that fell on Spencer were silver not gold. Something moved in the tree above them, and he wished he’d brought a torch to shine up and catch the reflective eyes of a possum, or owl, or something he’d recognize.
Connor pressed closer and his hands moved up to Spencer’s shoulders. “Not too far now,” he said quietly at Spencer’s ear. Warm breath touched his neck and brought with it an involuntary shiver. Connor chuckled. “Don’t worry, city kid, I’ll protect you.”
“I don’t need protecting,” Spencer said. Do I?
Moonlight glowed at the end of the tree tunnel and thoughts of elves and faeries flitted through Spencer’s head. He pushed them out as quickly as they came—no geeky nerdiness was allowed when he was with Connor Coutts, but he did let himself have a brief X-files moment. He grinned to himself—I’d be Mulder, and with that red hair you’d be Scully.
But there was nothing alien in the clearing. The silver light filled the space like water in a snow globe and thoughts of elves didn’t seem so far-fetched. Rocky stopped just past the tree line and no amount of encouragement made him take an extra step.
“I dunno what’s up with Rocky?” The horse still wouldn’t move. Oddly enough there was no tension in his body, he stood quietly and heaved a sigh before dropping his head to nibble on the grass.
“He knows his place,” Connor said and slid down Rocky’s flank to land with a hop on his good foot.
Spencer watched his hurried hobble and jumped down. Rocky seemed content to graze, so he jogged the few steps to catch up.
“You can lean on me if it’d help.” He expected a snide remark but received a grateful thank-you instead, and Connor wrapped an arm around his shoulder. Spencer let him set the pace, and it turned into a stumbling three-legged run. Both boys were puffing when they reached the green door. It was still ajar, but Spencer couldn’t see past the strip of light in the doorway. Connor was immediately greeted by a silver muzzled fox who he spoke to as if it understood every word he said. The fox made strange chuffing sounds, and Connor looked over his shoulder at Spencer. “You need to stay here.”
With that Connor stepped inside and closed the door.
“Okay,” Spencer said to the painted face on the door. “I’ll just stay here.”
DEW SOAKED into the back of his T-shirt—it was cold but felt good. He sat away from the cottage and stared up at the sky. Time stood still. He had no idea how long he’d been waiting and it didn’t matter. Nothing much mattered in that clearing. A wooden creak alerted him to company, and he turned his head to see the little fox trotting toward him. He quickly sat up and watched her approach. How he knew it was her was something he’d ponder later.
“She wanted to meet you,” Connor informed him.
“Hello,” Spencer said when the fox reached him and held out his hand. She sniffed it for a second then licked his fingers. Spencer laughed and looked up at Connor.
“She wanted to thank you too—for bringing me here, and bringing Rob back to the forest.”
“You are very welcome,” Spencer said, deciding it was polite to play the game. He slowly moved his hand above her and stroked the dome of her head. She was so soft.
“She likes you,” Connor said and leaned heavily on Spencer’s shoulder to lower himself to the ground.
“She’s smaller than I thought. I mean the only other fox I’ve met was the one I carried here, and she is more… delicate.”
“Male foxes of our…. Male foxes are usually bigger.”
Spencer nodded. “Does she have a name?”
“Everyone has a name. Hers is Mab.”
“Same as your sister?”
“Um yeah. I guess I didn’t have a lot of imagination back then.”
“Hello, Mab,” Spencer cooed, and the fox looked up at him. All the world was in her gaze, and he smiled. “She’s very special, isn’t she?”
“I think so.”
Mab turned and leaned against Connor.
“She missed you.”
“I missed her.”
“How long have you had her?”
“You don’t own foxes,” Connor explained.
“Yeah, I get that. So if everything is okay here, we better get back.”
“I’m not going back.”
“Don’t do this to me,” Spencer said and stood up. “I brought you here and… and did you have any intention of going back with me?”
Connor put a hand on Mab and said, “No.”
Frustration took Spencer’s words, and he stepped toward Rocky only to turn and take the step back. “That was a shitty thing to do. I tried….”
“You don’t understand….”
Spencer cut him off. “No! You don’t understand. If I go back without you, they’ll call the cops who’ll come here and take you away. And your foxes… well you know what they do to foxes in sheep country.”
Mab snorted, looked at Connor and walked away from them.
“Mab knows,” Spencer said. Connor looked at him with curiosity and suspicion, but Spencer stood firm. “She gave you her answer.”
Connor glanced back to the cottage. Mab had disappeared inside.
“You have to come back. For their sake,” Spencer said. For my sake too. “Please?”
“This is wrong—you get that don’t you?” Connor grumbled but still hobbled toward Rocky.
THE RIDE back was uncomfortably silent. Every twig snap, bird call, and snort of the big horse served to emphasize the tension between them. Connor’s hands were still on his waist, but that was a necessity lest he slide off Rocky’s back. That was the only physical contact between them—in fact that was their only point of contact.
It was a relief when Rocky left the track and tunnel of trees to step onto the grassy firebreak. Spencer took a deep breath of the predawn air and said quietly, “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” Connor mumbled and leaned into Spencer’s back. “I know it’s not your fault. You’re new here and don’t know what it’s like for our kind.”
Our kind? Are the Coutts family that isolated from everyone else around here? Spencer had no clue how to respond, but that played around and around in his thoughts. There was something about the way it was said, our kind. Spencer decided to leave it—for now.
The sun already peeped over the horizon when they slid off Rocky and released him back into the paddock. Connor looked drawn in the thin morning light. He stood at the gate and watched Rocky approach the other horses before they all settled to pick at the dry grass.
“You okay?” Spencer asked.
“Dunno.”
Spencer was at a loss. He’d never been particularly good at communicating with people, and Connor… well, Connor wasn’t like anyone he’d ever met.
“You should know better than to take my grandson into the forest at night, Connor Coutts.”
The voice spoke slowly and deliberately and each word was formed with effort. They both turned.
Grandpa Mac walked carefully down the steps from the veranda. He stopped at each one to start again—foot, walking stick, foot. Spencer waited until he was on firm ground before he answered, “I offered, Pa.”
“That may be, but the Coutts know that forest and you don’t.”
“I do know it,” Connor said. “And that means he was safe with me.”
There was an old-man grumble and something said that Spencer didn’t hear, but Connor’s clenched jaw hinted that he heard and didn’t much like what was said.
“So, is Old May back in her shack?” Pa Mac asked and continued toward them.
“Not yet,” Connor replied with a furtive glance at Spencer.
“I’m sure she’ll emerge from her forest and demand the return of her grandson when she does.” He smiled and leaned heavily on a fence post to stare out over the paddock.
Connor actually smiled. Spencer looked from one to the other—he’d missed something, either said or unsaid, and it was clear neither were going to enlighten him. He sighed and joined them at the fence.
“The horses need fed,” Pa said, and Spencer knew it was aimed at him. He didn’t argue and walked the short distance to the feed shed. A mouse scurried across his foot and dove under a wooden pallet. “Plenty for all I guess,” he said and looked at the stacked bales. Most of the local farms used the huge rounds of hay that could be tractored out and rolled, but on the MacKenzie farm feed was freshly distributed each and every day. I’m sure the rodents agree, Spencer mused as he pulled several biscuits of grass hay from a bale.
Pa and Connor were talking. Spencer followed the cadence of a conversation without the words. He walked past them and the talking stopped. Interesting, he thought and shoved open the gate to be inundated with pushy horses. “Get out of the way,” he scolded them and squeezed through to drop a biscuit on the grass. Smokey and Peanuts ripped into it, but the farm horses understood that more biscuits would be dropped and they’d score one each.
“You two are up early.”
“Up before the sun,” Pa said. He wasn’t lying but wasn’t telling the whole story either.
“Farm life must suit you, Spence,” Neil quipped and joined them at the fence.
“Three generations of MacKenzie and a Coutts,” Pa mumbled and shook his head.
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Spencer asked, but Pa muttered something like maybe, maybe not, and ambled slowly back to the veranda.
“I think he’s worried about the committee coming.”
“Why should he worry? His sheep are some of the best, aren’t they?”
“They are, Spence, but it means a lot to the farm financially, and your pa has been working toward this as long as I can remember. Hey, Connor, how’s the leg?”
“Still there,” Connor replied and knocked on the plaster.
“Survived the midnight ride, then?”
Spencer groaned, but Neil laughed.
“It’s an old house. Lots of echoes and creaking boards. There’s not much you can get away with without someone hearing. I thought it best not to say something in front of my old man.”
“He knew.”
Another laugh. “Of course he did.”
SPENCER’S MORNING chore was to clean the chicken run. What fun, he thought and crept through the door. He would happily see to the horses or even the sheep, but there was something about the ancient shed that creeped him out. Sinister low clucks came from the dark dusty corners. They weren’t the happy or demanding clucks you heard at feed time, no, they were creaks and growls emitted from sharp little beaks biding their time to peck him. Logically, Spencer knew they wouldn’t hurt him, and it wasn’t really that that bothered him. He pulled his T-shirt up over his nose and waved an arm to shoo them out. Wings flapped and the air clouded with dust and dried chicken shit.
“Out!” Spencer shouted, but still the birds didn’t move. “What’s wrong with you lot this morning? Get out.”
He opened the door wide and the morning sun streaked the dusty air. Bridie sat just outside and tilted her head at the silly birds.
“Are you the reason they’re so freaked?” he asked and the little black pup jumped to her feet with a bounce and a yip. Connor stood behind her. He stared past Spencer into the gloom of the shed. The chickens were silent, and the dust slowly settled. Without a word Connor shook his head and made his way slowly to the veranda.
“So you’re not gonna help me?” Spencer called to him, but Connor sat on the step and laid the crutches beside him.
A brown hen strutted into the daylight. She glanced at Bridie but continued on her way to where the horse feed was mixed. Others followed and soon the yard was filled with hens contentedly scratching and picking over the spilled grain. She’d been so good for so long, but the temptation grew too much for Bridie and chickens flew in every direction when she ran through the middle of the flock.
“No, Bridie, bad girl,” Spencer scolded as she barked her delight. A shrill whistle stopped her. She spun around and bounded up the veranda steps and scrambled onto Pa Mac’s lap. Spencer grumbled about being left to do the work but set about cleaning the chicken shed.
By the time it was swept, refurbished with fresh straw and all the eggs collected. Spencer heard the call to breakfast. He squinted at the bright sunlight but breathed deeply of the fresh air. Gray dust coated his black T-shirt and clung to his hair. He picked out a couple of downy feathers and watched them float down where they attached themselves to his jeans. Spencer groaned and shook himself like a wet dog, which only served to create a cloud of stinking dust that settled on his sweaty skin. He wrinkled his nose and marched toward the house, vowing to find a different chore in the future.
“You stink,” Connor deadpanned.
“Shut up.”
“No, you really do stink of chicken shit.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“The chickens’, I guess.” Connor shrugged and held out his hand.
With a hop and a hobble, they made it up the steps and into the kitchen.
Spencer handed the basket of eggs to his nan and said, “I’m gonna jump in the shower first, Mum.”
“Your breakfast will get cold. Wash your hands and shower after.”
“But I smell gross,” he complained.
“You do not. Now sit.”
“Connor says I stink.”
“Well, I can’t….”
“Go shower,” Nan interrupted and shooed him out of the kitchen.
Spencer climbed the stairs to the bathroom and quickly stripped. He sniffed at his clothes. Dust hit his nose, and he could smell the chooks, but it wasn’t the stench he expected. He dumped them in the laundry hamper and mumbled something about Connor being a dick.
Steam filled the old bathroom and fogged the mirror. Spencer stepped into the tub and under the stream of hot water. He watched his reflection blur and disappear before the shower curtain was yanked along the rail. Kelsey always said that he wasn’t bad-looking and could even pass for cute in the right light. They’d joked about that being a dark night during a blackout because he never really worried about his appearance other than keeping his hair black and his skin pale—Cheer up, emo kid.
It mattered now, though. It mattered around the weird Coutts boy with the shitty attitude. And amazing red hair and dark eyes. Hot water rushed over his face. He stood with his eyes closed and felt it sting and tingle down his skin. What would you think if you saw me like this? Spencer reached out into the misted air. What would you look like in the steam before you stepped under the water with me?
“Mum says to hurry up!” Emily shouted from the other side of the unlocked door.
Spencer groaned. Who am I kidding? You’d laugh and walk away.